Nancy considered. “No. He’s simply unused to being overruled by hedgehogs and children. Give him time.”
Clara wrinkled her nose. “He should practice more.”
“I will suggest it,” Nancy promised, tucking the children back into their fort and pressing a kiss to Clara’s forehead. “I must go see that he does not set the house on fire in his outrage. Will you be safe here without me?”
Clara nodded, brave as always. “We will protect each other.”
“Good.” Nancy rose, dusted off her skirts, and followed Oscar’s retreat.
She found him in the hallway, pacing in front of a portrait of his own father.
“Was my reading truly so terrible?” he said without turning.
Nancy, careful, said, “It was efficient. Thorough. But not… delightful.”
Oscar stopped. “I do not know how to be delightful.”
“You could learn,” Nancy offered. “The children adore you already, despite your deficiencies.”
He grunted. “They prefer you.”
“Everyone prefers me,” Nancy said. “But you are not competing with me. You are simply required to improve your performance.”
Oscar finally faced her. “I have run an estate, a realm, and a Parliament subcommittee. Surely I can master a children’s book.”
Nancy smiled. “You will, if you wish.”
“It is too taxing.”
“My, are you not a contradiction, Duke!”
He cocked an eyebrow, and she laughed.
“Very well, I shall show you if you will allow me.”
Oscar nodded, much to Nancy’s surprise. Then he mumbled something incoherent.
“You have already agreed,” she said. “There is no changing your mind.”
“I am not,” he grumbled, turning and striding down the hall.
Nancy watched him with a wide grin, feeling as though he was not so hopeless after all.
CHAPTER 15
Thump!
Oscar winced and attempted to read the same line of his correspondence for a fifth time. The letter was a simple matter, but his mind refused to stay on the paper. It was the infernal noise that kept breaking his concentration, a series of dull thuds from the ceiling above his study, as if the very timbers of Scarfield Manor were staging a revolt.
He pressed his palm to his brow, counted to five in Latin, then to ten in Greek. The noise only increased, punctuated by a staccato of giggles and then, unmistakably, the high screech of a child in mortal danger.
Oscar rose, stalked from the room, and took the stairs two at a time, his mood set to impending execution.
At the landing, the sounds sharpened: a crash, a scramble, and the gleeful “Again! Again!” of Clara. He opened the nursery doorwith more force than was strictly necessary and found the twins mid-flight: Clara perched atop the tall dresser, Henry already airborne, arms outstretched like a diver, eyes squeezed shut in anticipation.
Henry landed with a bounce, not on the waiting cushions but on the hard edge of the mattress, skidded, and rolled straight off the side. Oscar reached him in three steps and caught the boy just before he could collide with the nightstand.
The child’s face was pale, lips trembling. For a split second, Oscar was certain Henry would scream the house down. Instead, the boy locked eyes with him, startled and silent, the breath caught in his chest.
