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Daniel winced as she got the thing stuck on the doorjamb. “Do you require assistance, Miss Denby?”
“Pardon? Oh! No, not at all, Your Grace.” She smiled brightly before, her pixie face scrunching in concentration, she forced the thing closed and swung it in a triumphant arc. Which perhaps was not the brightest thing to do, as it bumped Freya in the backside. The dog let loose a yip of outrage and went careening inside the house to hide under her mistress’s skirts. Chaos ensued as Lady Tesh simultaneously tried to extract her dog from her skirts, comfort the creature, and berate her companion for injuring her beloved pet. All the while Miss Denby fluttered about them like an anxious butterfly, the parasol swinging from her arm and further enraging Freya, who peered from her bower of bright pink silk, her dark eyes almost human-like in their contempt.
Daniel and his mother stood on the front step, gaping at the scene. Finally Lady Oswin appeared, bringing immediate calm and reason as she effortlessly managed everyone, directing the lone maid in the removal of outer garments—he had been told the duke and his bride kept few servants at Swallowhill—soothing her great-aunt, and comforting Miss Denby.
“Well,” Daniel said as he watched the small group disappear from view, “I suppose we must count our blessings that Mouse was not allowed to accompany us.”
There was a moment of silence. Suddenly an unexpected chuckle had him peering down at his mother. And his breath stalled in his chest. Her face was alight with humor, her eyes sparkling. When she looked up at him, he thought for a powerful moment he might cry. She wore an easy, happy expression he had not seen on her face since before his going off to war.
“Goodness, it’s like a comedy of errors, isn’t it?” She laughed. Then, patting his arm, she released him and walked inside.
He watched her for a moment, overcome. While his mother had insisted that he visit Synne to learn the social skills he would need in London—if with not total confidence, then at least a passable semblance thereof—it had been his mother’s peace of mind that had been the determining factor in his finally agreeing to her mad scheme. And this was proof positive that it had all been worth it.
His heart lighter, he followed her, stepping into the front hall. The interior of the house was small but welcoming, the intricate inlaid floor buffed to a sheen, the great curving staircase that swept up the back wall in a graceful arc polished and gleaming. He followed the sound of voices into a bright sitting room off the side of the hall, its wide windows and plush floral carpets as welcoming and cheerful as the moss-green furniture and collection of lovingly framed watercolors that graced its soft yellow walls.
But he hardly saw it at all, for his attention was immediately fixed on Margery. She was seated beside the Duchess of Reigate on a wide couch, their arms about one another, their heads bent close in whispered conversation. But that was not the thing that froze him in his tracks. No, the thing that struck him was Margery’s hand on the duchess’s swollen stomach. He suddenly had a vivid image of Margery herself heavy with his child…
He stumbled, just catching himself with his cane. “Ah, my apologies,” he muttered when every eye swung his way. Face hot, he greeted the duchess and Lady Oswin before sinking down into an overlarge chair as far from the others as he could manage without appearing rude.
What the devil was wrong with him? He was not going to marry Margery. She had quite emphatically refused, after all. And the plan was still for her to help him locate a bride before it was time for him to travel to London; fantasizing about her expecting his child was not conducive to succeeding in that particular endeavor.
Even so, as he watched Reigate sink beside his duchess and kiss her temple, as he watched her smile slightly and lean into his side—and as he caught the small, wistful smile that flitted across Margery’s face at the act of affection—he grew aware of a dull ache in his chest. He rubbed the ache, frowning, and forced his attention away from the scene. Perhaps the Isle was doing something to him, undermining all those rules he had set out for himself when the plan to take a wife had first formed.
Or perhaps it was Margery.
No, certainly not. He gripped the handle of his cane tight and straightened his spine. Regardless of the reason, he was a man of strength and determination, and knew what had to be done. He would take every precaution to ensure he did his duty with the least amount of emotional entanglement possible.
Suddenly the Duchess of Reigate stood. Or, rather, she did a kind of roll, her stomach leading the way as she lurched to her feet. Her husband was at her side in an instant, offering his arm as support.
“But Aunt Olivia and dear Miss Denby and Their Graces have yet to see the nursery,” she said brightly. “Lenora has painted the most cunning mural on the wall; I simply must show you.”
With that she was off. The rest of them dutifully followed in a kind of slow-moving procession, out into the hall, up the sweeping staircase, down the long upper hallway to the room at the far end.
It was surprisingly spacious for the size of the house, with large windows thrown wide to let in the ocean breeze. Soft colors lent a magical air to it all, from the delicate violet drapes fluttering in the gently shifting air to the small cradle with its hand-stitched blanket to the vines and flowers in the rug at their feet. And dominating the space was the most breathtaking image he had ever beheld.
It was as if he were staring straight into a sun-dappled forest. The mural was incredibly detailed, each leaf captured in a single moment, each branch delicate and reaching for the heavens. Here was the faint blue of a bird flitting in the branches, there the spotted back of a fawn as it rested in the brush.
The breath left Daniel in a soft exhale of disbelief. As the others spoke and exclaimed over the piece, he found he could only stare in wonder. He felt certain in that moment that if he stared long enough, the whole thing would come to life before his very eyes.
“I told you she was talented.”
The soft voice murmured in his ear, startling him back to the present. He turned to see Margery beside him. It was the first time she had looked directly at him since yesterday afternoon, and he felt the power of it clear to his toes.
But he saw, too, that there was uncertainty lurking in her gaze. A feeling he could understand only too well. Something had shifted between them, first with his kiss, then with his ill-conceived proposal. And for the life of him he didn’t have the faintest clue how to navigate these dangerous shoals.
Though he supposed a bit of normalcy could only help. “The duchess truly painted this?” he asked.
“She did.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” He returned his gaze back to the mural. There were more hidden wonders the more he looked. Was that a hedgehog beneath a fallen branch? And a…fairy?
He let loose a small laugh. “I vow, if I’d had anything like this when I was growing up, I would have remained in the nursery until they removed me by force.”
She chuckled. “I daresay it would have been the same for me.”
But the beat of camaraderie was quickly gone, and they were left standing in awkward silence. The others talked and laughed and exclaimed over every little detail of the nursery. Finally the duchess said something about a greenhouse, and they all filed out. He was about to follow them when Margery’s hand on his arm stopped him. He glanced down at her in surprise.
Her gentle brown eyes were solemn. “I must apologize for my reaction to your…suggestion…yesterday.”
