Page 31 of The Captive Duke
But thank God, the countess was filling her sails.
“…She writes to me regularly, and I to her, as I have a paucity of cousins worth the trouble, much less with legible penmanship. Hers is exquisite, though, even for a child.”
“As mine is…was.”
“Really? Well, we know she didn’t get her penmanship from Helene. Why you never hired the woman an amanuensis is beyond me, Mercia. In any case, Lucy is very much looking forward to seeing her papa, and worried she won’t recognize you. You must be sure not to look so forbidding to her. You can be the duke later, when her beaus and swains come calling. For now, enjoy being the papa.”
She marched up the steps, a ship’s captain determined to dock her vessel safely at the pier of her choosing.
“Excuse me, Countess, but refresh my memory: How many children have you had the pleasure of raising?”Perhaps if he scrapped with her a bit, she’d be less nervous, and thenhemight be less nervous too.
She paused at the second landing, forcing him to do likewise.
“Low shot, Your Grace. Unsporting of you, though I raised my younger brothers because my mama was in a perpetual decline, which ought to be impossible. I will forgive you though, because you are anxious. A papa doesn’t rise from the dead every day.”
She’d taunted, dragged, and talked him to the nursery door.
“Hello, Nanny, Harris.” Her ladyship nodded to the nurse and the governess. “Nothing would do but His Grace must come directly to the nursery to see Lady Lucy. His Grace has reminded me her ladyship prefers to be called Lucy. She’s in the schoolroom?”
“At her letters,” Harris said, bobbing a deep curtsy. “Your Grace.”
He nodded in response, not recalling this Harris person in the least. Nanny was another matter, though, for she’d been Helene’s nanny too.
“Nanny, I hope we find you well?”
“Better now, Your Grace. Better now that my lamb’s papa is with us again.”
“Where I much prefer to be,” he said, wanting to run howling for the stables.
“Well, let’s get on with it,” the countess said, taking his hand again.
Since when had grown women been permittedto 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?”
