“Then you must go to her, sir. At once.”
Oscar’s mouth twisted. “Not yet. Not until I have proof.”
Harvey’s brows rose.
Oscar stood, shoulders set, the tension drawing his frame upright. “I will not face her until I have the truth in hand. I owe her that, at least.”
Harvey bowed. “Of course, Your Grace. I’ll begin at once.”
Oscar watched as the man left, then turned to the window. The city was awake now, the streets a thrum of possibility and betrayal.
He would go after Nancy. But this time, he would not go as the cold, empty shell of a duke. He would go as himself, whatever that was, and he would bring the evidence of his devotion—not just in words, but in action.
He left the library, found Wilks waiting, and said, “Change of plans. I need a list of every servant in the house, and I want you to accompany me to the city.”
Wilks bowed, the faintest flicker of approval in his eyes. “Very good, Your Grace.”
“And Wilks,” Oscar added, “no one is to leave the grounds today. No one.”
Wilks’s lips tightened. “Understood.”
Oscar allowed himself a single, reckless hope: That when he found Nancy, she would listen. That it would not be too late.
CHAPTER 36
“Stand back, fiend! I have a sword and a very dangerous stick!”
Henry brandished his weapon—an actual branch, still green and sticky with sap—while his twin, crouched behind a mossy stone, let out an exaggerated gasp and clutched her chest.
Clara collapsed in the grass, the back of her hand to her brow, then, with a rapid recovery, rolled onto her stomach and began gnawing a clump of dandelion with the intensity of a rabid rabbit.
Nancy watched the scene unfold from a garden bench. She was, at the moment, the least useful adult in England.
The grounds of the hilltop house stretched away in every direction, stark and sleeping beneath the pale light of winter.
It was all very picturesque in a subdued sort of way: rosebushes reduced to thorny skeletons, the orangery windows fogged with the ghosts of dying light, even the air itself sharp with the scent of cold earth and woodsmoke.
A fitting backdrop for the twins, who seemed determined to conquer every frozen inch of their new domain before the day was out.
Nancy closed her eyes and drew in the clean, metallic scent of winter soil.You ought to feel happy,she told herself.You are safe, and the children are happy, and you are not required to smile at a single guest for the rest of your days. You should be basking in relief.
But instead, her chest felt like someone had scooped out the insides and replaced them with cold pudding.
She opened her eyes just in time to see Clara leap up and sprint toward the low fence, Henry hot on her heels. They had not spoken a word of their old life in days.
Clara, for all her supposed sensitivity, seemed to have flung her grief onto the wind and replaced it with a sort of wild joy. Henry—always the shyer of the two—had developed a penchant for reckless climbing and mud. The house, or perhaps the land itself, had infected them both with optimism.
Nancy could not summon any for herself.
She wrapped her arms tight around her knees and watched the twins launch a new campaign against the kitchen staff, who had emerged from the back door to hang linens on the line.
Clara darted behind the sheets, then burst out again, brandishing a twig as if it were a cutlass. Henry followed, but doubled back to scoop up a rock and pocket it—his current obsession was with “treasures,” most of which ended up in the laundry and drew the ire of anyone whose shins came in contact with them.
Henry was the first to notice her watching.
He sidled over, his hair full of grass and his knees dark with the remnants of his last five tumbles. “Aunt Nancy?” he said, tilting his head like a suspicious owl.
She braced herself. “Yes, Henry?”
