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“Mama!”
Devon stood back, and his wife smoothed her hair and turned to face the commotion.
Their son stood in the doorway, clutching his nursemaid’s hand. With his mop of jet-black hair and brilliant blue eyes, he was the image of Devon in his youth.
“Lizzy, what’s happened?” Atalanta cried.
“Young Sebastian’s a little overwrought,” the maid replied. She glanced at Devon, then colored and looked away.
Something was wrong. Lizzy had been in their employ since their marriage and, like all their longer-serving servants, had grown used to Devon’s scarred appearance. But, today, she flinched from it.
“George said I wasn’t to come to his Christmas party!” Sebastian cried.
Atalanta opened her arms. The boy released his hand from Lizzy’s hold and ran to his mother, burying his face in her skirts while she stroked her head.
“Sebastian, darling,” she said. “We’re visiting your Aunt Delilah in Scotland for Christmas. You were so excited about meeting your cousins and climbing the mountain. You can see George when we return. You’ll be going to school with him next year.”
“I hate George!” the boy wailed, his voice muffled by his mother’s skirts.
Devon placed a placating hand on his son’s head, stroking his silky-smooth hair. “Come now, sir, that’s a little melodramatic for a boy of your age.”
Sebastian flinched from Devon’s touch. “It’s your fault!” he cried. Then he burst into sobs.
“Lizzy, please explain what’s happened,” Atalanta said.
The nursemaid colored and shifted from one foot to the other.
“You heard your mistress,” Devon growled, a wave of anger rising within him.
“I don’t know if I ought…” she began.
“Do you want to be dismissed?” he snapped.
A light hand touched his arm and squeezed it, and the wave receded.
“Tell us please, Lizzy,” Atalanta said. “You’ve nothing to fear.”
“Master Sebastian and I encountered young Lord Easton in the park with his nursemaid,” Lizzy said, her gaze flicking toward Devon, then returning to the floor. “He said…” She shook her head. “Forgive me, he said that his papa and mama pitied Sebastian but did not want their son befriending him.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because…” Lizzy shook her head. “Forgive me…it’s because they didn’t want to associate with you, sir.”
“Because His Grace doesn’t consider the son of a commoner a fitting companion for his own son?”
“N-no, sir, it’s because…” Lizzy sniffed. “I cannot say it!” she cried.
“Permit me to say it for you,” Devon said. “The Duke of Easton has no wish for his son to associate with the son of the Beast of Belgravia—a monster from whom decent folk flinch in disgust.”
The maid colored, and a tear spilled onto her cheek.
“Is that it?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Lizzy, dear,” Atalanta said. “His Grace is a foolish man whose good opinion is not something to aspire to. Would you be so good as to give Sebastian his bath and perhaps a cup of cocoa?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The maid bobbed a curtsey, then extracted Sebastian from his mother’s arms.
