Page 8 of The Duke's Lesson in Love

Gill glanced around and cursed, noting the child wasn’t at her side. “Where is Edwin?”

His heart hammered in his chest. How was he to protect his son if the boy was prone to run off? How had he not noticed the disappearance of a small person no taller than his waist? He knew why. Miss Fields had distracted him. In his attempt to not kindle his senses with her nearness, he had taken his attention from the person he came to London to collect.

“He is playing with the other children.” She motioned to the group playing marbles in front of the fireplace.

“He is not to leave our sight without permission.”

“He is not an animal,” she hissed.

“No. He is my son and in your care.”

The innkeeper cleared her throat, reminding him that they were in public. “Your table is this way, Your Grace.”

Gill turned away, calling the child as he passed the group. A steadying breath filled his lungs that did nothing to calm his fear.

He would have preferred to freshen up before his meal and enjoy a warm glass of brandy after, but from the lack of activity in the dining room, the kitchen would soon only serve cold meats and sandwiches. Most of the guests at the tables were partaking in conversation and indulging in an after-dinner glass of wine.

Gill frowned when Edwin pulled out the chair closest to the window loudly, seating himself. “It is proper etiquette to wait for the lady to take her seat first, Edwin.”

“Sorry, Mamon Sadie.” Edwin flushed.

“It is quite all right,” she said.

“It is not,” he countered, ignoring the firm press of her lips. “When you are in the presence of a lady, I expect you to be a gentleman. A gentleman waits for a lady to seat herself first.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Tell me, Edwin, what constitutes a day at the orphanage?”

Edwin’s brows shot up and he turned to Miss Fields.

“Your father—Your Grace would like to know what your day is like,” she explained when the child’s forehead continued to crease.

“Mamon Sadie reads to us after breakfast. Miss Scott makes the best bread and oatmeal.”

Miss Fields smiled, and Gill stiffened against reacting to the pleasure of it. The woman turned out to be far more distracting than he expected.

“Miss Sofia teaches us numbers before art class. But Mr. Jacob—”

“Mr. Jacob?”

“He’s our blacksmith,” she said with more cheer than Gill liked. “A very good one I might add. He teaches all the older boys welding and smithing.”

“I see,” he grumbled as their dinner arrived. Two waiters quickly set their food on the table and filled their glasses with wine and milk for Edwin.

“Mr. Jacob says we wouldn’t be needing art as it is only something pretty for womenfolk to gaze upon.”

Sadie choked on her wine.

“He did, did he?” Gill asked with a chuckle, satisfied Miss Fields did not seem to approve of the man’s short-sightedness.

Edwin nodded, puffing out his chest. “Said a strapping lad like myself will get more use from forging a good pit.”

“Loving art does not make you less of a man, Edwin,” Gill observed, sipping from his wine glass.

Miss Fields gave him an assessing glare before her lips pinched. Did she disagree? He did not believe so from the way she choked on her wine a few moments ago.

On one hand, Miss Fields intrigued him, stirred fanciful dreams he had long set aside, yet he was jealous of her bond with his son—and that troubled him almost as much as the feelings for her he couldn’t dismiss.

---