Ducal Encounters 03 - Portrait of a Duke (12 page)

Sophia guffawed. “Ridiculous little man!”

“I wouldn’t mind quite so much if I thought he actually felt affection for me. As it is, he seemed to think he was making a sacrifice and that I ought to be grateful to him.”

“Hardly the best way to ingratiate himself.”

“That is what I wanted to tell him, but I somehow managed to restrain myself.”

Sophia sighed. “Now he will be even more dangerous, knowing what he does about this household and having his feelings hurt.”

“Yes, the same thought had occurred to me.”

“What shall we do?”

“I have absolutely no idea.” Nia stood up and followed Sophia to the bench Mr. Drake had been so anxious to share with her. “Hopefully Sean will return with encouraging news.”

“Don’t get your hopes too high.”

“We really are down to our last few pounds, you know.” Nia shook her head. “We shall have to do something, and soon.”

“The sketches of me.” Sophia’s expression brightened. “We shall sell them at auction. It is that simple.”

“Oh, Sophia, no!”

“At least let me get them out. We can look at them together and decide which ones will fetch the best prices. We may not need to sell them all.”

“Well, all right, get them out by all means.” Nia was beginning to accept that they really didn’t have any other choices. “I would like to see them again and admire your beauty. But I refuse to decide anything about them until Sean returns. It is not a decision I can take alone.”

“Of course not.” Sophia smiled at Nia. “Now, tell me all about your morning. Is the house as splendid as we have been led to believe?”

“You might soon be in a position to discover that for yourself.”

“How so?”

“Grandpapa, you and I have been invited to dine.”

“Goodness, are you sure the invitation includes me?” Nia nodded. “Well, that is very gracious of the duchess, but obviously I cannot go. I would be an embarrassment.”

“If Grandpapa goes, then you come too,” Nia replied firmly. “Frankie St. John has explained who you are and what…er, role you fulfil. If you imagine the duchess swooned at the knowledge then you have it all wrong. She is very modern in her views and I think she is fascinated at the thought of meeting you.”

Sophia flashed a wicked smile. “Not many duchesses think that way, although I have known a number of dukes in my time who most definitely do.”

“Oh, Sophia!”

“What of Lord Vincent?”

“What of him?”

“Don’t be difficult, Nia. You know precisely what it is that I wish to know. Affairs of the heart are, after all, my business and your coy attitude does not deceive me.”

“He invited the boys to ride, that is all. There is no affair of any kind involved, and nor will there ever be.”

“But you like him?” Sophia covered Nia’s hand with her own. “There is a connection between you?”

Nia laughed. “Now you are being unrealistic. I do like him, as a friend. We somehow got onto the subject of matrimony and I told him of my firm intention never to marry, which leaves us at leisure to be friends.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Stop laughing at me. You know I am serious. We have discussed the possibility of my marrying on enough occasions for you to be aware I intend to remain with Grandpapa, and you, if you don’t get tired of us. Lord Vincent now knows it too and has nothing to fear from me in the way that he probably does with most other unmarried ladies.”

“That must be a great relief to him.”

“Sophia, I’m warning you—”

“Sorry, darling. It is not my fault if I want to see you enjoy yourself for once without putting the welfare of others ahead of your own. You are too young to be so serious all the time.”

“And these weeds will not pull themselves,” Nia replied, crouching to return to her work.

“You ought to have withheld your answer from Drake, pretended to consider his proposal, and set him to work in the meantime.” Sophia fell to her knees beside Nia and grabbed at the first weed she saw. “This is definitely men’s work.”

Nia laughed. “I would rather weed a dozen gardens than give Mr. Drake the slightest encouragement.”

Sophia grimaced. “I cannot blame you for that.”

The rest of Nia’s day passed in a blur of activity that kept her constantly occupied. For once she welcomed the unending demands on her time because they left her physically and mentally exhausted—too exhausted to think about Winchester Park, the Sheridan family, and one member of it in particular. She was not prepared to admit it to Sophia for fear of encouraging her unrealistic expectations, but Lord Vincent’s interest in her did appear to transcend the neighbourly. She wondered what it was that he wanted from her; why he was going to so much trouble to ingratiate himself with her and the boys. Presumably it was to do with her grandfather. As soon as people realised who she was, it was always to do with her grandfather.

She spent several hours in the studio with her grandfather after everyone else had retired, pleased that he was in a productive frame of mind; lucid and creative. Even so, it was not safe to leave him unattended. She had once done so, just for a short period, and he managed to set the studio alight by moving a candle too close to the turpentine. Nia found him, blissfully painting away and breathing in the deadly fumes. She had rescued him, and saved his work, but it had taught her a timely lesson. It was not safe to leave Grandpapa to his own devices.

Sophia had responsibility for him during the daylight hours, but was two decades older than Nia and needed her repose. Besides, Nia had duties in the studio that only she could perform. She had forgotten what it was like to have a full, uninterrupted night’s sleep and had learned to go without it. Only since meeting Lord Vincent did she bother to think how that must reflect upon her appearance. It vexed her that she
had
thought about it. She most emphatically did not care what Lord Vincent thought of her.

When she had seen her grandfather safely to his bed and was at liberty to retire herself, sleep eluded her, even though she was exhausted. The events of this most extraordinary day—her visit to Winchester Park, the dinner invitation, Mr. Drake’s proposal, concerns about her brother’s return and what news he might bring with him—rattled around inside her tired brain as though on a continuous loop. But, annoyingly, the image of Lord Vincent’s smiling face, his intelligent eyes and handsome profile, remained at the forefront of her mind, preventing her from achieving the sleep she so badly needed.

Lord Vincent had awoken some primeval need in her that she had not previously been troubled by. When he looked at her in a particular manner that need intensified, and there didn’t seem to be anything she could do to control it. It tugged at her on a level she had no command over, making her forget momentarily who she was supposed to be, and Nia was quite out of charity with herself for being so fanciful. She took out her frustrations on her pillows, thumping them into a comfortable nest and pulling the covers up to her chin. But sleep was still impossible to achieve and the first fingers of daylight were filtering through a gap in the curtains when she finally fell into an exhausted slumber.

“We can’t—”

“We promised Hannah most faithfully that we would not—”

“But she might be unwell—”

“Aunt Nia
never
sleeps late—”

Nia sat up abruptly and blinked sleep from her eyes, torn away from a compelling dream in which Lord Vincent and she were engaged in a very interesting situation. She most particularly did not wish to part with that dream but the boys, speaking in theatrical whispers that were louder than their normal voices, had snatched it away. She would never be able to regain it, which was probably just as well. Whatever could the time be? Had she overslept? It felt as though she had only just closed her eyes but sunshine streaming through the partially closed curtains told her she was indeed being tardy.

“Come in, boys,” she said, loud enough for her voice to reach them.

The door burst open and Leo and Art tumbled into the room, their faces troubled. Ruff was with them and leapt onto the bed, where he set about licking Nia’s face.

“We wondered where you were.”

“Hannah said to leave you be.”

“But you never sleep late, Aunt Nia.”

“Shush, it’s all right.” They sat on the edge of her bed, sporting identical wide-eyed expressions of concern. Nia ignored her headache and smiled her reassurance. “Run and tell Hannah I shall be down directly.”

“You won’t tell her we woke you?”

“She said we were not to disturb you.”

“You could never disturb me, my dears. Now off you go. Oh, and boys.” They turned in the open doorway to look back at her. “If you want to help, you could tether Ned in the middle of the lawn, or what was once a lawn before nature had her way with it. He can make himself useful by eating the grass. That will save me the trouble of finding someone to cut it for us.”

“Yes, we can do that.”

Off they went at breakneck speed, their footsteps and Ruff’s scrabbling claws on the boarded floor making it sound like a small army on the march. Nia smiled, indulged in a slow stretch and, for once, took her time with her ablutions. She was late, but the house had not fallen down due to her absence, so she might as well be a little later still.

“There you are, lamb. I have breakfast prepared for you,” Hannah said. “I’m glad you slept in, for once.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Nia yawned behind her hand. “The chores must be piling up.”

“Don’t you worry. Everything is under control.” Hannah grinned. “I even have Miss Tilling helping with the laundry.”

She nodded to the scullery off the kitchen to prove her point. Sure enough, Miss Tilling was there with their maid, Beth. With her clothing protected by an apron, their unwelcome house guest was half-heartedly scrubbing clothing.

“Good heavens.” Nia’s mouth dropped open at the sight. “What did you have to do to make her offer her services?”

“I told her you were indisposed and if she didn’t help there would be no clean clothing.”

Nia flexed a brow. “And that was all it took?”

“Well, I might have mentioned that Lord Vincent, or perhaps even the duke, might call and if she had nothing clean to wear, it would be no use blaming me.”

Nia spluttered with laughter. “I did not say either of them would call.”

“Nor did I. I merely suggested the possibility. Anyway, just leave her majesty to me and enjoy your breakfast in peace.”

“I’m glad you exerted yourself. I should have put my foot down with her long since.”

“Well, I intend to continue with the way I’ve started and if she doesn’t like it, there’s nothing to stop her from leaving. I don’t need you in here today. In fact, it would be better if you made yourself scarce. You’re not as tough as me and would probably give way to her pathetic excuses. Just sit outside and enjoy the sunshine. You look done in, and little wonder.”

“I can’t do nothing. If you insist upon me going outside I shall continue weeding the garden.”

Hannah shook her head. “At least you will have the benefit of fresh air.”

By the time she had finished her breakfast, Nia’s headache had become a dull, bearable throb, and she felt a little more optimistic about the future. She had no reason to feel that way, at least until Sean returned and she knew where they stood with their wider concerns. But her sixth sense told her that today something of significance would happen.

The weeding was hard physical work, but at the same time oddly rewarding. The boys were with Sophia and her grandfather, doing their sums. Apart from Ned, who was obligingly chomping away at the overgrown lawn, she had the garden to herself. Of Mr. Drake, thankfully there was no sign. She worked steadily away, removing her bonnet so she could enjoy the spring sunshine on her upturned face, not caring if it brought out more of her freckles.

Her entire body jerked when she heard the sound of rusted hinges protesting when the side gate was opened. She was furious with her treacherous heart for doing a strange little flip at the prospect of their visitor being Lord Vincent. She glanced down at her old gown and grubby hands and winced. She ought to have worn gloves but enjoyed the feel of the soft, loamy soil slipping through her fingers too much to worry about her hands. Her hair had escaped its braid and she must look the most frightful sight. Well, she thought, standing to brush the soil from her skirts, this was who she was and it was too late to change her ways, to say nothing of her attire.

“Papa!”

Nia’s heart lifted. The boys would have had a clear view of the gate from an upstairs window, whereas only now as he emerged from the tunnel of trees was Nia able to recognise her brother. Sean grinned, jumped from his horse and picked both boys up together, one beneath each arm. Ruff appeared from the trees and scrabbled at Sean’s legs, tail wagging, wanting to be included in the reunion.

“We thought you would never get back.”

“We expected you days ago.”

“Did you bring us anything?”

Laughing, Sean reached into his saddlebags and threw a package to his sons. They fell to the ground and ripped it open with great enthusiasm. Sean then opened his arms to Nia and she threw herself into them.

“Sorry to have been gone so long,” he said. “Have you managed all right?”

“Don’t I always?”

“Yes, but you shouldn’t have to.” Sean held her at arm’s length and examined her face. “You look tired.”

“I wish everyone would stop telling me that.” Nia summoned up a smile. “It is hardly complimentary. Now, come inside and tell me how it went.”

“I say, Papa, this is top-notch.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

The boys ran off throwing a shiny new cricket ball between them, presumably looking for somewhere to set up a make-shift cricket pitch. Ruff leaped around them, caught up in the excitement.

“See to my horse for me before you disappear, boys.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Not inside, Nia. Let’s talk out here.” Sean’s expression sobered as he glanced at the house. “Walls have ears.”

“Oh dear, is the news as bad as we feared?”

Sean answered her question with one of his own. “How is our grandfather?”