“Celestia and my cousins had let a house in Belgravia. Badger was their head butler. He came with the house, as did the rest of the staff.”
“What an odd name.” In truth, Daffodil was little better. Duchess Daffodil. Ugh! Almost as bad as Duchess Daffy.
“I thought so, too. I only met him a couple of times, when I stopped by to visit Celestia.” He ran hand through his hair again. “I never stayed long. You know how suffocating a mother’s affection can be at times.”
The sarcasm was evident in his voice, but so was his anguish. If only that horrid woman had ever held him, praised him, or kissed him goodnight. Just one hug, one kiss, or kind word would have been enough to sustain Ian. But it had never happened, not even once. “I’m sorry.”
She dared say nothing more, for he’d take her words as pity. He wanted honesty, no matter how brutal those words might be.
“I didn’t know what to make of Badger when I first met him. He looked so familiar, yet I couldn’t place him. There was something about his eyes, and something in his manner... a paternal kindness about him. I don’t know. I just sensed it. But what would I know of kindness?” He sighed and shook his head. “I shouldn’t have told you anything about him. I want you to form your own opinion of the man. For all I know, he could be a bounder, paid to write that pack of lies at the behest of Celestia. This would be the sort of cruel hoax she’d devise.”
“If it’s any consolation, I also thought Mr. Badger was an honest man. I sensed a pain in his own soul, and I don’t think that is something easily faked.”
Ian strode from the water’s edge and knelt beside her, arching one eyebrow. He looked handsome enough to melt her heart. “Go on, Dillie. Tell me more.”
“The letter sounds more like a confession, as though he’s wanted to relieve his burdened soul for several months now, but never quite found the courage. I’m glad he finally did, though I can’t blame him for his hesitation. It could not have been easy for him to open these old wounds about your brother.” Dillie felt her eyes misting and knew she’d likely be in tears before this conversation progressed much further. “We have to talk about that day, Ian. Do you trust me enough to tell me everything?”
He stroked his finger lightly across her cheek, his touch quite comforting and tender. “I have no secrets from you.”
Dillie was surprised by his earnestness. In truth, he could have lightened his words by calling her a snoop, for she was an incorrigible one, always with her ear to the keyhole. But he’d just been open and heartfelt about it. He wanted her to know the workings of his heart. “I love you, Ian.”
He grinned. “I know.”
She felt herself melting again. Crumpets! How could any woman ever resist this man? She turned away to peer down at the letter now open on her lap and began to read it aloud. “Your Grace. My sister, may she rest in peace, was in your father’s employ, charged with the care of you and your brother.”
Ian immediately tensed beside her. “She was our nanny at the time of the accident,” he explained, his voice tense and raspy. He seemed reluctant to continue, but Dillie encouraged him with a nod, for he needed to speak the words, the haunting thoughts he’d kept bottled inside for all these years. “She was with us that day. We called her Miss Nell. Never knew her full name. Just Miss Nell. James and I liked her. She was a cheerful, decent sort who rarely shouted at us, even though we often deserved it. We always got into mischief.”
“All little boys do. It’s in their nature.” She returned her attention to the letter. “My sister told me what happened shortly before she died. That was several years ago. Your Grace, please believe me when I say that she had no idea of the suffering your family has put you through. She would not have stayed quiet had she known.”
Dillie reached out to take Ian’s hand.
He laughed softly and gave her hand a light squeeze. “Still trying to protect me?”
“I can’t help it. I want to throw my arms around you and kiss away your pain. But I know that you’re no longer a little boy.” She now had her fingers entwined in Ian’s hand. His touch felt good, but it always did. She hoped her touch felt as good to him. “You and young James were playing by the frozen pond when your mother’s carriage passed by. She’d just opened the door to issue instructions to my sister when her dog jumped off her lap and bounded after a squirrel.”
“Raggles, her little terrier,” Ian murmured.
“The squirrel took off across the frozen pond and her dog chased after it.” She paused a moment and swallowed hard. “Your brother ran onto the pond, thinking to catch him and return him to your mother.”