Page 19 of The Duke's Sinful Bride

She tilted her face up to the sun, savoring the warmth, when she heard the familiar shuffle of footsteps. Daisy appeared, her cheeks pink from the brisk air.

“Would you care for more tea, Your Grace?” the young maid asked in a cheerful voice. “Or perhaps some biscuits?”

Yvette smiled, shaking her head. “No, thank you, Daisy. But I do have a question for you.”

“A question, Your Grace?”

“Yes.” Yvette set her cup down on the small wrought-iron table before her.

“What is the duke’s favorite meal?”

Daisy blinked, clearly surprised by the question.

“Oh, that’d be roasted venison stew, my lady. He’s quite fond of it, especially with a bit of bread on the side.”

“Venison stew,” Yvette repeated thoughtfully. “And Maisie? What does she enjoy?”

“Funny enough, it’s the same,” Daisy said with a grin. “The little lady takes after her father more than he knows.”

Yvette’s lips curved into a smile.

“Then it is settled. Venison stew it shall be for dinner. Please inform Mrs. Calloway.”

“As ye wish, Your Grace,” Daisy dipped into a curtsy before hurrying off toward the kitchens.

Feeling a renewed sense of purpose, Yvette gathered her skirts and headed back into the castle.

As she wandered through the halls, she found herself drawn to the sound of laughter—light and soft, as though someone was trying to stifle it.

She followed the sound to one of the drawing rooms, where she found Maisie and her governess.

The little girl was seated on the floor, surrounded by a scattering of wooden blocks. She was stacking them into a precarious tower, her face alight with concentration. Her governess, a stern-looking woman with graying hair, watched from a nearby chair, holding a book in her lap.

As Yvette stepped inside, little girl glanced up, but instead of offering even a smile, she shifted closer to Miss Pemberton, her governess. The governess gave Yvette a pitying smile, one that only deepened Yvette’s unease.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Yvette said gently, kneeling down to the girl’s level.

Maisie glanced at her governess, who nodded encouragingly. Hesitantly, the little girl picked up another block and placed it atop the tower.

“That’s quite an impressive structure,” Yvette said. “Are you an architect in the making?”

Maisie’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. “What’s an architect?”

“It’s someone who makes buildings,” Yvette explained. “Grand ones, like Braemore Castle.”

Maisie tilted her head, considering this. “Like Papa?” she asked with a tiny gasp, placing her hands over her lips.

Yvette blinked in surprise. “Your papa built Braemore?”

The governess interjected.

“Not Braemore itself, Your Grace, but several of the buildings here and the newer additions. The duke has quite the skill for such things.”

Yvette turned back to Maisie, intrigued. “Is that true? Do you think you’d like to build things, just like your papa?”

Maisie shrugged, her small shoulders lifting in a way that seemed almost too heavy for her delicate frame. “I don’t know.”

Yvette reached out, tucking a stray strand of dark blonde hair behind the girl’s ear.

---