“She’s taking good care of herself,” Carruthers said. “She, Patience, and Pru are very much in one another’s pockets.”
While Noah had removed to Kent, with the bride who hadn’t trusted him until it was too late. The bride he did not trust, rather.
“Your papa must be pleased,” Noah managed. “Congratulations, and if anything happens to my youngest sister, I will geld you.”
“And Wilson and James?”
Well, of course. “Them too. I gather Prudence is also on the nest?”
“I think the ladies planned it this way,” Carruthers said as Park Lane came into view. “When you announced your intention to go bride hunting, they all grew quiet, and affectionate. Wilson and James noticed the same thing. More affectionate even than usual.”
“Women.” And sisters, turning up more affectionate than usual, causing Noah to wish his marriage were different. Thea would enjoy a hack through the park first thing in the day, and she’d look very fetching on her mare too.
“You’ll be next, won’t you, Anselm?” Carruthers had to nudge his horse again. “That was the purpose of the marriage, as I recall. Time to set up the nursery, see to the succession, but if you’re visiting Henny, perhaps there’s trouble in paradise already.”
If Carruthers were speculating, then Noah’s situation was hopeless, because unlike James and Patience, Heath and Penelope had no discretion. They discussed everything with each other.
“Tell me, Carruthers, has James been bearing tales?” James, Noah’s oldest and dearest friend. Impending fatherhood apparently made traitors of otherwise good men.
“Tales about you? Of course not, but Penny is worried for her oldest brother, and she’s off in corners with Patience and Pru. I’d be least in sight if I were you. Maybe time to visit the holdings in Cardiff with the new duchess, if you know what I mean.”
Cardiff would mean days in a coach, with Thea dozing by Noah’s side. Thea’s feet in his lap. Thea sharing the wild, beautiful Welsh vistas with him…
“I’m lucky all three sisters aren’t camped on my doorstep right now,” Noah said. “Lucky, and fortunate in my brothers-in-law.”
Carruthers waggled a gloved finger. “See that you never forget it, Anselm, and heed me when I tell you now isn’t the time to be crying on Henny’s milk-white shoulders.”
They were actually freckled shoulders, and a trifle mannish in their breadth, not like Thea, whose proportions were feminine perfection itself.
“I dropped in on Henny to gather information on Grantley,” Noah said. “It’s time to buy the boy’s vowels and bring him to heel.”
Carruthers’s horse chose that moment to come to a complete stop, lift its tail, and leave a steaming pile of manure at the park’s entrance.
“Even Horatio has no respect for Grantley,” Carruthers said as the gelding toddled on. “One fears for a young buck without anyone to reel him in from time to time. I well recall those uncomfortable lectures from the marquess—temperance, dignity, economy, family name, and all that.”
In his turn, Carruthers would deliver the same pointless lectures to his own son.
“Because you are the spare,” Noah said, “I’m sure the occasional admonition to marry found its way into the quarterly sermons.”
Grantley was of age. Why hadn’t he contracted marriage with some sweet, young, well-dowered thing?
“Papa never harped on marriage.” Carruthers’s nonchalant tone belied the sensitivity of the topic. “The marquess has always expected my older brother to find a bride, regardless that Owen states clearly he will not.”
Because Owen had left-handed tendencies, as was known to all save the man’s own father.
“You’ll not outrank me even if you inherit,” Noah said. “Make sure my sister is reminded of that fact regularly.”
“She outclasses you, old man, and always will.”
“Besotted,” Noah spat. “On the nest and besotted, the bleeding lot of you.” He cantered off, Carruthers’s happy laughter ringing in his ears.
* * *
Thea took herself to her bedroom, the only private space she could reliably find in Wellspring’s rambling interior. She needed solitude and a sense of Noah’s presence to recover from Harlan’s disclosure.
Harlot.
She curled up on Noah’s side of the bed, felt the impact of the word physically, felt the biblical enormity of the scorn it embodied. If not for ladies Bransom and Handley, that vile word would have been applied to her.
Should have been, or so she’d thought at the time.
Thea clutched a pillow to her middle, though it was little comfort compared to Noah’s strong arm about her waist.
She’d had years to consider her past, years to watch how little Polite Society did to prepare its daughters for times when no chaperone was on hand. Such moments were inevitable, when even the most protected of young women might dash off to the retiring room between sets to have a hem mended.
Thea was struck anew with how audacious—how desperate—she’d been to accept Noah’s offer of marriage. She’d become his duchess, and Noah’s consequence would be enough to protect Nonie, in even unguarded moments.
For the first time, Thea realized that Noah’s consequence would protect her too.
His consequence would protect her, as would Noah himself.
To the extent that she could, Thea would protect Noah as well.
She rolled off the bed, smoothed over the wrinkles on the counterpane, and made her way to the third floor.
Thea approved of Noah raising his illegitimate daughters under his own roof, where they’d be safe and watched over, where they’d learn a sense of their value in the duke’s eyes.
No wonder he summered here, and had Harlan do likewise. Harlan was his heir, for the present, and the girls’ protection would rest on Harlan’s shoulders in Noah’s absence.
Thea made a quick stop in the conservatory, where Erikson assured her he enjoyed the visits from the girls, and was already using the time to bring botanical matters to their notice.
“They love the flowers as Anselm does,” Erikson said. “So we learn about the flowers together, and thus they become little scientists. My uncle was the same with my brother and sister. We learn by enthusiasm and example, and his enthusiasm was catching.”
The vanilla orchid’s scent blended with the earthy, herbal aromas of the laboratory to create a fragrance both peculiar and exotic.
What had Noah learned from the example of his profligate progenitors?
“Your enthusiasm is contagious too,” Thea said to the bespectacled Erikson, “though small children can be taxing, even when fascinated with their lessons. Do you speak in your native language to your flowers?”
Thea couldn’t quite refer to them as beauties, though the rest of the Winters family apparently did.
Erikson’s expression turned thoughtful. “I think my tone of voice matters to them, not my language. Why?”
“Might you also share some Dutch with the girls?”
“Tea words, my aunt called them. Please and thank you, good day, and how do you do? I can start them off on tea words, and when we are chattering in Dutch, maybe then some French?”
Exactly how Thea’s governess had eased her into French. “They’ll like the Dutch, because they’ll share it with you and your beauties.”
When Thea took her leave, Erikson was beaming as if she’d told him the Regent sought a Royal Botanist of Dutch extraction.
In the nursery, she found Nini and Evvie were napping, an unusual occurrence, but not unheard of, and that gave her the chance to ask Davies and Maryanne what exactly the girls were studying.
“A bit of this and that,” Maryanne said. “More to keep them out of trouble than anything else.”
Which scheme was meeting with mixed results, apparently.
“His Grace trusts us,” Davies added, exchanging a glance with Maryanne. “We take good care of the girls, and they’re good girls.”
The nursery maids also took care of a prodigiously nutritious tea tray, the remains of which would have made Harlan several nice snacks.
“I’d say Evvie and Nini are very good girls,” Thea replied, helping herself to a ginger biscuit. “Though staying up here all day is confining to their minds and their bodies. Do they have ponies?”
“That’s just it, Your Grace.” Davies’s expression grew earnest, and she and Maryanne were still finishing each other’s sentences, and trading impatient glances thirty minutes later.
“We thought about writing to Lady Patience,” Davies said when Maryanne let her get a word in, “but she might take it amiss, you know? She does dote on the duke something fierce. The girls have needed a guiding hand, and His Grace already provides them so much, but they’re girls, and he’s, well, he’s Anselm.”
Except for those moments when he was Noah, stealing Thea’s tea or lending her his cat.
Thea appropriated a second ginger biscuit, the last on the tray. “One comprehends the difficulty. Did you two teach them to read?”
“They just picked it up,” Maryanne said. “I don’t have much reading, though Davies has her letters. His Grace reads them bedtime stories, or he used to, and they’d cuddle up, one on each side, and he’d ask them to pick out words, and that sort of thing. They’re frightfully bright.”
Another Winters family trait.
“And the little one, Nini,” Davies said around a mouthful of tea cake, “she can mimic anything you say, while our Evvie has a wonderful eye. They need a drawing master, and it isn’t too soon to start them on the pianoforte.”
“Make me a list,” Thea said, as “I’m awake now” rang out from the next room. “A list of supplies and subjects. You’ve both done yeoman duty, but we need a governess, at least, if not a governess and some tutors. Surely we have a drawing master in the area, and a music teacher. His Grace will see the need, and it will be addressed.”
Noah would see the need when Thea pointed it out to him, which she would do immediately upon his return from Town.
“Yes, Your Grace,” they chorused, but as Thea retraced her steps to the main staircase, she realized what neither maid had said. Evvie and Nini were little girls, but they were illegitimate little girls, and their welcome could not be assured, even on the rolls of a piano teacher’s students.
Noah had dealt with such complications now for years as best he could.
For the next phase in his campaign, however, he needed a wife. A lady to call upon the neighbors, to take the girls shopping in the village, to sit with them at services and stare down the small-minded bigots of the shire. Noah’s wealth and title could do a great deal, but some doors only a determined lady could open.
And Thea was nothing if not a very determined lady.
Twelve
“Jesus spare me,” Timotheus Collins groaned into his pillow. “Not you again.”
“Be warned, Grantley: your sisters are not underfoot to intercede for you,” Noah replied. “Are you trying for the dissipated scoundrel look, or living the part in truth?”
If anything, the boy looked worse—man, rather. Grantley was again sprawled on his counterpane in all his skinny, naked glory. His eyes were sunken, his hair greasy, and his chin sported at least a day’s growth of dark whiskers.
“For the love of God, go away.” Grantley hunched into his pillow, then his head came up, and he turned bleary eyes on Noah. “Thea’s all right?”
“A glimmer of brotherly concern,” Noah observed to the room at large. “Thea thrives in my care, and Lady Antoinette is similarly enjoying my sister’s hospitality not three streets over in the direction of Mayfair. I take it you have no valet?”
A knock on the door interrupted Grantley’s reply, and then Hirschman trouped in, rolling a large copper tub before him.
“Water’s nice and hot,” he said. “Morning, Master Tims.”
“Thank you, Hirschman. His lordship will need strong tea in addition to his bath,” Noah said. “Where’s his shaving kit?”
“I’m awake.” Grantley swirled the sheets over his nakedness, then lay flat on his back and closed his eyes. “I’d rather not be, but I am awake, which suggests I’m alive too.”
“You’re still drunk,” Noah said as Hirschman emptied buckets into the tub, “and you’re the worse for it. This is a particular folly of young fellows, but you’ve been down from university long enough to outgrow it. Out of bed, now.”
“Go to hell.” Grantley rolled over and buried his head under his pillow.
Noah used a riding crop to swat his lordship on his backside through the sheets. Thea had asked him to look in on Tims, after all.
“For shame, your lordship,” Noah said. “You have company, and you are not displaying your company manners.”
“Holy perishing saints.” Grantley rubbed his posterior and he sat up. “In what jungle did Thea find you, and how soon can we ship you back there?”
Noah slashed his crop through the air, as if testing a foil at Angelo’s. “A spark of wit, however feeble. Out of bed with you, now.”
“Out of bed with you, my lord,” Noah’s host muttered, slogging to the edge of the bed. When Grantley gained his feet, he dropped back onto the mattress like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
“Does your lordship need the basin?”
“I need the damned room to hold still.”
Hirschman reappeared with the tea tray, and while more buckets were added to the tub, Noah poured tea down Grantley’s skinny gullet. Thank goodness Thea wasn’t here to see her brother in all his disgrace, for she was a good sister, and she’d be more concerned than outraged.
Three cups later, Grantley scrubbed a hand over his face. “What’s all this in aid of?”
This exercise was in aid of Noah’s matrimonial good will. “We are family now. Your days of useless fribbling are over. You have responsibilities.”
Grantley hoisted himself back against the pillows. “I most assuredly do not. I have sense enough not to be getting bastards all over the place, like certain other people I could name.”
“We are not discussing certain other people, we are discussing you, and you might be surprised to learn you are Lady Nonie’s legal guardian.” For the present, in any case.
Grantley blinked, then blinked again. “I am about to be sick.”
“You are not,” Noah shot back. “Get your arse into that tub and close your eyes.”
On unsteady feet, Grantley complied, more falling into the water than sitting in it. His eyes slammed shut, and if Noah hadn’t shoved a hot cup of tea into his hand, he’d no doubt have gone right back to sleep.
Charming. And this malodorous, inebriated stripling had been Thea’s source of masculine protection?
“Now, your lordship, you will attend me.”
“I’m attending.” Grantley kept his eyes closed. “Might I have more tea while I’m being tormented with your pontifications?”
“You are worse than your older sister,” Noah pronounced. “With respect to Lady Nonie, you are an outright disgrace. She had not one dress that fit, much less one that was acceptable for making calls. She had no gloves that hadn’t been stitched, and no mount suitable for hacking in the park. Were you thinking she’d not live to turn eighteen?”
“I won’t live to see her turn eighteen. My thanks for the tea.”
Somebody—Thea, no doubt—had put the manners on Grantley, which was fortunate, for he appeared without other redeeming features.
“Drink it,” Noah snapped, “and then get busy with the soap, for there’s a deal of you in need of a thorough scrubbing. I am prepared to provide a home for Lady Antoinette, and Thea and my sisters can see to her come-out next year.”
Grantley set his teacup aside, the saucer and cup clattering in his unsteady grip. “That’s all right then, if Thea’s taking Nonie in hand.”
“You are their brother. You were in no shape to review Thea’s settlements, were you? Have you even read them yet?”
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“Been a bit busy.” Grantley sank lower into the water, then grunted when Noah fired a hard-milled bar of French soap at his chest.
“You don’t know busy, Grantley. I have three sisters, and they all required launching. You will call on Lady Nonie this afternoon, you will drive her in the park tomorrow, and you will take her to visit my sisters Prudence and Penelope by week’s end. You will take her shopping on the Strand by Saturday.”
Grantley stared at the soap, which bore a strong scent of lavender. “In daylight?”
“Civilized society conducts most of its business in daylight,” Noah replied. “Now dunk.” He emphasized his command by shoving Grantley’s head under the water and holding him there for an instant.
“You bloody bastard…” Grantley came sputtering up, flailing for a towel. Noah slapped a dollop of soft soap—rose was such a lovely scent—onto his palm instead.
“Your hair reeks,” Noah said. “Wash it thoroughly, or I’ll wash it for you.”
Grantley complied, while Noah rummaged in the wardrobe for clean clothes. Mrs. Wren’s sense of duty was to be commended, for at least his lordship had decent linen.
Noah laid the clothes on the bed and stalked over to the tub. “I’ll rinse you off, assuming you can stand unaided.” He poured the rinse water over Grantley’s head, taking care not to splash on the floor. By the time Noah had finished, Grantley was shivering, naked, and a great deal more sober than he had been.
“Close the bloody window, for God’s sake,” Grantley muttered, belting the robe Noah tossed at him. “Do you want me to catch a lung fever?”
“This room reeks,” Noah said. “Your life reeks, and lung fever would be a mercy, if it would give you time to grasp the extent of your own folly. Now, you may eat something.”
“Couldn’t possibly.”
Noah passed him a plain piece of toast. “A show of petulance isn’t the same thing as a display of spirit. Eat.”
“I do hate you,” Grantley said, eyeing the toast. “Some dark night, you’ll hear a twig snap behind you, and that will be your only warning I’ve come to exact my revenge.”
Noah suppressed a smile from long practice dealing with Nini and Evvie.
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