Page 58 of A Most Improper Duchess
‘Tea?’ No one in the village drank tea, except for Cecil. They had to get it in for him each month, and it was ridiculously expensive.
Arley moved through the studio, into the narrow hallway, then pushed open the door to the little kitchen that faced into the small yard. Crisp and green, and full of tumbling boxes of vegetables and flowers, Vivianne and her mother had nurtured the courtyard until it flourished. A light breeze moved the leaves and twitched the curtains.
Arley took off his coat and batted at a patch of dust that had come off Addi’s shoe. He had learnt it was best not to acknowledge the parents who came like this too early. It was better to make them wait a little.
With an apologetic mumble, Cecil appeared at his side and grasped the coat from his hands. ‘I’ll take this to the laundry for you, your grace. I mean, son. I mean…’
‘It will be fine. It’s only dust.’ In odd moments, Cecil faltered into the rhythm of their former life. Arley did too. Arley would pass Cecil his hat, Cecil would sort the mail into nonsensical piles, or Arley would tap his cup when he wanted a refill of coffee. Then Vivianne would tease them, and they’d laugh, and settle into their seats. But today Cecil did not relent, and with a firm tug, half wrenched the coat from Arley’s hands.
‘It’s no bother, your grace. I mean…’ And with a shake of his head, Cecil fled the room.
‘Hallo Arley. What type of crops do they plant through here? The soil seems dry. Do they hand hoe, or have tractors made their way—’
‘Tillman. Now is not the time for farm talk.’
They must have come straight from however they had travelled, and possibly not even stopped into their accommodations to change, as his mother wore a dark blue dress with dust around its hems. The colours of a woman coming out of mourning. Shock, surprise, elation and guilt thumped at his chest as he was struck full with the realisation of the weight she must have carried for him.
‘Mother, I’m so sorry. I never meant—’
She held up a silencing palm. 'The people in this village think Cecil is your father. And that your son is another man’s child that you were tricked into believing is yours.’
He tried to hold the moment with seriousness, to explain what they had become and why but after so long away, with his duke voice long buried, it was too hard to muster, and instead he laughed. ‘I am apparently very gullible when it comes to a pretty face.’
The door creaked open, and with a tumble of laughter, tears and little cries, the pretty face that had turned his world flittered into the room. Vivianne, still wearing her ballet costume, bent and rocked Lorelei in her arms until his mother, at first stiff, relented and returned the hug. Tillman tapped her awkwardly with a farmer’s reserve, and Cecil sidled through the door. Vivianne took the kettle and lit the stove, chatting the entire time until she drew all of them into conversation.
Addi walked the room with his uneasy gait. He toddled around Arley, then with a curious trepidation, he walked to Lorelei and placed his little sticky hand on her knee. The chatter of the room lulled, as Arley’s mother met his son.
‘This is Addi.’
‘He looks so much like you when you were this age.’ His mother scooped him up and drew him onto her lap. Addi inspected her face, then poked at her cheek. He leaned back against her chest, instantly at ease. Lorelei blinked fast, and when she spoke, her voice cracked. ‘Children know so much without knowing.’
‘You aren’t crying, are you.? It seems most improper to show emotion with others below your station.’ A grin tugged at his lips, while Tillman tipped back his head and laughed. His mother pinned him, her face like thunder, before she too smirked. Addi tucked himself against her side, and she kissed him lightly on the top of his hair.
‘I was always so busy when you were like this,’ she finally whispered. ‘So lost. And by the time I found myself, you were a man grown and didn’t need me.’
‘I did need you—’
‘Not this type of need. It’s different.’ She stroked at a loose curl on the top of Addi’s head. His eyes half closed, then his lashes brushed his soft cheeks as he relaxed into slumber. She shuffled in her seat to easier bear his weight, then cleared her throat. When she spoke, her vulnerability was gone, and she resumed the demeanour of a duchess. ‘My husband and I have decided to spend our twilight years abroad. We tire of England. Too much rain. We have purchased a small cottage just out of town.’
‘Just a cottage?’ Arley asked.
‘Fine then, a modest chateau. As a fellowAnglaisabroad, we’d love to get to know you better. Come for tea. Bring your wife. Addi can play on the lawn.’
It still amazed Arley how quickly the conversation in a rough kitchen settled into comfort compared to the luxury of a parlour or formal sitting room. How Cecil easily took up the place at the stove watching the water boil so that Vivianne could pull down cups as she answered Tillman’s questions about her vegetables and the rainfall. And how when Addi drooled over his mother’s elbow, she simply tisked, and asked him for help, instead of excusing herself to change. Arley pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and leant over.
‘The new duke?’ he asked.
‘Is settling in.’ She shuffled Addi in his seat so that his head rested more firmly against her chest. She grasped her mug with a free hand. ‘I am on strict orders to tell you no more than that. It will do you no good to know more than a teacher in a little French village should know.’
She was right of course. But he couldn’t resist one last question.
‘How is Phineas?’
She eyed him for a long breath. ‘He’s happy.’
‘Happy? If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t, but there is no need to lie.’
She only smiled and raised her mug to her lips.
