Page 5 of The Duke’s Second Bride (Regency Second Chances #4)

T he entire journey home, Christian could not shake the image of her from his mind. It had been a long time since any lady had caught his notice.

Of course, it was due to her ill manners, he told himself. Nothing else.

“Luke,” he said. “You mustn’t run off from your governess like that. You could have fallen into grave danger. And approaching a strange horse like that, and then accepting help from a strange woman?—”

“She isn’t a s-strange woman!” the young boy insisted. “S-she was just help-help-helping?—”

“Enough,” Christian said sharply, not wanting to listen to the boy struggle any further. Guilt bloomed in his stomach at the disappointed look on Luke’s face. “Go back to your governess.”

Luke looked as though he might say something, tears welling up in his eyes, but then he simply nodded.

Christian watched the boy run away. Perhaps it shouldn’t be such a surprise that he had such a weak relationship with his son. Isabel had made it look so easy, and even the honey-haired woman at the fair, a complete stranger, had managed to put the boy at ease.

But he was hopeless as a father, with no idea of how to fix it.

“I simply cannot decide between the pink and the blue,” Edith said, looking with a furrowed brow at the two swaths of fabric laid out by the modiste.

“I was going to suggest the yellow, actually,” Ava said. “It will bring out the gold in your hair.”

Where Ava’s hair was a darker honey shade, Edith had hair the pale color of wheat in the sun.

Truly, her friend was beautiful, with that shining hair and her dark, quick eyes, which always had a witty retort dancing behind them.

Ava had overheard many people whisper that it was a pity Edith seemed entirely uninterested in the prospect of remarriage.

“You think? Hm. Yes,” Edith agreed, nodding decisively. “The yellow, then. Would now be a good time to take measurements for the gown, Madame?”

While the modiste showed Edith into the changing room, Ava took a turn about the entry area of the dress shop.

It was a well-stocked locale, with each wall flush with stacks upon stacks of fabric, thread, and lace in all different hues and designs.

She fingered a particularly lovely length of ribbon.

“I do believe that color would bring out your eyes.”

Ava stiffened and turned to see Brandon standing behind her, smiling. “My Lord,” she said, offering a curtsy.

He waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, none of that. Surely we are past such formalities, you and I?”

She gave him a faint smile. “I am merely trying to address you with the respect you deserve,” she said. “After all, I am most grateful for the generosity you’ve shown me following my husband’s passing.”

“But of course.” He said nothing more, simply staring at her.

When he took a step forward, Ava automatically took a step back.

“I-I think you should leave,” she said, trying to inject some firmness into her voice.

It didn’t work. A sick smile spread across Brandon’s face.

“And I think I should stay,” he said. “I know your allowance, after all, it would be ungentlemanly of me to allow you to order a dress here without offering to pay.”

It was true; Ava never came to a modiste this high-end to order clothing for herself, only ever when accompanying Edith. “That is very thoughtful, but I am only here accompanying my friend.”

“A pity. I would so have enjoyed watching you draped in any number of pretty fabrics,” he mused, his fingers brushing over the ribbons she had just been eyeing.

The movement stilled, and his eyes flicked back to Ava.

“Then again, such ornate patterns might drown out your natural beauty. I have often said that the loveliest ladies best highlight their good looks by wearing nothing at all.”

Ava’s eyes widened. “You should not speak to me so,” she hissed, unable to hide her disgust.

“I will speak to you however I like, madame.” Brandon’s eyes darkened.

“While I am speaking to you thus, might I suggest you show your face at the Aberton’s garden party at the end of the month?

It is unwise for a woman to go so long without showing her face in polite society, particularly a lady of your social situation.

I hate to think of what would become of you if you were to no longer have your allowance. ”

A chill went down Ava’s spine at the thinly veiled threat. Rather than react, she merely shot him an icy look.

After all, what more could she do?

Brandon held her gaze. For a moment, she was afraid he wouldn’t leave at all—or, worse, would say something else indiscreet.

But after an uncomfortably long few seconds, he merely smirked and then walked away.

As soon as the shop door chimed shut behind him, Ava released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

Barely a moment later, Edith reappeared.

“Thank you for waiting,” she said, pressing a hand to her hair.

“I already had Madame de la Courte add the cost of the order to my account, so we may leave when we please.” She stopped short.

“Ava, you’ve gone almost completely white. Is everything all right?”

Ava shook her head, trying to calm her racing heart. “It’s nothing,” she lied. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Christian had narrowly avoided the temptation to let Luke’s governess go, but ultimately the young lady had done so much hand-wringing—and, prior to this incident, had had such a spotless record—that he decided to keep her on.

What also helped was that, as Luke approached twelve, it was time to expand the household staff to include a new tutor and physician.

“A pleasure to meet with you both,” Christian said. “You said you had a matter of specific importance which you wished to discuss?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Bingham, Luke’s new tutor, exchanging a nervous glance with Doctor Glover. “We were … well, sir, to be frank, it is about the matter of your son’s speech difficulties.”

Christian stiffened. “Is that so?”

The tutor nodded. “Luke is a bright boy,” he said.

“And physically healthy, as well,” added the doctor.

“It would seem his stutter is more a product of nerves. I would recommend, as the best course of action, to take him out more in calm social situations, so that he may practice conversing without the pressures of a large crowd. Isolation is the worst thing for this sort of malady.”

“The Aberton’s upcoming garden party, for instance,” the tutor said. “An outdoor setting, not overly crowded—the combination of fresh air and friendly socialization would be most invigorating, don’t you agree, Dr. Glover?”

The physician nodded. “Quite.”

Christian swallowed, genuinely considering. “I see,” he said. He could not deny; their logic seemed sound. “Thank you for the recommendation, gentlemen. I look forward to seeing your continued progress in Luke’s education and well-being. I will consider this party.”

The two men nodded, understanding the dismissal, and both left the room.

Later that night, after dinner, Christian watched from across the drawing room as Luke read quietly by the fire.

Had he been isolating the boy? Had the isolation been worsening his stutter?

He had only meant to keep Luke safe from potential ridicule, and yet, perhaps in the course of trying to protect his son, he had also been holding him back.

Perhaps a garden party would be a good start after all.

As Ava read in a chair by the window, she absentmindedly petted Pudding with her free hand. The ginger cat purred with pleasure at the attention, curling up in her lap and basking in the combined warmth of her body and the sun’s rays pouring through the window.

Ava had first found Pudding as a kitten, barely a year ago, with his face buried in a bowl of figgy pudding during a thunderstorm.

The nickname had stuck, and now Pudding was rather stuck to her as well, it seemed.

She couldn’t have been more grateful for the cat—no longer tiny anymore, now that he was being fed a steady diet of love and kitchen scraps.

“My Lady?” The housekeeper appeared in the parlor door. “We received your sum for the week.”

“Thank you for letting me know, Mrs. Wentworth.”

“It is quite a bit diminished from last week’s amount, ma’am.”

Ava froze. Pudding almost immediately yowled, protesting the sudden lack of pats. “Oh? And why is that the case?”

“The accountant was a bit … tight-lipped on the details,” her housekeeper said primly. “But he mentioned that it might have something to do with the new Lord Dunfair’s other investments.”

“I see.”

Brandon had never had any other investments. At least, no new ones that would interfere with his offered allowance for Ava.

The only thing that had changed was that horrible encounter at the modiste. Ava had observed his threats getting more and more stringent, but this was the first time he had actually made a move to reduce her allowance. It was as though he meant to remind her that she lived entirely at his mercy.

“Thank you for letting me know, Mrs. Wentworth,” she said. “Let us go over the household late and see what adjustments may be sensibly made to keep us within budget.”

She would make do with what she had; although, she couldn’t help but feel, with a sinking pit in her stomach, that Brandon’s efforts to prove his power over her were just beginning.