Robert said nothing, simply waited for them to reach the stairs before turning to Sarah, Henry and the puppy.
“Son, I am sorry,” Robert said at once, reaching out to put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I hope those two ladies did not upset you.”
“They were horrid to Buttons. They scared him,” Henry said, tears still showing in his eyes. “They won’t hurt him, will they?” he added, sounding frightened.
“No, son.” Robert said gently, though inside he was fuming with anger at his mother and Lady Marina. “They will not hurt...Buttons?” He looked at Miss Brooke in surprise.
“We named him this morning,” Miss Brooke said softly. “It was Henry’s idea for a name.”
“It is a good one,” Robert said instantly. “Now, come indoors, both of you. And bring Buttons with you.”
“Come, Buttons,” Henry said gently. “It’s all well. Papa will not let the ladies hurt you.”
Robert felt his mouth set into a grim expression. He most certainly would not let them. He had watched Henry and the little dog play from the upstairs window, and he had almost wept to witness his son lively and happy in ways that he had not beenfor years. It had hurt to see that joy dampened instantly by his mother’s fury, to see the child retreat back into himself, into the quiet, withdrawn boy he often was.
Robert glanced at Miss Brooke, who was also subdued. They walked back into the hallway—Miss Brooke carrying the puppy up the front steps—and when Henry and the little dog were scampering around the foyer on the tiles again, Robert turned to Miss Brooke.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “You have done wonders for the dog. And for Henry.”
“I did nothing,” Miss Brooke said instantly, her lips lifting in a grin. “Buttons and Henry have done wonders for one another.”
“You helped,” Robert said gently as he and Miss Brooke watched the little boy and the dog run around on the tiles in circles, chasing one another about.
Miss Brooke just smiled, and they stood side-by-side, watching. Robert’s heart filled with tenderness. He had never imagined that he would watch Henry with someone who seemed to care about—and understand—the child almost as much as himself.
“Best if we go upstairs now,” Robert said gently. “I think Edward would be perfectly happy for Henry and Buttons to play in the gallery. I take it he does not, um...mess?” He raised a brow.
“He did not last night,” Sarah replied swiftly. “I took him out after dinner and then again early this morning.”
“Well, then. I am sure Edward would be content to give the gallery over as a playroom for half an hour or so. What do you say, son?” he added, turning to Henry. “Would you and Buttons like to play upstairs in the gallery for half an hour?”
“Half an hour?” Henry’s eyes shone. “Can we? Can we, Papa?”
Robert nodded. “Of course,” he replied swiftly. He was sure Edward would not mind. He was a reasonable sort of man, easygoing and honest.
Miss Brooke retrieved Buttons and carried him up the stairs to the gallery. As they went up to the top floor, Robert spotted his mother in the middle hallway. She shot him a dark glance and Robert’s heart twisted. He had to address matters with her. He had to take the time to confront her, to tell her once and for all that he did not approve of what she was trying to manipulate him into doing.
I cannot tie myself to Lady Marina, he thought grimly. It would be a farce and a lie. I do not love her. I love someone else.
That realization had gradually blossomed within him, and seeing her play with Henry and Buttons had brought it home all the more forcibly. He loved Miss Brooke. Sarah. He loved her deeply and fully and he could not deny the truth of it anymore.
“Will you watch them?” He asked Miss Brooke gently. “I have a matter to attend to. It will take some minutes.”
“Of course, I will,” Miss Brooke said warmly, smiling up at him. They were in the doorway to the gallery, and Henry’s laughter filled the room as he and Buttons ran up and down the wooden floor. He gazed at the two playful youngsters for a moment and then his eyes rested on Miss Brooke. He gazed into her gray-blue eyes, his heart filling and swelling like the springtime buds as he stared at her. Her soft chestnut hair had come loose from its chignon here and there as she ran, and a thick lock rested on her cheek. He reached over and gently tucked it behind her ear. Her skin felt like petals, like silk. He drew in a deep breath, suddenly struggling to control the rush of feelings that overwhelmed him.
“I will...return in a few minutes,” he managed to say. His voice was husky. He coughed.
Miss Brooke smiled shyly. Her eyes held his and he could see that her lips had parted slightly, gasping as he touched her cheek.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she murmured.
He gazed at her for a long moment, filling his mind with memories of her face, with the courage that his love for her gave him. Then he turned around and went down the stairs.
When he reached the middle hallway, where the guest-chambers were, his mother had gone. He drew a deep breath, going to the door of her chamber. He knocked on the door, but his mother did not answer—either she was resting, or she was elsewhere in the house. He sighed and opened the door to his own room.
He looked around wearily. His valet had set out an outfit for him to wear to the soiree that evening—brown velvet breeches and a dark blue velvet jacket with a high-collared linen shirt and silk cravat.
He smiled to himself, his stomach twisting with a mix of anticipation of seeing Miss Brooke there—he had no doubt that Lady Averhill would insist on her attendance—and nerves at the prospect of seeing Lady Marina. His spine stiffened. He had to tell his mother of his real feelings, his real plans.
