Page 20 of Claiming His Lost Duchess (The Dukes of Sin #8)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

J oan woke the next morning with a strange lightness in her chest, as though some burden she hadn't even realized she was carrying had been lifted in the night.

The memory of Graham's defense of her at the ball, the way he had looked at her while they danced, the heat in his voice when he whispered those scandalous things in her ear – it all came together to create a flutter of anticipation that she was trying very hard not to examine too closely.

She was finishing her morning tea when Graham appeared in the doorway of her sitting room, already dressed for the day in riding clothes that emphasized his powerful build.

“Good morning, mo chridhe,” he said, his voice warm with affection. “I hope you slept well?”

Joan felt her cheeks warm at the endearment and the knowing look in his eyes. “Very well, thank you.”

“Excellent,” Graham said with satisfaction. “Because I have a proposal for you. Both of you, actually.”

As if summoned by his words, Sophia came running into the room, still in her nightgown with her red curls in wild disarray.

“Papa!” she exclaimed, launching herself at Graham with complete confidence that he would catch her.

Graham scooped her up effortlessly, spinning her around until she dissolved into giggles. The sight of them together made something warm and dangerous unfurl in Joan's chest.

“And good morning to you, mo leannan ,” Graham said, pressing a kiss to Sophia's forehead. “How would you like to spend the day in the park?”

Sophia's eyes went wide with excitement. “Really? The big park with all the trees and pretty flowers?”

“The very one,” Graham confirmed. “We could have a picnic, and I could teach you to play some Scottish games.”

“Oh yes!” Sophia clapped her hands together. “Mama, can we? Please?”

Joan looked between her daughter's eager face and Graham's hopeful expression, and felt her carefully constructed resistance beginning to crack again. “I suppose... that would be acceptable.”

But even as she agreed, Joan felt a familiar twist of anxiety in her stomach.

The park would be public, filled with members of the ton who might recognize them.

After last night's ball, she was acutely aware of how many people were watching their every move, looking for signs of scandal or impropriety.

“But I am not certain it's wise for us to be so... visible,” she said carefully. “Particularly after last evening.”

Graham's expression grew serious. “Joan, you cannot live your life in fear of what others might think. You are the Duchess of Rutledge. You have every right to enjoy a day out with your family.”

“But people will talk – “

“People will always talk,” Graham interrupted gently. “The question is whether you're going to let their opinions dictate your happiness.”

Sophia looked between her parents with the astute perception that children often possessed. “Are we not going to the park, Mama? Don't you want to play with me and Papa?”

The innocent question hit Joan like a physical blow. When had she become so afraid of everything? When had she started seeing threats in every shadow and criticism in every glance?

“Of course I want to play with you, darling,” Joan said, forcing a smile. “Let us both get dressed, and we'll have our adventure.”

An hour later, they were settled on a blanket beneath a large oak tree in the park, the remains of their picnic spread around them. Joan had to admit that it was a beautiful day – the sun was warm, the breeze was gentle, and Sophia was practically glowing with happiness.

There were other families, under gazebos or seated under trees like they were, the air filled with infectious laugher. Joan could not help but be distracted by them every now and then, wondering what their family situation was like.

Were they even a little bit as unorthodox as her own family was? Did either parent feel suffocated by the weight of the worries they undertook? Did either of them feel unworthy and unable to do the needful? Were her burdens so unique, they were crafted for her alone?

“Now then,” Graham said, rising to his feet and brushing crumbs from his hands, “Who wants to learn how to play caber toss?”

“What's caber toss?” Sophia asked, bouncing on her toes with excitement.

Joan sat back and watched them interact, noting that despite all her reservations and fears about the closeness between Graham and Sophia, there was something awfully endearing about watching them together.

Graham looked utterly thrilled to be able to share what she assumed were fragments of his life and childhood with his own child.

And Sophia had never really been a child who asked for more than what she was given, but she had raise the question of her father’s whereabouts frequently.

And now that they had each other, the filled the void of their lives seamlessly, fulfilling the other’s needs, which left Joan wondering where she could fit into any of this.

“It's a Scottish game where you throw a large pole end over end,” Graham explained, picking up a sturdy branch that had fallen from their tree. “Of course, we'll use something much smaller for a wee lass like yourself.”

Joan watched with growing alarm as Graham began demonstrating the proper technique for throwing the makeshift caber. “Graham, I don't think this is appropriate. Sophia is a young lady. She shouldn't be engaging in such... vigorous activities.”

Graham raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”

“Because,” Joan said, struggling to articulate her concerns, “Ladies don't run about and throw things. It's unseemly.”

“According to whom?” Graham challenged.

“According to... to everyone!” Joan gestured helplessly. “She'll get her dress dirty, and people will think we haven't taught her proper decorum.”

“She's four years old, Joan,” Graham said patiently. “She's supposed to get dirty. She's supposed to run and play and explore the world around her.”

“But what will people think when they see the daughter of a duke behaving like a common – “

“Like a happy child?” Graham finished. “I should hope they'll think we're raising our daughter to be strong and confident and unafraid to take up space in the world.”

Joan felt her temper flare. “You don't understand. I've spent years teaching her to be a lady, to behave properly so that no one could find fault with her. If she acts like a wild thing – “

“Then she acts like the daughter of a Scotsman,” Graham said firmly. “And there's nothing shameful in that.”

Their argument was interrupted by Sophia's small voice. “I want to try,” she said quietly, looking between her parents with confusion. “Please, Mama? I want to learn Papa's game.”

Joan looked down at her daughter's hopeful face and felt her heart clench tightly in her chest. She had no idea when she had become so rigid, so haunted by the fear of the unknown. When had she started seeing joy as something dangerous?

“I...” she began, then stopped, unsure of what to say.

Graham's expression softened. “What are you really afraid of, mo chridhe ?”

Joan was quiet for a long moment, watching as other families enjoyed their day in the park around them. Children were running and laughing, getting grass stains on their clothes and dirt under their fingernails, and their parents looked... content. Happy.

“I'm afraid that if she doesn't behave perfectly,” Joan finally admitted, “People will say she doesn't belong. That we don't belong. I am afraid that we will be found unworthy.”

“And you think that by restricting her natural impulses, you're protecting her?”

Joan nodded miserably.

Graham crouched down beside their blanket, bringing himself to eye level with Joan.

“Listen to me very carefully. Our daughter belongs wherever she chooses to be. Not because she follows arbitrary rules about how ladies should behave, but because she is intelligent and kind and brave. Those qualities will serve her far better than perfect deportment. Qualities she has undoubtedly inherited from you, her wonderful, caring mama.”

“But what if – “

“What if she grows up thinking that her worth is determined by other people's approval?” Graham countered. “What if she learns to make herself small and quiet and invisible because that's safer than being unabashedly herself?”

Joan felt tears prick at her eyes as his words hit uncomfortably close to home.

“You're afraid she'll end up like you,” Graham said gently. “Always looking over her shoulder, always worried about the next criticism or judgment.”

“There's nothing wrong with being cautious,” Joan whispered.

“There's everything wrong with being so cautious that you forget how to live,” Graham replied. “Joan, you are remarkable. You are strong and brave and beautiful, and you deserve to exist as loudly as you wish in this world. And so does our daughter.”

Joan looked at Sophia, who was still waiting patiently for permission to play her father's game, and felt something inside her chest split open.

“You really think I'm afraid to lose?” she asked suddenly.

Graham blinked at the apparent non-sequitur. “What?”

Joan stood up, brushing grass from her skirts with new determination. “You said I was afraid to play because I was afraid to lose. Is that what you think?”

A slow smile spread across Graham's face. “Are you challenging me, Your Grace?”

“I'm saying that perhaps it's time I showed my daughter that ladies can be adventurous too,” Joan said, accepting the small branch Graham handed her.

What followed was perhaps the most ridiculous and wonderful hour of Joan's life.

Graham patiently taught both her and Sophia the basics of caber toss, cheering enthusiastically when Sophia managed to flip her tiny branch end over end.

Joan's first few attempts were disasters, but Graham's patient encouragement and Sophia's delighted laughter kept her trying.