Page 7 of The Duke and his Muse
The maid entered with a tea tray and placed it on a long, low table in front of her mistress. In addition to the normal tea accoutrements, there was a plate of cinnamon buns, one of his favorite sweets.
“Thank you, Maisie.” The maid departed and Miss Hayward asked him, “Cream and sugar?”
“Neither.”
When the cups were sorted, he took a cinnamon bun and bit into it. Heaven. He adored sweets, a proclivity he shared with his mother.
“What is your conundrum?” the young woman asked him.
He looked at her then, closely. Not pretty exactly, but what some would call handsome. In her early twenties he would guess. Petite with shiny brown hair pulled back from her brow far too severely.
“My son, a very young child, has recently lost his mother.” He paused. “His only comfort seems to be the books your father wrote and which I believe you illustrated. Books that his mother read him every day from his birth.”
“I am so very sorry for your loss, your Grace. I was indeed the illustrator of the Forest Friends series. My father has passed as you know and there are no further books to be published.”
“Perhaps you could write one for my son? As you were the illustrator for the books you must be very familiar with your father’s writing.”
Miss Hayward frowned. “You believe because I can draw that I can write a children’s book? You think that writing a story that captivates a child could be so easy?”
His mind turned to the short stories he’d written for his mother when he was young. She’d complimented him, encouraged him. His father had not minded his son’s interest as long as he performed well at school and knew that his future was not as a writer but as a duke. His father had died when Graham was away at Eton. From that moment on he’d been groomed to take his place as Duke of Exeter. His writing had been put aside.
“Of course not, Miss Hayward. Excuse my presumption.”
The young lady looked taken aback by his calm reply. After receiving the brief letter rejecting his offer from this young woman, he’d known taking the lord of the manor approach would not work on Miss Hayward.
He’d done some research on Miss Hayward, aided by the Duke’s Alliance, and been informed the lady was well provided for by her father’s estate. She owned the cottage and the land upon which it stood and had a monthly stipend as well. Her father had left nothing to chance. Graham could not coerce her into helping him by offering her money. And despite what some may think of him, he would not threaten the woman with his status or position.
Graham took a sip of his tea and the silence lengthened, only broken by the soft purring of the cat in the room. That cat gave him an idea. He’d never known a woman that owned a pet to not be kindhearted. He smiled to himself.
“My son, Daniel, is nearly inconsolable without his mother. The bright spot in my and his day seems to be when I read your father’s books to him.” He looked down at the dainty cup in his large hand, wondering how to proceed.
“You said the boy is very young?” his hostess asked softly.
“Just two years of age.” He cleared his throat, stopping himself from saying too much to a virtual stranger. “My only motive here is to comfort my son in any way I can.”
He looked up then to see the young woman chewing on her lip, her eyes misty.
“My mother is trying her best to help the child with his grief. It is quite sad to see the boyso unhappy.”
“You have all my father’s books?” she asked.
“All five that were published. Thereisonly five?” He placed his tea cup on its matching saucer on the table in front of him.
She nodded. “We had started a new project before he died, only a few pages, really.”
“Might I see it?” he asked, without thinking. He mustn’t look or act too excited by the young woman’s admission.
Miss Hayward looked at him then, assessing. He must have passed whatever test she had in her head as she nodded. She stood up and walked to a tiny writing desk in the corner of the room. Opening the drawer, she pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed them to him.
The books her father had written were about some woodland friends, and all followed a pattern of helping a newcomer to the forest. He read the three brief pages her father had written about a lost hedgehog. Accompanying notes described the hedgehog as shy. A single drawing was included of a doubtful looking hedgehog, surrounded by the Forest Friendscharacters of a red fox, young Roe deer, and blackbird.
“This is an excellent premise,” he said into the quiet room.
“Do you think so?” Miss Hayward asked with a quick smile. She sobered and added, “My father thought it would be our best book.”
A plan had entered his mind but he didn’t wish to scare Miss Hayward off. “Would you like to meet my son? And my mother? The duchess also quite enjoys your books.”
The young woman blinked, sitting further back in her chair. Oliver the cat jumped onto her lap and the girl stroked the feline, again biting her lip.
