Page 24 of The Trouble With Her Duke
The conversation around the table was silenced. Lydia sipped her chocolate. “I don’t think I am being unreasonable. It’s my life, and I’d like to live it in peace and be happy with my choices. I would not be happy married to Jacob Nichols.”
“Now wait here . . .” Preston started.
“Sons,” her father said, holding up his hands. “I think your sister has answered the questions you have asked. I am still the head of this family. And I have always wanted you to follow the path that would make you happy.” He looked at Blake. “You have not married. Yet, I do not hound you to give me grandchildren.”
“But I work in the family business. As I should,” Blake said.
“As you wished to,” his father reminded him. “I had your help as a child, but only to acquaint you with the business. I never demanded it of you—and I did that with each of you, including Lydia. She has chosen differently. You three chose the business. I’m happy that you did—and you are compensated well for your efforts. Lydia is free to make her choices.”
“But she gets paid . . .” Blake began.
His father silenced him with a look. “Enough. She has the properties her mother set aside for her daughter. And she has a dowry. And she has whatever I see fit to provide her.” He looked around the room. “Are we finished with this conversation?”
“Yes, Papa,” Miles said, joined by his two brothers.
“Fine. However, I have concerns about Devereaux.” Blake looked at Lydia. “The man has gone through a string of governesses. What makes you so sure you are the right person for his children?”
“Amphibians,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“Frogs, toads, that sort of thing. I am not afraid of them. All the other governesses had trouble with the children. The children played similar tricks on them that you, and you, and you”—she pointed to her brothers—“played on me.”
Colleen laughed. “She’s got you there. You’ve told me some ways you teased Lydia.”
“The three of you taught me to fish, shoot, climb, and even whistle. I think it may be refreshing for these children to meet their match.”
“Yes—you still know how to whistle,” her father agreed, laughing. “It brought me from my study yesterday.”
“All I’m asking, Blake, is that you respect my choice. I don’t know how this will turn out. The dowager and the children’s great aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Glanville, told me I could make a difference. If I can make a difference in these children’s lives, I want to try,” she said.
“I, for one, want to know more about these Golden Duchesses,” mused Preston. “How did they come upon that name?”
Lydia laughed. “I do not know. But they are extremely nice and very welcoming.”
“I, for one, look forward to reading the latest foiled antics of the children,” her father said, picking up his fork and taking a bite of his eggs. “Eat everyone. We rarely have everyone here. Enjoy each other.”
Lydia looked at Blake and Miles—the two that seemed to push the hardest for her to marry Jacob Nichols. Both brothers gave her a nod. It wasn’t what they wanted—she could tell. Thank goodness for Papa.
Chapter 8
Christmas Day, 1815
Damon scanned the room, marveling at the brightly colored papers and ribbons lying about the room. His mother’s family’s tradition of gifts for the children, and sentimental exchanges between the adults, made the day something everyone looked forward to during the holiday. A faint whimper came from a basket with a bright red ribbon in the room’s corner.
“Mandy, Michael, I think there is something in that basket for the two of you,” his mother said, setting the oval framed picture of the children—his gift to her—in her lap.
At least she had asked first, something she was not always accustomed to doing. Damon hadn’t seen the dog, but his mother assured him it would be small and able to be house-trained. His father had never allowed animals in the house, and Damon had been surprised when his mother suggested it. He winced, recalling his terse tone—but it seemed she always had a better idea about the way he was living his life, and it annoyed him.
“Dogs give unconditional love, but they are a responsibility. I think it could help the twins, Damon.”
“Mother, I’m confused. You say they need a mother; now you say a puppy will do. “
While his sarcasm had wounded her, his mother had been firm in her conviction. At first, her suggestion had frustrated Damon. But as he thought more about it, he saw the value. The twins were old enough to bear some responsibility, and a puppy might be perfect. They might also develop more empathy, having to focus on someone besides themselves. Here, he hoped his mother was right.
The twins stopped what they were doing and looked in the corner where the gifts had been piled. When the morning’s celebration had started, the pile had been substantial. Now, only the basket remained.
“That’s for us?” they asked together, a habit Damon realized was a twin thing.
