Page 21 of A Bride for the Scottish Duke (The Gentleman’s Vow #5)

CHAPTER 21

Charity

“T hank you, Your Grace,” A little boy said as he slipped down from Ambrose’s saddle. “Thank you Ambrose,” he added and petted the little horse’s neck.

“Would you like to give him a carrot?” Charity offered, and the boy took it at once, feeding it to a hungry Ambrose.

“Shall we bring in two more?” the groom asked, and Charity glanced over at the corner. They had been walking with the horses for the better part of two hours with a break in between and she was rather tired, as was Ambrose, she believed. Hector, meanwhile, appeared rather fit still, but then he was used to this, seeing how he was brought here once a month. Ordinarily she would have said no, but there were only two children left in line.

“Yes, let us bring them,” she said, motioning to the children. The groom lifted a little girl of about four onto Ambrose before taking the boy onto Hector. Charity led Ambrose in a circle while the little girl giggled with delight.

As they walked, she spotted Eammon. He’d been standing with assorted farmers and conversing with them all day, but at times he’d glanced at her and smiled encouragingly. She’d returned the smiles because, since his words of encouragement, she couldn’t deny feeling a certain warmth whenever she looked at him.

However, this time when she looked up, that warmth was replaced with a curiosity, for something was not quite right. Up until now, Eammon had conversed with each tenant in an almost jovial manner. If there was trouble, he’d grown a little more solemn, but never withdrawn or angry. He had a way with people, she’d noticed. They liked him and he appeared to genuinely like them.

This time, however, he looked furious. His eyebrows were drawn together and his jaw set while his arms crossed across his front. The person he was speaking to did not look like a tenant farmer, but rather like a merchant. The sort she would see in London, working in one of the shops on Bond Street, rather than at a market. What did this mean?

As she passed, she caught the words “….he cannot possibly do that…” but no more as Ambrose had turned and they were walking in the other direction with the chatter from the market drowning out whatever else Eammon might have said.

He? Of whom was he speaking?

One of his cousins? His uncle?

She frowned. She would ask him once they were finished.

“Is that your husband?” the girl asked her, drawing her from her thoughts. “The man with the blue waistcoat?”

“Yes,” she replied with a smile. “That is His Grace, the Duke of Leith and I am the duchess.”

“I want to be a duchess too when I grow up. Or a princess,” the girl informed her.

“Is that so?” she asked with a smile.

“Yes. I wanted to be a constable but Mama said that is not for us girls, so I shall be a princess instead.”

Charity felt sad that the girl’s initial dream was crushed and remembered that the same had happened to her when she was but a little girl. She’d wanted to be a shop merchant and sell fruits and vegetables, but her mother had told her that would not be possible. She would have to marry and have children.

She’d thought it terribly unfair at the time.

“I would like to be a merchant also. I would sell sweetmeats, that way I could eat them whenever I wanted.”

Charity let out a genuine laugh, and some people in the crowd turned to her with smiles.

“What a grand idea. “

“I think so,” the girl announced when Ambrose came to a stop. “If I have my own shop, you should come. You can have all the sweetmeats you’d like for free. And Ambrose also,” she said as the groom lifted her off again.

“A horse can’t eat too many sweets. A bit of sugar now and then but they prefer apples and carrots.”

“I know,” the girl said and giggled again. “You are nice.”

‘So are you,” she said and bent down to the child who unexpectedly wrapped her arms around her.

“Oh no,” the groom exclaimed, rushing forward to extract her from the hug.

“There is no need,” she said, holding the child closer. She smelled of lye soap and earth as if she’d been playing somewhere in the dirt and her mother had washed her quickly before coming here but had missed some. It felt nice, holding this little girl and she wondered if perhaps one day she might have a child also. Then she thought of her circumstances. She could have a child, of course. But it would be with Eammon.

And while she thought of him with far less hostility, she was not ready to go as far as imagining them as a true husband and wife with all that it entailed. Thus, she let go of the little girl, who returned to her family.

“You did well,” she whispered to Ambrose while feeding him another carrot. She ran her hand over his brown neck and then handed the lead over to the groom. “Let them both rest and water them before we walk back to the estate.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said, and Charity walked across the market square to where Eammon stood. The man he’d spoken to was gone, but the grim expression on his visage remained. It lightened for a second when he saw her.

“Charity, you did wonderfully with the children. And the tenants adore you,” he said, his eyes shining. She caught her reflection within them and realized her hair had come loose, and she looked a little less regal than when they’d left the house in the morning. Self-conscious, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Thank you, she said. “The children were all adorable, and the horses behaved so well. I am so glad the day was a success.”

His face darkened at this. “Not as successful as I would have liked.”

“Why? Pray, what has happened?” she asked, but to her dismay, he shook his head.

“Nothing. I will tend to the matter. Do not fret, all will be well.”

Somehow, his words had the opposite effect for she could not stop wondering just why she would be fretting. “Is it that man? Did he say something to you?” she asked.

He narrowed his eyes. “Which man? Did someone speak to you?” His tone was full of concern, not dismay.

“No, but I saw you speaking to a man a few minutes ago, someone dressed as if he were from town with a fedora. You looked displeased. Has he brought bad news?”

He gulped and opened his mouth “You need not…”

“Fret.” She finished his sentence for him, out of patience now. “I know it. You said so. But why do you believe I would fret? Pray, let us not argue once again nor go back to dishonesty and secrets.”

They had come far these past few days and the last thing she needed was for them to once more fall into the habit of lying to one another.

He gulped and looked around before taking her arm and leading her away from the crowd and to where the barouche was parked. He helped her in as the coachman approached in a hurry.

“Jones, close the top,” he instructed and sat down beside her, saying nothing while the coachman worked to close the vehicle.