Page 36 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

He turned and looked at her with a calm, matter-of-fact expression. “You used to paint the orchard. You said the light was better there.”

“I paint all sorts of things, Nicholas. Landscapes change with the season.”

He looked at the several sketches pinned above her worktable. Each one was a variation of the same theme: water, reeds, and a solitary stone wall. He looked at his mother, his gaze lingering a second too long.

She moved toward the door, her skirts swishing with forced energy. “Put your riding coat on properly. Your collar is tucked in.”

He went, his boots thumping a rhythm on the stairs.

Penelope stood in the doorway of the studio for one long, still moment, looking back at the dark water on her easel. It looked less like a painting and more like a confession.

She pulled the door shut and locked it.

The south lane began at the far end of their grounds, the one that ran like a scar along the boundary between Romwich Hall and Brigrock. Previously, it had been just a line on a map to her. Now, as she stood in the stable yard while the groom brought their horses round, it felt like a magnetic pole, pulling at her thoughts.

“I thought that we could go to the village today,” she said, her voice a fraction too bright as Nicholas appeared with his collar straight but his cap slightly crooked. “Past the mill. I believe they’ve finally repaired the bridge.”

Nicholas looked at the south lane. He looked at her. He adjusted his cap, his expression unreadable. “All right,” he said agreeably.

The lane to the village opened up to late-morning sunshine and an unhurried stretch of low stone walls and hedgerows going gold at the edges.

Nicholas rode beside her.

“Mr. Calloway has given me a terrible piece of Latin to translate,” Nicholas said, speaking in the wandering, branching way he did when he was content. “I counted the lines. There are forty-three.”

“Latin builds discipline,” Penelope said.

“I don’t need discipline.” He adjusted his reins without being told, which she noted. They rode in silence for a few moments. Then, “There’s a hare living under the hedgerow by the east meadow. She’s been there all summer. I’ve decided not to disturb her.”

“That’s very considerate of you.”

“She has babies, I think.” A pause. He looked at the passing hedgerow with the casual air of someone approaching a subject sideways. “Mr. Calloway mentioned a book once. About field craft and tracking. He said it was the best one written on it.”

Penelope kept her eyes on the lane ahead. “Did he?”

“It is in Lord Richards’ library. Lady Violet’s father has it.” Another pause. “I thought perhaps someone might ask after it. On my behalf.”

She looked at him. He was watching the road with great composure for a seven-year-old.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said.

Nicholas nodded, satisfied, and moved on to the hare again.

Penelope said nothing more, but she felt a sudden tightness in her chest. She glanced at Nicholas. He had moved on. She had not. He was seven years old and already the Duke had worked his way into the boy’s thoughts so naturally, so completely, that he came up between a hare and a Latin exercise without Nicholas even noticing he’d done it.

That was what worried her.

The village was warm and quiet, a few carts rattling through the high street and the shops smelling of roasted coffee and new wool. They left the horses at the inn’s post and walked.

Nicholas found a cat sleeping on the draper’s step and crouched beside it in peaceful communion. Penelope stood in the sunlight, her face tipped up to the heat, trying to let the morning settle over her. It took great effort to think of nothing.

“Penelope!”

Violet’s voice cut through the quiet. She was standing outside the bookshop, a paper parcel tucked under her arm and Amelia beside her in a pale blue bonnet that was far too fashionable for a simple morning errand.

“We are doing the rounds,” Violet said as they crossed the street. Her eyes immediately went to Penelope’s face, narrowing as she noted the shadows under her friend’s eyes. She said nothing, but the look was a conversation in itself. “Come with us.”

“I’ve already found three volumes,” Amelia said with a small, satisfied smile.