by Diana Quincy
“You? Too strict?” Abigail was incredulous. “If anyone lives for amusement, it’s you. At least it was so back when you were Coco.”
“I’m still the same Coco.”
Abigail’s delicate brows rose. “If so, she’s hidden beneath that ridiculous hair arrangement and those hideous governess outfits you insist upon wearing.”
“They’re appropriate for my new station in life.”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “You are much too proud for your own good. Anyhow, enough about that since there’s no convincing you to abandon this plebeian endeavor.” She leaned forward, anticipation lighting her eyes. “Tell me about Sunderford. Is it true he beds everything in skirts?”
“I cannot answer that,” she replied truthfully. If Sunderford was still fornicating with a different woman each night, she’d seen no recent evidence of it. Thank goodness. Lately, he seemed to be restricting his more licentious behavior to places other than Sunderford House. “He goes out most evenings and doesn’t return until the morning. He wasn’t even home yet when I left at noon. There’s no telling what he’s doing or with whom.”
“Is he bedding all the housemaids?”
“Apparently not. I’m told that is the one place he draws the line. The servants say he doesn’t cavort with the staff.”
“How unfortunate.” Abigail pouted. “You could use some amusement.”
“Me? Don’t be ridiculous,” she said dismissively. “As if I could ever be interested in a lummox like Sunderford.”
“Why ever not? He’s very handsome and they say he used to be quite the Corinthian, the best pugilist and fencer. No one could defeat him. All of that stamina could prove quite useful.”
“I’ve seen no sign he undertakes any athletics at all. He’s abed all day and out cavorting all night.”
“That could have its uses.” Abigail waggled her trim brows. “With all that experience, imagine the tricks he’d know in the bedchamber!”
“You are incorrigible.” Isabel shook her head and laughed, enjoying spending time with a close friend again. “Besides, a man such as that is likely to behave selfishly when it comes to bed sport. He probably sits back and waits to be serviced without giving a care to his companion.”
Abigail’s eyes sparkled. “There’s one way to find out for certain.”
“Oh, please.” Isabel’s face felt hot. “If I were interested in a liaison, I assure you it would not be with that libertine.”
“Oh?” Abigail eyed her speculatively. “Then who would it be with?”
“Well,” Isabel said coyly, eager to distract Abigail from the current line of conversation. “There is a very nice doctor who comes to see the girls.”
“There she is!” Abigail clapped her hands together. “I knew she was in there somewhere.”
“Who?”
“The old Coco, of course. You always were a little bit naughty and incredibly fun to gossip with.”
Isabel drained her cup. “And look where that got me.”
“Stop being such a bore. Now what about this doctor?”
“He’s charming and pleasant. He’s also wonderful with the girls, which suggests he’d make an excellent father.”
“Would you truly wed that far beneath you?”
“I’m a governess now. A doctor is hardly beneath me.”
“How boring.” The compassion in Abigail’s eyes belied her droll words. “Since you insist upon living a drab and uninteresting life, tell me more about Sunderford. Surely, you must have seen something scandalous in your time beneath his roof.”
“Well…” Isabel felt her penchant for swapping delicious stories returning full force. After all, it was her afternoon off. The prudent governess would be firmly back in place once she returned home to the girls. But for now—
She leaned closer to Abigail. “He does have a chamber that he calls his playroom…”
* * *
—
By the time Sunny returned home the morning after a particularly dissolute evening, it was already late Sunday afternoon.
He’d passed out after drinking copious amounts of brandy and whiskey at Madame Duval’s House of Pleasure, and remembered little except for the vaguest recollection of naked dancing females doing remarkably imaginative things to each other.
“Welcome home, Your Grace.” Dowding greeted him in the front hall upon his arrival. “John is overseeing the preparation of your bath as we speak.”
“Excellent.” Bleary eyed, he handed off his cravat and coat as he made for the stairs. “And my vinegar tonic?” He would need a remedy after the evening he’d had.
“In your dressing room, Your Grace. I shall assist you in disrobing since John is seeing to your bath.”
“No need.” He seemed to have mislaid his waistcoat somewhere along the way, leaving only his trousers and shirt, which he could manage on his own. Besides, at the moment, listening to anyone speak felt like fireworks were going off in his brain.
The distant hammering sounds coming from the bowels of the house weren’t helping. “What is that infernal noise?”
“The carpenter is here, Your Grace. He’s replacing the balusters on the servants’ staircase.”
“Oh? Where is he?”
“On the second floor, Your Grace.”
Curious, Sunny followed the sounds of sawing and hammering. He’d always been drawn to woodworking, ever since Jonas, the carpenter at Parkthorn Hall, had taken time to show the twelve-year-old ducal heir how to work with wood.
He came upon the carpenter in his paper hat, hard at work sanding a square-topped baluster. The man leapt to his feet and pulled off his protective work hat as soon as he spotted Sunny. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”
“Don’t let me interrupt you,” Sunny said. “Please continue.”
The man paused for a minute, seeming self-conscious to have Sunny observing him at work, but did as Sunny asked, donning his paper hat before kneeling to continue his task.
Sunny inhaled deeply. Even now he delighted in the woodsy scent that reminded him of Jonas’s woodworking shop in one of the outbuildings at Parkthorn Hall. “Squared topped instead of pin-topped balusters?” he said to the man.
“Yes, Your Grace, I am replacing what was already here. They were worn.”
Sunny watched the man fit the baluster into place. Carpentry still fascinated him. Jonas had been a patient teacher, instructing a curious young boy in how to score wood for a clean break and how to create the notches to join the sides. Sunny was drawn to the simplicity, symmetry, and the strong sense of accomplishment that came with building something with his own hands.
He’d worked for weeks on a small cedar box that he’d proudly presented to his father. Jonas had been effusive in his praise of the finished product, telling Sunny that had he not been the heir to a dukedom, Sunny’s natural skill and talent would have made him a much-sought-after master woodworker. Sunny had beamed with pride at the compliment.
But the old duke had been horrified when he’d realized Sunny had made the box himself. A peer does not work with his hands, he’d said disdainfully. Jonas had been immediately dismissed for having the temerity to instruct his betters in the plebeian arts.
Afterward, the whispers among the servants reached Sunny. How would Jonas’s family survive now? After the incident with Jonas, the servants had distanced themselves even more from the young heir for fear of angering the duke and finding themselves in Jonas’s unenviable situation. Not only had Sunny been deprived of Jonas’s company and the pleasures of woodworking, but his solitary life had grown even more so once the servants withdrew even further from him.
Ice slogged through Sunny’s veins at the memory of Jonas. Once he’d come into the title, he’d tried to find the man only to learn that Jonas was long dead of illness; the poverty-stricken years after his time a
t Parkthorn Hall had taken their toll. No one in the county had been willing to hire a man who’d provoked the ire of the fearsome Duke of Sunderford.
Sunny’s headache pounded more stridently than ever. He turned abruptly from the carpenter and made his way up to his bedchamber where he found his tonic waiting for him in a small glass atop a silver salver in his dressing room.
Cringing, he picked up the glass and poured all of its contents down his throat, squinting against the sour taste and giving in to a shiver as he did so. Afterward, he quickly stripped and reached for his dressing gown. A warm bath would be just the thing. He was fatigued. After scrubbing himself clean, he’d be ready to fall into bed and sleep well into tomorrow.
Sunny headed down the hall to the special room set aside just for bathing. It was equipped with a generous oblong copper tub that easily accommodated his large frame. Bathing after a long night was one of his favorite indulgences.
He pushed open the door to find the chamber empty, which was how he preferred it. He normally bathed in solitude for the first ten minutes before his valet joined him to wash his back.
Something that sounded like a splash caught his attention. Looking in the direction of the tub in the middle of the chamber he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He was about to discard his dressing gown when he spotted his hound sitting expectantly by the tub, his tail flopping from side to side.
“Pan?” The ungrateful creature had all but deserted his rightful master since the brats’ arrival. “What are you doing in here?”
“Surprise!” The twin terrors popped up in the bathtub, their limp wet curls plastered to their heads, bringing to mind a drowning skunk. Pan ran around the tub, yelping and wagging his tail.
Sunny’s heart seized. “Bloody hell!” He wasn’t sure whether to cradle his throbbing head or clutch his pounding chest. “What in Hades are you two doing in here?”
“We’re swimming, silly.” Patience demonstrated by paddling in his bath like a little puppy. “See?”
“I can see that,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Then why did you ask?” she countered, still paddling away, her white dress billowing around her small form.
“We like your tub a great deal, Cousin Adam,” Prudence said earnestly as she bobbed along in the water next to her sister. “Uncle Abel did not have a tub this large. And the water is so nice and warm for swimming.”
His warm water. Sunny took a deep breath, struggling to contain his temper. “This. Is. Not. A. Tub. For. Swimming.”
Patience flopped over to float on her back. “Not for you, silly, because you’re too big. But it’s the perfect size for us to swim in.” She performed an impromptu backstroke to demonstrate her point. “See?”
“This is a tub. A bathing tub. My bathing tub.”
“I can’t hear you,” Patience said in a loud, singsong voice. “My ears are covered in water.”
John appeared beside Sunny, an alarmed expression on his narrow face. Sunny turned to the man. “Would you care to tell me what these urchins are doing in my bath?”
“I’m afraid I cannot say, Your Grace,” he said nervously. “They were not here when I left just a few minutes ago.”
“Where is Finch?” His warm bath was turning cool and foul as they spoke. “Why is she not looking after them?”
“Miss Finch has the afternoon off, Your Grace.”
“What? Who gave her leave to neglect the brats?”
“Erm…I believe you did, Your Grace. Miss Finch has every other Sunday afternoon off.”
“So who the devil is supposed to be looking after them?” He gestured toward the children, who were now engaged in a splashing contest, their laughter and shrieks reverberating in his head like sharp rocks scraping the inside of his skull.
“I believe they were with their music teacher.”
“Music teacher? What music teacher?”
“Miss Finch arranged for them to learn the pianoforte. Their instructor comes three times a week.”
“She does?” He suddenly remembered the woman who’d played the pianoforte while Finch and the girls had danced. She must be the music teacher. How did he not know any of this? Then he remembered. He didn’t know because he couldn’t care less. Except for now. Because the imps were not with the music instructor or the nanny; they were in his bath ruining his peace of mind.
Sunny clapped his hands. “Girls!” He spoke as loudly as he dared, given his fear of splitting his head in two. “Patience! Prudence!”
He finally got their attention.
“Yes?” they asked in unison, standing with their hands clutching the side of the tub as they faced him.
“Why are you not with your music instructor?”
“She was feeling poorly,” Patience answered.
“She had to use the ladies’ retiring room,” Prudence added.
“So we made our escape,” Patience said triumphantly. She ducked down, putting her head under water before coming up for air again. “I’m very happy we did. Swimming is better than music lessons.”
Sunny saw his hopes of a long warm bath dying as surely as a flame doused with water.
“I’ll have the children removed and your bath water replaced immediately, Your Grace,” John said.
“But why must you remove us?” Patience said. “We are enjoying ourselves very much, and you told Izzy that we need to have more fun.”
“How do you know I said that? Did Finch tell you?”
“Not exactly,” Patience said. “I heard on accident.”
John moved toward the tub. “Come along out of there. His Grace must have his bath.”
“Oh, never mind.” Sunny turned to leave. “Let them be. My bath is already ruined.”
He exited to the sounds of headache-worsening cheers, splashes, and Pan’s high-pitched barking trailing behind him.
* * *
—
Returning to his private chambers, Sunny endured a thoroughly unsatisfying hip bath before climbing into bed for much-needed rest. When he rose several hours later, his ruined bath still very much on his mind, Sunny pulled on his dressing gown and headed for the nursery. He intended to have a word with Finch about keeping the children contained to their designated areas of the house and well out of his way.
As a child, it would never have occurred to him to breach his father’s inner sanctum, and certainly never his private bathing area. Sunny could count the number of times he’d been received in his father’s private chambers on one hand. He never entered unless summoned, and normally it was to be berated for unsuccessfully completing a task or not mastering a skill as quickly as the old man would have liked.
As Sunny took the steps to the nursery two at a time, he heard a muffled sound. He paused to listen more carefully. There it was again, the sound unmistakable. He sighed. One of the brats was sniveling. Looking heavenward, he suppressed the urge to curse Uncle Abel, the man who’d landed him in this predicament. He only hesitated to condemn the man because Abel was the lone relation that Sunny could actually abide. Or he had been until he’d insisted upon depositing the brats and the harridan on the ducal doorstep.
The sound grew louder, the sobs heavy and heartfelt. He followed the curved staircase until the source of the crying came into view. Prudence sat at the top of the stairs, her little form hunched against the wall, sobbing as though someone had stolen her warm bath.
He looked up at her. “Why are you doing that?”
Her sparse little brows came together. “Doing what?” She hiccuped through her tears.
“Sniveling and carrying on so.”
“Waaa!” Her sobs became more pitiful. “I wanna go home.”
“If only that were possible, but it’s not, so we must make the best of things. We are stuck with each other and that’s that.”
“I wan
t my doll’s house!”
“What doll’s house?”
“The one we had to leave in Cornwall because there wasn’t space in the carriage to bring it with us.”
“Oh?” This was the first he’d heard of any such thing. “And were you very fond of this doll’s house?”
“It was three floors tall and had beautiful furniture, and it was blue and pink and green.”
“I see,” he said absently, supremely bored with the conversation.
The urchin seemed to notice. “Uncle Abel was nice to us. You hate us.”
“I don’t hate you. I just think you and your sister are a nuisance.”
She blinked big, silver pathetic eyes up at him. “Nobody wants us. Not Uncle Abel. Not you. I wish my mama and papa hadn’t gone away. They would want us.”
Sunny thought of the girls’ mother enjoying the high life somewhere while he was saddled with her brats. “I doubt that.”
“What do you mean? Izzy says our mama and papa would love us very, very much.”
Sunny let out a long, irritated breath. If only he hadn’t taken it upon himself to come up to the nursery. Had he summoned Finch to his study, this messy little scene could have been avoided. He came up the final few steps and settled beside Prudence on the landing.
“I suppose it’s possible your parents would have adored you, but in my experience, mothers and fathers don’t take much interest in their children.”
“Did you know your mama and papa?”
“Yes, I certainly did.”
“Was it wonderful to live with them?” she asked wistfully.
“Not particularly. I saw them for a few minutes a day, and I was always rather relieved when it was over.”
“Truly?” She seemed to doubt him.
“Absolutely. Dukes sire children not because they like having brats about, but because they must have sons to continue the family line and ensure the title never dies.”
