Miss Lynch selected a sensible gray, unadorned save for a modest white collar. Nancy eyed it with suspicion, but allowed herself to be buttoned, pinned, and neatly trussed. Her hair required only a brisk brushing and one hasty coil.
As Miss Lynch set the pins, Nancy’s mind returned to the evening prior. Had she really asked Oscar to help with her corset?
You are hopeless,she scolded herself.You could have summoned the maid. Or simply endured it. But no—let’s rope in the Duke, of all people, to witness your utter helplessness.
She blamed it on exhaustion and perhaps a momentary lapse of pride. Still, the mortification lingered.
She descended the staircase, more nervous than she would have admitted even under threat of laudanum. The hallway leading to the morning room hummed with distant laughter—the twins, unmistakable. She followed the sound, feet light on the stone.
Nancy paused in the doorway. There, arrayed like the cast of a domestic farce, were Clara, Henry, and Oscar. Not only were they eating together, but the children seemed wholly unafraid of their uncle. Clara sat perched on the edge of her chair, spooning porridge with a precision usually reserved for surgery. Henry was busy ordering Oscar to “spread more jam, please, Your Grace,” a demand the Duke met with something resembling patience.
Nancy watched for a moment, gathering herself. For an absurd, dangerous second, she felt hope.Perhaps this will work, and it does not have to be a calamity.
“Am I late, or is everyone else early?” she said, entering with the bravado of a woman who did not, in fact, just wake two hours past her intended.
“Aunt Nancy!” Henry nearly toppled his bowl in his haste to wave. “You are awake!”
“I am. And it seems you have not eaten all the food in the house yet.” Nancy ruffled his hair before settling in the chair Clara had already begun to push out for her.
Oscar looked up from the jam jar. “Good morning, Duchess.”
There was something unguarded in his face, a softness quickly re-armored. Nancy chose to ignore it.
“Good morning, Your Grace. Children, have you been keeping the Duke in line?”
“We are teaching him to be polite,” Clara said, sniffing. “He does not know how to butter bread correctly.”
Oscar, straight-faced, set another piece of toast before Henry. “I have become their indentured servant,” he said, “and am not allowed to leave the table until every slice is adequately slathered.”
Clara offered Nancy a muffin, which Nancy accepted with a flourish. “Thank you, Clara. You are a far better host than some adults I could mention.”
Clara glowed. Henry, emboldened, demanded another helping of preserves.
Nancy ate, savoring the rare sense of belonging. “What’s on the agenda for today? Shall we visit the garden, or perhaps the library? I think the hedgehog from yesterday’s story would enjoy a tour.”
Clara’s eyes lit. “Can we show him the pond?”
Henry clapped, nearly splattering the jam. “And the ducks?”
“Of course,” Nancy said, then looked at Oscar. “You’re welcome to join us if your schedule allows.”
Oscar considered. “I have business this afternoon. But if you are free, Duchess, I would like a word after breakfast.”
Nancy nodded, trying not to let the sudden anxiety show.
Breakfast concluded with minimal destruction. The children were bundled off by Molly, the undermaid, who looked faintly relieved to see Nancy restored to command.
Nancy lingered long enough to pour a second cup of tea, then followed Oscar to his study. He was already at his desk, shuffling papers with surgical precision.
“You wished to see me?”
He did not look up. “I have arranged for us to view several properties today.”
Nancy blinked. “Properties? For what purpose?”
He looked at her, surprised. “For your residence, of course. You will be moving in with the children at the end of our arrangement, as discussed. These are options for your future home.”
Nancy felt the words like a small, cold slap.Oh. Of course.She had, for one foolish moment, forgotten that her place here was temporary. She had allowed herself to believe that the morning room scene was something more than a well-executed illusion.
