Page 13 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

The sound of Sophie’s laughter drifted down the hallway, followed by James’s rare chuckle.

Octavius stopped midstride. This wasn’t the wild, reckless laughter he knew would precede the sound of something expensive breaking and the terrified cries of maids.

This was delight. Contentment. Children who didn’t need to rebel and were allowed to be themselves.

He had been walking towards the schoolroom and had intended only to peer through the doorway to make sure James was well after yesterday’s antics.

Part of him wanted to stay longer, but he didn’t think James would want to see him.

And yet, as Octavius approached the room, his hand paused on the door frame and he just couldn’t leave.

In the light of the December afternoon sun sat Miss Fields, with Margaret and Sophie on each side of her on the sofa, while Sophie read aloud in perfect French, acting out what she was reading.

James was sitting on the floor, his face focused as he carefully took apart an old clock from the servants’ hall, his tongue poking out.

A longing to join them was like a pull in Octavius’s chest.

Under Miss Fields’s care, the children seemed to be happier. Even James, despite his clear rebellion and unwillingness to show he actually enjoyed the change in the house, seemed more settled.

Octavius himself had changed, despite his near slip the night before.

With drinking gone, he wasn’t sure he liked the man who hid behind it.

The constant pull he felt in his body for his hand to stretch out and pick up a glass and taste his favorite cognac, or brandy, or wine…

to get lost in the play of tastes, savors, and little nuances of the drink, while it also made him feel lighter, funnier, and more relaxed… it was almost too much.

But he couldn’t have any of that at the moment.

Once he’d gained the position of the president of the Board of Trade, after the government had made that Christmas announcement, he could return to his old ways.

There’d be no need to maintain the pristine mask so vigilantly.

As long as he was discreet, he wouldn’t face consequences such as Lord Liverpool taking the position away from him.

Society overlooked sin in those who wielded real power.

That was the thought that got him through the days.

That…and seeing Miss Fields. The way she listened to Sophie read, her head tilted slightly, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

How she somehow managed to include all three children without any of them feeling overlooked—a skill he’d never possessed.

The quiet grace in the way she sat, hands folded in her lap, yet her gray gaze holding Sophie with all of her attention, and then Margaret, and then James.

Octavius felt warmth in his chest, which had been numb for years, simply by her being there.

As though hearing his thoughts, Miss Fields raised her head and her gray gaze met his, sparkling and alive, and his very breath stopped.

“I…er— James, are you well?” Octavius asked awkwardly, looking at the boy.

James’s brown eyes blinked in surprise. “Me, Your Grace? I—I’m well.”

“Good.”

It was good. The boy seemed well. Perhaps a little nervous, but not as pale as last night. Octavius’s throat clenched as he considered apologizing for raising his voice so much that he’d frightened the poor boy. But the apology was stuck in his throat like a stone.

Silence hung between the five of them. Octavius should leave, he knew that, but part of him didn’t want to. He ached to be included in this warm, quiet, domestic scene as though he’d always belonged here.

To a family.

Of course, he did have a family besides his wards—his younger sister.

Over the years, he’d sent inquiries into France, the Low Countries, the Prussian and German states, even the Italian principalities and Spain, all searching for any trace of her or their mother.

Always in vain. The search had yielded only one devastating piece of information: their mama had died seven years ago.

Seven years. She’d lived fifteen years away from him.

She’d never needed to flee the country or remain in hiding—Papa had died the very morning after she’d left and she could have returned right away.

The knowledge sat in his chest like a millstone.

His mother had chosen to stay away rather than return to him.

But he still had a sister somewhere out there, and he would not stop searching. She was the only family connection he might ever have—a young woman, alone in the world, without the inheritance due her. He had a responsibility to protect her, to make sure she was well.

“Would you like to join us, Your Grace?” Miss Fields asked, pulling him out of his reverie.

“Yes, Your Grace!” Sophie gave out an excited squeal as she put the book to the side, jumping to her feet and skipping towards him. Her warm little hand took his and tugged him. “Please, join us! Read us a French book!”

But it was the sweet longing in James’s eyes that did it. Octavius let her pull him into the room, feeling like a lout in a porcelain shop threatening to break the delicate furnishings, the children, and his pretty governess.

Besides, he couldn’t read well, and especially not in French.

A lout, indeed.

“You read it to me, Sophie,” he said as he took his place on the sofa next to her.

“Of course!” she exclaimed. “What would you like? How about The Four Chevaliers ? Have you read that one?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

Quite unladylike, Sophie skipped towards the bookcase. It seemed it was her favorite way of moving about, but Miss Fields wasn’t correcting her like another governess would. For some reason, Octavius didn’t mind.

“I think a biography of Isaac Newton is more interesting,” said Margaret, who stood up like a graceful swan and walked to the bookshelf, seeking out a book.

“What would you like, James?” asked Miss Fields kindly.

James scowled at them from the floor. “Nothing. It’s all silly anyway.”

Miss Fields leaned towards Octavius, the corners of her eyes wrinkling with a smile. “At least he’s not catching and releasing an army of mice.”

“No, The Four Chevaliers !” argued Sophie. “A scientist’s biography is boring. We want adventures and battles, don’t we, Your Grace?” She picked up a book and looked at him with hope.

He didn’t like the girls arguing with each other, especially over his attention. So what was the right choice? “I—I?—”

“How about we read about these four knights of yours first,” said Miss Fields, “and after that, Isaac Newton’s biography. Would that be acceptable, girls?”

Margaret nodded her approval as Octavius’s admiration swelled. “I’m grown enough to entertain a child’s whims.” But as she said that, her gaze darted towards him in the same way he had done so many times when he had checked for his father’s approval.

“You’ll love it!” Sophie exclaimed, bringing the book with her back to the sofa. “Roland is one of the four knights, and you’ll love him, Y’Grace.” She sat comfortably by Miss Fields’s side and opened up the book.

Octavius chuckled. “And why is that?”

“He’s big and strong like you, and he likes eating and drinking wine.”

He had to force his lips to hide a smile. “Very well, Sophie, read to me about Roland.”

She opened her mouth with an air of great importance and began reading.

They all listened for at least half an hour, and Octavius found himself…enjoying it. A rare sense of peace made him feel light and warm.

Behind Sophie, who was reading with her head bent, Octavius leaned towards Miss Fields. “You have managed to accomplish a miracle, Miss Fields. They’re a delight.”

She smiled and his heart began glowing like a hot stone. “They’ve always been a delight, Your Grace.”

Holding her gaze, Octavius nodded, joy pulsing in his stomach.

He cleared his throat. This might be a mistake.

“Sophie, stop reading for a moment, please. Miss Fields, children, I’d like all four of you to make an appearance at the small soirée I’m hosting in three days.

It’s important to me because, should the soirée please the members of the Board of Trade and Lord Liverpool, it might contribute to me becoming the president of the Board of Trade. ”

If it wasn’t for Lord Liverpool’s wanting to see Octavius a reformed man—a family man capable of responsibility—he’d have asked them to stay hidden in the schoolroom, out of sight and out of trouble.

But having well-behaved children present would surely demonstrate his transformation from rake to respectable guardian. He needed them there.

Despite Octavius’s clear logic, Miss Fields’s color drained slightly. Was it her shyness at the thought of being in polite company? He wished he could tell Miss Fields she had no reason to be worried about herself. Besides, he failed to see anyone else if she was in the same room.

Sophie straightened her back. “I will help you, Your Grace, you can rely on me. Will there be French diplomats? I’ll be happy to entertain them in their native tongue.”

He chuckled. “Indeed, that would be very helpful, Sophie. As long as you don’t sing your favorite drinking songs.”

“Is my presence really required, Your Grace?” asked Miss Fields in a low voice. “I’d rather stay in my room and wait for the children to return to their room.”

He was right. He must be. She was shy about appearing in society. “Are there any ghosts of your own you’re running away from now, Miss Fields?” he asked softly.

The remaining color fled from her cheeks, her mouth curving downwards. “Not at all,” she said, then swallowed. “Who— Ahem… Who is going to be there?”

He frowned, his stomach twisting. “Does it matter? Are you trying to avoid someone?”

She shook her head a little too vigorously. “No, no, of course not.”

Octavius wanted to believe her, wanted to believe there were no lovers in her past. “As their governess, I’d like you to be present when the children are in polite company. Just in case something goes wrong. It is an important part of your duty.”

She nodded her head a little too enthusiastically. “Of course, Your Grace. I’ll be there. The children will be ready.”

He inclined his head politely. “Thank you.”

There was a knock at the door and his butler appeared. “Your Grace?”

Octavius had the unpleasant feeling of being pulled out of a warm bath into cold air. He cleared his throat. “Yes, Jacobs?”

“The Duke of Enveigh came to call, Your Grace, and wonders if he might join you in the schoolroom.”

He frowned. “In the schoolroom? Certainly not. Show him to my study.”

Behind the butler, Archibald appeared in the corridor. The way his gaze immediately sought out Miss Fields made Octavius’s jaw tighten. His friend cut such an elegant figure—graceful and slim where Octavius felt himself a heavy giant.

The Duke of Enveigh grinned. “I’d like to hear how the story continues, if that is acceptable for everyone.”

Octavius’s gut wrenched. There was nothing Archibald did wrong by joining them. So why did he feel like one of his best friends had come to threaten his domestic bliss?