by Quinn, Paula
He’d reached the nursery floor. He could tell because of the chatter of children, and the soft voices of servants talking.
Lifting the latch, he pushed open the door to the schoolroom when he heard the voices of children inside.
His daughters were busy with their lessons so, after a nod and a smile, he left them to their governess. He made a point not to interfere with their studies.
Then he passed on to the nursery.
A charming scene met his gaze. The room was large and airy, but a generous fire burning in the grate kept off the chill. Two boys sat in a rug before the gated fire, a set of toy soldiers spread between them. By the fire, shielded from its direct heat, was a cradle on a stand. The sight of a pink fist was barely visible over the woven fabric tucked around the baby. Drawn by the sight, Harry made for the cot, but was interrupted.
A maid curtseyed and smiled, avoiding his direct gaze, as a good servant should. Personally, Harry didn’t like that, but he found difficulty breaking a well-trained servant of the habit. And this was not his servant, so he had no right to demand it. She must be one of the nursery maids the Dersinghams had brought.
“Your grace,” she murmured, and waited, hands folded demurely before her.
“Please don’t let me interrupt. Attend to your duties.” He didn’t like that rocking cradle left on its own. They had been known to tip. He crossed to the child. “This is Lady Eleanor?” he asked the maid.
“Yes, your grace.”
“How old is she?”
“Just over a year, your grace.”
“A fine child.” The baby barely fit in the crib. A bonny child, one that any mother would be proud of. Or any father. The baby pursed her lips. She would wake up soon.
The door to an inner room opened. “Nurse, isn’t it time Eleanor woke?”
Harry lifted his eyes to meet Matilda’s clear green ones. “Madam.”
She dropped a perfunctory curtsey. “Your grace.”
Damn. He preferred to hear her say Harry, but he could hardly chastise her here. However, he could castigate her for something else. “You should be in bed, resting.”
Matilda lifted her left hand, which had been obscured by the folds of her gown.
Apparently, Matilda Cathcart preferred the more vivid colors in fashion. But he had to admit, she carried them well. The white gown with bright yellow stripes suited her much better than the shabby old clothes she’d worn earlier. But she still should not be out of bed, despite the silver-topped malacca cane in one hand.
“After I’d bathed, the swelling went down. It’s merely a twist, and I’ll be completely recovered by the morning. If you had not been there, I’d probably be lying there still, so I am grateful to you, sir, for your timely arrival.”
The boys sprang up. With cries of “Aunt Matilda!”, they greeted her with boisterousness. “You said you would take us snowballing,” the youngest said, sticking out his lower lip in a pout.
“But the snow started up again,” Matilda replied.
“George, do you not notice? Aunt Matilda has hurt herself,” the oldest boy reprimanded his brother. Already their nascent personalities were evident, the oldest more cautious and studied, the younger a more vigorous version.
“Oh!” George examined the cane. “I thought it was another of your fashions, Aunt.”
Matilda laughed, and damn if the sound wasn’t as charming as the rest of her. Harry should really not be thinking this way, but he couldn’t help the leap of his spirit, not to mention certain parts of his anatomy, when he was with her.
His reaction was wholly inappropriate and for all he knew, unwelcome, but he had no intention of backing off until she ordered it. Until then, he’d continue to seek her company. She amused him, and aroused him, and he was too honest to deny it.
Her delicate face was enhanced by her simple hairstyle. A long braid was wound around her head, a tiny scrap of lace doing duty as a cap perched on top. Her nose was aristocratically long, her lips fine, but pink and softly inviting. For a “‘dried-up spinster”, to quote certain spiteful members of society, she was very well preserved. He would tell her so if he had the chance. Perhaps not in those terms, though.
So she enjoyed fashionable clothes, did she? He had a few gifts in his room, meant as small Christmas gifts. A judicious rearrangement was in order. But he wouldn’t have to think about that yet. It was but the day before Christmas Eve, and Advent still reigned. Tomorrow, holly and ivy would appear, together with hothouse flowers and fruit, and more of that mistletoe that had been his undoing. If he hadn’t found that berry stuck to her clothes, he might not have kissed her. That would have been a shame.
“It is a fashion, George,” she told her great-nephew, “but it’s also helping me to walk while my ankle hurts. I’ll be perfectly well tomorrow. If the snow has stopped, we may go out then. In the meantime, I must go down to dinner, but I wanted to see you both first.” She glanced at Harry, but he was content to watch her. “Have you seen your mother recently?”
“She took a rest,” William said. “She said she was a little tired.”
Matilda sighed. “Oh, dear. She will recover soon, I am sure.” She turned her attention to Harry but kept hold of George’s hand.
Why was she not married and a mother? Surely she’d have received offers. True, she was from the City, but men appreciated quality there just as they did in his world.
She smiled at the little girl in the cot, who had woken, and was blinking at the world.
“Annie should be down in the drawing room by now. I’d prefer her to have an early night, but she heard you had returned, so she wants to be there. I do what I can to help, but she has many more attendants than she used to.”
He nodded. “My wife was much the same. My two girls are older than these two, but I still remember her exhaustion. It was one of the early signs that she was expecting.”
“How old are your daughters, may I ask?”
He smiled. “Annabella is fourteen and Margery is eleven.”
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. He wanted to know what she was about to say. “No, don’t hold back. Tell me.”
Matilda went to the door and sighed at the slab of wood as if it had offended her. Then she turned back. “It’s of no matter. Please excuse me, your grace.”
“Allow me to escort you downstairs.”
“I think you’ve done enough escorting for one day.”
He reached the door and put his hand on the panel, close to hers. “Not nearly enough.”
After nodding to the children and the nursery maid, he opened the door for Matilda and followed her through, not giving her a chance to get away. He offered her his arm, and she was forced to take it, or spurn it and risk offending him.
“You were about to remind me of my purpose here, were you not?”
“Ah, I am sure it’s none of my concern.” She tilted her chin in the air, just like a proper duchess. Cit’s daughters had a way about them, an independence of spirit Harry liked very much.
“Then let me remind you. You are here so that I may meet your nieces-by-marriage, in case I should take a fancy to them. Not because they might take a fancy to me, you understand.”
She stared straight ahead. “Indeed, your grace.”
“Harry,” he reminded her. “And for now, in public, sir rather than your grace, if you please.”
She gave a nod, but still didn’t look at him.
The stairs were wide enough for them to go down side by side. He watched her carefully, in case her ankle pained her more than she cared to admit. He wouldn’t be surprised if it did. Matilda didn’t strike him as the kind of person who lingered over an injury, however severe it might be.
Amber earrings hung from each lobe, swaying gently as she walked, catching the light like golden tears. She should have diamonds, although the amber suited her well. He’d like to give them to her.
Perhaps he should have gone to more society events last season. He’d have met her
then.
She moved with the grace of someone who had worked for it and made it part of her nature. “Do you like my house?” he asked abruptly.
He had to talk about something, otherwise he might forget his manners and demand another kiss from her, if only to assure himself that the first was some kind of aberration.
She smiled, as if she knew what he was thinking. “I’m not entirely ignorant of good living. However, perhaps the situation is somewhat different. When we visited the house Gerald inherited, we found a perfect house in perfect order. Most lowering. We’re used to chaos and life. No doubt, it will change as time goes on, but we are striving to make it a little less perfect. Your house is just as perfect.”
Now he had to smile. He understood what she meant. “My house has been part of our family for centuries, and you can tell. We have the state rooms, of course. They are the permanently perfect parts, but the family rooms are somewhat different.”
“That was the problem. The family rooms were as perfect as the rest of it, as if they lived their lives permanently on display.” He could tell she was only beginning to warm to her subject, and he settled in to listening. “The treasures in them made us afraid to move anything, or to treat them as our own, but we’re learning. The servants are most cooperative, I have to admit.”
“Let me show you the family rooms sometime,” he said. “Just so that you may assure yourself they are not too precious to use.”
They turned into the wide corridor leading to the drawing room. Light glowed in from the last rays of the sun, warming the area. So maybe the changed light rather than his words had brought the color to her cheeks.
“Thank you.”
“I thought it enhanced by your presence.” He was speaking the truth. That room had never shone to such advantage before.
She straightened her back, her chin going up. “You shouldn’t have been there. I don’t want to seem ungracious, but I could have managed to get there on my own. Carrying me past all the servants…”
She couldn’t have been looking where she was going, because she stumbled. Without thinking, he steadied her, clamping her arm against his body and reaching for her other arm to stop her tumbling.
Matilda pulled away, shooting him a glare.
They were close enough to hear voices murmuring in the drawing room. The footman waiting to open the door for them definitely saw what he’d done.
He bit his lip, tamping down his annoyance at himself. All he could think was that his concern for her safety overcame his sense of propriety. “I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly. “But I had no intention of seeing you crumple at my feet. That, Madam, would have been most discourteous of me.” He lowered his voice. “And I suspect your ankle is giving you more pain than you care to admit.” He had noticed her favoring her left side.
“My maid bound it for me,” she admitted, “but after tonight, I’m sure it will be fine. I was fortunate you were by when I fell, sir.”
He couldn’t help it; she made him chuckle. “How much did that admission cost you? No, don’t answer. I apologize for my curmudgeonly attitude. You bring out the worst in me, Matilda Cathcart. Or maybe the best. I don’t know. I hardly know myself.”
She glanced at him, but they had reached the drawing room and their brief time to themselves was over.
Chapter Five
As usual, few people took much notice of Matilda. Especially since she took care to drop back as soon as they had entered the drawing room. But they noticed the duke all right.
His sister greeted him with a smile and introduced him formally to everyone.
Fascinating to see how he changed with the company he was with. The man was a positive chameleon. He greeted Gerald and Annie with perfect graciousness and answered their inquiries about his adventure today. “I had not imagined the snow would come down so hard, but I am glad it did not prevent your arrival.”
He gave Gerald tacit permission to discuss the topic dearest to British hearts; the weather. They slipped into innocuous conversation. He greeted the Duke of Glenbreck and his new wife, Gerald’s sister, Damaris, with the greatest affability.
Gerald’s other two sisters curtseyed to him and received a bow in exchange. Matilda couldn’t be more proud of them if she’d brought them up herself. However, the boys who received that special attention from her were currently in the nursery, enjoying their own dinner. He’d already met them.
Annie greeted him as she did everyone, with a smile and a more elaborate curtsey. In the City, curtseys were abbreviated bobs, not the gracious gesture used by the aristocracy. If Cits stopped to do that to every acquaintance they met, they’d spend all day on the exercise. And they’d block the traffic, which nobody in the crowded square mile appreciated.
But Annie fit in well, without showing the obsequiousness some people expected. Soon, Matilda could consider leaving them to get on with her own life. Leaving Annie and the boys would be a blow, but she had to do it. Next season, she suspected the two remaining sisters would be snapped up. Their positions in society had been considerably bolstered by Damaris’ brilliant marriage. After all, that was why the Duke of Trensom was here.
If they all snatched dukes, that would be remarkable. Perhaps unprecedented. Not that Matilda cared for that. She wanted them to be happy, that was all. But society would care, it would care a lot.
“You’re smiling,” someone murmured next to her. “And it’s not a general social smile.”
“How would you know that?” she demanded of her niece’s husband.
Gerald raised a brow. “I’ve been watching you, Matilda Cathcart. I’ve known your type most of my life, and I can tell.”
And so could she. If Gerald thought she did not know his secret, he was sadly mistaken. Naturally, he had not discussed his problem with her, but why would he?
Gerald hated large groups of people, so much that he became agitated. Even here, with only two more people out of the family circle, she felt his nervousness. Perhaps he was thinking of the people to come.
Annie, bless her, had devised a stratagem. She approached the problem the way she approached her business; with a clear head and an aim in sight. Consequently, when he felt under stress, he absented himself. Moved from the center of attention to the margins. Annie had ordered him not to leave completely, but stand aside and watch instead of participating. And it was working. True, Gerald was getting a reputation as an elusive fellow, never in one place for long, but society knew worse. Much worse.
She turned her head to smile at him and caught the gaze of the Duke of Trensom. Blinking, she retrained her gaze to her original target, but she couldn’t forget that intensity, the power, the longing she saw there.
Impossible. She must be imagining things. Seeing what she wanted to see in him.
The Duke of Trensom seemed a completely different person to Harry, the man who’d caught her when she fell out of the tree. That man was smiling, affable, approachable. Everything this man was not. The Duke of Trensom was magnificently dressed, smelled of something expensive, probably a scent he had made for his exclusive use, and never smiled. He just brooded. He did speak, though, of politics and investments, discussing the affairs of mutual acquaintances, but never participating in gossip.
In short, a dead bore. Except for his appearance. No figured velvet could hide the powerful muscles Matilda had experienced firsthand, wrapped around her. And much though she knew she should forget that, she was determined not to. That brief, delicious sensation would remain with her for a long time. She’d make sure of it. Even a woman in control of her own destiny wanted to feel helpless once in a while. In the right circumstances, naturally.
If he hadn’t turned out to be such a stick, then he could have been the man.
She risked another look, planning to use Gerald as a shield. Flick a glance past him to the man standing just behind him.
Only he wasn’t there. Only the duke stood nearby, glowering at her. Before she could curb her unruly tongue, she s
aid, “What? Is there a smut on my nose?”
“Nothing that I can see,” he answered. But this close, she noted something she hadn’t when he was standing farther away; the gleam in his eyes that told her he’d noticed and he was waiting for her to say something else. Something to amuse him. And that wasn’t her imagination.
“I beg your pardon, your grace.” Circumspection, she reminded herself. She had to support the earldom, do the right thing. Help Annie and Gerald build their family anew.
Not literally, of course. They were doing that very well on her own. Annie was in the early stages of pregnancy, never an easy time for her, but she was doing her part. Matilda had to do hers.
But the duke wasn’t playing Matilda’s game. “Don’t do that. Don’t your grace me. After all, I know what lies under that delectable silk. Or at least, I’ve had a better guess at it than most.”
Matilda nearly choked, so she greeted Lady Comyn, who was stepping into the middle of the company, with relief.
“Because of the storm, we’re sadly depleted,” her ladyship said, smiling brightly. In total, there were eight guests; Annie and Gerald, Damaris and her duke, Dorcas, Delphi and Matilda herself. And the single guest of honor.
“I had the leaves taken out of the dining table,” Lady Comyn said, “So we may not be so formal. However, if you prefer, we can go in by rank.” She looked doubtfully at Trensom.
He gave the trace of a smile, barely there at all. “Not at all, ma’am. That storm will pass, and our guests will arrive,” he said.
Trensom offered his arm to Delphi, who laid her hand on it as if she were born to the role. She’d make an excellent duchess, just as Damaris had, given the chance. And Trensom was giving her every opportunity.
Matilda was left to keep Dorcas company. Normally, that would suit her fine. Today, she could only cast a wistful glance at the duke before she took her seat at the table. Lady Comyn took her place at the bottom.