Page 21 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

Octavius got another surprise when he stepped into his library the next morning.

Sharp longing pierced his chest when he saw Miss Fields and the children making themselves at home in this space.

He froze for a moment, feeling both like an intruder and desperately wanting to belong to the scene. Miss Fields sat with James at the table over a thick book while Sophie and Margaret were both leaning over their own books.

Octavius groaned. Not this. As a young boy, he had also had to struggle through the account of every previous Duke of Eccess.

Unlike the gentle Miss Fields, his tutor had cruelly hit his fingers every time he stumbled.

It had motivated him to quickly memorize the text by heart to fake the ability to read.

His groan didn’t go unnoticed. Sophie’s sweet face lifted from her book and split in a grin. “Good morning, Your Grace!”

“Good morning,” he said to the four of them.

Margaret straightened her shoulders and gave him a polite smile while James looked up at him with more shyness and guilt in his eyes.

Miss Fields, however, smiled back with a certain sadness.

Seeing her that way was the last thing he wanted.

Something was troubling her, wearing her down, and her attempt to leave yesterday had left him uneasy and worried.

With a pang of jealousy, he remembered Archibald’s words about Temperance the night before.

His best friend wanted to claim her, wed her, make her his duchess.

But Enveigh had also said something about her needing a friend…

Good God, he wished he could be the one she could confide in; it would be torture watching another man position himself as her protector.

Were the thoughts of her stepmother, the parent who had not understood her, troubling her?

“Your Grace,” Miss Fields said.

His gaze quickly scanned her body. “How’s your ankle, Miss Fields?”

“Oh, much better. It’s nothing.”

Sophie closed her book. “We weren’t expecting you here so early. You’re never awake earlier than midday.”

He cleared his throat. “I came in search of Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations. Roderick, the Duke of Fortyne, recommended it. I am to find quotes for talks about Anglo-French trade restoration to advance my candidacy.”

“Excellent,” said Miss Fields with excitement in her voice. “Perhaps we could make a lesson out of it? We were just reading about your family’s history, but we could all study Adam Smith’s work.”

Octavius proceeded gingerly into the library. “Of course. Finish the history of my family first. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“Where were we, James?” the governess said to the boy, who frowned at the pages.

But Octavius knew exactly where he had been, and as he scanned the bookshelf looking for Smith’s name, he quoted, “‘Earlier, on the Feast of St. Stephen, in the year 1539, Master Eccleston’s vigilance saved the life of His Majesty. During the great Christmas feast, Master Eccleston observed that the King’s food taster had fallen grievously ill after sampling a dish of roasted pig.

Rather than allow His Majesty to partake, Master Eccleston threw himself between the King and the poisoned meat, declaring that he would rather die than see harm come to his sovereign through food prepared under his watch. ’”

When he glanced at James, the boy stared at him with wonder, and Miss Fields was smiling. Heavens, every wretched word he’d had to learn was worth it for that smile.

“‘For his loyalty and sharp observation,’” Octavius continued, never so delighted to recite, “‘Master Eccleston was granted the dissolved lands of Lowcross Abbey in Essex and elevated to the peerage as Baron Eccess. Later, when his eldest son served with distinction in Elizabeth I’s Scottish campaigns, the family was raised to the Duchy of Eccess, and Lowcross Abbey became known as Eccess Manor.’”

Miss Fields’s eyes glittered with joy. “An impressive memory, Your Grace.”

More , he craved internally, more of making her happy, wiping that sadness away, bringing her joy. His tool of choice was all the excess he could offer her. It was one thing he could do well; make sure she never lacked for anything.

This desire to make someone else happy was new.

If his own sadness troubled him, he would already be indulging in exquisite food or savoring a glass of cognac while boisterously telling funny stories with his friends or random people he’d meet in Elysium.

But Miss Temperance Fields’s sadness was different.

He couldn’t escape from watching her suffer.

He couldn’t drink, and he most certainly couldn’t go to Elysium, unless discreetly.

But right now, he didn’t even care about Elysium.

How could he desire any other woman when every fiber of his being craved only her?

What he could do was bring the celebration right here to her.

“I’d like to invite all four of you for a grand feast.”

“A grand feast!” exclaimed Sophie. “Like King Henry VIII’s?”

He chuckled. “Indeed, a true feast of excess. After yesterday’s events, I think we all need cheering up.” He met James’s gaze. “You’re not to blame for yesterday, my friend. I want you to know I do not hold it against you.”

James’s cheeks burned crimson, and Miss Fields stood as though to say something, but then closed her mouth.

“It wasn’t me,” the boy said stubbornly.

“I don’t think it was him, Your Grace,” said Miss Fields. “The footman tripped over someone’s foot. I saw it from where I was standing.”

James looked at her in surprise and relief. Good . Last night, the boy hadn’t tried to climb down the stairs again, even though Octavius had heard reports of him walking in his sleep. Octavius never wanted the repetition of that scary night.

He nodded. “I believe you, James. And therefore, all of you, prepare for the feast tonight. Just the four of you. I’d like to reward you all for the hard work you’ve put in during the past weeks. Put on your best attire and be ready.”

“No one else is joining us?” asked Miss Fields, and an angry, unpleasant thought coiled in Octavius’s stomach. Was she hoping Archibald might join them?

“No,” he said shortly. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, it will be only us.”

But the look on her face was not disappointment at all. It was relief, which caused a wave of calm to relax his body.

A few moments later, he descended into the kitchen to personally talk to the cook and tell her exactly what he wanted. Truth be told, he was nervous. He wanted to impress Miss Fields and the three rascals. He wanted to see Miss Fields’s eyes roll with pleasure.

The dinner was set for seven o’clock, much earlier than when he typically dined, so the children could join.

The dining room was a big space, with paneled walls in the colors of russet and gold, softly illuminated by the light of the chandeliers.

His hothouse on the rooftop currently grew tulips the color of peaches, and they stood tall and proud in arrangements down the length of the dining table.

His footmen had taken their places around the room, ready to serve.

And the children were clearly excited, even though James did his best not to show it.

Dear Sophie had already crawled into Octavius’s heart with her innocent yet smart observations and sweet nature.

Margaret was kind, taking care of her siblings, with a bright mind he admired.

Miss Fields came down in her regular brown governess’s gown, the collar of her white chemisette pulled right to her face, and her hair in a tight bun behind her head, completely opening her face to him.

The severe style should have made her look plain, but instead it highlighted the elegant curve of her neck, the delicate line of her jaw, and those luminous eyes.

Even in the drab brown wool, she was breathtaking.

But it wasn’t just her beauty that held Octavius captive anymore.

Her intelligent gray eyes saw straight through his mask.

He couldn’t hide from her, couldn’t charm his way past her sharp observations.

When James made excuses for his misbehavior, she’d tilt her head with that knowing look that said she understood exactly what he was really feeling.

When Octavius himself tried to deflect with humor or bluster she’d simply wait, those clear eyes patient but unwavering, until he found himself telling her things he’d never admitted to anyone.

With her, there was no escape into comfortable lies.

But her honesty was the most intoxicating thing about her…

along with the aroma of lavender mixed with her feminine scent.

“White soup,” Octavius announced as the first course was served.

He felt strangely giddy. The children had been under his care for nearly one year, and yet it was the first time he was sharing with them one of the things he loved most.

Octavius tried the first spoonful and had to stop the moan of pure bliss.

Indeed, no one had a better cook in London, not even the Regent himself, and he paid her very generously, too.

Worth every penny. The velvety potage made of veal stock with almonds and ground rice tasted rich yet mild and was flavored with bay leaves, mace, parsley, and thyme.

When he raised his gaze to see how his guests liked it, Octavius felt a smile fade on his face.

James was enjoying it well enough, taking spoon after spoon with as blissful an expression as Octavius had just felt a moment ago.

Sophie was balancing the spoon in her little hand as she slurped her soup more loudly than she should.

Miss Fields, unsurprisingly from what he’d already known about her, ate slowly, not a drop falling from her spoon.

Margaret, however, was stirring the soup in her bowl, staring into space.

He frowned. “Margaret, my dear girl, do you not like white soup?”

“Mama loved it,” she murmured, and a club thumped him straight in the chest.