Page 5 of The Duke’s Sharpshooter (The Duke’s Guard #14)

T emperance did not want Maddy to know how weak she felt, or how high her fever was.

Her daughter would worry. At times she appeared to be far older than her four years, never questioning when Temperance packed their meager belongings into the battered portmanteau—the only thing of value remaining after her husband perished in a mining accident in Cumberland a few months before Maddy was born.

Her sweet girl never complained. It was as if she somehow sensed that to question things would only add to the burden weighing heavily on Temperance’s shoulders.

Constance set the cup of water within reach on the small table by the cot. “Try to rest, Mrs. Johnson.”

“But Maddy—”

“Has been helping me bake,” the cook interrupted. “Haven’t you, Miss Maddy?”

“She lets me borrow a special apron. I help her stir the batter, Mum.”

Temperance fought to keep her voice steady, her concern hidden. “I don’t want her to get underfoot—”

“Your daughter has been a ray of sunshine in the kitchen and the nursery. You’ve raised her to respect her elders, and to be patient, caring, and solicitous of others.

I cannot imagine that your daughter would be anything but helpful.

” Constance frowned. “Has someone on the staff complained? Tell me now, and I shall ask His Grace to have a word with them.”

Temperance’s fear for her daughter receded. The housekeeper and cook were constantly urging her to let Maddy go off with them to help. More than once, Their Graces’ nanny Gwendolyn had asked for her daughter to visit in the nursery and play with the twins.

Temperance’s past experience working in different household positions had taught her to be wary of smiling faces—oftentimes they hid a darker intent.

The memory of her little girl’s ashen face and bruised wrist had had her protective side roaring to the surface, recalling how she had to coax what happened from Maddy.

Finally her little one confided that one of the upstairs maids had been eager to let her help put away the linens.

Maddy tearfully told of how she’d tripped on the edge of the carpet and dropped the pile she carried, and when she tried to pick them up, the maid grabbed hold of her wrist and yanked her to her feet, and threatened to take a switch to her.

Small hands patted the sides of Temperance’s face.

She realized her mind had returned to that horrible day and the confrontation—Maddy had come running back to the kitchen where Temperance was chopping vegetables for the cook.

One look, and she knew her daughter had been mistreated.

Temperance suspected it had to do with the freshly laundered bed linens.

“Mum, are you all right?”

Her head ached abominably, but she strove to ignore it to assure her daughter that she was fine. “Yes, quite all right, Maddy dear.” She turned to the cook. “No one has complained to me. But please send Maddy back if she ‘helps’ too much. She can keep me company while I rest.”

“One can never have too much help from willing workers,” Constance replied. “Now then, Maddy, I could use an expert stirrer to help mix up a batch of scones.”

The unabashed joy on her little girl’s face soothed Temperance’s soul.

Maddy had been smiling ever since Mr. Flaherty—No, he’d corrected them, and Maddy had been calling him Just Flaherty since he’d rescued them.

Was it yesterday, or the day before? It was difficult to remember when one’s brains were heated near to boiling.

“Rest now, Mrs. Johnson. Maddy and I have a mountain of scones to bake.”

Curious, Temperance asked, “A mountain?”

Her daughter bobbed her head up and down. “We have to bake for teatime, and extra for the charmers.”

Temperance frowned. Had guests that she was unaware of arrived?

Not that she expected anyone to share that information with her—she was of no consequence.

She would be the last person to be informed as to whether the duke and duchess were receiving guests.

She was only here because of the kindness of the handsome guard with light-blue eyes that seemed to see into her soul.

Protective of her daughter’s safety, thinking of some of the unscrupulous people she had worked for, she asked, “Charmers?”

“Those handsome-as-sin Irishmen who work for His Grace,” Constance replied. Holding out her hand to Maddy, she added, “We’d best get busy, Miss Maddy.”

The little girl’s laughter echoed off the walls and filled the room with a lightness that had been missing.

“Well now,” a familiar deep voice rumbled from the doorway. “There’s a welcome sight of a morning.”

“Just Flaherty!” Maddy rushed over to the guard, who bent down to catch her as she hurtled across the room. “We were talking about you.”

He was smiling—was he amused at the way her daughter had taken to calling him Just Flaherty?

Temperance would have to explain to Maddy that Flaherty did not want to be addressed as Mr. Flaherty, but wasn’t sure if her little one would understand.

“Were ye now?” His gaze sought Temperance’s.

“No doubt expounding on tales of how I rescued two lovely lasses halfway between the inn and Wyndmere Hall.”

Maddy giggled. “No.”

“No?” He brushed a hand over Maddy’s curls—so like Temperance’s late husband’s. Unbidden tears filled her eyes and threatened to fall. Flaherty’s expression changed in an instant. He hugged Maddy, motioned for her to return to Constance, and strode toward the cot.

As if the cook sensed what the guard wanted to ask, the woman held out her hand a second time. “Come, Miss Maddy, we’ve baking to do.” With a nod to Flaherty, she warned, “I’m leaving the door open. You may have five minutes, Flaherty—no more. Mrs. Johnson needs her rest.”

When they were alone, his expression darkened—was it concern, or something altogether different? Pretending not to notice how intently he stared at her, Temperance shifted her gaze to the doorway. “I hope Constance is not exaggerating, and that Maddy is a help, not a hindrance.”

“Yer daughter could never be a hindrance. Constance doesn’t exaggerate—’tis Francis who is given to exaggerating, and she uses it to great effect when making up stories to tell Richard and Abigail—little Deidre too—when it’s her turn in the nursery.”

Temperance could well imagine. Maddy repeated everything the young maid said.

It had been a very long time since she’d felt the pull of attraction to a man. She paused to wonder. Why him? Why now? She did not believe it was because she was more or less a captive audience when he visited her—which seemed to happen whenever the guard changed shifts.

Uneasy with the way she reacted to a man she hardly knew, and concerned that her daughter had formed a friendship with him, she repeated her concern.

“In my experience, children are frowned upon when one is widowed and looking for work. I will not repeat the phrase I heard repeatedly from those who turned me away without the courtesy of an interview.” The words were etched in her brain: Children are insufferable, loud, annoying, and a hindrance to those of us forced to deal with them!

*

Flaherty had a few minutes to spare and sensed there was more to the lass’s comment. Something that carved deep worry lines on her forehead. “Do ye mind if I sit? I have a moment or two before I’m to report to the rooftop for me shift.”

“I do not mind, but please do not be late on my account. You’ve done so much for us.”

Flaherty sat. “I’m thinking there are those in yer recent past who have not done enough for ye.

” He wasn’t one to mince words, and had had his fill of trying to discern the meaning of what most of those in the ton had said.

Thankfully, His Grace was a man who believed in speaking his mind and getting to the point.

Now, telling a tale over a tankard of ale, or sharing a flask of whiskey, was another matter altogether. That would be the time for adding a wee bit of exaggeration to enhance a tale to get a reaction from his brothers or cousins.

When she didn’t respond, he prompted her, “Ye’ve no worry that I’ll be repeating what ye tell me in confidence, if that’s what’s holding ye back.

” Her eyes lifted, and the mix of pain and worry lanced through to his soul.

He reached for her hand and patted the back of it.

“Growing up, Ma was always telling us not to hold troubles too close to our hearts, but to share them to lighten our burdens.”

“Share them?”

Her hesitation worried Flaherty. Had someone spoken harshly to the lass? He’d need to question Merry, Constance, and Francis closely, as they’d been caring for the lass during the worst of the fever that had held her in its grip these last few days.

Decision made, he was determined to get Temperance to open up and share her worries with him.

He wanted to be the man she shared them with.

His shoulders were broad enough to handle the load he carried working for the duke, as well as any burden this slip of a lass had.

“Do ye have a close friend, sister, or brother ye share yer woes with?”

She shook her head.

“Have ye any kin?”

Again, she shook her head, but this time she looked away from him.

“None at all?”

No answer this time. Moved by the fact that the lass and her little girl were all alone in the world, Flaherty scooted the chair right up next to the cot and brushed a strand of ink-black hair out of her eyes.

When she did not flinch or move away from him, he lightly traced the tip of his finger from her prominent cheekbone to the hollow beneath it…

evidence that the lass had not been getting enough to eat.

“That would explain why ye look as if ye’re starving yerself, Temperance.”

Her gasp and irritated gaze were just what he’d hoped for. Her full attention was riveted on him. Flaherty intended to have at least one of his questions answered.