Page 32 of The Captive
Since when had grown women been permitted to take the bare hands of grown men, so that said fellow—a duke, no less—might be hauled about like a load of garden produce? He counted himself fortunate Lady Greendale did not grasp him by the ear.
She guided him to the schoolroom, which enjoyed westerly windows that let in a good deal of afternoon sunlight. A child sat at an ornate little desk, carefully dipping her pen in the inkwell. Her tongue peeked out the side of her mouth, her lips were pursed in concentration, and her feet were wrapped around the legs of her chair. Her pinafore was spotless and nearly free of wrinkles.
She did not move, except for the hand guiding the pen, and she was so focused on her work, she didn’t look up. She had the look of a Severn, blond hair, a lithe elegance to her little frame, dramatic eyebrows…
While Christian stared at his only living child, the countess silently melted back into the sitting room. Now, now when he needed chatter and brisk efficiency more than ever, the woman deserted her post.
Nothing for it but to charge ahead.
“Lucy.”
She looked up, staring straight ahead at first, as if she weren’t sure from whence her name had been spoken. She set her pen down and turned her head.
“Lucy, it’s Papa.”
She scrambled up from the desk and started across the room, her gaze riveted on him. He went down on one knee and held up his arms, and she broke into a trot, then came pelting at him full tilt.
“I’m home,” he said, taking in the little-girl shape and sheer reality of her. “Papa’s home.”
She held on to him tightly, arms around his neck like she’d never let go.
“You’re glad to see me, hmm?” He kept his arms around her too. They were alone after all, and he hadn’t seen her for three damned years.
She nodded vigorously, nearly striking him a blow on the chin with her crown.
“I’m glad to see you too, Lucy Severn, very glad. What were you working on?”
She wiggled away, though letting her go was an effort, and pulled him over to the desk—another determined little female towing him about.
“‘Welcome home, Papa. Love, Lucy,’” he read. “Your hand is lovely, Lucy. What else have you written?”
She showed him, opening sketchbooks, copybooks, and pointing out books she’d either read or was reading. He did as his father had done, exclaiming here, praising there, asking a question occasionally.
But only occasionally, and all his questions were answerable with a nod or a shake of the head.
Lucy led him into the sitting room, her expression radiant.
“Look who you’ve found, Lucy,” Lady Greendale said, rising from the settee. “He isn’t lost anymore, our duke, you’ve found him. Will you take him to see the kittens in the stables now?”
“Really, kittens are perhaps more in line with a countess’s responsibilities than a duke’s, don’t you think?”
Christian speared the lady with a look, but his daughter swung his hand and peered up at him with big blue eyes.
Severn eyes, but prettier for Helene’s contribution to their setting.
“You come home from war only once,” Lady Greendale said. “Why don’t we all pay a visit to the kittens?”
She reached for Lucy’s free hand, but the child drew back. At first Christian felt an unbecoming spurt of pleasure that Lucy wanted to hold only her papa’s hand, not her cousin’s, but as he led the child toward the door, she dropped his hand too, and shook her head.
“She doesn’t want to go out,” Lady Greendale said. “Nurse warned me it was getting worse.”
“It’s a lovely day,” Christian said with a breeziness he’d likely never feel again. “I want to spend time with my daughter, and what’s more, Chessie will want to see how much she’s grown while he was off campaigning on the Peninsula. You recall Chesterton, don’t you, Lucy?”
She nodded, her gaze going from one adult to the other.
“Well, come along then.” Christian scooped the girl up bodily and settled her on his back. “We’ve a stable to visit.”
The countess started in with her chatter, which was a relief, for the child continued to say nothing.
