Edmund reared back in his father’s arms. “Papa, Ellen has set my table just like Bassick does yours. I am now about to begin my third course. It’s a fish course.” He twisted in the duke’s arms. “Isn’t that right, Ellen? Didn’t you say I was to pretend you were serving me baked sea bass?”
“That’s right, Lord Edmund. It’s Mrs. Dent’s recipe and quite delicious.” “Ellen is my butler,” Lord Edmund said. The duke noticed that Edmund’s normally rather shy nurse, Ellen, all of nineteen years old, daughter of a local seamstress, was wearing a black coat, probably one loaned to her by Bassick, the sleeves rolled up. She’d fashioned a napkin around her neck to resemble a cravat. “Does he use the correct silverware yet, Ellen?” “He is all that is brilliant, your grace.” “Papa, what’s wrong?”
“I’m debating whether or not to become ill. You, brilliant, Edmund? That’s a thought that has never crossed my mind.”
“Oh, he is, your grace,” Ellen said, then quickly stepped three steps back. He intimidated her, he knew it, although he did his best not to. She’d done well until just now. The duke smiled at her, even as he hugged his son again. “If you believe it to be true, Ellen, then I won’t argue.”
The duke felt memories flow over him and into him each time he came into the Chesleigh nursery. It was the most important room of the castle, not the great entry hall downstairs. No, here in the Chesleigh nursery, every single generation of Chesleigh boys and girls had spent their formative years. When Edmund had begun his lessons the year before, the duke had had the large room repainted and papered in the colors and patterns Edmund himself had picked out of the pattern books. Each occupant of the nursery had left his and her own stamp. The duke’s mark was the beautifully carved bookshelf in the far corner, his initials proudly etched onto the underside of the top shelf. He’d worked nearly a year on that bookshelf, staining it until he’d finally achieved the particular fluid shade of brown he’d wanted. His father and mother had praised him endlessly.
He strode across the long, carpeted expanse toward his son’s dining table, which Ellen had pushed into a place of honor in front of the fireplace. He set his son down and watched him walk to his chair at the head of the table, standing still until Ellen could pull it out for him. He looked serious and somewhat abstracted. The duke wondered if his son was trying to ape him. Actually, he realized that it was exactly what his own father had done, and probably his father before him. He saw Bassick’s fine hand in this. When Edmund selected the proper fork, he looked up at his father, his dark eyes shining with excitement.
The duke grinned at Ellen. “It is rather brilliant. You’re absolutely right, Ellen.”
His five-year-old son began to carefully cut a pastry that Cook had shaped like a slice of fish. He then took a bite, chewed slowly, and nodded thoughtfully. “It’s excellent, my good man. Please give my compliments to Cook.”
He had even achieved the duke’s own tone. It was frightening and comforting at the same time. My good man? Where the devil had his son heard that? Continuity, the duke thought, it was yet another example of continuity. Ellen abandoned her pose long enough to hug Edmund. He imagined she loved his son more than had Edmund’s own mother. No, he wouldn’t think about Marissa. It gained naught to do so.
“While you dispatch your sea bass, let me tell you that Bassick informed me that you rode Pansy this afternoon.”
Lord Edmund offered his father a glass of pretend wine, then took a pretend sip of his own from a very nice wine goblet. “Yes, sir, Grimms and I explored the beach after we brought Pansy back to the stable. We built a castle with turrets and a moat. Grimms said we would consider the tide to be William the Conqueror and his soldiers. We watched the castle disappear from where we were standing on the cliff path. Nothing was left when William was done with it.”
The duke squatted down to his son’s eye level. The tide doesn’t have a man’s brain, Edmund. It destroys, nothing more. Were you or I to at
tack the castle, we wouldn’t want to destroy it. We’d want to capture it. We’d want to rebuild it and have our people work it and grow fat and prosperous. Now, I have a surprise for you. We have a guest.”
“Is it Phillip?”
“No, it isn’t Phillip Mercerault. He’s at Dinwitty Manor with his new wife. Her name’s Sabrina, and you’ll like her. She could lead a cavalry charge.”
“I didn’t think ladies could be soldiers.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant that she’s brave and she’s got guts. You know Phillip, a lady would have to know strategies to deal well with him.”
“Is it Drew?”
“No, it isn’t Drew. Now, before we spend the next three hours guessing, let me tell you that it’s a lady and you’ve never met her. She is your mama’s cousin.
Her name is—” He broke off, feeling like a fool. He had no idea what her first name was. “You will call her Madame de la Valette. Perhaps if you’re really nice, she will tell you her first name.” “She sounds foreign, Papa.” “She’s only half foreign. She’s really quite English. You’ll see. Now, I must change for dinner. I will bring her along tomorrow morning to meet you. Ellen, do have him presentable for his cousin.” “Yes, your grace.” “I don’t have a choice, Papa?” “No, Edmund, you don’t.”
Edmund looked resigned. “She’ll want to pat me on the head and try to look interested in me. Worse, she’ll want to kiss me and whisper sweet things to me.”
“If you’re worthy of interest, then she will be interested. If you’re not worthy of interest, then she will doubtless be polite, nothing more. Now, don’t be impertinent.”
“Is she as pretty as Ellen or Grandmama?” Ellen gasped at this. “Perhaps,” the duke said. “You will have to decide for yourself.”
“Well, I know she can’t be as pretty as Rohan’s mother. She’s the most beautiful lady in all the world.”
That was probably true, the duke thought, thinking of Charlotte Carrington, Rohan Carrington’s mother, who was, indeed, a goddess, a glorious creature, a Venus in English clothing. He’d heard Charlotte had given Sabrina eye lessons so she could flirt with her husband. “Go to your fourth course, Edmund.” He gave his son a pat on the shoulder, nodded to Ellen, and left the nursery.
* * *
Truth be told, Evangeline hadn’t been the least bit hungry, not after stuffing Cook’s delicious pastries into her mouth, but the food she’d managed to nibble on had been beyond anything she’d ever eaten in her life. “It was delicious, your grace. Your cook is a genius with veal. Actually, I begin to believe she’s a genius with everything.” Evangeline sat back in her chair with a sated sigh and wiped her fingers on a napkin.
“Thank you. Bassick, please convey Madame’s compliments to Cook. Would you care for a bit of sherry?” He heard nearly the same words coming out of his son’s small mouth. He smiled down the table at her.
Evangeline gulped. That smile, she thought. It should be outlawed. No man should be allowed to smile at a hapless woman like that. She carefully watched Bassick pour sherry into a delicate crystal goblet.
The duke dismissed Bassick. “I won’t need you any more tonight, Bassick. I know you and Mrs. Raleigh play whist on Tuesday nights. You must keep our male dignity intact. I expect you to win.”