That was unacceptable.
And what he felt for Eleanor was, frankly, unacceptable as well.
He had to make a dreadfully important decision that would determine his children's future happiness. He didn't need a wife or a lover. The important thing was that they needed a mother. And Lord knows, they deserved whatever he could give them.
His jaw tightened as he pictured the fusty, filthy sty again. And Tobias, wading through the bitterly cold mud of the Thames.
"Your Grace?" Finchley prompted. "Would you like your gloves?"
"No," he said, turning to go. "I think I'll stop by the nursery before going downstairs for dinner."
"Very well, Your Grace. I will wait in the downstairs entry with your gloves."
Villiers pushed open the door to the nursery with some trepidation. He and Tobias seemed to be able to rub along together. But he had another son and a daughter at home with whom he had hardly exchanged a word. And now two more daughters. It was overwhelming.
The first thing he saw when he entered was Lisette. She was sitting in a rocker by the fire, singing.
She had a beautiful voice, as clear as a bell and yet surprisingly low. "Hush-a-bye baby, on the treetop," she sang. Lucinda or Phyllinda was curled in her lap, wearing a white nightie. Villiers looked around for the other girl, and found her in one of the beds, sucking her thumb in her sleep.
"When the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, Down will come baby, cradle and all."
The moment Lisette stopped singing, the little head on her shoulder popped up
"Don't stop, lady, don't stop..."
That had to be Lucinda, given her exhausted but stubborn tone. Lisette stroked the little girl on the shoulder, then bent her bright head over the girl again and sang.
"Mama will catch you, give you a squeeze. Send you back up to play in the trees..."
Villiers smiled. He didn't remember ever being sung to. His nanny was greatly taken with the young duke's consequence and treated him as a small prince from the moment he could remember.
No one sang to princes.
"When twilight falls, and birds seek their nest. Come home to the one who loves you the best."
Lisette's voice was so beautifully soothing that it wasn't in the least surprising to find Lucinda had succumbed. A maid tiptoed over to take the little girl, but Villiers waved her away and picked up the child himself.
She was utterly beautiful, from her curls to the long eyelashes hiding those lavender eyes she inherited from his grandmother. In sleep, her mouth was a rosebud rather than the defensive, obstinate grimace that she had worn downstairs.
"Put her down carefully," Lisette said softly, at his shoulder. "You don't want to wake her."
He started toward one of the other little beds lining the wall of the nursery, but her light touch on his arm stopped him. "With her sister."
Of course. He placed Lucinda on the bed next to Phyllinda. Their ringlets curled together on the pillow.
"You're going to have a fine time fending off suitors when they're old enough to be noticed," Lisette whispered.
"They may be rejected by the ton. I'll dower them, of course, but they're bastards." He had promised to himself that he wouldn't try to avoid what he had done to them, and that meant naming it.
"If they were mine, I would teach them not to care."
"Hard to do in the midst of London, and children to a duke," he said wryly.
"I don't agree." She gave a disdainful little wave. "I would teach them to ignore such foolishness.
The (on is made up of unimportant, stupid persons. I care nothing for them; why should they?"
She meant it. He could see the truth in her eyes: she really believed the (on was unimportant.
What do you think of my title?" he asked her.
What do you mean, what do I think of it?" She smiled. "It has four letters. D-U-K-E." "Do you revere it?" "Should I?" "No."
"My father does not revere his title in the least," she said.
Villiers hadn't even thought about her father. Gilner was an excellent man in Parliament, by all accounts. "Your mother died some time ago. Do you know if your father ever thought to marry again?"
"Oh no," Lisette said peacefully. "He says he would prefer that his direct bloodline die out. My second cousin will inherit."
"How extremely—"
But she slipped her delicate hand into his and put a finger to her mouth. As they watched, Phyllinda shifted to her side and threw an arm around her sister.
"We will be missed downstairs," Lisette whispered. "I only meant to stop by the nursery and see how they were doing."
Villiers said. "I've heard the first part of that lullaby, but never the second verse."