Chapter 15 #2
He said, “I have never cheated at anything.”
She snorted. “You have never played. That is not the same.”
The nursery was cleared for action, most of the obstacles already removed—except for the twins, who darted about, equal parts excitement and suspicion.
“Now,” Nancy said, “you will stand in the center. The rest of us will circle. If you catch someone, you must name who it is. Only then may you remove the blindfold.”
Oscar looked perfectly miserable, but he complied. “What do I do with them, once I catch them?”
“Do not eat them,” Clara said, from beneath the window seat. “That is all.”
Henry giggled, a sound so sharp and sudden it made Nancy smile in spite of herself.
Oscar stood in the center, every line of his body braced for humiliation.
“Are you ready?” Nancy asked.
“No,” Oscar replied. “But proceed.”
She signaled the children to begin. They moved in a loose orbit, Clara with the grace of a stalking cat, Henry in a series of unpredictable zigzags. Nancy herself crept lightly, savoring the oddity of the moment.
Oscar turned slowly, head cocked as if listening for artillery in the distance. He reached out, caught air, and missed by inches. Henry darted behind him and blew a raspberry, which set Clara off laughing.
Oscar stiffened. “Clara.”
“Incorrect!” Clara crowed, and Oscar had to start again, this time with less dignity.
The room rang with laughter. Even Henry, who had been so cowed earlier, joined in, emboldened by the new rules.
Oscar made a grab for Clara and missed, stumbling into the corner.
Nancy said, “Perhaps you should use your ears, not your arms.”
“My ears are of no use,” Oscar said. “You move like foxes.”
She approached, whisper-quiet. “We’ll try to be less foxlike.”
He turned too quickly, and his hand grazed her shoulder. She felt the jolt of it—a surprising warmth, alive with the possibility of something she couldn’t name. She pulled away before he could notice, cheeks flushed.
Clara circled back, crowing, “He’s going to lose! The Duke is going to lose!”
Oscar bared his teeth in a brief, feral smile. “You are all in collusion.”
“Of course we are,” Nancy said, “that is the point.”
He turned again, slower this time, letting the sound guide him. Clara giggled, Henry squeaked, and Oscar lunged—catching Henry around the waist and lifting him from the floor.
Henry squealed, half terror and half delight.
“Who is it?” Nancy prompted.
“Henry,” Oscar said, certain.
Henry grinned, triumphant and squirming.
Oscar released the boy and reached for the blindfold, but Nancy’s hand was already there, untying it before he could.
Oscar blinked at the sudden light, hair mussed, cravat askew.
“There,” Nancy said, “you have survived.”
Oscar looked at Henry, who stood a little taller for having been caught, and at Clara, who sulked but not seriously. Then he looked at Nancy, and for a moment something like pride glimmered in his eyes.
“You see,” she said, “they are not so terrible, once you meet them on their own ground.”
Oscar cleared his throat, straightened his collar, and shot her a look that lingered longer than was strictly proper.
“Again!” Henry shouted.
Oscar raised a brow at Nancy, as if awaiting orders. She shrugged, and the game resumed.
The second round was messier. Clara, emboldened, tried to tie Oscar’s coattails together as he fumbled blindly.
Henry, at one point, hid behind Nancy’s skirts, forcing Oscar to lunge in her direction and nearly knocking them both over.
For a heartbeat, Nancy found herself pressed against Oscar’s chest, her face only inches from his, the smell of citrus and starch and some ineffable maleness making her knees go weak.
She stepped back, but not before she saw the trace of surprise—maybe pleasure—in Oscar’s expression.
He caught Clara next, hoisting her up in a victory lap around the room. The children shrieked, delighted. Oscar looked at Nancy as if to say, See? I am not a total loss.
She said, “Perhaps you will make a decent uncle after all.”
“Perhaps,” he allowed.
The game ended with both children collapsing in a heap, breathless and glowing. Nancy sat beside them, smoothing Henry’s hair while Clara burrowed under her arm.
Oscar stood over them, looming but not unkind. He looked different—less like the Duke of Scarfield, and more like a man trying to remember how to live.
Nancy caught herself staring, then looked away, mortified to find her heart racing.
Oscar said, “Thank you,” so softly she nearly missed it.
She looked up. “For what?”
“For this,” he said. “For all of it.”
She found herself unable to answer.
A discreet knock at the door rescued her. The housekeeper, efficient as always, peeked in. “Your Grace. Dinner will be ready within the hour. Cook requests your approval for the sauce.”
Nancy rose, brushing crumbs from her skirt. “Of course. I’ll be right down.”
Oscar said, “Mrs. Tullock, I shall be dining in the main hall this evening.”
She blinked, startled. “Very good, Your Grace.”
He looked at Nancy, holding her gaze in a way that made her pulse leap. “The Duchess shall be joining me, of course.”
Nancy felt the color rise in her face. “Of course.”
Oscar nodded, then added, “We have matters to discuss.”
Nancy swallowed, not trusting herself to speak, the warmth of the room wrapping around her like a secret.