Page 19 of A Duke, a Spinster, and her Stolen List (Duchesses of Ice #1)

Chapter Fourteen

“ I will not be bested by five digits and a length of ribbon,” Celine hissed, yanking hard on her satin glove.

She let out a string of unladylike curses as the satin glove refused to fit over her bandaged hand. She was meant to receive guests, and here she was, in the drawing room, wrestling her bandaged fingers through the mangled silk as if it might change the laws of nature.

A chuckle had her head snapping up. Of course, she found Rhys standing in the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, watching as if debating whether to step in or leave her to her suffering.

“Come to admire the spectacle?”

He stepped into the room, his hands folded behind his back in the mockery of a schoolboy’s apology. “I was hoping you’d let me win the morning’s wager, but I see you’ve chosen violence instead.”

She snorted. “Not even you could win a bet against this glove.”

The admission was meant to be a barb, but her heart wasn’t in it. She glanced away, her pulse quickening as she realized how near he had drawn, and how little space there was between them.

Rhys’s eyes didn’t leave her as his hands closed over hers. “You’re nervous,” he noted.

She let out a chuckle, but her fingers fidgeted, betraying her. “I am not nervous. I simply find the prospect of visiting children more… alarming than I anticipated. Are you here to gloat or to help?”

Rhys smiled—his first genuine smile in days—and gently turned her bound hand over.

“They’re not little monsters, Celine. They’re just children.

Lydia’s three are as tame as kittens, except when hungry.

Even then, only one will bite.” He looked at her bandage with a smirk.

“And you’re not expected to raise them, only to serve cake. ”

“I have never so much as spoken to a child,” she blurted, regretting it instantly.

Rhys blinked. “None? Not even in passing? Not a cousin or?—”

“I have no cousins,” she said. “And my father never entertained children in the house after… Well…”

Rhys’s face softened.

Celine straightened, smoothing her skirts with her good hand. “Besides, your friend Captain Harrow will be here, and that always means destruction. If your plan is to see me humiliated in front of your acquaintances, you could simply ask.”

Rhys’s smile was smaller now, but warmer. “If you’re humiliated, I promise to make a greater spectacle of myself. For balance.”

She doubted that. “I will hold you to it.”

No sooner had she said that than the sound of carriage wheels rolling on gravel reached them. With a grin, Rhys preceded her to the door.

From inside the carriage came a war-cry and a blur of small bodies. First, a young boy, then two younger ones, all red-cheeked and wild-eyed.

Rhys opened the door before the footman had even mounted the steps. “Brace yourself,” he called to Celine over his shoulder, and then stepped into the fray.

The children launched themselves at him.

“Uncle Rhys!” the eldest shouted, clinging to his leg.

The twins latched onto his coat, nearly toppling him backward.

Celine watched, rooted to the spot, as the Duke of Wylds allowed himself to be tackled by three small children. He ruffled their hair, endured their shrieks, and even let the eldest drag him to the grass as if felled by a prizefighter.

The twins chorused, “Again, again,” and Rhys obliged, wrestling gently and pretending, with theatrical groans, to be overwhelmed by their combined might.

Celine stood at the top of the steps, feeling oddly detached. She’d seen Rhys charm dowagers and debutantes, but this was… different. He looked happy, if such a word could be used to describe a man who had been up all night, brooding over estate ledgers and feigning indifference to her presence.

The children eventually spotted her, staring as if she were a display at the British Museum.

Rhys extricated himself from their grasp and brushed the grass from his waistcoat. “Children, come meet my Duchess,” he said, ushering them forward.

He gestured to the eldest, who offered a solemn bow.

“This is Robert Wentworth. He is eleven.” He then turned to the twins. “And these are the twins, Marcus and Leah.”

They followed suit, their efforts at decorum undermined by giggles and the lopsidedness of Leah’s curtsy.

Celine blinked, offered her hand, then realized it was still encased in the mangled glove. She let it drop, opting for a regal nod instead.

The children stared at her, then Leah asked, “Are you a real duchess?”

“She’s the best sort,” Rhys replied, his eyes on Celine. “The sort who makes new rules instead of following old ones.”

Celine resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

Behind the children, Mrs. Lydia Wentworth emerged, looking unflappable despite her pale blue dress being smeared with what was clearly jam.

Lord Julian Ashford followed, and Captain Harrow brought up the rear, booming with laughter and nearly deafening a footman as he ordered “a stout cup of tea and a side of ham, if you please.”

Mrs. Wentworth met Celine’s eyes and offered a smile. “Please forgive the unruly mob, Your Grace. The twins have wagered a year’s allowance on besting Rhys at wrestling, and young Robert is determined to witness the defeat firsthand.”

“A duchess is obliged to endure only half as much as a mother,” Celine managed, attempting to sound gracious.

“Oh, you’ll manage,” Mrs. Wentworth said. She leaned in and lowered her voice. “They only bite if you show fear.”

Celine laughed despite herself, and the knot of anxiety loosened a fraction. She let Rhys take her arm and lead her to the garden, where a table had been laden with pastries and lemon water.

The children trailed after, with Robert carrying a battered copy of Gulliver’s Travels , his nose already buried in it. Marcus and Leah began a game of chase around the rose bushes, while Mrs. Wentworth and Julian settled on a bench.

As Celine sat, she felt Rhys behind her, his voice deep when he murmured, “You’re surviving.”

“Barely,” she admitted, keeping her eyes on the twins as they clambered up a statue. “Are they always so… energetic?”

“Worse, sometimes. Robert once convinced the twins to paint my stables blue. Took a week to scrub it off, and three grooms threatened to give their notice. I nearly kept it as a reminder.”

“Robert still boasts about the incident,” Mrs. Wentworth piped up. “I am sure they will find a new adventure here during our stay.”

“Well, the manor is very large,” Celine said with a slight chuckle. “Lots of room for them to play.”

“Oh, yes!” Mrs. Wentworth grinned as she raised her glass to her lips. “I am excited to see it filled with children.” She looked from Celine to Rhys with a suggestive smile. “Three at least, I suspect.”

The words landed like a stone in Celine’s gut. “I… I don’t…” she stammered.

Mrs. Wentworth laughed and reached to pat her arm. “You’ll see.”

Celine risked a glance at Rhys. He was looking at her, but not with amusement. Something more akin to worry. Her heart was pounding, but she looked away and took several deep breaths, doing her best to maintain the smile on her face.

Reaching for a glass of lemon water, she took a long sip. Rhys’s eyes were still on her.

After a moment, Robert wandered over and offered her his book. “It’s got giants in it,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Do you like giants?”

“I have no experience with giants,” Celine replied, schooling her features into calm.

“She could easily slay one,” Rhys said, accepting a scone from Mrs. Wentworth, who seemed to be playing hostess instead of Celine. “I once saw her destroy a drawing room’s worth of crystal in under a minute.”

Celine shot him a glare. “Accidents are not the same as heroics, Duke.”

Robert looked unimpressed. “Do you want to read it or not?”

Celine took the book, her gloved hand feeling awkward around the spine. “Thank you, Robert.”

He nodded and returned to the garden, already deep in a new adventure.

As she examined the pages and the children’s shouts echoed across the lawn, and the adults lounged with tea and bright conversation, Celine found herself relaxing. Her forced smile softened, and the knots in her stomach loosened little by little.

Until Mrs. Wentworth said, “I wonder what your children will be like.”

The words froze Celine where she sat. She thought of her mother—her memory, her loss—then of her father, alone and silent. She forced a laugh, but her heart was hammering.

“Undoubtedly, they’ll be little monsters,” Mrs. Wentworth continued. “It seems to be the only breed in Hertfordshire.”

Celine felt Rhys’s eyes on her again, and her breath stuttered. Her hands tightened around the book, and she swallowed.

Sensing her distress, Rhys cleared his throat. “Captain, do you remember the time we nearly lost that dreadful wager with the Ashfords?” He flashed a playful grin.

“I believe it involved a rather embarrassing dance on my part,” Captain Harrow boomed, picking up a small cucumber sandwich and stuffing it into his mouth.

Celine blinked, momentarily pulled out of her thoughts. “Oh, goodness. That must have been a sight to behold.”

“Oh, he was!” Mrs. Wentworth laughed.

“It taught him never to make silly wagers against me.” Lord Julian raised his glass and smiled.

“What about you, Rhys?” Celine asked, the tension in her chest easing.

“I managed to escape without too much scandal—thanks to your impeccable timing, of course.” His gaze held hers, further encouraging her to join in the lightheartedness.

The twins, tired of the chase, returned to the table and immediately began clamoring for Celine’s attention.

“Can you do a trick?” Marcus demanded.

“I beg your pardon?” Celine said.

“A trick,” Leah repeated. “Uncle Rhys can whistle like a starling. Can you?”

Celine shook her head. “I’m afraid I have no talents worth displaying. Unless you count injuring oneself with perfume vials.”

The twins dissolved into giggles.

Leah reached for her bandaged hand. “Did you really cut it on a glass vial?”

“She did,” Rhys confirmed. “Nearly bled out on the carpet, too. Very dramatic.”

“I did not,” Celine retorted, but the twins only laughed harder.

Mrs. Wentworth leaned over and squinted at Celine’s bound hand. “Rhys, did you bandage her hand yourself?”

Rhys looked at Celine. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

She felt her cheeks heat. “No. It was… fine.”

She realized she was staring at his hand, and quickly looked away.

Julian looked from Rhys to Celine. “You know, she could teach them chemistry and distillation.”

“I suppose I could,” Celine said.

She was surprised to realize she wanted to.

Rhys grinned. “And she has the spirit.” He leaned closer, so only she could hear. “You’re doing marvelously well. If you wish to retreat, you need only say it.”

She met his eyes. “I’m not beaten yet.”

He smiled—real, full, and dazzling. “That’s my Celine.”

The twins called for her, demanding that she join their game of “statue chase.”

Celine rose and smiled. “Show me how it’s done, then,” she said.

Mrs. Wentworth’s words echoed in her mind —I wonder what your children will be like —and her heart clenched.

Could she ever let herself believe in that future?

Did she dare?