Page 10 of Married to the Icy Duke (Duke Wars #3)

I t seemed proper to check in on the nursery before leaving, so Isaac did just that.

He had informed the butler and the housekeeper that they would soon be entertaining an illustrious female guest—a Lady, he’d warned them severely—and so they should prepare accordingly.

He hadn’t failed to notice the looks of dubious surprise flitting between Perling and Mrs. Ribb. No doubt they imagined that the ‘lady’ they were to host was nothing of the sort. An opera-dancer, perhaps, or some Parisian courtesan who Isaac had had shipped across the sea.

That was ridiculous, of course. He’d never sheltered a mistress in his house, certainly not with Thomas living here with him. It wasn’t proper for a child to be exposed to such things.

And I should know, Isaac thought grimly, thinking of his own childhood, and his father’s endless stream of mistresses. He wondered, not for the first time, how his mother had borne it.

Because she had no choice, I suppose.

If either of the servants had ventured an opinion or a question, he would have told them so immediately.

After all, Perling was no shrinking violet, and Mrs. Ribb was a formidable lady indeed.

In fact, Isaac would have preferred for them to state any misgivings aloud, so that he could set the record straight.

“Why, my good people, ” he’d say, all innocent shock and surprise, “I refer, of course, to my betrothed, the sweet Lady Charlotte. You must have heard of her, surely? She brings her sister-in-law and a maid. It’s entirely proper. Heavens, how badly you must think of me.”

However, it seemed that they were too well trained to betray more than a brief hint of surprise.

They bowed, murmured acquiescence, and shuffled away.

Isaac was left feeling like a cad, which was not fair, as he was doing things entirely properly—at the moment.

He was getting married, for heaven’s sake.

That was what proper gentlemen did, wasn’t it? They got married and settled down.

I am getting married, but as for settling down … I don’t think so. I don’t intend to let my life change at all.

Pushing these thoughts away, Isaac tapped on the door of the nursery. It felt odd, knocking on a door inside his own house. Knocking and waiting.

“Who is it?” came Mary’s voice from inside.

“It is me,” he responded curtly, and heard her sudden intake of breath from inside. Scampering feet sounded inside, and she hastily jerked open the door a moment later.

“Oh, Your Grace,” Mary said breathlessly, dropping a quick curtsey. “Master Thomas is still in bed. He’s so tired, and I struggled to rouse him, so I thought letting him sleep a little while longer wouldn’t hurt. If I have done wrong, I …”

“You haven’t,” he interrupted, stepping inside. “If Thomas is tired, then he must sleep. He’s only a child.”

She seemed to relax a little, stepping back against the wall and folding her hands in front of her.

The nursery was a large, square room. It was full of toys, things that Isaac had bought when he first learned that he would be his nephew’s guardian.

He had had no idea of what sort of things a small boy might like and had filled the nursery with game boards and books until Perling had tactfully suggested that perhaps a child might enjoy toys of some description.

“Such as what?” Isaac had snapped. Perling had been unconcerned as always, pausing to think over the question.

“A rocking-horse,” he’d said at last. “Tin soldiers. Soft animals stuffed with rags or cotton, the sort of thing a child might cuddle at night. Carved wooden animals, for more robust games.”

He rather wished Perling had been as forthright about Lady Charlotte’s impending visit as he had been about Thomas’ toys. Perhaps the man chose to pick his battles. That would make sense, as he was fairly clever.

All these toys, the ones suggested by Perling, were to be found in Thomas’ bedroom, but the little boy’s favorite item was a raggedy stuffed pig, its pink fur long since faded to a yellowish gray. His parents had given it to him, Isaac was told.

He could not be separated from it. Isaac was not sure whether Thomas’ attachment to the toy pig had begun before or after his parents’ unfortunate death. He suspected that it was after, which made his attachment even sadder.

Privately, Isaac had hoped that one of the new, expensive toys he had bought for his nephew might take the pig’s place in his heart. The rocking-horse, perhaps, was specially commissioned and shockingly expensive. Not that Isaac cared.

It had a padded seat and real horsehair flanks, along with a long, glossy mane and tail that Isaac had thought that a small child might enjoy brushing and braiding.

He’d commissioned a specially made leather bridle, braided and decorated with tassels and ribbons, and two saddles which could be affixed to the horse’s back.

He had added a child-size horse brush as an afterthought.

“A very fine creation, Your Grace, if I may say so,” Perling had said blandly when the horse arrived. “I imagine it is exactly like the sort of toy you would have wanted when you were a child, Your Grace.”

Isaac remembered glancing up at the man with narrowed eyes. It felt as though Perling was getting at something, but he was not sure what.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” he huffed, smoothing a hand over the silken mane. “I always wanted a rocking horse as a child, but my father said that it was not a manly toy, and that I should content myself with my tin soldiers.”

Perling sniffed. “Yes, Your Grace. Some people cannot fathom that a child might like tin soldiers, and a doll, and a rocking-horse, and still remain themselves.”

“Quite,” Isaac had responded briskly, rising to his feet. “Well, it’s perfect. Tommy shall adore it, I’m sure.”

Tommy had not adored the rocking horse. He had not disliked it, exactly, but he had not seemed to care very much about it. It didn’t matter, of course. He had a roomful of toys to choose from, and if he chose to cling to his raggedy old pig despite all his new choices, that was his own concern.

Isaac was not put out, not one bit. He reminded himself of this frequently.

The marvelous rocking-horse still stood grandly in the corner of the room.

Mary had informed him that it was used occasionally, but not very often.

As far as he knew, Mary was the only one who brushed and braided the marvelous mane and tail.

Thomas was clutching his toy pig, tucked up in bed, watching his uncle approach.

“I am sorry to wake you, Thomas,” Isaac said, dropping into a crouch beside Thomas’ low bed. He tried to smile appealingly, but Thomas only grew more serious-looking. “I am going out for the day, but I shall return soon. Shall we have supper together? Would you like that?”

Thomas dropped his chin to his chest very slowly and lifted it again. A nod. That was a nod. That and a jerky shake of his head no was the only communication Isaac had been able to get out of him.

And yet Lady Charlotte encouraged him to speak. What on earth does she have that I do not?

Isaac cleared his throat, shifting. “We are going to have a guest, Thomas. Can you guess who it might be?”

Thomas turned his head slightly to the left, then to the right. No .

Isaac breathed out. “Lady Charlotte Harding. You remember her, don’t you? The lady who sat with you under the table.”

The effect was immediate. Thomas’ little face broke into a wide smile, and he sat up, clutching his scruffy piglet to his chest. Isaac found himself grinning, too. Children’s expressions were, thankfully, easy to read.

At his age, Isaac thought grimly, I had learned to conceal my emotions. So had Sybella, and so had my brother. We thought it was normal. Perhaps it was not as ordinary as we were led to believe.

There was no sense in wasting time thinking about such things, however. Isaac’s father was long dead. His mother was dead too, and likely so were the endless parades of mistresses and opera-dancers his father had brought through the house.

And yet the effects of his reign remain.

“You like her, then?” he said, half to himself. “You like Lady Charlotte?”

A nod.

“Well, that’s good. She’s a kind woman, I think, and very maternal. Clever, too, even if she has no ability to keep her mouth shut or how to show respect. Or gratitude.”

He cleared his throat angrily, suddenly aware that Thomas was staring at him curiously, a little frown line between his brows.

Smile, damn you, Isaac told himself, and he forced a faint smile to his face. It wouldn’t do to terrify the child.

“Well, I can tell you that she’s looking forward to seeing you , too,” he added, reassuringly.

Thomas stared at him for a moment longer.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Isaac rose to his feet.

Should he hug the little boy? He couldn’t simply say ‘good day’ and walk off; that was too blunt.

A hug did not feel right, though. In fact, it felt unnatural, so he reached out and ruffled Thomas’ hair instead. That would have to do.

When he turned away, Mary was watching him with curiosity.

“If I may, Your Grace,” she said carefully, eyes fixed on the ground, “is this Lady Charlotte the same woman who found him at the party?”

“Yes, that is her. Why?”

“Nothing, it’s just … Well, she seemed kind, Your Grace. She had kind eyes. If I may be so bold, I liked her a good deal.”

Isaac sniffed. “Well, you might as well know, Mary, that Lady Charlotte will soon be the Duchess of Arkley.”

It took Mary a moment to understand, but once she did, her eyes widened.

“Truly, Your Grace? Why, what a wonderful thing that will be for Tommy! For Master Thomas, I mean,” she corrected hastily.

Isaac didn’t bother to scold her for the slip-up. Thomas had always responded more to the nickname his parents had given him, in any case. Perhaps Isaac was wasting his time fighting it.

“I think that Master Thomas prefers to be called Tommy ,” he muttered.