Page 62

Story: Duke of Gluttony

“Ladies,” Miss Norwood interjected, setting her burden on a side table. “Perhaps we might greet Her Grace properly before airing our grievances?”

The girls paused their squabble long enough to execute near-simultaneous curtsies.

“Good morning, Aunt Abigail,” they chorused, though Heather’s curtsy was decidedly wobbly.

“Good morning,” Abigail replied, her spirits lifting despite herself. “You both look ready for a productive day.”

Heather groaned dramatically, flopping into a chair. “Must we have a productive day? Can’t we have an unproductive day? Just once?”

“Mrs. Greaves says idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” Mary Ann said as she took her seat.

“But Miss Norwood says the devil has better things to do than meddle with little girls,” Heather countered, rattling the china as she hopped into her chair.

Miss Norwood coughed delicately. “I believe I said that the devil finds work for idle hands, but that industrious minds are their own reward.”

The footmen appeared with covered dishes, derailing the argument. As they were served, Abigail watched them—Mary Ann meticulously arranging her napkin in her lap, Heather immediately reaching for the jam pot.She marveled at how quickly they filled a room with weather of their own making.

Mary Ann looked around the room as if she just remembered something. “Where’s Uncle Graham? I thought married people stayed together.”

The innocent question stung, but Abigail smiled and poured tea for each of the girls. “Your uncle was called to the hospital late last night. A patient needed his help.”

“Was it very bloody?” Heather asked, slathering her toast with an alarming amount of jam. “Uncle Graham said sometimes he has to saw off people’s arms and legs when they get all green and smelly.”

“Heather!” Ms. Norwood said, almost choking on her tea. “Not at the breakfast table.”

Her sister shrugged.“It’s what he said,” she muttered before turning pleading eyes on Abigail.“But truly, must we have lessons today?”

“No,” Abigail said, recognizing both the futility of trying to achieve anything scholarly with the girls in such a state and her need to escape the ghost of things that had not happened.“We’re going shopping.”

Three sets of eyes widened as they regarded her. Heather whooped while Mary Ann looked torn between propriety and excitement. Ms. Norwood merely smiled and sipped her tea.

Abigail busied herself with pouring another cup of tea.“Well, I don’t believe your bedroom has been updated since your Uncle Graham inhabited it as a young boy and the schoolroom is positively dreary. How can two bright girls hope to learn their sums in such gloom?”

“Can I get yellow curtains?” Heather asked. “Sunshine yellow, not yellow like Miss Pemberton’s teeth.”

“Heather!” Mary Ann gasped, scandalized.

Miss Norwood coughed delicately into her napkin, though Abigail caught the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

“I think,” the governess said when she had composed herself, “that an outing might be just the thing. The young ladies have been working very diligently, and sometimes the best remedy for an unsettled heart is a change of scenery.” She gave Abigail a meaningful glance.

Abigail’s cheeks warmed. Was her disquiet so obvious?

“Very well,” she said, rising from the table. “Girls, finish your breakfast and change into your walking dresses. We’ll be off as soon as you are ready.”

As the twins chattered excitedly about their shopping plans, Abigail caught Ms. Norwood’s eye.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

The governess nodded. “Every new duchess needs a day of frivolity before the coronet begins to chafe.” She gathered her papers. “I shall prepare a list of books that would benefit our little scholars.”

As she departed, Heather looked up from her plate. “Can Uncle Graham come with us?”

“Not today,” Abigail replied, keeping her voice light. “His patients need him at the hospital.”

“He’s always working,” Mary Ann observed. “Papa used to say that Uncle Graham would work himself into an early grave.”

The casual mention of their father sent a pang through Abigail’s chest. “Well, perhaps we’ll find something to cheer him when he returns.”