Page 1 of Miss Davis and the Spare (Dazzling Debutantes #3)
JUNE 20, 1820, BALFOUR TERRACE IN MAYFAIR, LONDON
A small hand pressed against his forehead, startling him from his sleep. Richard Balfour’s eyes shot open, and he suppressed a groan. “Ethan?”
“Papa, I cannot sleep.”
“Is something wrong, son?”
“I miss Emma.”
The Earl of Saunton sighed heavily as he sat up. “Let us go to the kitchen and see what we can find so we do not wake Mama.”
Standing up, he scooped his little boy into his arms. Another night of coaxing his four-year-old son to sleep loomed ahead, but Sophia was expecting, and she needed her rest. Thankfully, Richard could sleep late as he had no early morning plans, but he missed his dawn rides. They were becoming a distant memory because of Ethan’s eccentric sleeping habits.
Ethan rode atop his shoulders all the way to the kitchen, where they enjoyed biscuits and milk. Richard smoothed his son’s curls as the boy nibbled on a biscuit, his small legs swinging against the chair. “Perhaps tomorrow, we could write Emma a letter,” he suggested.
Ethan’s face lit up. “And draw a picture?”
Richard smiled. “Of course.”
Satisfied, Ethan leaned against his father’s arm, his biscuit forgotten. Richard pressed a kiss to the top of his son’s head, gratitude swelling in his chest. Some nights were long, but these quiet moments, just the two of them, were fleeting treasures he held dear.
To his eternal mortification, Richard had been unaware of his son’s existence until two months earlier. Having recently reconsidered his reckless ways, Richard had set his man of business to investigating whether his past actions had left any unintended consequences. He learned of his son the same week of his unexpected marriage in late April.
Ethan was the result of a brief summer encounter with a maid during a house party five years prior. Unbeknownst to Richard, the maid had sought refuge with her aunt’s family in Derby, where she had tragically died in childbirth, leaving her aunt, uncle, and six cousins to raise Ethan with love and care.
Unfamiliar with children and their needs, Richard had swiftly arranged for Ethan to be brought to London in an effort to do right by the boy. But in his haste, he had not fully considered the consequences of uprooting a four-year-old from the only family he had ever known. The bustling warmth of a country home had been exchanged for the vast, unfamiliar townhouse in London—one with only Richard, his new wife, and his brother to replace the eight loving relatives he had left behind.
Determined to be a father who took part in his son’s life, Richard wished to make amends for his past mistakes. The governess he had hired was a capable woman, but she could not take the place of Emma, the cousin Ethan so deeply missed.
It was much later that morning when Richard finally rose. His first thought upon waking was that he needed to find a way to ease his son’s troubled nights. Seated beside his wife at breakfast, he broached the subject, gesturing for the footmen to leave the room before speaking.
“Sophia, I must do something about Ethan’s sleep. Since he has come to live with us, I believe I have had about three nights of unbroken rest in total.”
Lady Sophia Balfour quirked a red-blonde eyebrow. “He woke you again last night? How did I not know this?”
“He did. In fact, he has woken me every night this week. But with you carrying our child, I have been taking him downstairs so we would not wake you.” Richard sighed, rubbing his temple. “This lack of sleep is not good for him, and it is certainly not good for me. I feel as if I am out all night carousing, but with none of the merrymaking. And even I could not keep up such a pace in my heyday!”
Sophia grimaced in sympathy, sipping her tea as she considered the problem. “I appreciate your discretion in letting me rest. However, it is clear that you removed Ethan from the Davis family too abruptly, despite our efforts to ease the transition.”
“When I made the decision, I did not consider that he was a small child with deep attachments.” Richard exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “My father forbade emotions when I was a boy, so how was I to know that such sentiment existed? You must help me find a solution.”
Sophia sighed. “I believe the mistake was having your man of business handle the arrangements instead of going yourself. If you had met his relations and spoken with them, the transition would not have been so harsh. He may be worried about this Emma he keeps mentioning, or there may be a bedtime ritual we know nothing about because we never spoke with her. The changes you imposed on him were simply too sudden.”
Richard sighed. “I know I caused this problem. My old ways were dishonorable, and my attempts to repair my mistakes have been clumsy. If you are accusing me of being insensitive or inconsiderate, I will not argue.”
The countess grinned. “We agree, then. It was not well done of you.”
Richard sighed again, dramatically. “I will be the first to admit that this whole caring-about-other-people bit is new to me and that there was likely a clever way to go about this that would have eased the transition and been more considerate of all the parties involved. But I cannot change my past mistakes, bride, so I beg you—tell me how to fix it?”
Sophia giggled as Richard caught her hand and gave it an imploring squeeze.
“Stop, or I will not tell you how!” she teased.
He clasped both of her hands between his. “Never. Tell me how to fix this, or I will shower you with praise until you surrender!”
She gasped in laughter. “I think—stop, you rogue, I cannot think properly—we must invite this Emma Davis to join us in London. Perhaps we can offer her a Season.”
Richard blinked. “Spend more coin? It is not enough that I gifted a healthy estate to the Davis family for their benevolence in raising the boy after his mother died. Now I must fund a London wardrobe for their daughter?”
“This Emma raised your son. She taught him to read and how to play chess like a little champion. She nurtured his genius that you are so proud of. And what price would you place on your sleep?”
Richard groaned. “Any price. I will have my man of business arrange it.”
“Nay, husband. That is how you arrived in this predicament. It is you who should fetch her.”
“I cannot. Ethan needs me here, and I have several parliamentary commitments over the next few weeks that cannot be avoided. It is imperative we take action now. The boy has dark rings under his eyes, which he did not have when he first arrived.”
“Then you will write to them yourself, and we will send your brother to collect her. The Davises are family now through Ethan, and your high-handed approach is precisely why you are losing sleep. Besides, Peregrine needs a project. I am disappointed that he has returned to his clubs and his … less reputable company.”
Richard huffed. “Confound it, woman! I hate writing long letters.”
Sophia smiled serenely. “Husband, it will help you learn your lesson. Arrogance bears consequences, my love. Writing long letters and paying for a new wardrobe are your penalty.