“Ashley,” Sophia began. The duke held up one finger to shush her. He was one with his ducal greatness in that moment, commanding and dominant. It was the first time he’d ever looked dangerous to her. Sophia bit her lip to keep from speaking. He motioned to Anne and she ran forward. Then he caught her up in his arms and turned away without a word, murmuring soft words to her.
“How much did he see?” Sophia asked softly of Marcus.
“All of it, I’m afraid.”
Eighteen
Ashley cradled his sleeping daughter’s head on his shoulder as he dismounted. He could have passed her off to the groom who met him, but he would have to give her up to do so. He would have to lose the warmth that was her and give it to someone else, and he wasn’t prepared to do so. Not when he’d just found her.
His mind was a muddle of thoughts. He must be a bacon-brained idiot to believe what he’d just seen was real. He’d watched as Sophia, his Sophia, blew some sparks into the air. Then, with a simple command, she’d made them come to life. It was like watching glimmery, shiny actors upon a stage. Yet they were depictions of what was in the children’s heads. Or thoughts she was putting into their heads. He couldn’t tell which. He must be bound for Bedlam. There was no way that what he’d seen could have been real. Maybe it was a manifestation of his worried mind.
Anne snorted and drooled upon his shoulder as he walked up the steps of the Hall. He glanced down at her. Her face was streaked with dirty tear tracks, and her hair was a scraggly mess. She desperately needed a wash and a pretty, clean dress.
Ashley walked through the door and was immediately accosted by the sight of his mother arguing with Wilkins. Arguing. A duchess and a butler barking at one another without a care for their positions or their consequence. Perhaps Ashley had slipped into some other realm where things weren’t as they were supposed to be. His mother he could understand. Wilkins did things to intentionally provoke her. But Sophia… He didn’t understand what had just happened with Sophia at all.
“I will have the two of you thrown into the dungeons if you don’t stop that bickering.” The duchess’s mouth dropped open. “Together,” he barked. “I will force the two of you to share a space not more than eight paces wide until you learn to get along.” His mother opened her mouth to contradict him, but then she saw Anne there on his shoulder.
“You found her!” she cried, as her eyes filled with tears. His mother could provoke tears at will, but perhaps these were genuine? It was impossible to tell. “Is she all right?”
“A little dirty, but otherwise fine,” Ashley said. “Wilkins, call for a bath for her,” he instructed as he started for the stairs.
“Yes, Your Grace,” the stoic older man said with a bow.
“Yes, Your Grace,” his mother mimicked in a singsong voice. “Why does he get ‘Yes, Your Grace’ while I get no respect at all?” She pointed a finger at the butler and jabbed it into his chest.
Wilkins grabbed the offending finger and opened his mouth to snipe back, but Ashley interjected, “The dungeons, I vow.”
They both pursed their lips tightly together and regarded one another with annoyed expressions. The duchess jerked her hand from the butler’s grip, and Wilkins colored slightly to find that he’d still been holding it.
“The bath?” Ashley called behind him.
The duchess bustled up the stairs toward him and held out her arms. “Let me take her. I’ll see to her bath and put her to bed. The poor thing is exhausted.” Ashley reluctantly handed her over. His mother had never shown a spark of maternal kindness toward Anne. He feared rebuking her for the mere fact that she might never offer again. He eased Anne into her arms. And smiled as she nestled into his mother’s warm grasp.
Ashley had several matters to attend to. First, there was a governess who’d allowed Anne to run away. Then, there was the matter of Sophia and the nonsensical happenings with her. Lastly, but not least, he had to find Finn. Finn had a head for riddles and finding lost truths. He’d wanted to research Sophia Thorne since he’d met her. Ashley would finally let him.
A startled maid jumped back against the wall as he stormed past in the corridor. He didn’t slow his stride.
“Wilkins!” he called as he stormed through the door to his study.
The servant appeared within moments.
“Find Lord Phineas and send him to me. And find Miss Thorne and send her to me as well.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Wilkins said with a nod and he slipped soundlessly out the door.
Ashley sat back and rubbed the bridge of his sore nose. Damn, but that did hurt. He tried to recount the events of the evening. He’d made an offer of marriage to Sophia Thorne. Then his daughter had run away. Then he’d witnessed some unbelievable act that was too ludicrous to be explained in any rational manner. He rubbed across his nose again without any thought and grimaced. That bloody well hurt, by God.
A moment later, Finn strode into the room. “You bellowed?” he said, his voice droll and lifeless as he dropped into a chair across from Ashley.
“I did not bellow,” Ashley groused.
“I dare to differ, Robin,” Finn contradicted. “I happen to have been bellowed at enough that I can tell a bellow from a friendly call.”
“I’ll be friendly with you later. Good God, you’d think I were a bit o’ muslin you wanted to coerce into spending time with you. I’m not. I’m the bloody Duke of Robinsworth, for God’s sake.” His voice slashed like a whip across the room. A whip that moved too quickly for him to call it back. He reached for his nose in frustration and bit out a curse when it hurt.
Finn’s eyes opened wide. “Well, by God, Robin, it’s about time.” His brother began to clap his hands in a very sarcastic manner.
“About time for what?” Ashley asked, air escaping him like from a great big balloon when he sighed.