Page 8 of The Duke and his Muse (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #32)

A sennight later, Jane found herself once again at Bartlett House, portfolio in hand. The dowager waited for her in the drawing room yet again. Jane supposed she was there as chaperone. She noted the dowager had the same shade of blue eyes as her son, the same black hair.

Tea cup in hand, Jane placed it on a nearby table when the duke entered the room alone. She stood up and curtsied, regaining her seat as the duke took a place beside his mother on a settee.

“Daniel won’t be joining us today. We spent the morning in the gardens and I’m afraid I tired him out.” The duke waved off his mother’s offer of refreshment.

The dowager picked up a sewing basket beside her on the settee and pulled out a piece of embroidery.

“You have read the synopsis?” the duke asked her, brows raised.

“I did. It is very well done. I did wonder about Iris’s reaction to the hedgehog joining their little group.”

It was decided that since Iris the bird was quite opinionated, she would have objections to adding to their group, but the loyalty of the hedgehog would wipe her doubts away.

“And you think Leopold should be the one saved from drowning?” She paused. “He is usually clever enough to save himself.”

“Perhaps the fox allows Daniel to save him so the hedgehog will find a place in the group,” the duke replied, thoughtfully.

“That is an excellent idea.” She nodded and then pulled a few sketches from the portfolio next to her on her own settee. “These sketches are of Daniel being lost, stumbling into the clearing where Iris is speaking to the others from the stump, and being comforted by Betsy the deer.”

The duke looked over the sketches. “I like how Daniel is not portrayed as being overly scared of his situation.”

“He is shy, but always optimistic about the kindness of others.”

“Perhaps na?ve, but happy,” the duke replied.

Their gazes met, and she felt a flush on her cheeks. Was he referring to her?

“I see your publisher is Davis and Sons in London.”

She nodded. “A small house, but they’ve been with us since the beginning. My father believed in loyalty to those that had served him well.”

“A wonderful philosophy.” The duke paused. “Should I keep these sketches as inspiration? I’m not sure how to proceed.”

“Keep the sketches. Write up what you can within the next fortnight, and then we can meet again and see where we are.”

“That sounds like a good plan. I’m sure Daniel would have liked to see you again.” The duke looked surprised by his own statement.

“You must bring him along when we meet again. He is a sweet child. I hope he has been happier these last few weeks.”

There was a short silence and Jane noticed the dowager’s attention was now upon her.

“He is not so forlorn as he was,” the duke replied quietly.

Jane was soon ensconced in the duke’s carriage on the way home, Maisie chatting away on the bench opposite her mistress.

“The duchess wants her son to go to London,” Maisie said, shaking her head. “The cook says to get a new mother for Daniel.”

She frowned. “The child has been through so much. A new woman in the house would surely disrupt his care.”

“Mrs. Blight is against it as well, from all accounts.”

Jane changed the subject by commenting on the lovely weather. The idea of a new duchess at Bartlett House was disquieting for some reason. She was surely just worried about Daniel.

* * * * *

Graham rose to his feet behind his desk in the study and stretched. He’d finished writing about the hedgehog becoming lost and finding the group of woodland creatures in the forest clearing. Iris was a fun character to write as she had a forceful personality, a lot like his mother.

A thought came to him and he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out the miniature of his dead wife. He rang a bell on the corner of his desk.

“Please ask Mrs. Blight to come to the study,” he told the maid who entered the room a few moments later.

The nurse arrived soon after. “A maid is watching Daniel while he naps.”

“Very good. Please be seated.”

Once the nurse had taken a seat, he passed the miniature to her. Mrs. Blight looked over the framed portrait, her normally stern expression softening.

“I wanted to ask your advice, Mrs. Blight. Perhaps the miniature could be placed in the nursery? If you don’t think it would upset Daniel.”

The woman looked up and visibly swallowed. Her eyes were bright as she replied, “I do believe the child would like a reminder of his mother.”

“If you’re sure it won’t upset him?” he asked, sounding hesitant to his own ears.

“I think Daniel has come to terms with much of his grief. I will place the portrait on his night table and we shall see what he thinks of it.” She paused. “Is that all, your Grace?”

“My son has a lot of energy. When it is raining outside I would like to take him to the portrait gallery for a stroll. Has he spent much time there?”

“No, your Grace. As his mother’s portrait is there perhaps it is time he should.” The nurse rose to her feet.

“Thank you for your help in these matters.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

That evening, Graham visited the nursery and Daniel immediately grasped his father’s hand and pulled him to the night table to see Caroline’s portrait.

The little boy pointed at the portrait with his other hand. “Mama.”

“Yes, it’s your mother.” He felt a pricking behind his lids, the first time he could remember feeling such overwhelming emotion over Caroline’s death. “She loved you very much.”

He heard a sniffling sound, and spied Mrs. Blight blinking rapidly.

“Shall we finish building the castle we began yesterday?” He asked his son cheerfully, releasing Daniel’s hand and seating himself on the floor next to a pile of blocks.

“Castle!” Daniel clapped his hands and plopped down next to his father.

“You should get yourself a cup of tea,” Graham said to the nurse standing nearby. “We shall be quite all right for the time being.”

Mrs. Blight merely nodded and exited the room. Graham might be wrong, but he thought the nurse might just be softening toward him.

As he stacked blocks and listened to Daniel babble about their play, Graham thought about a comment his mother made the evening before over dinner.

“Have you thought about taking a wife again?” the dowager asked casually before taking a bite of asparagus.

“A wife?” He shook his head. “I think I have enough to be getting on with at the moment.”

“Daniel needs a mother,” the dowager replied in clipped tones. “If you plan on staying at Bartlett House, you will need a duchess to run the household.”

He frowned. Something had occurred to prompt this conversation. As he hadn’t said he was unhappy or lonely, he had no idea what had set his mother off.

“For the time being, I am busy not only getting to know my son, but with estate business and writing a children’s book. We can revisit this conversation when I’ve completed my project with Miss Hayward.”

His mother had not looked particularly happy at his response but said no more on the matter.

Whatever had made her decide he should look for a wife?