Page 28 of The Duke's Lesson in Love

ChapterEleven

Gill glanced from the letter he wrote to the Berwick Service Agency of Governesses asking for tutors in French and music when a timid knock echoed against his study. Except for Mary and her husband, Hodgkin, the house was void of servants, and usually quiet on their day off.

“Come in,” he called, suspecting it was either Edwin or Miss Fields wanting to discuss their buggy ride yesterday.

He ached to kiss her. Hold her lips hostage beneath his until he memorized every crevice of her mouth.

Last night, he twisted and turned in bed, restless, knowing she slept in the very next room. He had been so desperate to experience another night sharing a bed—even with Edwin between them—that he prayed for the boy to have a nightmare, anything that justified crawling beneath her sheets. But the child slept soundly.

Gill grimaced. No good father would wish for such a thing. The wayward thought was yet another reason he did not deserve children. But yesterday’s visit to the Porters, coupled with Edwin’s remark on family, and the warm press of Miss Fields’ body so intimately against him cemented his plans on creating a family so unlike the one he knew.

He knew better than to envision love and happiness when both could be taken away, snuffed out as easily as the flame on a candle.

Once the danger passed, he promised to see Edwin attend the best of schools.

He sealed and set the letter down as the child wandered closer. He had no idea what children did in their spare time. Lifting Edwin to sit at the end of his desk, he said, “Do you not have lessons on knitting?”

Edwin giggled, shaking his head.

“Hunting?”

Edwin giggled again.

“I see.” Gill pretended to ponder. “You are in need of entertainment. Ah, I have just the thing. How would you like to help me pay bills?” He opened his drawer, retrieving a stack of notes.

The child shifted away from the pile as if it had teeth.

“Very well,” Gill said in mock disappointment. “Perhaps tomorrow when you are older.” He was surprised Miss Fields hadn’t knocked on his door looking for her charge. Edwin smelled of blueberries, and Gill suspected he was helping Mary with tarts in the kitchen. “How may I be of service?”

“I want, Mamon Sadie.”

“You do?”

Edwin nodded.

It was not like Miss Fields to stray far from the boy’s side, especially without informing him or one of the servants. The last thing they needed was for Edwin to wander the property to go in search of his new friend.

Alarm shot up his spine. How long had she been missing? Lifting Edwin into his arms, they left the study and headed to the kitchen. “I’ll find your Mamon,” he promised the child. “When I do, I shall bring her straight to you.”

He seated Edwin on a stool at the kitchen counter. “Have you seen, Miss Fields,” he asked Mary.

“Not since the little Lord here helped me knead the dough for my pastries.”

His frown deepened. He headed for the back garden when Mary said, “She asked about the nursery yesterday—”

Gill cursed. “Keep an eye on him.” He headed towards the west wing of the estate.

“I told her to speak to you before she went snooping,” Mary shouted.

At the end of the first floor corridor, he turned the knob to doors he hadn’t opened in years. A wave of apprehension weighted his chest the further he went. He’d had to be on his best behavior in these rooms, endure the harshest of scrutiny.

His jaw tightened.

The largest suites were the blue parlor and the ballroom his parents hosted their most elaborate parties in. A thick layer of dust covered the floors and exposed furniture. Spider-webs draped from the windows and beams to form blanket-like webbing over the surfaces. Under white sheets lay upholstered settees and sofas in lush golds and royal blue.

Every item screamed extravagance, another nudge to what his parents expected from high society…him.

He hated all of it. Gill would have sooner given up the title and what it represented if it wouldn’t have fallen to his cousin, Caleb. He could not leave his tenants and those who depended on him to an uncertain faith.

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