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Letty went into the garden, a basket over her arm, in search of George and his governess. Her conversation with the Duke was still reverberating in her mind. She felt more settled somehow, as if something had been resolved. Perhaps it was that she had come to terms with her situation and thus surrendered all worry.
She smiled as she saw George, his tiny legs pumping with effort as he chased after a chicken, chubby little hands outstretched, face red with effort. His blond hair flew every which way, cornflower blue eyes narrowed with concentration. He looked nothing so much as a determined diminutive hunter stalking his prey. Every time he came close to the chicken, it darted away. Clearly it was playing with him.
“George?” she called, her cheeks smarting with the intensity of her amusement.
He stopped, turning to see who had called. His face lit up with joy when he saw her. Chicken forgotten, he ran to her, arms outstretched. “Letty!”
She reached down for him, enveloping him in her arms. She’d seen him not three hours before but if he wanted to act as if he hadn’t clapped eyes on her in years, she was not one to stop him.
She held him just as close as he held her, breathing in his innocent clean baby scent. He pulled back, face beaming. “Did you bring me something to eat?”
In lieu of an answer, she reached for the basket and handed it over. He squealed in excitement, digging through the covering cloth to see what was inside.
“Mince pies!” He pulled one out. It was so fat he could barely wrap his small fingers around it. Still, he made a valiant effort while Mrs. Haversham sat smiling at them both from under the shade of a tree.
Letty reached for the pie and pinched off a piece before handing it to George. “Eat slowly.”
He grabbed it and stuffed the entire thing in his mouth. He grinned widely even as he chewed. She shook her head and tsked. “Mrs. Haversham will be upset with you. I’m sure that’s not how she taught you to eat.”
George shrugged, holding out his hand for another piece. Letty put it in his palm with a smile, and watched him enjoy the treat. She honestly derived more pleasure from his enjoyment than she did making the food.
“What would you like me to make you for supper?”
His eyes widened. “I can choose?”
“Yes, of course.”
“How come?”
“Well, I know I left without a word before and I just feel awful about it. I want to make it up to you.”
He leapt into her arms, hugging her tight. “It’s all right. I forgive you.”
She felt a lump in her throat as he held onto her. Never had she felt so enclosed in loving embrace before. Small as he was, his affection was all encompassing.
“Thank you, George,” she whispered, swallowing her tears. For some reason, the boy reminded her so much of her brother. She felt strongly that Etienne would have liked George.
I would have liked Bertie too.
She heard the words in her head exactly as her brother might have said them with his teasing, lilting voice full of laughter and fondness. She almost jumped in shock, freezing in George’s arms, waiting to see if the voice would say something else.
“What’s wrong, Letty?”
George was looking at her with concern and she shook off her fancies with a smile. “Nothing’s wrong. Thank you for the embrace. Now do you want the rest of your pie or not?”
“I do! May I have…” he paused, peering at her from beneath his lashes, “some gooseberry puffs with ice cream for dessert tonight?”
Letty smiled affectionately. “Of course. If that’s what you want.”
George nodded, blond curls falling over his forehead with the force of it.
“Yes, Letty. That’s what I want.”
“All right then, little boy.” She got to her feet. “I’ll leave you with the rest of these so I can go and pick some gooseberries.” She said it loud enough for Mrs. Haversham to hear. She didn’t want anyone thinking she was trying to run away because she ventured off to the orchard.
“Very well, Miss Strange.” George said, his mind having moved on to finishing the pie as he began to look around again for the chicken. Mrs. Haversham nodded to her, letting her know she’d heard.
Letty walked down to the bottom of the garden, planning to use her apron to store the gooseberries she picked, already planning how many to make. She walked absent-mindedly, not paying attention to where she was going. She had so much to think about but could not really make any decisions. It was a strange place to be.
She turned into the orchard, shifting around a large tree and then came to a stop, eyes widening at the sight before her eyes. The Duke, locked in a passionate embrace with the Countess of Perrin.
