Page 11 of The Duke's Second Bride
Ava shook her head. “It’s quite all right.” She hadn’t meant to make the maid self-conscious. “I appreciate that you think I am well-suited to the job. Thank you for letting me speak to Luke today.”
“Of course,” the maid said. “Thank you. I know it has brought him much joy.”
By the time Ava was back on her horse and ready to go, Luke had settled on the ground under a tree with his large sketchbook back in his lap. She waved to him.
He waved back. “Goodbye, L-Lady Dunfair!”
“Goodbye, Luke!” she called back, before riding off.
Christian hated his study. It was a beautiful place, with walls of finely carved mahogany and dozens of books, but it reminded him so much of his own father.
His parents had been perfectly dutiful, of course, filling the role in every way demanded of them by obligation. He had been fed and clothed, given the best tutors to learn from, and allowed to run the large estate that he was to someday inherit.
He could not say he had been left wanting, not truly. But when he thought of them now, or even when they had passed, thegrief he felt was … somewhat dulled, compared to what he had expected.
Had he loved his parents?
Yes, he assumed. Much as he assumed that they must have loved him. And yet, they had notknownhim, not really, and so he had not known them.
There was no gaping hole left in his life, because they had never much occupied that space to begin with.
It had been different with Isabel.
“Father!”
Christian shook the thought out of his head as his son entered the room, a large white sheet of paper clutched in his hands. “Good afternoon, Luke. Did you enjoy your day in the park? What is it you have there?”
“I-I had a w-wonderful day,” Luke said. “And I brought you th-th-this.” He handed over the paper, as well as a few clover leaves. “The l-leaves are for lu-luck,” he informed his father proudly.
Christian twirled one of the clovers between his fingers. “Excellent,” he declared. “Hard work is the most important thing,” he continued, “but one can never have too much luck, I’m sure. Thank you, Luke.”
He felt warmth bloom in his chest at the way his son beamed at the praise.
For a rare moment, he felt as though he knew how to be a proper parent to the child.
Next, he looked at the drawing. It was of a horse, lightly shaded. Christian was not much of an artist himself, but he had been to many galleries and artistic soirees in his younger years, and he couldn’t help but think that the steadiness of the lines and the detail was rather impressive for a twelve-year-old.
“The drawing is quite good,” he said. “Is this a horse you saw at the park? Or drawn from memory?”
“It is a drawing of the nice lady’s horse,” Luke said happily.
“Nice lady?” Christian paused, looking up from the drawing to his son, then Mary, Luke’s maid. “What nice lady?”
Mary stepped forward. “While in the park, we ran into the woman who rescued Luke at the fair last week,” she said. “She was out for a ride. Luke asked if he could pet her horse, and she was kind enough to agree.”
Christian felt himself bristle. “I hired you to make sure my son could be safe when he goes out in public,” he said, his tone growing stern. “Not so that you could let him be spoken to by any stranger who approaches.”
“I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” Mary said at once, bowing her head apologetically.
Luke frowned. “Sh-she isn’t a s-stranger,” he said. “We met properly, th-this time. Her name is L-L-Lady Dunfair, and she is my friend.”
Dunfair.
The name tugged at something in the back of Christian’s head. Ah, yes—the late Lord Dunfair. He had died in some hunting accident, hadn’t he? Leaving a widow behind. He supposed the fiery woman with the honey-blonde hair had been the newly widowed Lady Dunfair.
But the hunting accident hadn’t been the only thing he had heard about Lord Dunfair, either. Other memories came to mind: there had been quite a few rumors surrounding the Dunfairs. Nasty ones. Several involving Lord Dunfair’s infidelity, for starters. The man had been a proper scoundrel, entertaining many ladies, frequenting houses of ill repute, before and after his marriage.
Not only that, but he seemingly made little to no effort to hide his escapades from society or from his wife. And with regards to his wife—with whom he had never had children—he had spoken quite vulgarly about her, and insinuated things about her unsuitability to the role of wife and mother.
