Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
“What were you thinking, Anthony? Why would you leave the estate?!” Rowan’s voice thundered as he yanked his son roughly from the carriage. The boy yelped, stumbling slightly under the weight of his father’s fury, but Rowan’s grip was firm, unyielding.
Lucy, still trying to gather herself from the chaos, took a hesitant step down from the carriage. The echoes of hooves and shouting had faded, leaving only the quiet, tense aftermath. Her chest still thumped, adrenaline prickling along her nerves.
There had been a commotion the moment Rowan arrived, recalling the way the bandits had scattered the instant they heard the name ‘the Duke of Langridge’.
Their fear had been instantaneous, palpable.
In a few seconds, they had vanished into the night, leaving only the night air and the faint dust of their retreating horses.
She stepped closer to the carriage, careful to stay out of the way, and watched as Rowan’s dark eyes bore into his son, his jaw tight, his posture absolute command. Anthony, for all his cleverness and daring, could not withstand the sheer force of his father’s scolding.
Lucy’s gaze flicked between them, puzzled by how firmly each stood his ground.
Rowan’s hand tightened around Anthony’s shoulder. “Do you have any idea what you have done, boy? Leaving the estate without permission, putting yourself and everyone else in danger?”
Anthony met his father’s gaze squarely. “But I had to. I cannot stay silent while the house, the boys, and you suffer because no one dares to act. I had to try.”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed, a storm of disbelief and anger brewing in their depths. “You are twelve years old! You are not the master of this household, nor of my actions. You overstep every boundary a son ought to respect. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Father, I understand. But I will not turn back now. I will not return to the estate and pretend nothing is wrong while you refuse help. Miss Crampton is here to help, and I—” He glanced toward Lucy, determination hardening his features.
“I will not let her leave until you at least listen to what she has to say.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing. “Enough, Anthony. You are a boy playing at wisdom far beyond your years. You should be in your study, not orchestrating schemes that could have landed you in danger!”
Anthony opened his mouth to protest, but Rowan’s glare silenced him instantly.
Lucy stepped forward then, seeing how helpless Anthony had become. “Your Grace, if I may…”
Rowan turned toward her, eyebrow arched. “And what, Miss Crampton, do you think you know of this boy’s foolishness?”
Lucy swallowed, intimidated by Rowan’s anger.
“I know he acted without your permission, Your Grace,” Lucy admitted, hands pressed together.
“What he did was wrong. He should never have sent a letter behind your back. But…” Her gaze softened, sweeping briefly to Anthony.
“He also seems to have much that he wants you to hear. Perhaps it would be wise to listen.”
Rowan’s lips pressed into a thin line. Then, in a voice sharp enough to cut glass, he interrupted her, “You may be on your way, Miss Crampton. The bandits are gone, and I am almost certain you will not be troubled here again. You can return to where you came from.”
Lucy opened her mouth, intending to protest, to press Anthony’s case further. But as she did, she caught Rowan’s gaze, and he looked like he could see straight through her.
“Why would you indulge him in the first place?” Rowan demanded, his voice dangerously low. “He is a child. You could have put him in danger! You could have sent him back when he appeared out of nowhere! It is late, the roads are unsafe, and yet you allowed him to remain under your protection. Why?”
Lucy took a sharp breath, her hands tightening at her sides. “I did not know he would come out of nowhere! There was no way to send a little boy back into the night! I was trying to reach somewhere safe, somewhere I could send for assistance. I—”
“Assistance?” Rowan’s voice cut her off, incredulous. “You thought a boy should be left in the care of strangers while you wrote letters? You placed him in jeopardy!”
Lucy bristled, stepping a fraction closer, refusing to let his anger unnerve her. “I am not so careless, Your Grace. I did my best to keep him safe.”
Rowan’s jaw flexed, the corner of his mouth twitching with exasperation. “You are reckless, Miss Crampton, almost as reckless as this child! Do you not understand what could have happened?”
“I do understand,” she shot back. “I also understand why you are upset. You have every right to be. I apologize that we upset you like this. All I am asking is that perhaps you listen to what your son has to say. Clearly, there is something on his mind.”
For a long, tense moment, Rowan stared at her. Lucy met his gaze, steady, unwavering, feeling the fire of her own determination reflect in the depths of his dark blue eyes.
“You are maddening,” Rowan said finally. “And this is why I should never allow you near my household.”
“Lucky for you, I am not so eager to even be near your household,” Lucy shot back, stepping forward just enough to challenge him. “What is so extraordinary about it, anyway? A drafty hall, a father who thinks shouting solves everything? Hardly worth the effort of my talents.”
Rowan’s eyes flicked to hers, an eyebrow raised. “Ah,” he drawled. “Says the person who travelled all this way to come and matchmake. Quite the impressive display of restraint, Miss Crampton.”
Lucy’s lips pressed together. “Traveling does not equal dedication, Your Grace. I could have spent this time anywhere else. Anywhere more agreeable.”
“Agreed,” Rowan said, taking a step closer, his height and presence undeniable, “yet you are here, in the middle of the night, exchanging words with me.”
Lucy exhaled slowly, straightening her shoulders. “I am here because your boy insisted, not because I am charmed by the opportunity to be screamed at by a grumpy duke.”
“Yet you remain, arguing, insisting you can… what exactly? Find a match for me? I see no evidence that you possess the talent for matchmaking. You are young, seemingly inexperienced, and you cannot even take care of a little boy.”
Lucy’s hands tightened at her sides, her chest rising with indignation. “If experience were all it took, then surely the household would already have been managed. And as for my talent, Your Grace, you have seen nothing yet.”
“Miss Crampton, your audacity is staggering.”
Lucy’s pulse quickened, and she knew then that if the conversation continued any longer, she was going to lose her mind. “Perhaps you are right,” she said, adjusting her gloves. “Maybe it is best I leave.”
“That is exactly what I have been trying to say!” Rowan snapped. “Leave, Miss Crampton. That is what I wanted all along.”
Before Lucy could respond, a small, determined voice interrupted.
“No one is leaving!” They both turned to see Anthony standing firmly, small hands planted on his hips.
Rowan let out a sigh. “Anthony, I will not have you running off, dragging others into—”
“I do not care, Father!” Anthony interrupted, small fists clenched at his sides. “I do not care about what you think is proper! Father, we need her!”
Rowan’s brows shot up, incredulous. “We need her? Do you understand what you are saying, boy? You are speaking of a stranger.”
“I do.” Anthony’s voice cracked and then steadied.
“I do understand. Because this is not just about me, Father. It’s about my brothers, too.
I am worried about them. The house feels empty without someone to keep it whole.
Someone to care for us, to make sure the boys are looked after, to manage the household properly! ”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening. “The house is kept,” he said sharply. “We have servants, a housekeeper, and governesses. Everything is in order. Do you imagine that a stranger can do what the staff and I have maintained for years?”
Anthony lifted his chin defiantly. “It’s more than that. The estate needs a duchess, and you know it. You cannot do everything, Father. Are you not tired of pretending that you can?”
Rowan’s expression hardened, but there was a shift in his posture, a tightening at his jaw as if weighing the truth in the words.
“I know you are strong, Father. I know you are capable. But even the strongest men need help sometimes. You do not have to admit it to anyone, and I know you won’t.
But we do. We need a mother. Miss Crampton can help us find the perfect one.
It is for us as much as it is for you. Do it for us, Father. ”
Lucy watched, her chest tightening. The determination in the boy’s eyes, the raw honesty in his voice, was impossible to dismiss, and for the first time, she saw Rowan falter, even just a fraction, behind the mask of authority and severity he wore.
Rowan let out a measured breath. “Fine.” He turned slowly toward Lucy, dark eyes sharp. “We will discuss this... arrangement in more detail back at the estate. It’s late. We should head back.”
Lucy nodded, her pulse still fluttering from the tension of the evening.
She helped Anthony climb back into the carriage and then herself, settling into the cushions.
The horses began their slow clip-clop along the road, and the night air wrapped around them, cool and still, carrying the faint scent of the surrounding woods.
Anthony, sitting upright beside her, looked almost impossibly small against the breadth of Rowan’s commanding presence, yet his confidence radiated so much that it made Lucy’s chest soften. He kept his gaze forward, but she could feel the certainty that she could do what he had asked.