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“Oh yes, that last one!” Christopher said, smiling. “My governess and I would play it around the house from time to time.” The smile vanished from his face, as though a cloud passed over the earth. “Mother was most displeased when she found me hiding in a cupboard. She dismissed that governess the next day.”
Clara’s face scrunched up in a mix of sympathy and frustration. Can’t I say anything without bringing still more misery to the Duke’s life?
“Did Your Grace not have any other children to play with, then?” she tried again, as valiantly as she could.
Christopher met this question with a sly smile. “I’m afraid I do not really have any cousins my own age. And while I was not exactly an only child…”
She gasped as she caught his meaning, then gave a gentle laugh. “I suppose your sisters were not the most…accommodating playmates, then.”
“You could say that.” He sighed, coughing slightly in the unfamiliar outdoor air. “No, it was really just me, the string of governesses, and my room full of playthings. Shame. Those games sound most intriguing…I wonder if I should have liked them.”
Suddenly the whole affair struck Clara as strangely sad. The son of a Duke, he must have had all the toys and games any child could have ever wanted. Yet without any friends with whom to play, his may well have been a sadder, lonelier life even than ours at the orphanage.
The distant barking grew closer and a friendly-looking sheepdog barrelled into Christopher, a fluffy whirlwind of tongue and tapping claws. The young man was alarmed at first, then broke into a smile and knelt down to pet the animal.
“Hello there,” Clara said, reaching out a hand to scratch the dog behind its ears. “Oh, you are a handsome beast, aren’t you? Don’t you think, Your Grace?”
“Yes, she is,” he answered, looking at the dog with an odd expression. “In fact, I think I know—”
“I’m dreadfully sorry, Yer Grace!” huffed a short old man as he hobbled toward them. “Bloody old thing got away from me. Go on, now, Bess, get on with ye, leave His Grace alone!”
“No, that’s all right, Mr Peasbury,” Christopher answered, then straightened with sudden realization. “You don’t mean this is Bess the puppy?”
Peasbury threw back his head and released a merry, rasping laugh. “Oh, aye, sure an’ she is. But she hasnae been a puppy in some time now, I’m afeared.”
Christopher marvelled at the dog with the air of having a great weight hanging over his head. Bess, meanwhile, continued to be delighted.
Clara jumped on this opportunity before it fled. “Would you mind if we walk with Bess for a short while, Mr Peasbury? We’re just out for a bit of air, and I would love the company of such a pretty dog, if you don’t mind.”
The old groundskeeper beat on his chest with an expression of pride. “Good lass, gettin’ yerself a good walk. That’s what’s kept me strong as an ox even past seventy. By all means.” He doffed his cap and gave a slight bow to the pair. “Yer Grace,” he said, then began to wobble back towards the house.
Christopher continued to pet Bess affectionately, but his eyes showed he had returned to somewhere most grim indeed. Clara felt her heart bleed for the poor young man.
I have to do something.
“Well, if Your Grace will indulge me a bit longer,” she said, sidling up closer to the Duke. Christopher looked at her, curious. “I was thinking perhaps there would be no harm in playing a favourite of mine for a few moments on this beautiful day.”
His features leapt readily into a frown at this suggestion. “I’m afraid it…would not be appropriate. It would not be seen well for me to be playing games like a child. I am a Duke, and nearly a man grown.”
“Exactly,” Clara said, gesturing to the empty gardens surrounding them. “Who would dare tell a Duke how to behave? Especially at his own home, with no one about to see?”
Christopher grimaced in thought. “I don’t know.”
She leapt in before he could discourage himself further. “And as we do not have sufficient players for some of the other childhood games that you missed…”
“Yes?”
She smiled. “Perhaps a simpler game will do for the time being. Are you familiar with the game ‘tag’?”
“I…believe so?”
“Good. In that case,” Clara said, tapping one finger on the young man’s shoulder. “Tag.”
And like a shot she was off, running across the grass and carrying her skirt in one hand. At first she worried Christopher might leave her to make even more of a fool of herself, but then she heard Bess running after her with a friendly bark, then a set of footsteps close behind.
“You can’t catch me, Your Grace!” Clara shouted over her shoulder, panting with the exertion.
“That’s what you think!”
