Page 28 of The Iron Duke's Flaming Christmas
Selene felt a stab of pity for the girl. “That is terrible. He should at least celebrate her birthday, even if he will not tolerate celebrating Christmas.”
“It all reminds him of the late duchess and the day that he lost her,” stated Mrs. Kittles, sighing again. “He is entrenched in his position on the subject now and I fear will never change his mind about it—not for as long as he lives. It is just too painful for him.”
Selene nodded, trying to swallow the painful lump in her throat.
“I know that you mean well,” continued the housekeeper, in a gentle voice. “You want to do your best for the little lady. But you would be like David taking on Goliath in this battle, my dear. You will never win. Best to let it go entirely.”
The housekeeper drained her tea, standing up. “I better get back to it. The devil finds work for idle hands, as the good book says.” She scurried away.
Selene picked up her cup, sipping her tea thoughtfully, trying not to feel disappointed, when she had already known what Mrs. Kittles was going to say about it.
Her heart clenched. What a cold man he had become, enshrouding his heart in layers of ice, which were so thick, she didn’t think anyone could ever penetrate it. His great loss had turned him bitter, had made him unable to engage with life again. He wasn’t even able to celebrate his own daughter’s birthday.
She drained her cup, staring at the leaves on the side of it. Perhaps it would be good for him to marry this Lady Gwen, to start afresh, to try for more children. Lenore would have a mother and siblings. And perhaps, the ice in his heart might finally thaw.
The knot in her chest grew tighter at the thought of it. She gritted her teeth, getting to her feet. Mrs. Kittles had said that the devil finds work for idle hands. Did it also find work for foolish women, who felt things they weren’t supposed to feel?
Chapter 15
Ian stomped through the snow on the grounds, buried deep in his thoughts. Lord Mastiff and Lady Gwen were due to arrive in the next few days and the house was a flurry of activity for their arrival.
He had finally conceded defeat and left it in a foul temper, after Mrs. Kittles had disturbed him for the hundredth time to ask questions about the menu Cook had planned, and preparations for the day party in the conservatory for their guests, which he had grudgingly decided to hold in their honor.
I do not like having houseguests or holding parties. I will be glad when they are gone and the house returns to normal… or as normal as it can be, with the new governess in it.
He sighed deeply. At least Lord Mastiff had decided to accompany his daughter on her trip to London, and he wouldn’t have to deal with the lady alone. Lady Gwen was always sidling up to him and batting her eyelashes at him, which was just irritating. At least with her father there, she couldn’t be as blatant about her desire to become the next Duchess of Trenton.
Suddenly, he stopped, gazing into the distance, his heart thumping hard. Lenore and Miss Bomind were outside… andthey were having a snowball fight. Their laughter was ringing in the air as they threw the balls at each other, falling into the snow, breathless and rosy cheeked with joy.
His heart contorted. A part of him wanted to march over there and scold Miss Bomind for taking time for such foolishness from his daughter’s lessons, but a bigger part of him was charmed by the sight of the woman and the little girl, both lost in their excitement, enjoying the snow.
I should keep walking. I should go back to the house and leave them alone. I resolved to avoid the governess as much as possible.
He stood there, hesitating, filled with conflict. But then he started walking, heading toward them, drawn as if pulled by a magnet. They were both so engrossed in the game that they didn’t see him approaching.
“Papa!” cried Lenore, turning around, a large snowball in her gloved hand. “Have you come to join in?”
Miss Bomind turned toward him, jumping slightly. She bit her lip, looking a bit sheepish.
“Your Grace,” she said, in a breathless voice, dropping a clumsy curtsy, almost tumbling over in the snow. “Lady Lenore was so eager to play in the fresh snow, and I did not see anyharm in it, considering we had almost finished our afternoon lesson.”
“Papa, come and play,” cried Lenore, dropping the ball and rushing over to grab his hand, dragging him through the snow. “It is simply the best fun!”
“Oh, all right,” said Ian, smiling at his daughter, unable to resist her entreaty. Lenore looked so happy—she was literally glowing with joy. “If you insist.”
He scooped up a large ball of snow, hurtling it at his daughter. He made sure he didn’t use too much force, for he didn’t want to knock Lenore down like a skittle. And he knew that snowballs could leave bruises, if they were hurled too hard. He had been on the receiving end during fierce snowball fights when he had been a child.
His daughter jumped sideways, so that the snowball missed her. Instead, it hit Miss Bomind, square in the jaw.
“I do apologize,” he said quickly, his eyes widening with alarm. “Are you hurt…?”
She didn’t reply. He didn’t think she had even heard his question, for she was already bending down, scooping a large ball, and throwing it at him. It hit him in the torso, almost knocking him over, which took him by surprise, considering howtall he was, and how small she was. There wasn’t much force behind her throw though, he had simply been taken unawares.
She laughed, her head tilting back. A breathless, throaty laugh, filled with joy. He couldn’t help laughing, as well. It was as if it was contagious. The next minute, Lenore was giggling, and they were all bent over in mirth, trying to catch their breath.
They kept slinging snowballs at one another, laughing harder, until a maid approached, saying that it was time for Lenore’s afternoon tea. His daughter pouted, but let herself be led away by the maid, without too much fuss. Clearly, snowball fighting had given her an appetite.
He turned to Miss Bomind, still trying to catch his breath. They stared at one another. He felt that familiar rush of attraction toward her, even more intense than usual. She looked so beautiful with her rosy cheeks, breathless from exertion, and snowflakes fluttering around her, falling on her hair and her face.
