Chapter 3
Nancy took a deep breath as the butler ushered her down the hallway and rapped thrice on a large mahogany door that seemed to carry the same severity that the entire manor had.
“Lady Nancy Gallagher, Your Grace,” he announced.
She stepped in. Oscar Rowson stood at the window with his sleeves rolled and collar open. The room suited him: bare except for heavy shelves and a desk that seemed to sneer at frivolity. Even the clock on the mantel ticked with a sort of grim satisfaction.
He turned, regarding her with a smile as neat and joyless as the library catalog. “Lady Nancy, it is rather difficult to keep up with names these days.”
“It happens,” she replied, moving to the center of the rug. “I do try to be accommodating.”
He lifted a glass in sardonic toast. “I am told that’s your most winning trait.”
The butler hovered, clearly desperate to flee but unwilling to abandon propriety. Nancy shot him a look of pity; no one deserved to be caught between a Rowson and a Gallagher at close range.
“Thank you,” she said.
The Duke gestured toward the guest chair, though he did not sit. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? Or is it obligation? That would suit your father’s reputation, at least.”
Nancy smiled without showing her teeth. “This is not a social call, and certainly not a condolence visit. I would as soon offer sympathy to a stone wall as to you.”
His dark blue eyes narrowed. “Then you will understand if I ask you to dispense with the pleasantries.”
“Gladly.” She set her hands on the back of the chair, bracing herself against the splinters of decorum. “I have come about the children.”
He tipped his head, as though she’d said something in Greek. “What children?”
“Clara and Henry,” Nancy said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Your niece and nephew.”
A pause, weighty as a gravestone.
He approached, then leaned against the desk, folding his arms. “My, my. The word travels quickly in London. Are you so bored of courtship that you have turned to charity work?”
Nancy bit down on the urge to hurl the decanter at his head. “You know perfectly well I am not here for amusement. I knew Teresa. I have known her since I was twelve. I love those children as my own kin.”
For the first time, the Duke’s mask slipped; something like confusion—no, consternation—tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You? The daughter of the Duke of Neads, consorting with my brother’s—”
“Wife,” Nancy cut in. “The word is wife. Or would you prefer ‘scandal’?”
His face returned to its usual ice, but the glass in his hand made a sharp noise as he set it down. “She was a servant.”
“She was my friend,” Nancy said, and if she heard the rawness in her own voice, she made sure he heard it, too.
The Duke regarded her as one might a riddle. “You mean to say you have a personal interest.”
She considered her reply and settled for, “A great deal more personal than yours, it would seem.”
He gave a slow, deliberate smile. “Is that why you’ve invaded my house in the dead of night? To accuse me of indifference?”
“If the shoe fits,” she replied, lifting her chin.
He circled behind his desk, collected a stack of documents, and flipped through them with pointed care. “You presume a great deal, Lady Nancy. I have provided for the twins in every material respect. More than their mother would have managed alone.”
“Money is not the same as affection,” Nancy said.
“Affection.” He made the word sound like a bad joke. “What use is affection to a pair of orphans?”
“Perhaps,” she said, “if you’d visited them once, you might know.”
He stopped. His silence was an admission, and Nancy pressed her advantage.
“Teresa told me you never came. Not for the christening, not for birthdays, not even after Peter’s funeral.” Her hands gripped the chair so tightly the wood creaked. “What kind of man cares for his brother’s legacy only by ledger?”
The Duke’s lips pressed into a hard line. “If you mean to shame me, you are late to the task. I have shamed myself more efficiently than you ever could.”
“Then why not do better?” Nancy challenged.
He strode toward her. “And you are an expert on family, are you? The Duchess of Neads is an institution. Your father has more opinions on scandal than Parliament. Forgive me if I doubt your qualifications.”
She met his stare. “I do not need your forgiveness. I came to see the children.”
The Duke turned away, as if the sight of her offended him. “They are sleeping.”
“I’ll wake them,” Nancy said.
“You will not.” The words were calm, absolute.
Nancy advanced. “You think they need your rules and your granite jaw, but what they need is someone to tell them their parents loved them. Someone who knows how to hold them when they cry.”
His face gave nothing away, but she saw the faintest quiver in his hand. “I am doing what is necessary.”
“Your necessary is insufficient,” Nancy said.
The Duke returned to his post behind the desk. “If you’re quite finished, Lady Nancy, I will be hiring a governess soon. A reputable one. You may rest assured the twins will not suffer for lack of discipline.”
Nancy braced herself. “And if I refuse to leave them?”
He looked at her, genuinely puzzled. “I cannot imagine what you hope to accomplish.”
She took a step closer, voice low. “If you must have order and convention, then I offer a solution.”
He folded his arms, unimpressed. “By all means, enlighten me.”
“Marry me,” Nancy said. Her heart beat an aria in her throat, but she did not blink as she held his eyes.