Rebecca clapped a hand over her mouth not quite able to contain a snort. She closed her eyes, struggling to contain her laughter. “That’s enough, Peter. Take Duke for a walk until we are ready to go.” She met Serena’s eyes and inclined her head, indicating to her maid to keep them in sight.
Serena’s eyes went to the dog, her countenance uneasy.
“Serena, are you afraid of Duke?” Rebecca asked her.
Her eyes shot to Sebastian and widened.
Rebecca began gathering the dishes. “He hasn’t even barked, my dear. Our Duke has a gentle soul—” She stopped, feeling a surge of hot flames devouring her cheeks. “Put your fear out of your mind. The boys, if you please.”
“Y-yes, my lady.” Serena went after the children, leaving Rebecca and Ryleigh alone.
A quick glance showed Daniel at the carriage and coming back in their direction.
“Let Daniel handle the clean-up,” Ryleigh said with some impatience. “I’m sure he has more energy, as he didn’t peck at his food like a bird.”
“I’m perfectly capable—”
She’d only blinked and he was on his feet, pulling her up and leading her away. Again. “I know you are capable, but this is why I employ servants,” he growled. “You are not my servant, Lady Rebecca. I vow you are the most frustrating woman I’ve ever known. Then and now,” he breathed.
Rebecca wisely didn’t respond.
“What is it you are not telling me, my lady?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she retorted. Her hand was still much too warm from his touch, though he’d dropped his once they moved away. They followed a winding path along the canal to a lovely arched, bricked aqueduct. Rebecca stepped over a puddle in the path damp from recent rains. Thus far, they’d been spared, though gray clouds hung low in the sky.
“Don’t you?” he said lightly.
She shrugged. Truly, she had no idea.
“Your sons are quite well-behaved,” he went on. He squinted up at the sky as if thinking back. “I have a cousin who has twins. They are monstrous from what I understand. I haven’t seen them in years, but their reputations throughout the county are famously horrendous.”
Rebecca froze, her eyes darting to the boys. Surely not. “Oh, and why haven’t you seen them?” She hardly got the words past her stiff and unmoving lips.
“Why would I? They belong to my cousin. He’s a squire. In fact, you—” He stopped abruptly.
She glanced at him, concerned that he was considering the same thing she was. “I, what?”
“My cousin lost his wife some years ago… it’s just… well, you are still young, my lady. I might be able to convince my cousin to—”
The lovely scenery before Rebecca took on a scarlet tint. She swung at a buzz in her ears only to realize it was a burn of fury, sizzling through her. She speared him with a quelling glare. “Hmm,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “And here I thought you were propositioning me just before luncheon.”
A harsh shade of crimson crawled into his face.
So. Her assumption was correct. Her fingers clenched and unclenched at her sides and she clasped them at her back from sight, affecting her most congenial tone. “How mindful of you to consider my plight, Your Grace. However, I have no interest in marrying at this time.” Or ever, if she had to consider such a bore as him. She spun on her kid-leather slipper, stepping in that puddle, splashing his boot, and marched back the way they’d come.
How dare he! He thought to shove her off on his cousin? Which reminded her. She found another path and followed Oliver’s chatter to a grassy knoll near the water.
“Serena, I’d like to speak with the boys. Alone, if you please. Perhaps you could assist Daniel with clearing the remnants of our luncheon?”
“Of course, my lady.”
Once Serena was out of earshot, Rebecca tapped her foot against the soft tundra. “Oliver,” she said so pleasantly, her teeth ached. “Does the new duke happen to be your father’s cousin?”
Two pairs of blue eyes flew to her then blinked with identical—and perhaps—well-honed innocence.
“I, uh, don’t know what you mean, my lady?”
She smiled, a smile she’d used to frighten away unwanted suitors for years. “Don’t you?” She sidled over to her charges, her skirts swinging gently. “I suppose I could ask His Grace…” her voice trailed off. She watched the variety of emotions that flitted their expressions. And waited. Shock, fear, panic. She was in no hurry.
The boys clasped hands. Something she’d noticed on occasion when they were nervous or scared. The sight touched her. How comforting to have someone at your back no matter your sins, grievances, joys, or excursions. She kept her face blank, however. These two were wily.
“All right,” Oliver conceded. Rebecca followed his gaze over the meadow, where the duke leaned against a tree with his ankles crossed, an unlit cheroot clamped between perfect teeth, watching them.
Rebecca turned her back on the duke, addressing Oliver. “And?”
“Our father was going to toss Owen away.”
“I don’t believe it,” Rebecca said.
“Remember how I told you people can’t tell us apart unless we speak?”
Uneasiness prickled her skin. “I remember.”
“Owen—when he talks—” Their knuckles squeezed white in their hold on one another. Whatever Oliver was about to share, she sensed it was true. “Talks… funny.”
She frowned. “Funny. What do you mean?”
“Some of his words aren’t very clear.”
She narrowed her eyes on them. “Give me an example.”
Oliver looked at Owen. Owen’s head moved in the minutest nod.
“Mostly words with ‘s’ are hard for him to say. But even ‘yes’ comes out ‘yeth’.”
She glanced at Owen and took in the heightened color dotting his cheeks. “And your father was going to “throw” Owen away due to this transgression?”
That didn’t seem likely. Rebecca doubted the duke would allow his cousin such an egregious action. “Forgive me my doubts,” she said with a wry twist to her tone.
Oliver’s features turned as earnest as she’d ever seen. “It’s true, Lady Rebecca. Papa yelled at Owen and said he was…” his head dropped, and pain emanated from him.
“He was what?” she asked softly.
He lifted tear-filled eyes. “Useless,” he whispered.
Rebecca blew out a breath, surprised at the anger reverberating through her, trying to keep in mind how clever and cunning these two were. “Just what am I supposed to do when we reach Dorchester?”
“We’ll just sneak back to Papa’s. He’ll never know we’ve been gone,” Oliver spoke with matter-of-fact disgust. His solution did nothing to reassure her. Ryleigh would have her head for her deception in the debacle. She thought about that for one tenth of a second. Perhaps her father’s advocacy for Mr. Babbage’s difference machine wasn’t such a bad notion after all, she allowed with a large helping of sarcasm.
What did it matter, besides? It wasn’t as if the duke didn’t already think the worst of her, she thought, still bristling with his dunderheaded suggestion of passing her off on his cousin. A sharp bark of bitter laughter erupted from her. And that was after the duke decided a liaison of intimacy—because, he surely hadn’t meant anything different—between Ryleigh and herself had run its course.
The pressure in her heart threatened to explode with the ferocity of her anger. It took several deep breaths to bring her erratic pulse to something near normal. Aware, all the while, of the two boys quietly watching her.
Clearly, the squire was not only a maligning degenerate, but a neglectful one as well. But that was neither here nor there. These boys needed a champion, and she would uphold her promise to fulfill that role. Ryleigh could go hang himself.
The most disgusting thing about the whole debacle was the duke’s willingness to pawn her off on some other man. Unrequited love was a fine thing once its hold had been completely severed.
She’d deliver the children, visit with Gabriella, and as soon as Barrett returned with her rig, she would make her escape to Exford. London be damned.
The rain came down in torrents. “I believe we shall have to stop for the night,” Sebastian told his companions.
He sensed the twins’ relief and Rebecca’s irritation. How degradingly petty, the pleasure he took. He felt as if he were in the midst of a power struggle, only she refused to acknowledge the play. She ignored all the rules, effectively rendering their battle unsatisfyingly neutral. She hadn’t spared him a glance, let alone a word, since their return on the road. The boys were also uncharacteristically quiet—well, not Percy—he was always quiet.
Two hours in the confines of the carriage were getting to everyone. Sebastian had blundered badly when he’d suggested her for his cousin. It wouldn’t be a horrible match for her. The man owned a considerable amount of lands. Outside of Sebastian, Thomas Lynnwood was the richest man in the county. He and Rebecca both had children. They both despised the city. Did Rebecca dislike the city? He wasn’t certain. Still, they had other things in common like… like… Hell. What difference did it make? She needed a keeper. By suggesting his cousin as a possible match, he was doing her a favor. Yet, somehow that solution, a perfectly viable one, did not sit so well.
He forced himself to redirect his attention. His gaze landed on the dog who seemed the only contented one, sprawled across his boots and Rebecca’s slippers. Duke—the dog— had a full stomach and slept the minutes away with no concerns to the tension building inside. The damp air heightened the mongrel’s desperate need for a bath. It was chokingly malodorous.
Rebecca stared out the glass. Percy took her hand and she glanced down at him surprised. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
Peter’s lips tightened.
Though heartened by the sight, Sebastian felt chagrined to admit, his feelings aligned with Peter in the twinge of envy—twinge?—a mild word for the deep forest green hurtling through him—over a child clinging to his mother’s hand.
Thankfully, the carriage slowed. Then made a shaky turn into a muddied yard. The vehicle shook with Daniel’s descent. The steps would be useless in this muck. The door opened and Sebastian jumped down. His booted feet sank ankle deep. The ground was no match for Rebecca’s or her maid’s shoes. “Daniel, see to Serena. I’ll manage the others.” He looked at the dog. Despite his faith in Daniel, Sebastian didn’t think the boys would be as trusting. “And the bags.”
Rebecca glanced out the carriage and frowned.
Hiding a grin, Sebastian didn’t give her a chance to argue, sweeping her up in his arms and making a dash inside The Hanging Moss Inn before she had an opportunity to protest. The bout of lavender hit him and his knees nearly buckled beneath him. With bracing effort, he made it inside and dropped Rebecca to her feet, left her sputtering with outrage as he went back for Duke.
After depositing the beast in Rebecca’s capable arms—a thought took him aback—she did have very capable arms, didn’t she? “See about securing a couple of chambers,” he told her. Shaking the water from his head, Sebastian hurried back out for the twins.
“Come on, boys. Your mother awaits.” He swooped them both up. He passed Daniel in the yard on his way back. “Take care of the carriage,” he told him. “Then get something hot to eat, and rest. You’ll need it.”
Back inside, Sebastian set the boys down. Again, he shook the water from his head, and apparently whatever it was clogging his ears. The sound of a fishwife.
“I insist, sir.”
“We don’t allow mongrels to be bathed inside, my lady. Kindly remove that beast to the stables—”
Sebastian glanced over to see, yet again, Rebecca nose to nose with a man thrice her size. What a magnificent creature she was with her shoulders thrown back and her chin lifted, even holding that mixed breed hound.
“I will not! I told you, I require two chambers. Immediately, if you please.”
Her words jarred him to reality. Good Heavens, would she never learn? He strode over, conscious of the boys on his heels. “Is there a problem?”
“May I present the Duke of Ryleigh. Your Grace, the stingy proprietor of this”—her eyes surveyed the space, stopping back on the man— “charming establishment”—Rebecca did sarcasm better than anyone he knew—“insists Duke sleep in the stables.”
A whimper sounded from Percy Sebastian found encouraging.
“Your Grace?” The proprietor squealed, turning purple, and sputtered in Sebastian’s direction. “Of course, Your Grace. Certainly we have two chambers at your disposal. We are humbly at your service.”
Rebecca turned to the man. “Do not forget the bath. Hot water and soap if you please. We shall also require dinner for our party,” she said sweetly. “Seven of the clock should suit our purposes perfectly well. Now. Is there someone to direct us to our lodgings?”
He bowed quickly in Rebecca’s direction. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning, Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest, curious as to how she would react to the man’s erroneous assumption.
A woman appeared, wiping her hands on a towel. “This way, Your Grace.”
Of course, Rebecca disregarded the proprietor, taking his words as her due, even with a stinking, filthy dog in her arms. “Come along, boys.”
Sebastian stood back and watched, grinning as she disappeared up the first flight of stairs with her nose in the air, holding a not-so-special, mixed breed animal with two blond tykes on her heel—then it hit him—she had the proprietor believing Lady Rebecca Thatcher was his duchess.
A thought that wiped the grin from his face.