“Cora does not have the patience for such things.” Archer made a dismissive gesture.
“I know that. It is why I think we should hire her a teacher.” Lydia saw Archer’s eyes narrow even further, but she pressed on. “Do you not see how she admires the paintings in the halls? Orthe doodles she makes in the margins of her homework? I think she would really enjoy it.”
“She is seven! Every other week, she has a new passion. By dinner time, she will have long since forgotten about painting and moved on to something else. In fact, she already has because someone told her about beekeeping. So, now she wants to be a beekeeper.” He shook his head.
“You say that like it is a bad thing. The fault lies with Miss Boyd. She had a lesson on serving tea. Iris kept asking questions about why certain foods had to go with certain teas and where the tea came from and how the teapot was made. Miss Boyd did not answer a single question, not one. All she did was focus on etiquette.” Lydia made a disgusted noise. “That is a sure-fire way to remove the spark of her curiosity, and that would be a shame. So, after her lesson, I sat down with Iris and answered them. She was particularly fascinated by how the bees made honey. She could have equally become fascinated with pottery. Is that so wrong?”
“It is not wrong; it is just not your place.” Archer sighed. “I appreciate what you have done with my study, and I can see that you care for Iris, but I have asked you not to interfere.”
“I am not interfering. I am making a suggestion.” She tapped the folder on the desk. “Please, I have written everything down here. If you would just read it.”
“I will consider it, but I make no promises.” Archer held up a hand.
Lydia beamed. “Thank you.”
“If you are quite done telling me how I should be educating my niece, then perhaps we might discuss plans for the builders. They will be here in the morning, and I want to make sure we make the most use of them. Especially as Iris will no doubt be determined to be in the thick of things.” Archer ran a hand through his hair distractedly, a lock falling across his face.
Lydia reached up and moved it without thinking, her fingers brushing his warm skin. He sucked in a breath, and Lydia flushed, snatching her hand back and swallowing hard. “You were saying about the builders.”
“Yes.” Archer ran a hand across his forehead. “We need to make the most of them.”
“Then we had best get started.” Iris moved beside him, aware of the heat of his body as she peered at the plans he had drawn up.
To her surprise, he didn’t move away, and the fact that he didn’t sent a rush of warmth through her that terrified her.
Chapter Thirteen
“Auntie!” Iris cried out, dashing through the door and throwing herself at Lydia. “I missed you”
“Me too,” Lydia said happily hugging the small child back. “Why don’t you tell me all about London?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lydia saw Cora staring at the builders who were traipsing through the house to the newly destroyed—no renovated—Duchess’ bedchambers.
They sat down and quickly dug into the morning eggs and bacon. Archer entered the room and gave Iris a hug before embracing both his sisters. He lingered for a moment by Lydia then settled for squeezing her shoulder before sitting at the head of the table.
Her stomach filled with thousands of butterflies, and she was sure her cheeks had faint splotches of red on them.
“Iris,” Archer said after a moment, “what do you say about taking some painting lessons?”
Lydia straightened, but the Duke was looking steadily at his niece not her.
Iris’ eyes widened, and she leaped from the chair, eyes shining like a thousand stars. Her mouth hung agape, looking like this was though this was the biggest news of the century.
“Do you mean it?” she squealed in delight.
“I would not ask you if I did not mean it.” Archer smiled at his niece. “But you will have to promise that you will keep working at your other studies as well.”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Iris was vibrating with excitement, leaping up and down in her seat.
“Settle down, Iris,” Cora tried to gently guide her niece back into her chair. Lydia was grateful. She feared Iris might fall right into her breakfast.
However, the little girl scrambled out of her chair, almost tripping on the way down, and threw herself at her uncle, giving him another hug.
“Thank you,” she cried happily. “I’m going to paint!” She squealed as she raced around and around the table in excitement.
“Iris.” Cora nabbed the little one on her second lap of the dining room. “You cannot run in the house.”
Iris squealed and giggled as her aunt picked her up and set her back in her chair.
