She looked over at Oscar, now prostrate on the snow while Clara perched atop his back, braiding weeds into his hair. She was saying something—Nancy could not hear, but the words seemed important and very secret, for Clara kept glancing at her and then back at Oscar, as if to confirm they were unobserved.
Nancy smiled to herself, then let her thoughts turn to the fate of Miss Mercer. The former governess had not lasted the month after her exposure as Lord Eastmere’s accomplice.
The tale, relayed in detail by her mother and embellished further by London’s rumor mill, involved a carriage chase through the streets, a shouting match at a tea-room, and the public humiliation of both Eastmere and Miss Mercer before a tribunal of appalled matrons.
Edith Mercer found herself blacklisted by every household; last anyone heard, she had taken up a post at a minor outpost in Yorkshire, teaching the children of sheep farmers how to curtsy.
This knowledge still pleased Nancy more than she would admit. She supposed it was uncharitable to gloat over another woman’s fall, but then again, Miss Mercer had never troubled herself with charity on her end.
As for Lord Eastmere, his disgrace was legendary, even by the standards of a peerage addicted to scandal. He had been hauled before the courts, where a very severe judge pronounced exile as the only fitting end to his “entropic mischief.” Adrian fled the country by the next mail packet, and rumor had it that he had taken up residence in Italy, where he could prey upon the credulity of lesser dukes and marquesses.
All this was, in the main, irrelevant to Nancy, but she allowed herself a quiet, satisfied sigh whenever her thoughts strayed in that direction.
She tried to imagine what the future might look like for them. The twins would start proper lessons in a month, if they could be convinced to sit still. The new baby was due in the Spring. Her own mother was planning to visit for the birth, bringing with her a retinue of Scottish cousins and more tartan than the island could possibly sustain.
For the first time in her life, the prospect of such chaos did not alarm her.
Clara, sensing Nancy's attention, hopped off Oscar’s back and ran to the oak. "We defeated the Duke, Aunt Nancy! He is conquered!"
Oscar, still sprawled on the lawn, called out, "Duchess, I require immediate medical assistance. I fear I may never rise again."
Nancy gave Clara a conspiratorial smile. "You’d best go check on him. Make sure he is not malingering."
Clara saluted and charged back across the grass.
Nancy leaned her head against the tree and shut her eyes for a moment. She might have dozed, but the shadow of Oscar blocked the sun that was attempting to shine through the gray clouds. She opened her eyes to find him standing over her, arms crossed, a snowflake sticking out of his hair.
"You are very quiet, Duchess," he said, sinking to the snow beside her.
She regarded him, smothering a smile at his state. "You are a mess, Duke. Clara has taken to styling your hair as if you were a prize sheep."
"She is a prodigy," he said. "I intend to employ her as my personal valet as soon as she can tie a proper cravat."
Henry, now returned to the fray, announced, "She said she is going to cut your hair off in your sleep."
Oscar raised an eyebrow. "That is a step up from setting it on fire, which was her last threat."
Nancy reached over and brushed a few snowflakes from his hair. "You look very handsome with white hair, you know."
He tipped his head. "I doubt I could convince the House of Lords to accept a duke in homespun and dusted in snow. You are determined to destroy my reputation entirely, aren’t you?"
"Your reputation can stand a bit of destruction," Nancy replied. "It is your pride I am interested in."
He studied her, face open and unguarded. "You are happy?" he asked, and though it was not a question he often voiced, she knew it mattered to him, even more now than it had before.
"Immensely." She nodded, and meant it.
Oscar took her hand. "I wish I could say I never doubted we would end up here," he said, glancing at the twins, "but there were moments when I feared?—"
She squeezed his fingers. "I know. I was not always easy to love."
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. "You were always impossible not to."
She almost laughed, but the warmth in his eyes stole her words. Instead, she reached for his hand and pressed it to her stomach. The baby, as if in on the moment, delivered a well-timed kick.
Oscar started, then grinned. "He is impatient. Like his mother."
"Or she is hungry. Like her father."
