THE DUKE OF RIDGEWAY HAD NO IDEA IF FLEUR had gone to the music room the next morning for her early practice. He was out for a long and reckless gallop on Hannibal.
He did seriously consider not returning to the house again. There were numerous things to be done on his own land that he had somewhat neglected for the sake of the entertainment of his guests. There were crops to check on and newborn livestock to be viewed. And of course there were always tenants and laborers to talk to, to convince that he was interested in their well-being and concerned about their complaints.
Or he could ride beyond his lands. He could spend the morning with Chamberlain. He had scarcely spoken with his friend since his return from London. Visiting guests had a tendency to cut one off from one’s neighbors and usual habits.
But he resisted both temptations. There were two matters of particular importance to be dealt with at home—two equally unpleasant matters.
He came in limping and barking at his valet to get him some decent clothes so that he would not have to go to breakfast smelling like a horse.
“I just hope you didn’t punish poor Hannibal as much as you have punished yourself,” Sidney said, “or you will have some unhappy grooms to glare at you next time you go to the stables. I’ll help you out of the horsy clothes, sir, and give you a brisk rubbing before I worry about the other clothes. Lie down.”
“Keep your infernal impudence to yourself,” his grace said. “I have no time for rubdowns.”
“If you walk around in that pain all day,” Sidney said, unperturbed, “you’ll be barking at all the servants, not only at me, sir, and they’ll all blame me for it, too, as they always do. Lie down.”
“Confound it,” the duke said, “I always treat my servants with courtesy.”
Sidney gave him a speaking glance and his grace lay down. He groaned as his man set firm hands against his aching side. And he rubbed at his left eye.
“There,” Sidney said, so much as if he were talking to soothe a child that the duke smiled despite himself. “It will feel better in a minute. Tight as a coiled spring you are, sir.”
Fleur was not in the schoolroom. She was not in the nursery either, as the duke found when he went in there. But Pamela was up and brightened at the unexpected treat of having him with her as she ate her breakfast. She fed the crusts of her toast to the puppy, who sat on the floor beside her, panting and looking hopeful. The day before, the dog had been pronounced house-safe at last and allowed indoors—under certain strict conditions.
“I thought we agreed that Tiny was not to eat food from the table,” he said. “She has her own special food, does she not?”
“But I don’t give her any of my good food, Papa,” his daughter protested. She lowered her voice. “Nanny was furious this morning. Tiny wet the bed.”
The duke closed his eyes briefly. “I thought it was also agreed that Tiny not sleep on the bed, but beside it or under it,” he said.
“But, Papa,” she said, “she was crying and pulling at the blankets with her little teeth. It would have been cruel to make her stay down.”
“One word of complaint from Nanny to your mama,” he said, “and Tiny will be back in the stables. You realize that, don’t you?”
“Nanny won’t complain,” she said. “I wiped the wet spot with my own handkerchief. And I admired Nanny’s new cap.”
The duke closed his eyes again. But Mrs. Clement was bustling over from the other side of the room.
“I wish to have a word with Miss Hamilton before morning classes begin, Nanny,” he said, getting to his feet. “You will keep Pamela here until she is sent for?”
“Certainly, your grace,” she said, curtsying. “We had a little accident with the dog last night. Did Lady Pamela tell you?”
“Yes, she did,” he said. “And I believe we have decided that it will not happen again.”
Fleur was still not in the schoolroom. He twirled the globe with agitated fingers and picked out a tune with one finger on the harpsichord. He looked at a painting of one of the follies that Pamela had made and one that Fleur herself must have painted. She was talented as a painter too, he thought, picking it up.
He set it down again when the door opened behind him, and wished that he had rehearsed some speech. He deliberately had not done so. He hated rehearsed speeches. They only tended to tongue-tie him completely. He turned to look at her.
Her lip still looked a little swollen. Shadows beneath her eyes suggested that she had not slept well. But she was prettily clothed in her green dress, and her hair was in its usual neat coil at her neck. She stood very straight, tall and slender, with pleasing feminine curves. She was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever known.