Page 30 of A Highland Duke to Claim Her Heart

He reached the door of the nursery, which had been left ajar, and peered inside.

Annabelle was sitting on the floor of the nursery, cross-legged, her hands covered in paint. In front of her was a large white sheet that had been stretched out flat on the ground. Several large buckets of paint were set to Annabelle’s right, while on her left sat Cassandra.

Her hands werealsocovered in paint, and the two of them appeared to be painting on the sheet with their hands.

“You just put them flat on the cloth,” Cassandra was saying as he peered inside. “That creates the wings of the butterfly, and then we will use a brush to fill in the rest.”

“Like this?” Annabelle pressed her thumbs together, fanning out her fingers, and then set them down on the sheet. When she lifted them, he could see the body of the butterfly where the two thumbs were, the rest of the handprint made the wings.

“Exactly like that!” Cassandra said, grinning at her. “Do you see it? Does it not look beautiful!”

“So beautiful!” Annabelle cried, and she laughed again, the sound like music filling the room. “I love this! The paint feels so goopy and cold!”

“Just do not tell your father I am allowing this,” a voice said from behind them, and Ewan adjusted where he was standing so that he could see Miss Ashworth sitting in a chair behind them, watching with a reluctant smile on her face. The governess looked as if she was not sure whether she entirely approved, but she seemed amused as well. “I do not think he will approve of such messy behavior.”

“Oh, I am sure he will love it!” Cassandra said, shaking her head. She was wearing a white apron over a lilac dress so as not to get it dirty, her brown, coppery hair pinned back out of her face in a simple coiffure. She looked relaxed and happy as she dipped her hands back into the paint and held them toward Annabelle as if about to touch her.

“I am going to cover you in paint!” she said, making her eyes wide and sticking her tongue out, and Annabelle shrieked with laughter once more.

“Careful!” Miss Ashworth said, as several drops of paint fell onto the parquet floor. “How will I explain this to the duke?”

“Do not worry, I will clean it up,” Cassandra said.

“You?” Miss Ashworth sounded shocked. “You cannot clean it up, you are the duchess! I shall send for a servant.”

But Cassandra merely laughed. “Do not be absurd. If I make a mess, I will clean it up. There is no need to bother the servants, they are already so busy keeping this house spotless.” She smiled at Miss Ashworth, who smiled tentatively back at her.

“Cassandra,” Annabelle said, as she began to draw spirals on the sheet with her paint-covered fingers, “will you be coming with us to the Midsummer Festival in the village this weekend?”

Cassandra looked up at Miss Ashworth. “I am not sure… Is that something a duchess would usually do?”

“The late duchess always did,” Miss Ashworth said. “But His Grace has not gone ever since her passing. However, I think thevillage would benefit from getting to meet the new Duchess of Calder. I know that they are always disappointed when the duke does not make an appearance.”

Ewan had seen enough. He withdrew quietly, making sure that no one saw him, and then walked slowly along the corridor, thinking hard.

His wife was unlike any woman he had met before. She was spending her days improving his home and playing with his daughter. She was a little bit wild and playful, but not in ways that seemed dangerous to him. And Miss Ashworth, he thought, was wrong: He was not angry to see his daughter behaving like a real child. He was actually relieved.

She was not wrong about his presence at the Midsummer Festival, however. He had not attended since Margaret’s death.

She had hated the festival, but he had always insisted she attend. After she died, the festival was a reminder of his inadequacies and mistakes as her husband, and he could not bear to go.

He was still thinking about it at dinner that evening with Cassandra, Miss Ashworth, Alaric, and Annabelle.

“I made the most marvelous butterflies today, Papa!” she was saying, as he stared moodily down into his soup. “I painted them myself!”

Ewan looked up at this, and he had to suppress a grin as he saw both Cassandra’s and Miss Ashworth’s eyes grow wide.

“Oh?” he said innocently, smiling at his daughter. “And did you paint those with a brush?”

“I…” His daughter gazed at him “Yes?”

Ewan tilted his head to one side. “Because I see paint on your hands, little one.”

Annabelle quickly hid her hands in her lap. “No you do not,” she said quickly.

“Surely it is just sauce from the meal,” Miss Ashworth said quickly, and Ewan raised his eyebrows at her, making her blush. When he looked at his wife, however, her eyes were twinkling, and she did not look at all apologetic.

“The butterflies were excellent,” she said. “Annabelle has a talent for painting. I would like to get her lessons, if you would be amenable to that.”