A Duke of Her Own(33)

Lisette had been surrounded by children from the orphanage. She clearly adored children, and even more importantly, his children's illegitimacy wouldn't disturb her. It was unlikely that any of those orphans had parents whose domestic arrangements could be termed regular.

By now Finchley had reappeared. "Would you like the young master to return to the nursery now?"

he asked as he pulled off Villiers's boots.

Villiers glanced over at Tobias. The boy was listening, of course, though he was pretending to read.

"He doesn't look as if he'll be shocked by the sight of my pump handle."

Tobias's face didn't even twitch. Passed on my poker face, Villiers thought with some satisfaction.

And without further ado he dropped his breeches and stepped into the bath.

"I don't think you ought to marry someone who's cracked," Tobias offered a few minutes later.

"Lisette is not mad," Villiers said impatiently. "She was just afraid of that ugly little pug belonging to Lady Eleanor. She was terrorized by a dog as a young child."

"The maid told me all about it," Tobias said. "It wasn't so long ago."

"That explains it, then," Villiers said. "The fear is still fresh."

"The maid said that Lisette insisted on jerking a puppy away from its mother, and the puppy was nursing. So the mother dog bit her. Then her maid—not the one who was telling me, but another one—tried to drag Lisette away, and she got bitten as well. And

she—the maid—lost her finger. Or maybe two fingers. The nanny said that her hand is just disgusting looking now," Tobias said with relish. "She has to work in the kitchens because it turns Lisette's stomach just to look at her."

"Come back in ten minutes," Villiers told Finchley. Normally he never spared a thought for conversation in front of his servants. In fact, he'd once boasted that his servants were so well trained that he could tup a woman on the dining room table and they wouldn't turn a hair.

But chatter about the future duchess was another matter.

The moment Finchley closed the door, he said, "Get over here, you turnip, so I can see you while we talk."

Tobias came around. "I'm not a turnip," he said. "My name is Juby."

"Juby, juicy, that sounds like a garden vegetable. Your name is Tobias."



"I've been Juby since I can remember. It's too late to change over now."

"It's never too late for anything," Villiers said. "More to the point, I think I'm going to marry Lisette, so you need to stop telling stories about her, particularly ones that are obviously untrue." He raised a hand as Tobias opened his mouth. "And if it wasn't untrue, it was definitely unkind. I'm sure that Lisette had no idea that the mother dog might attack her."

"Even the most buffle-headed fool knows that," Tobias said scornfully. "Welcome to the world of well-bred ladies," Villiers said, sinking a little farther down in the bath. "What they know and don't know will never cease to amaze you." "I don't like ladies," Tobias said. "Neither do I," Villiers agreed. "It's too bad you have to marry one, then." "It's part of being a duke." "Getting married?"

"Yes."

"Good thing I'm not a duke." Villiers was queerly glad to see that Tobias's eyes looked clear as he said that. "I'll never get married, not if it means you have to marry a cracked lady who doesn't know beans about anything," Tobias continued.

"Lisette is beautiful."

Tobias curled his lip. Villiers was startled: over the years he'd caught sight of that precise gesture on his own face a time or two. 'You don't like beautiful ladies?"

'You should marry the one with the dog," Tobias said firmly. 'Why?"

'Because she's got a dog. And she's not too pretty." 'Actually, she is beautiful, in her own way."

'Lady Lisette looks like one of those missionary ladies. All clean and gold-spun. You'd never know where you are with her because nobody is really like that. Not inside."

"I wouldn't?" Villiers was suffering from a terrible fascination. Even though his water was cooling and he knew he should cut off the flow of unsolicited advice, he couldn't bring himself to. "Why not?"

"Likely no better than she should be," Tobias concluded. "Aren't you tired of sitting in all that dirty water?"

The truth was that he was used to Finchley handing him a towel. He stood up and plucked it off the back of a chair. "It's not dirty water. It's clean bathwater."

"Once you're in it, it's dirty. Better get in and out quick." He said it with the tone of a boy who had never bathed more than once a month before coming to Villiers's house and had taken to the practice only reluctantly.