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Letty blinked, caught off guard by his confidence, not knowing how to respond appropriately. “My condolences.”
He turned, blue eyes so similar to George’s searing into her soul. “We miss her every day, my son and I. She was a special lady.”
Something dark and wrong twisted in her belly as she realized how he felt for his wife. “It was a love match, then?” she felt compelled to ask.
The Duke smiled. “We didn’t think so at first. Victoria and I grew up together. You could say we were betrothed in the womb. Our families planned our nuptials long before we were mature enough to even think about such things.” He smiled with fond remembrance and she blinked, fascinated and surprised by the softness in his expression.
Has anyone truly lovedmethat much?
Her thoughts were wistful and unprofessional and she tried to thrust them away from her with limited success. “Why have you brought me here?”
He turned his head to look into her eyes. “I wanted you to see us. To know us, so that we are not just another noble family to you. If you are here to cause us some harm, perhaps you will reconsider. My son is already smitten with you. I do not think he can bear to have his heart broken again.”
Letty felt it like a spear to the heart. She blinked a few times, unable to find words. “Your Grace, I do assure you, all I want is to bake for you and your household and make your son smile with my confectionaries.”
He stared as if he might see her intentions writ clear on her heart if he looked hard enough. “Very well,” he said eventually. “I will believe you.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She sketched a curtsy and turned quickly, wanting to leave that place. She felt the ghost of her father near to her, walking beside her as she got away from Victoria’s headstone. She had instinctively avoided reading the epitaph. She didn’t want to know.
I’m not going to hurt them. I shall just find the letters and leave.It is for the French people that I do this.Myfamily.
Even telling herself this could not stop the white-hot bolt of guilt from searing her belly. She increased her pace, deciding that some more baking was in order. She loved doing it because it soothed her spirit and she loved to see the pleasure on other people’s faces when they ate her cakes or pies or bread. She loved knowing she was feeding them.
There had been some lean years as she went from camp to camp with her father. Years in which all they had to eat was what they could forage. She knew well the difference a full stomach made. She looked down at her hands in wonder, recalling the Duke’s words. Not callused perhaps; nails bitten to the quick, well-tended but only because it was part of her job.
Not the hands of a peasant perhaps, but most definitely those of a survivor; a fighter.
* * *
Bertram followed slowly after her, deep in thought, wondering at the girl’s reaction to his wife’s grave. She seemed almost flummoxed at his description of Victoria.
Just as if she could not imagine that we loved each other…how strange.
He did not believe for a minute that she was not hiding something but he did realize that her feelings for his son were real.
I shall just sit back and watch. If she is duplicitous, sooner or later, she will reveal herself.
His thoughts turned to the war effort and Wellington’s plan. He knew that he was still only one of a few men who were aware of it. If Napoleon was to be defeated decisively, it was imperative that they keep the details well concealed. He had his part to play in that—albeit a small one—but he intended to carry it out with the greatest aplomb.
He straightened his spine, thinking of the messenger he was expecting. The dinner party he planned to hold was a good way to disguise the reason for the man’s arrival. On second thought, he was not so sure that giving in to the Countess of Perrin was the best idea. Especially since he’d made the decision while at the height of arousal, with another woman on his mind.
What would you have me do, Victoria?
The wind seemed to pick up a bit even as he looked at his late wife’s headstone, causing the leaves to make a susurrus of sounds as they swayed gently. A fresh breeze whispered against his ear in what seemed like words of permission and affirmation as the hairs on his arms stood to attention. He drew a long, shuddering breath as he quickened his footsteps, stepping out from the shadow of the trees into the sunlight with relief.
Victoria might have been ready to release him but he still clung to her like a drowning man, refusing to let go.
The gardener nodded as he walked by and Bertram nodded back with a slight smile. The estate was always bustling with people going about their various tasks during the day. When he was home, Bertram enjoyed watching them, reveling in how well they took care of his property even without Victoria’s guiding light.
Mrs. Gendry was conscientious about making sure the feminine touches Victoria favored—flowers in vases at various nooks and crannies as well as a sparkling clean house—were kept up. Nevertheless, it was not hard to see thatsomethingwas missing. At least to those of a discerning heart. Thespiritof home was absent.
Bertram sighed.
Why should I think about this now? It's been three years since Victoria left us. I should be used to it.
Indeed, he had become accustomed to the bareness of their existence and he would have been content to continue in that manner had it not been for the new baker. She had awoken something in him that he had thought would slumber forever.
With a sigh, he stepped into the dimness of the inner courtyard, and headed for the kitchen. There was no better time than the present to announce his plans for the weekend.
