Four Nights With the Duke(23)

"You should stab Sir Richard with a rapier!"

"It's best to avoid manslaughter except when absolutely necessary,"  Vander said, the thought crossing his mind that perhaps he wasn't the  best model for a boy. He was hardly peaceable in his temperament.

Neither, it seemed, was Charlie. "You should kill Mr. Reeve as well.  Aunt Mia says that sometimes men are not as courageous as one would  hope, but I think he was horrid to leave her like that."

"I'll consider it," Vander promised. "Your aunt's fiancé is definitely a  scoundrel. He blamed his inadequacies on you, which is a shameful thing  to do." He leaned over and poked Charlie in the stomach. "Don't you  agree with me, Crip?"

Color washed Charlie's thin cheeks again and he lurched to his feet, his  crutch thumping the wooden floor. "I don't wish to be called that  name!"

Reeve's loss was his gain. Vander genuinely liked this boy. He rose and  then crouched down in front of Charlie so their eyes were on a level.  "All right, I won't."

"Never?"

"No. Can I call you Gammy?"

"No!"

"Peg-leg?"

"No."

"I must address you as Lord Carrington?"

Silence. Then, "I suppose you can call me Charlie."

"Does that make me Uncle Vander, in private at least?"

A tiny smile played on Charlie's mouth, the first Vander had seen. "I think I'll call you Vulcan in private."

Vander snorted. "You call me Vulcan and I'll call you Crip. That way you won't give a toss by the time you get to school."

Charlie blinked. "School! I can't go to school."

"Why not?"

"I'm a cripple. You don't understand. It's like going to the fair. I might be pushed over."

"So what? You've shown me that you know how to roll. You can't stay in  this room like a fairy-tale princess asleep behind her briars."

"I'm not a princess," Charlie said, scowling.

"Then let's go downstairs and fetch some food from the kitchens, and  after that we'll set out for my house. There's an art to raiding the  larder, Crip, and every young lord needs to know it."

They made their way to the top of the stairs, and stood for a moment looking down the rounded sweep.

"Is this one of the reasons you spend so much time in the nursery?" Vander asked.

The boy nodded. "It takes me too long to get down. I have to cling to  the rail and I feel as if the footmen are laughing behind my back. Mr.  Gaunt used to carry me down, but I'm too big for that now."

"I agree." Vander put Charlie's hand on the magnificent mahogany  banister. "Do you feel how smooth this is? It is meant for sliding down.  I'll take your crutch this time, but next time you can tuck it under  your arm."

Charlie's eyes grew round. "Aunt Mia would kill me."                       
       
           



       

Vander pretended to look around. "Aunt? Any aunts here?" He grinned at  Charlie. "I'll catch you at the bottom. Turn around and slide on your  stomach."

Charlie was clearly apprehensive, but he was a brave fellow. When Vander  reached the bottom and shouted, "On you go, Crip," he clambered  awkwardly onto the banister.

"Let go!" Vander hollered.

He did, with just a little squeak.

Vander watched as the small body slid toward him, black hair flying. He  caught Charlie easily before the newel post could inflict damage. "At my  house we'll post a footman at the foot of the stairs and tell him it's  his job to catch you. When you've had more practice, you'll be able to  stop yourself."

Charlie's cheeks were red and his eyes shone. "That was terrific!"

"Good," Vander said, grinning at him.

"Aunt Mia will hate it." Charlie's smile was reckless and delighted.

"Mothers, and aunts, are generally vexed when their children discover speed. Wait until she sees you galloping."

"She won't permit it," Charlie breathed.

"A man can't let himself be governed by a woman, can he?"

The boy's thin chest swelled. "No."

"Right. Time for bread and cheese. I'm tired of calling you Crip. What do you think of Peg-Legged Pete?"

"I don't like it," Charlie said happily.

"Hop-Along Harry?"

"No!"





Chapter Thirteen




From Miss Carrington to Mssrs. Brandy, Bucknell & Bendal, Publishers



September 9, 1800





Dear Mr. Bucknell,





I expect you have seen this in the Morning Post, but you should learn of  it directly from me as well: since our last exchange, I have become  married to the Duke of Pindar through a series of misunderstandings that  could enliven the pages of one of Lucibella's novels. It is but a  temporary arrangement; we shall soon have all this bother unraveled, but  it does make it even more imperative that no one discover my identity  as a novelist. There may be those who would find the Pindar legacy  tarnished by Lucibella's literary efforts.



I assure you I am working diligently on the novel, and not in the least  distracted by my new circumstances. I am sending this missive with one  of the duke's grooms, who will be happy to wait for your response. I  would be grateful to receive the Quiplet novels as well.





Miss Carrington. Her Grace, the Duchess of Pindar

Mia spent the afternoon fuming over her husband's presumptuous ways. She  would rather have introduced Charles Wallace to Vander herself.

And what was taking this long? It was a mere hour's coach ride between  their houses, and after three hours turned to four, she began to fret.  Perhaps Charlie had objected to leaving home with a stranger.

In an effort to distract herself, she began to write notes toward her  novel, working on the little desk in her bedchamber. An hour or so  later, she took her writing materials down to the drawing room and,  after clearing away a herd of glass rabbits, set herself to writing at a  table that faced the courtyard.

Poor Flora was being excoriated by the unpleasant owner of a lace-making  establishment when she finally heard the rumble of carriage wheels  coming up the drive.

Nottle and two footmen were loitering in the entry when she dashed out  of the drawing room. "Open the door, if you please," she said.

"I shall fetch your pelisse, Your Grace," he said, managing to convey  just what he thought of a duchess with ink-stained fingers and-she  glanced down-ink stains on her cuffs as well.

"The door, Nottle," she said, between clenched teeth.

A groom in splendid livery was just opening the door of the carriage.  Vander descended, then he stuck his head back into the carriage and  stepped back. Before she could dash down the steps, Charlie appeared in  the carriage door, crutch under his arm, and hopped down.

Mia didn't make a sound, though a scream was caught somewhere in her  chest. Of course, it wasn't a great distance from the carriage to the  gravel. But she had always been careful to have a footman place a handy  step and hold Charlie's elbow.

At any rate, Charlie was swinging toward her, his eyes shining. She  caught him up when he reached her, swinging him in a circle so that his  hair flew into the air. "Charlie, my love!" He tolerated three kisses,  but then he struggled away and turned to look up at the ducal mansion.

His mouth fell open. "Is this where we're going to live?" Vander had  caught up with them, and Charlie turned. "Is this your house?"

"Never show astonishment, Crip," Vander said. "But yes, this is Rutherford Manor."                       
       
           



       

Mia frowned. "What did you call Charlie?"

"I told you she wouldn't like it," Charlie said to Vander.

"Charlie and I are trying out nicknames to decide which one he likes the  best," Vander said. "So far he's rejected Hop-Along Harry and  Peg-Legged Pete, but I have high hopes that he'll get used to Crip."

"That is not acceptable," Mia said, low and fierce. She glanced down to  see if Charlie was scarred by this calloused treatment, but he had  tipped his head back to see Vander's face and there was an unmistakable  look of hero-worship in his eyes.

Vander shrugged.

Mia opened her mouth to elaborate, but Nottle was standing in the  doorway, and Charlie had three marble steps to climb, as well as the  sweeping round of stairs leading upstairs. "Let's investigate the  nursery," she said instead, making up her mind to discuss the subject  with Vander when they were alone.

Vander squatted down and said, "Charlie, old man, it's been a long day,  and I think you should take a ride upstairs. Give your crutch to your  aunt."

"Charlie hates to-" Mia began.

"On your back?" Charlie said eagerly, passing her his crutch.