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A duke always realizes the limits of his power.

Hugo bowed and kissed his lady’s gloved hand.

His heart sang.

Chapter Fifteen

When had Ophelia decided to marry Hugo? What was the precise moment when she decided to take on eight children, a duchy, and—most importantly—a man who tempted her nearly to madness?

A man who wanted to live for the next six months in a castle in Cheshire?

The duke paced along the corridor at her shoulder, seeming as quiet and tame as a house cat. But she could feel the wild energy coursing through him. The air she breathed felt like new wine.

Hugo knew what a marriage based on that excitement was like; she didn’t. But now she had a glimpse of it, a sense of it, and it was intoxicating.

Returning to the drawing room, she saw Lady Knowe seated with Maddie and Lady Woolhastings, telling them such an engaging story that they were both leaning toward her. Lady Fernby passed them on her way to the kitchen to address a small problem.

No one paid attention as Ophelia slipped into the seat beside Maddie; her cousin just squeezed her hand and said, breathlessly, to Lady Knowe, “Then what happened?”

“They were playing at pirates,” she said now. “Horatius, bless that child, has grown up to be as pompous as a sixty-year-old barrister, but as a boy he could never resist an eye patch. Now he’s eighteen and far too mature to play a pirate.”

Hugo seated himself beside his sister, ignoring the empty seat next to Lady Woolhastings.

Lady Woolhastings paid him no attention. Her eyes were round. “You are describing extraordinary behavior,” she said, obviously choosing her words carefully.

“Not for those varmints,” Lady Knowe said cheerfully. “I often have to send them to bed with only bread and butter for supper. The nursemaids keep honey in the nursery and I pretend not to notice. Am I right, dear Edith, in thinking that your two children are both female?”

Lady Woolhastings nodded.

“Boys—particularly Wildes—are a completely different breed,” Lady Knowe said. “Mothering them is a Sisyphean task. Some days I lurch from crisis to crisis.”

Maddie was patting her stomach as if there truly were a child there. “Oh! I hope I am carrying a boy,” she cried. “I should love to play pirates! Wouldn’t you, Lady Woolhastings?”

Ophelia squeezed her hand again. Maddie’s irrepressible good spirits would be such a gift to the child she didn’t carry, but who would be her own.

“No, I certainly would not,” the lady stated, “but I have no objection to children playing whatever games they wish in the nursery. Most nurseries are on the third floor precisely so that noise does not disturb the household.”

Lady Knowe wasn’t finished. “After they burned down the vicarage—an accident, I assure you, and thank goodness, no one was hurt—the vicar asked me, most earnestly, if I thought they should be exercised.”

“Exercised?” Hugo repeated.

Ophelia glanced at him and had to look away in order to stop herself from laughing. The duke’s eyes were dancing.

“Oh, whatever it is you do to evil spirits,” Lady Knowe said, waving her hand.

“Exorcised. He thought they were possessed?” Lady Woolhastings said. She looked perturbed. “I, for one, would not welcome such an impudent suggestion from a cleric.”

“A metaphor, I assure you,” Lady Knowe said. “Help me, Duke. Defend your children. Leonidas, for example, isn’t nearly as naughty as the older boys were.”

“I hate to mention it, but dead chickens come to mind when one thinks of Leonidas,” her brother said cheerfully.

“That is true,” Lady Knowe acknowledged.

“Isn’t he merely six years of age? What did he do to the chickens?” Maddie gasped.

Apparently chicken carcasses were occasionally taken from the kitchen and made their way under the covers of dislikable guests staying at the castle, thanks to little Leonidas, who would tuck them carefully under the coverlets.

“It isn’t the smell that’s vile,” Lady Knowe said judiciously, “as much as the feathers. They paint them red, you see, so when someone puts their feet down in the bed, they encounter a disagreeably sticky, wet object. When they remove their feet, they appear to be covered with blood. Shrieking invariably ensues.”