Page 32 of The Captive Duke
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 acountess’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.
“Chesterton is quite the largest horse I’ve seenunder saddle, but he seems a steady fellow, and very handsome. I would guess that, did your papa take you up on such a horse, Lucy, you might be able to see clear to France.”
Because he carried her on his back, Christian felt his daughter chortling—silently.
And by the time they’d inspected the entire stable, he was glad for the countess’s patter, glad for her ability to comment on everything, from the knees on the new foals to the whiskers on the kittens.
For it became obvious Lucy had inherited her father’s propensity for keeping silent, and she intended to remain that way for reasons known only to her.
Seven
CHRISTIAN APPROACHED THE NURSERY SUITE, LUCYstill clinging like a monkey to his back. He set her down when they reached the sitting room, and she scampered off to the schoolroom, leaving Christian to wonder if his daughter’s manners had lapsed along with her words.
“She’s not normally given to rudeness of any kind,” the countess said, looking worried.
Before Christian could frame a reply—what did he know of his own child, after all?—Lucy was back, her copybook and pencil in her hand. She held the book up to her father.
“Will I come tomorrow? Yes, if you wish it, and we’ll visit Chessie again, or the kittens.” He passed the book back to her.
Why wouldn’t she speak, for God’s sake? That she’d withhold her voice from her own father made him feelpunished.
The child waved her book under his nose.
“Cousin must come too?” Excellent notion, given the awkwardness of one-sided conversations. “Countess?”
“Of course, I will be happy to come,” she said,smoothing a hand over the child’s golden hair. “Maybe you will have written a poem about clouds and lambs and kittens when we come back, or maybe about a great chestnut charger who can see to France.”
This provoked a smile from the child.
