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If he were not a Duke, I would say the boy is whinging, Clara thought. Can a nobleman whinge?
Mr Morton tutted good-naturedly, taking a sip of his tea. “There is much of importance in a newspaper hidden among the gossip and salaciousness, Your Grace. If your great-grandfather had not been such a studious reader of current events, he—”
“Yes, yes, he would have lost the family fortune in the South Sea bubble,” Christopher muttered. “You’ve told me. But Master Svenungsson wished for me to finish my sums before our lesson this afternoon. I should go and complete that work now.”
“The meal is not yet concluded, Your Grace,” Mr Morton said, nodding his head toward Clara. “It would be impolite to leave the table before your company has eaten.”
“I can do my sums at the table.”
“That would be equally impolite, I’m afraid.”
“Doing sums is not allowed, but reading a newspaper at the table is not impolite?”
Edward bobbed his head as though acknowledging the veracity of this point. “It is a fine distinction, to be sure. But no, a newspaper at breakfast is entirely appropriate for a Duke at a family meal.”
“Hang about, I thought you just said Miss Clara was company? But since she is family, why must I stay when I am not hungry?”
Mr Morton closed his eyes and gave a short bark of laughter, then reached his hand out to pat the Duke’s shoulder amiably. “I see Master Svenungsson’s lessons on rhetoric and debate are taking root in your mind, Your Grace. A sign of a good teacher and a better student, I think. Your point is well taken—consider your presence at the table a favour to your half-sister and your poor beleaguered guardian, then.”
A smile broke through the clouds, and the Duke indicated his frustration with a huff, but stayed in his seat.
“I…do apologize for my tardiness, Your Grace. It will not happen again,” Clara said as soon as she detected the Duke’s eye on her. She gave a deep curtsy, then glanced at Mr Morton, who was taking another bite of bread and jam as he watched the scene before him, his own eyes shining with laughter.
“That’s…all right, Miss Clara,” Christopher said in his squeaky, hesitant voice. “We do not need to stand on ceremony so among family. Sometimes, at least.” He looked to Mr Morton in lighthearted accusation, and seeing an approving nod in return, he gestured to an empty seat on his other side.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Clara said timidly, taking the seat he indicated.
“Glad you could join us, Miss Clara,” said Mr Morton as he genteelly raised a serviette to his lips. “What will you take for your breakfast?”
“Oh,” she said, surprised by the question. What she had wanted to eat had never had any bearing on what food was on offer. “Well…”
What does a lady request under such circumstances?
Clara idly looked over the plates of her companions to seek some inspiration. Christopher’s dishes were filled with all manner of delicious-looking confections, but none had suffered so much as a nibble. Edward Morton appeared to be mostly finished with his own breakfast.
As her eyes fluttered up to look at Mr Morton, she saw that he was already looking in her direction with a curious expression. My, he has handsome eyes, Clara found herself thinking. Edward’s eyes were indeed striking, dark as his hair and charged with some interest she could not recognize.
She looked away, feeling herself blush as she heard him explain, “His Grace is suffering from some…digestive problems, I am sorry to say.”
“Edward…” the boy complained, scowling.
Morton raised a hand and nodded, then continued. “Suffice to say, I was hoping Cook could tempt his palate with some of his more attractive sweets.” He gave the Duke another encouraging smile and said, “No matter. His Grace will surely eat when he feels compelled to do so.”
“His Grace’s breakfast does look wonderful, actually,” said Clara. The Duke’s guardian nodded with satisfaction, then brushed aside the lock of curly black hair that had been shaken attractively over his face.
“Mr Momplaisir?” Edward called over his shoulder. Clara glanced about, not hearing any answer to his summons, but when she looked back she saw the old butler standing beside the Duke with a stoic expression.
“Another plate for Miss Clara, please. The same as His Grace’s breakfast,” said Mr Morton.
“If the cook has not put everything away just yet,” Clara added.
“Certainly, sir. my lady,” the butler said, then glided away quickly and quietly.
“Thank you, Mr Morton.”
“Not at all,” the man replied, shifting his weight and picking up the last of his breakfast. “I hope you know you can put in such orders yourself, of course. I know this may feel very strange to you at the moment, but this house is your home now.”
“That…is good to hear,” Clara said quietly, her hands wringing a napkin in her lap. “I appreciate that very much, sir.”
