The Duke's Marriage Mission (10 page)

As they made their way to the table he said, “This will give us an opportunity to discuss my son’s studies without him overhearing.”

“An excellent suggestion, Your Grace!” In her eagerness, Miss Shaw gave his arm a little squeeze.

The sensation seemed to travel up his arm and communicate itself to his heart, which began to beat faster and warmer than it had in a great while.

Chapter Six

N
ot many weeks ago, at her friend Hannah’s wedding breakfast, Leah had dined in the company of a baron, a viscount and an earl without the slightest awkwardness. Why did this unexpected invitation to share a meal with the Duke of Northam discompose her so?

When they reached the table, she found herself strangely reluctant to let go of His Grace’s arm. And when he held her chair, as if she were a titled lady, her knees grew weak. Rather than sinking onto her seat with elegant grace befitting her surroundings, she dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Might it be because he looked so splendid compared to her—every inch the nobleman? Of course, that must be the reason.

Yet knowing the cause of her strange agitation did not keep Leah’s tongue from turning stubbornly mute as she faced Lord Northam across the comparatively narrow width of the long dining table. She hoped he did not expect her to entertain him with amusing conversation. At the moment, she could not think of a word to say, except perhaps to remark on his handsome appearance. Even her lenient sense of discretion warned her that would not be appropriate.

His Grace seemed rather ill at ease, as well, which only made matters worse. Did he regret his impulsive invitation? Had he hoped she would accept one of his offers to reconsider her decision?

As self-conscious silence stretched between them, Leah silently pleaded for the food to arrive, so they would have something to talk about, however commonplace.

As if to fulfill her wish, Mr. Gibson appeared just then, bearing two bowls. With excessive care, he placed one before Leah. Fine wisps of steam rose from the soup, bearing a savory aroma that made her mouth water.

After Mr. Gibson served Lord Northam, the duke picked up his spoon and cleared his throat. Leah awaited some conventional remark that might thaw the stilted atmosphere between them. “Tell me about these friends of yours, Miss Shaw. How many are there? Do you write to one another often?”

His question took her by surprise and loosened her tongue. “There are six of us who have remained especially close over the years. How often we write depends upon how busy we are and whether we have much news to report. In the past, we sometimes wrote serial letters, each adding to the others before sending it on. It saved us time, paper and postage.”

Could a man in his position understand the necessity to economize on such trifles? If he thought such a thing, the duke gave no indication of it.

“But you no longer write that way?” He cast his gaze over the small pile of letters on the table beside Leah’s place. “Why?”

“There is not the need for economy that there once was.” Leah paused to take a sip of her soup, a toothsome blend of shredded vegetables in a thick stock. “Several of my friends have married well. One is now the wife of a sea captain retired from the Royal Navy. Three others are wed to peers. Lady Steadwell lives in Berkshire and Lady Benedict in the Cotswolds. Before coming to Renforth Abbey, I attended the wedding of my friend Hannah Fletcher to the Earl of Hawkehurst.”

“Indeed?” The duke seemed surprised by this information, perhaps even disapproving. “I know some of those gentlemen by reputation. But that accounts for only four of your friends. What of the fifth? Is she too plain to attract a husband?”

The notion of Evangeline Fairfax being described as plain was almost enough to make Hannah choke on her soup.

“Nothing of the kind!” Her tongue thoroughly loosened now, she launched into an admiring description of her friend. “Evangeline could have any man she set her cap for, no matter what his rank, if she had any wish to marry.”

“But she prefers to remain a spinster? Why?” The duke sounded offended on behalf of all men everywhere.

That amusing notion restored the composure Leah had earlier misplaced. “If you knew her, you would not have to ask. Evangeline has a very strong will and definite ideas of what should be done and how. I cannot picture her standing at an altar, vowing to
obey
any man.”

“And you, Miss Shaw?” inquired the duke. “What is your reason for remaining single while so many of your friends are making brilliant marriages?”

From across the table he cast her a searching look that made her squirm. Not wanting him to guess how much his question flustered her she used humor to parry it.

“For the most obvious of reasons, Your Grace, because no gentleman has ever asked me.” There was more to it than that, of course, but Leah had no intention of making it a topic of dinner conversation. She had already told Lord Northam far more about herself than she had disclosed to any of her previous employers.

Anxious to change the subject, she thought of one that would surely divert the duke. “I thought we were to discuss Kit’s studies, not the matrimonial misadventures of my friends and me. Are you satisfied with his progress so far? Since he is not present, you may speak candidly.”

To Leah’s relief, her diversion succeeded. “I would tell you the same thing, whether my son were here or not, Miss Shaw. I am quite astonished at how quickly he is learning to read and do sums. I had no idea Kit was so clever.”

By now they had both finished their soup. Mr. Gibson whisked their bowls away then served the fish course, Dover sole in a white sauce seasoned with capers.

With her fork poised over the appetizing dish, Leah paused to ask Lord Northam another question. “Do you find his studies are putting a strain on his health?”

The duke took a bite of fish and chewed on it intently for several seconds. That was hardly necessary, as Leah discovered when her first bite fairly melted on her tongue.

At last His Grace spoke. “You know perfectly well his studies have done my son no harm. I have never seen him so well in...longer than I can recall. Now I suppose I must admit I was wrong so you may have the satisfaction of gloating.”

Was that what he thought of her? Leah shook her head in vigorous denial. “The only satisfaction I take is in seeing Kit do so well and seeing you have a little opportunity to rest after all the time you have spent caring for him.”

There was still a great deal to be done to give the boy and his father the kind of freedom they both deserved, but they had made a good beginning. Leah hoped the success they’d experienced might make it easier for the cautious duke to take the next step down that long road.

“I never begrudged a moment of that time,” His Grace mused aloud. “Now that I have more for myself, I scarcely know what to do with it.”

Leah consumed the last of her fish and barely resisted the temptation to lick her plate clean of the tasty sauce. “You must not spend it all on estate business. Take up some pursuits you enjoy. What sort of things did you like to do before you had a child to care for?”

His Grace considered her question as Mr. Gibson removed their plates and served a chine of beef. “I used to enjoy the company of my wife.”

Leah winced at the note of longing in his voice. Could that be part of the reason he had devoted all his time and energy to his son’s care—as a distraction from his loss? Now that she had
freed
him from some of his burden, was he feeling his old grief as if it were fresh and raw? He deserved better.

“What sort of things did you and the duchess enjoy doing together?” She tried not to dwell on the duke’s loss, the same way she refused to get caught up in pity for Kit. “Reading? Playing cards? Riding?”

“We did sometimes read together, though Celia found it tiresome if it went on too long. She liked to play the pianoforte and she loved to dance when we attended assemblies in London. She enjoyed playing cards, especially for wagers, though that was not a pastime in which I cared to indulge.”

It sounded to Leah as if the late duchess had enjoyed more active, social pastimes, while her husband had preferred quieter, solitary pursuits. She could not help but sympathize with Lady Northam. Had she longed to travel and savor the amusements of London while her husband preferred the tranquility of his secluded estate? Might her young son have inherited some of her restlessness? Perhaps it would be best not to dwell on this subject.

“Getting back to our discussion of Kit, sir, it seems to me there is an important part of his education I have not been able to undertake.”

“What is that?” The duke seemed grateful to her for steering their conversation in a different direction. “And why have you been forced to neglect it? Are there particular materials you require? If so, prepare me a list and I shall secure them for you at once.”

Leah shook her head. “It is not a lack of materials that prevents me, Your Grace. I assume there are plenty of paper, pens and ink available at Renforth Abbey. I would like Kit to begin practicing his penmanship and learning more advanced arithmetic that will require him to write out the equations. But he cannot undertake written work in bed where ink might spatter on the sheets or spill onto the coverlet.”

She rattled on scarcely drawing breath for fear the duke would refuse her before she had a chance to finish. “I know Kit is capable of sitting up. Could we not install a writing table and chair in the nursery where he could take his lessons?”

Concluding her request in a breathless rush, she braced for an argument like the ones they’d had before. At the time, she had rather relished such disagreements, for they injected a bit of excitement into her quiet existence at Renforth Abbey. Now she shrank from the prospect of a hostile exchange with His Grace.

“I fear you have me at a disadvantage, Miss Shaw.” The duke did not sound as troubled by it as his words suggested.

“In what way, sir?”

“By compelling me to admit your previous suggestions have not done Kit any harm, you have demolished my arguments before I can make them. It would be perverse of me to claim otherwise.”

Had she understood him properly? Leah scarcely dared to hope. “Does that mean you are willing to do what I ask, sir?”

The earl gave a halting nod. “I cannot pretend it comes easy to me, taking any sort of risk where Kit’s well-being is concerned. Perhaps I
have
been overly cautious about his health to the detriment of his happiness. You have shown me that if we take small steps, the potential benefits outweigh the risk of harm.”

“Thank you, Your Grace!” It was well they had the whole width of the table between them. Otherwise she might have thrown her arms around the duke, so pleased was she with his answer.

Having watched him care for his son, she knew how difficult this decision must be for him. She took it as a rare compliment that he trusted her enough to undertake a course of action that must seem so perilous to him.

She must do everything in her power to make certain he did not regret his decision.

* * *

It amazed and touched Hayden how much Leah Shaw had come to care for his son in the two brief months since she had arrived at Renforth Abbey.

As he watched Kit at his writing table, learning to form his letters, Hayden recalled the joyful smile that had illuminated Miss Shaw’s face when he’d agreed to give her idea a try. In that moment, it became clear to him that she truly believed greater independence was as vital to Kit’s interest as protecting his fragile health. From everything he had witnessed since she’d become the boy’s governess, he was gradually being forced to agree.

He roused from his thoughts to find the governess gazing at him with a different sort of smile than the one she’d lavished upon him during their first dinner together. This one might lack the brilliant sparkle of the other, but its soft glow warmed him.

“Your son can make all his letters now, Your Grace,” she announced with obvious pride in her young pupil’s accomplishment. “He can also form his numbers and write his name in script.”

“Well done, Kit!” Hayden strode toward the table to look over his son’s latest written work.

“Not my whole name yet.” Kit laid down his pen. “Just Christopher
for now. But I will soon learn the rest.”

Sitting at the writing table with papers and books spread around him, Kit looked like any other schoolboy his age, busy doing his lessons. Only his nightcap, dressing gown and the blankets tucked around his legs suggested otherwise. Lately Miss Shaw had begun to advocate that the boy be dressed in day clothes for his lessons.

“I am certain you will master writing your full name before I know it.” Hayden patted his son on the shoulder. Was it his imagination, or did the boy’s frame feel sturdier beneath his hand? “I have great confidence in your abilities. But you have had enough time sitting up for today. Let me get you settled back in bed, then you can read me a page from
Gulliver’s Travels
.”

“Not yet.” Kit picked up his pen with a defiant air. “I want to try writing Latimer, first.”

Before Hayden could reply, Miss Shaw spoke up. “You will have plenty of time to practice your family name tomorrow, Kit. You mustn’t tire yourself out.”

Hayden shot her a look of gratitude for coming to his assistance. Unfortunately, it was not enough to persuade his son, who deliberately dipped his pen in the inkwell and began to write.

“I don’t like to stay in bed so much,” the child announced as he tried to form a script letter
L
. “Nobody else at Renforth has to.”