Page 58 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

“How many rats is in here?” asked Felks, scowling.

Cecelia choked. On a laugh, James thought. “Can you call your dogs back?” he asked their visitor.

“I’ll go and fetch ’em!” Felks went out. “What the hell?” came floating back in his wake.

There was a good deal more banging and crashing and creative cursing before Felks returned with the terriers leashed once again. One held a large rat in its teeth and did not seem inclined to give it up.

“Ugh,” said Jen.

“What sort of place is this?” Felks glared at Ned and then at James. “It’s no better than a rubbish heap.”

“Thus the rats,” James couldn’t help but say.

“My dogs couldn’t keep from knocking into things,” Felks went on, belligerent. “This ain’t their fault.”

“No. I don’t think this is a good place for them to, er, work,” said James. “Too constricted.”

“Well, they can dig through most anything,” replied Felks, recovering some of his balance. “But there might be damage, like.”

“I think we will try another method.”

“You owe me a penny for this ’en.” Felks pointed at the dead rat hanging from the terrier’s mouth.

“Take this for your trouble.” James handed him a sovereign.

The man looked delighted. “Thank your lordship and no hard feelings about the misunderstanding, I hope.”

“None.”

Pulling on the leashes, Felks made his way out. James turned to Ned.

To find that the boy looked absolutely terrified. “I’m sorry,” he cried, cringing under James’s gaze. “You kin throw me out, but let Mam and the girls stay. It’s not their fault. I never said anything to them about Felks.”

Mrs. Gardener stepped in front of her son. “If you try to beat him, we will all go,” she said, her voice shaking.

“I’m not going to beat him,” said James, shocked.

“You have no right to touch him. You ain’t his father.” Mrs. Gardener trembled and blinked back tears but stood her ground, a thin, careworn woman in an ill-fitting muslin gown. But adamant.

“James would never beat a child,” exclaimed Cecelia. Her tone held absolute certainty. It was a voice that left no room for question or argument.

“Of course not,” said James. “Not under any circumstances.”

The change in the atmosphere was marked. All the Gardeners slumped with relief. Ned was clearly fighting tears with all his might.

“Let us sit and have our tea,” said Cecelia.

Mrs. Gardener wrung her hands. “It’s likely gone cold.”

“I will make a fresh pot.” Cecelia put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Sit down.”

“That ain’t right.”

“Of course it is.” Cecelia took up the teapot and turned toward the fire.

“Jam,” said James. “We all require a good deal of jam. Don’t we, Effie?”

The smallest Gardener nodded tearfully. They settled again at the table. Muffins were buttered and slathered with raspberry jam. Large bites were taken.

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