Page 55 of The Scottish Duke's Deal

“I like the feathers,” Eleanor said. “They look proud.”

Penelope beamed. “That one’s called Hesper. She’s from Greece.”

A pang struck Eleanor’s chest. She remembered Penelope’s story and how Greece had been her home. That attachment hadn’t faded.

“She’s lovely,” Eleanor said softly. “May I try to draw one too?”

The girl’s eyes lit up. “Yes. But you mustn’t get the beak wrong.”

“I shall endeavor not to disgrace myself.”

As she took her seat beside Penelope, Ramsay cleared his throat. “That’s enough. We’ve things to discuss.”

Eleanor didn’t look up. “She’s been waiting all morning.”

“And I’ve been planning her schedule.”

At that, Eleanor did look up, slowly. “Her schedule?”

Ramsay crossed the room in three strides, resting a hand on the edge of the table. “Riding lessons. With me.”

“She’s four.”

“So was I when I learned to ride.”

Eleanor blinked. “You cannot compare her to yourself.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s a young lady.”

“She’s my niece.”

Eleanor set down her crayon, approached Ramsay, and whispered, “You married me so she can have a mother.”

“She needs structure.”

“She needs kindness,” Eleanor snapped. “Which, I daresay, is not best conveyed with a riding crop.”

Penelope had gone quiet, watching them with wide, blinking eyes. Ramsay noticed and swore under his breath. “Fine,” he muttered. “Do as you please. Draw your birds.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor said crisply.

Penelope reached over and touched Eleanor’s sleeve. “Can we draw daisy crowns?”

“Of course,” Eleanor said. She glimpsed Ramsay’s unreadable look but ignored it. He turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

Silence.

Then Penelope peeked up at her, and they both burst into giggles.

Eleanor leaned in, brushing a curl from the girl’s cheek. “Shall we draw those birds, then?”

Penelope nodded solemnly.

Fifteen

The little room smelled faintly of lavender and crayon wax.