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“That is absolutely not what I said, Your Grace.”
“Is that so? What was it you said?” He took a step towards her, his demeanor slightly threatening.
“Papa! Stop it! You’re being mean to Miss Jacqueline.” George’s high piping voice, clearly laced with anger, stopped him in his tracks.
He turned to look at his son. “I thought she said everyone calls her Letty.”
George looked extremely confused at this non-sequitur which was aimed more at the woman than his son.
“I am called Letty by most people,” she spoke up, “but not here.”
“Why not? Are we not good enough to call you Letty?”
“You may call me whichever name you please.”
“Very good,Letty. Now, perhaps you can take George in to have his tea since he seems to have taken quite a shine to you.”
Bertram found that he was quite annoyed that his son had come to the woman’s defense. For some reason, it felt like a betrayal.
He’s never spoken on my behalf in such a way…
Bertram tried to laugh it off, knowing how petulant he sounded, even just in his head, but he could not quite banish the feeling of rejection. He went to his room to wash off the dirt of the road and change his clothes before going in search of his son.
George was not in his nursery and neither was his nanny. Bertram stopped a passing footman. “Where is the Marquess?”
“In the kitchens, Your Grace,” the man said with a bow. “Shall I fetch him for you?”
Bertram quirked an eyebrow in surprise.
Since when does George eat in the kitchens?
“No, thank you, I shall go and find him myself.” He nodded to the footman and went on his way more determined than ever to get to the bottom of George’s new strange behavior. If this Letty girl was to blame, then she would have to leave forthwith.
He stepped into the kitchens and was assaulted by the sweet scents of baking goods. The air itself seemed to shimmer with happiness as cinnamon, ginger, and rose water permeated it. Unconsciously, Bertram quickened his step and then froze as he heard a sound that was completely unfamiliar to him—George was laughing. The boy’s high piping voice seemed to tinkle like jewels clinking against each other and tears pricked Bertram’s eyes to hear it.
He realized that since his late wife, Victoria, had died of consumption two years ago, he and George had barely smiled at anything for an extended period of time—let alone laughed. He had immersed himself in the war, barely taking time to make sure that George was well cared for before taking off again.
And now this woman, whomever she might be, had brought some light into George’s life. He had been contemplating sending her away, simply for his own comfort.
I am the one that is prickly with her presence.
She was too immediate, too vibrant, her eyes shone too bright, she could not be ignored and hehatedthat.
Speak of the devil…
Letty looked up as he stepped into the kitchen, a ready smile on her face, dimples winking in and out like a pair of wood nymphs. Everyone else in the kitchen froze as if stuck in place and gaped at him. It occurred to him that he did not normally make a habit of coming to the kitchen.
He nodded. “Good evening, all.” He clasped his hands behind his back and tried to look at home as his eyes fell on George, who was the only one still moving. He was stuffing cake into his mouth as if afraid that someone might take it away before he’d have a chance to eat it all.
“Your Grace, welcome.” Her voice was low and silky-smooth as she curtsied and Bertram cursed his entire body’s reaction to her.
“Thank you. I just came to see if George would like to have his tea with me.”
George stopped eating for a moment, turning wide blue eyes to his father in some surprise. His mouth was smeared with some sort of brown cream which was also slathered on the cake.
“You want to eat with me?” he asked, his mouth full.
Bertram frowned. “Do not speak with your mouth full,” he snapped.
