Chapter 8
Although she was a little skittish, Iris was a lovely child. Over the next few days, Letitia realized she was melting her heart.
“What shall we do today, Miss Iris?” Letty asked her brightly on their third day together as she opened the girl’s wardrobe to find a frock for the day.
Her gowns were practical for a girl of her age and easy to put on, even if she got particularly squirmy.
Iris had not shown any such proclivities so far, but Letitia had enough experience trying to do up tiny pearl buttons on children hell-bent on escaping to appreciate the pragmatism.
Though the clothes were relatively simple, it was clear that no expense had been spared. They were all made of the finest cloth, so soft and buttery that Letitia wanted to rub it against her cheek.
“Outside?” Iris asked quietly, kicking her feet against the side of her bed.
Letitia smiled over her shoulder as she pulled out a sage green frock and a pair of sensible cotton stockings.
Iris had begun to open up very gradually over the first few days.
She spoke only occasionally, but enough to show that it was a choice, not an inability.
In fact, her words were clear, albeit influenced by a country accent, when she spoke—especially for a four-year-old, an age she had confirmed on her second day with Letitia.
Still, each quiet word pleased Letty beyond measure. It showed her that Iris was starting to feel a little safer, a little more comfortable.
“Of course, we will go outside,” Letitia said. “Have to take advantage of the good weather when we have it, don’t we?”
Iris kept kicking her heels. “Yes,” she said. “Warm.”
Letitia tried to hide how she was practically vibrating with excitement. Two words at once! It was thrilling! Still, she was determined to treat Iris like a normal child, not some sort of experiment, so she shoved down her reaction.
“It has been warm,” she agreed. “I have been in the country until recently, and I have found it much warmer in London. I don’t know why I think that’s strange. Maybe it’s because the country seems sunnier to me.”
Letitia’s chatter was idle; she had been doing this for days, rambling about whatever trivial thought came to mind, simply creating chances for Iris to speak if she wanted to. Sometimes, the girl even took them.
But this morning, Iris said in that same barely-there voice, “Country. Me too.”
This time, Letty could not hold back her reaction. She grinned at the little girl, who almost gave her a smile back.
“Is that right?” she asked.
Iris only nodded, but Letitia didn’t mind. This was progress, true progress.
She’d like to see that stubborn duke claim otherwise.
She felt guilty about the thought as soon as she had it.
This wasn’t about the duke. It was about Iris.
That much had become clear within the first few hours with the girl.
She was so sweet. She was shy, gentle, and kind.
The day prior, Iris had spent half an hour gathering a handful of berries off the ground, and when Letitia had warned her not to eat them, the girl had smiled and pointed at a nearby bird, then left the treat within sight of the creature before backing slowly away.
She was a child who fed birds.
So, yes, it was about Iris. And a little bit about Letitia. And about Sarah.
That left no room for the duke.
Not, Letty had to admit, that he was trying to take up very much space.
She’d scarcely seen him since that… moment between them in his study when she’d first arrived.
Not that she had sought him out—she’d spent as much time as possible in the nursery.
It wasn’t that she was avoiding him. She was just… diligently doing her work.
Sometimes, though, they’d cross paths, and every glance between them felt oddly significant. The oddest part, however, was that it didn’t bother her. Oh, it felt strange. But it didn’t make her want to flinch or hide away. Not like—
She shook her head a little bit.
“Sorry,” she said to Iris. “I was woolgathering. Let’s get our day started. Today, we shall try to see how many things we can find that are green.”
Iris obligingly hopped to her feet and began tugging at the ribbon on her nightgown.
Letty had been gently probing the girl’s knowledge and found that she more or less knew what might be expected from your average child from the country.
She didn’t seem to know much about her letters—Letitia planned to start on that after just a little more time spent settling in—but she knew her colors and could identify groups of things up to ten.
“Green,” Iris said when Letitia started doing up the buttons on her gown, pointing down at her frock.
“Aren’t you clever?” Letty praised, and Iris bobbed her head happily, her dark plait swishing back and forth along her back with the motions.
There was a slight thump on the door that Letitia knew would be Sarah—not only because Sarah had been assigned to the nursery since she’d first arrived, but because she’d tapped for entry with her foot, not her hand, meaning she was carrying something in her good arm.
Letitia crossed to the door and admitted her friend, who was balancing a stack of clean linens in her arms.
“Sarah!” Iris said happily.
Iris adored Sarah. She didn’t talk to her as much as she did to Letty, but she always followed the maid around the nursery for her morning chores, watching everything she did with avid interest. She particularly loved helping put the new sheets on the bed, for reasons that Letty could not quite understand.
But she wasn’t about to deny the little girl so simple a happiness, so instead of waiting until Letitia and Iris were out for the day, as she might otherwise have done, Sarah had been instructed to come in right when the girl woke.
Besides, Letitia wanted Iris to gain comfort talking to more than just her, and that meant encouraging contact with anyone she seemed to like. Small steps to get big results, she reminded herself.
“Good morning, Iris, dear,” Sarah said. “Morning, Letty.”
“Morning, Sarah.” Letitia took the linens from her friend’s arms. “Iris and I shall be searching for green things today.”
Sarah nodded solemnly. “If I see any green things, I shall save them for you, Miss Iris.”
Iris giggled, and the two women exchanged happy glances. Letitia knew that her friend was just as taken with the little girl as was Letty herself.
Iris wandered over to try to pull on her stockings, her tongue tucked between her teeth in concentration as she worked.
For now, she was pulling the left one on backward, so the curve of the heel would be on the front of her foot, but Letty wanted to give her the opportunity to figure that out for herself.
“Going well?” Sarah asked as she stripped the linen off the bed, swift even with one arm. It wasn’t technically the job of a governess to do household chores, but Sarah and Letitia had worked together for years, so Letitia crossed to help her out of habit.
“She’s definitely warming up,” Letitia agreed, glancing back at Iris, who was frowning at the stocking, clearly certain something was wrong but not yet clear what that was. “I think we shall make good progress within a month.”
Letitia had been frank with Sarah about the duke’s deadline, as well as the promise that Letitia’s failure, should it transpire, would not affect Sarah’s employment.
“I am sure the duke will be happy,” Letitia went on absently. When she turned back to her friend, however, Sarah looked concerned.
“What?” Letty asked.
Sarah waggled her fingers at Letty’s face. “You have… a look on your face whenever you talk about His Grace.”
Letitia clapped her hands to her face. “No, I don’t,” she protested from between her fingers.
“Well, that is convincing,” Sarah said. “And yes, you do.” She lowered her voice, even though Iris was still too consumed with the matter of her stockings to pay any attention. “And he has the same look when he looks at you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Letty protested. But then, she could not help herself. “What look?”
Sarah pressed her lips together. “Charmed,” she said after a moment’s contemplation. “You both look… charmed.”
“No,” Letitia repeated, knowing she sounded far too much like the lady who protested too much. “We do not. Not that there is a ‘we.’ I just work here.”
Apparently, her protests didn’t even merit Sarah’s acknowledgment.
“Just… be careful, all right?” her friend urged quietly, her gaze flicking once more to Iris. “I just want you to be careful.”
The naked concern in Sarah’s face dissolved Letitia’s combativeness.
“I will,” she said. “I promise.”
And, at that moment, she meant it. It wasn’t as though she could have anticipated all the things that came next.
* * *
Ezra was exhausted.
He’d spent the day traipsing back and forth across London, seeking his late uncle’s solicitor, who had apparently retired in the years since the fire that had decimated the Lightholder family.
He had eventually located the fellow, only to learn that he was yet another dead end.
He could add nothing to Tilford’s revelation about an argument that night in Hugh’s club.
All that back and forth, for nothing.
At least it had let him avoid Miss Knightley for another day, something that was becoming increasingly difficult to do.
It should not have been. He lived in a large house. He had plenty to do. And yet… he kept having to force himself not to wander down the corridor where the nursery sat.
What was it about this woman?
Fortunately, today at least, he was too weary to puzzle over why the red-headed little harridan had taken up such permanent residence in his mind. He collapsed into his bed, barely pausing long enough to yank off his boots and trousers. He let oblivion wrap him in its soft, dark blanket.
When he woke, he was burning.
A very, very distant part of him recognized that this was a dream. An even more distant part of him knew that he’d had this nightmare before, albeit not for a good, long while.
But that part was very hard to access, beneath the panic.
The smoke was choking, and the heat was everywhere. He clawed at his chest, at his face, trying to get rid of the pain, the terror. He realized there was screaming—his own, yes, but others’, too.
“Ezra! Ezra?” His cousin Catherine, her voice high and terrified.
“Help me, Ezra!” Hugh.
“Son. Son, please. Ezra, please! Help me. Why can’t you help me?” His father’s voice, worst of all.
Ezra scrambled for that shred of logic, the one that reminded him that it had not gone like this, but it was so hard to hear above all the screaming.
And then, a quiet voice.
“Your Grace.”
He looked around, but he could not see anything through the smoke, through the flames.
“Your Grace, you are dreaming.”
It was a woman, a familiar one. A kind voice, a voice he needed to pursue. There were cool hands on his face. Blessedly cool. He wanted to feel those hands everywhere.
“Your Grace? Oh, to hell with it—Ezra. Ezra, wake up!”
He could not ignore that command. His eyes fluttered open, and he saw a woman—an angel—a sweet, concerned face with wide blue eyes and a long, red braid.
His savior. He had no choice.
He reached up, pulled her down, and kissed her.