“That would be the effect of sleep and a proper breakfast,” Nancy replied. “I recommend it.”
Oscar’s mouth twitched again, and he looked away.
Breakfast continued in this vein, punctuated by snorts and the occasional spat of clattering cutlery. Nancy permitted the children a second helping, then a third, and by the time they’dmade a respectable dent in the table, the entire room smelled of sugar and victory.
It was at this precise moment that Henry, emboldened by the presence of his new guardian and the general mood of rebellion, lobbed a chunk of scone across the table. It hit Oscar’s coat squarely, leaving a streak of cream cheese on the blue wool.
Oscar looked down at his chest, then up at Henry, whose eyes went wide as coins.
Clara clapped both hands to her mouth to contain her laughter.
Nancy, refusing to betray emotion, said, “One must never play with their food, dear Henry, and certainly not toss it at a duke.”
Henry nodded, chastened, but Clara snickered, unable to help herself.
Oscar was not amused. He stared at Nancy with the intensity of a man plotting a murder. Then he rose, flicked the cream cheese from his coat with the air of a firing squad leader, and said, “My study. Now.”
Nancy wanted, deeply, to refuse. To laugh, to show the children that the world was not always ruled by men with blue coats and black moods. But she looked at their faces, Henry’s guilt and Clara’s dawning fear, and knew she could not abandon them to whatever dark cloud was gathering.
She kissed Clara’s head, squeezed Henry’s shoulder, and said, “I shall return shortly. Behave yourselves, or you will answer to me, not the Duke.”
Clara saluted. Henry began stacking scone crumbs into a pyramid.
Nancy followed Oscar down the hall and into his study, closing the door behind her.
He did not turn. He braced his hands on the desk and stared at the empty fireplace, shoulders tight.
“Is this how you intend to manage the children?” he said at last. “By encouraging chaos?”
“Chaos is preferable to despair,” Nancy replied. “They are children. They have suffered enough for a lifetime. If you wish them to grow into functioning adults, perhaps allow them a few days to simply be.”
He turned then, sharply. “You think I am cruel.”
She considered. “I think you are unpracticed. I also think you have no idea what children require.”
He glared, but she refused to back down. “I require them to grow up. Quickly.”
“That is the tragedy of your life, Oscar,” Nancy said, voice softer now. “You have never understood that people are not cattle to be driven toward efficiency. They must be shown, not herded.”
“They must be disciplined, not coddled,” he countered.
“Then perhaps you should marry a governess instead of a duchess.”
That caught him off guard. His expression shifted—anger to surprise to something that almost resembled amusement.
“I am doing my best,” he said.
“Try harder,” Nancy replied, and walked out before he could retort.
She returned to the morning room, found the children in a truce over the last orange, and poured herself a second cup of tea. Clara looked up, worried.
“Are you in trouble?”
“Always,” Nancy replied, and that was enough to send Clara into giggles again.
It was not five minutes later that Wilks, the butler, approached with a bouquet in one hand and a small envelope in the other. Hepresented both to Nancy with the air of a man performing open-heart surgery.
“These arrived just now, Your Grace.”
