Page 26 of The Trouble With Her Duke
“The shovels have arrived,” Damon noted, to the delight of the two children. “Two forts and then snowballs,” he suggested to the approval of his family.
An hour later, their efforts had devolved into a fun snowball fight.
Rosie bounded playfully among everyone, effectively dodging the clumps of snow that came her way. She protected Mandy and Michael, barking when someone would sneak up to throw snowballs in their direction and then licking their faces.
“Their faces will be chapped, but they are having a wonderful time,” his mother said. “It’s one they will always remember.”
“I agree,” Damon said, turning in time to deflect a snowball Gavin had launched at him.
He threw his snowball at Michael and got hit in the chest by Mandy.
His mother hurled her snowball at Gavin before falling backward into a snowdrift, laughing. “It’s all right. I’m up,” she said, quickly standing and dusting off her pelisse. “Carry on. I’ll sit on the sidelines.”
“You’re a good sport, Mother. And you’ve helped make this a wonderful Christmas for the children.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
“What was that for?” she asked.
“I think you might be right about the kids. I cannot fathom getting married just yet, but this puppy might be a perfect interim solution.” He didn’t want to argue with her, but marriage was a nonstarter, as far as he was concerned. Once he returned home, his focus would be on making sure the next governess had a better chance with the children, even if he had to meet with her every day.
“Lydia, what day do you plan to return to Bath?” Bridget asked as she kneaded the sugary dough.
Bridget, Eliza, and Lydia worked together on the annual Christmas biscuits. Each of them made their family’s favorite family biscuits they were responsible for making.
“I plan to leave in a week,” Lydia responded, pressing her thumb into the center of her biscuits before popping them into the large oven. She had a small bowl of orange marmalade she would use to fill the impression made by her thumb.
The three women had commandeered the family kitchen, hoping to have these made by dinner, when her father planned to light the Yule log. Lydia studied the kitchen, which had grown three-fold since she was home last. It was large enough to cook for an army. Above the large butcher-block table where they were working, a plethora of copper pots hung.
Nearly taking up one entire wall, was the oven. It had four doors and eight places on top for pots. It was the latest oven on the market, and her brothers had spared nothing in buying it. According to Papa, they had added the bakery and kitchen and planned to add a restaurant to accompany it. At present, they used the bakery—hence the name—but the plans were to cook meals and cater. On the opposing wall was a large sink, storage, and a pantry. Large gas lamps lit the area.
“Are you sure you cannot stay a day or two longer?” Bridget asked.
“It’s always hard to leave here. But I want to get back and take care of some odds and ends before starting my new job,” Lydia returned. “Although this has been such an enjoyable time.”
“Lydia, are you certain about this job? I mean, you’d make a wonderful governess, if that’s what you wish to do.” Bridget’s tone was solicitous. “But the man has a reputation for having mistresses.” Her sister-in-law placed the last round ball of dough on her pan and popped it into the oven.”
“Ladies, I know you are both worried about me, but I have nothing to worry about. The duke is an honorable man—and is also friends with Blake. Surely, our eldest brother isn’t in the habit of befriending men of bad repute,” she said, teasing.
“How do you know this?” Eliza asked, looking up from her half-completed pan of biscuits.
“The duke told me—before I even knew about the position,” replied Lydia, wearing a slight smirk. “He asked me if I was part of the family that owned Hammond’s Emporium.”
Eliza finished her pan, popped it in the oven, and pulled off her apron. Tossing it to the side, she pulled out a chair. “Sit!” she commanded. “You must tell us the entire story. We’ve both been consumed with worry since you mentioned you would work for Danforth. He’s always mentioned in the Ton Tattler—of course, by initials, but everyone knows who it is. Lately, he’s been tied to the Widow Withers.”
“The woman is a mean human being. She’s one to avoid,” Bridget added.
“I don’t know what you are looking for. We ran into each other—literally—one morning before I started work. In the chaos that ensued, I dropped Grandpapa’s timepiece—the one he had given me when I turned sixteen. The duke accidentally stepped on it. He had it fixed and returned to me, as he promised. End of story,” Lydia said, waving dismissively.
“That cannot be all,” Eliza prodded.
“He offered to have his carriage bring me to the dowager duchess’ townhouse, but I had errands to attend. Instead, he ordered it to follow me and take me when I was ready. True to his word, the timepiece arrived—and it’s in better shape than when I dropped it!” Lydia couldn’t help but be impressed by that, although she hadn’t planned to let her sisters know of it. And she wouldn’t let them know she found him handsome—beyond handsome. His dimpled chin, emerald-green eyes, and wavy, dark hair had haunted her in her dreams since that meeting—despite her desperate attempts to read and engage her mind in a different direction before bed. The dreams were so real, she could feel his soft lips on hers and would wake up with her sheets tangled around her.
“So, he’s generous. What else do you know of him? He and the widow have behaved in a less than acceptable way in public,” Eliza said.
“To be fair, I’ve always suspected the widow is planting articles. She has a reputation for being a femme fatale—a siren!” Bridget whispered. “She has had two husbands and is but three and thirty!”
“That is notable, to be sure,” said Lydia thoughtfully.
“She marries much older men,” added Eliza.
