Page 59 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

“So,” said James after a while, and wished that his staff did not stiffen and shy at the sound of his voice. “Your impulse was right, but the method was wrong, Ned.”

“Yessir,” replied the boy, eyes on the tabletop.

“You should have consulted me first.”

“Yessir. Milord, I should say.”

James could not understand why the lad looked so deeply anxious. “In the future, you will do so about any arrangements that, er, occur to you,” he continued.

The mention of a future seemed to hearten Ned. He looked up. “Yessir. Milord.”

“So here is what I think we must do.”

Ned crouched, and the whole family froze again as if awaiting a blow. Even though he’dsaidhe would never hit a child. What did they expect was going to happen? And then an answer occurred to him, and James decided that it might be a good thing the father of this family was gone. What had Mrs. Gardener said—that he had no right to touch Ned as he wasn’t his father? Did she think a father had such rights?

James felt a sudden fierce longing to show these children, and their mother, too, that there were other sorts of men in the world. He almost said so. But words were cheap, and often deceptive in their world. Only actions would convince them, over time.

Ned straightened and raised his chin. “I’m ready to take my punishment,” he said.

“Not a punishment,” exclaimed Cecelia, who had brought hot water to warm the tea.

“Rather a change of strategy,” said James quickly. “Or is it tactics?”

His small audience stared at him. Jen’s mouth hung open.

“In either case, I think a stealthy approach is better suited to our…situation,” he continued. “So, Ned, you should find us some cats. Large fierce cats who are accustomed to hunting rats. Several, I should think. Though not vicious, of course.”

Ned didn’t look much heartened. “I’m not partial to cats,” he muttered to his half-eaten muffin. “Can I get Effie to help me?”

“Effie?” James glanced at the smallest Gardener. She had raspberry jam smeared all around her mouth.

“She loves cats,” Ned explained. “And they all love her, even the meanest, scraggliest ones.”

Effie nodded enthusiastically. She clawed the air with her hands.

“I suppose,” said James. “If you take care.”

“Course I will.” Some of Ned’s customary spirit resurfaced. “She’s my sister.”

“I kin do it,” declared Effie. “I’ll find proper mousers and bring ’em back. I can’t do much work, like, in the house. But I kin do that.”

James felt an odd tremor in the region of his chest. “Right. Good. Well, you may commence the, er, cat hunt when ready.”

Ned stood at once. Effie followed suit, with a mournful glance at her remaining muffin.

“After you have finished eating of course and are, ah, fortified for the task ahead,” James added.

They brightened like the sun and sat back down.

Cecelia walked out of the kitchen. Startled, James followed her. He found her in the room they’d first cleared, with its table of curiosities. Her eyes were bright with tears. “What is it?”

“I couldn’t bear to see them look so happy about something so simple. A muffin, James. Some jam.”

“Not being beaten for making a mistake,” added James.

Cecelia nodded. Her breath caught on a sob, and she began to cry.

James moved to put an arm around her. She turned within it, buried her face in his shoulder and wept—a thing she had done only once before in all the years they’d known each other.

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