A Dangerous Nativity

Chapter 5, Scene 6

A few days later, Catherine watched the three boys make their way toward the orchard, Freddy and Randy skipping about, the young duke stiff and uncertain, but determined. Bertha, the dog, scampered around them. November had just passed into December, but the chill was slight.

After an awkward visit of several uncomfortable minutes, Chadbourn had enticed the boys with a suggestion they reenact some lurid episode of the Wars of the Roses. Even the young duke seemed eager to defend Lancaster or York. She wasn't sure which.

"That was neatly done, if I do say so." The earl's rich baritone vibrated through her. He sounded smug.

"Rather! My brothers are pleased to be loosed from their studies."

"So is Charles, not that I think his studies are getting him far. His tutor is worthless."

At least he has one, she thought as she turned to find the earl smiling at her.

"Did you come here today merely to disrupt the peace of our orchard with Lancastrian armies?" she asked.

"No, no. I came to thank you for giving me Squire Archer's direction. I admit, it gave me an excuse to bring Charles, though. I told you he needs to meet boys his age."

"The duchess allowed it?"

"The duchess doesn't know." If he felt any guilt for hiding it from his sister, he hid it well.

"His Grace is certainly polite."

The earl groaned. "Etiquette is well enough. Your brothers certainly know how to behave. Charles uses good manners as a shield to hide behind."

Catherine looked at the man next to her. His title and fashionable dress marked him as someone comfortable in the halls of power and fashionable drawing rooms, and still, he worried about a boy with an excess of manners. She could see more when she looked closely. He had the sun-darkened skin, disordered hair, and broad shoulders of a man at ease in the out of doors. An insight came to her.

"You want that for your nephew," she said. She met his eyes.

"Want what?"

"Comfort in the out of doors."

"More than comfort. Passion for the land, for the fields and woodlots, for the people. The country is our true home."

Catherine felt her mouth widen into a smile and knew it reached her eyes. She saw the echo in his.

***

Passion. This woman shares it. I can see it in her eyes.

"Shall we go to the house?" He smiled at her. He stood well over six feet, so, of course, he had to look down, but not as far as he might. Catherine came up to his shoulder. She would fit there nicely, he thought with a private smile.

She looked sideways at him as they reached the door. "So, what do you wish to discuss? Wheat yields or milk production?"

Blatant change of subject. He couldn't be irritated with this brilliant woman. "Wool, Miss Wheatly. What am I going to do with all those blasted sheep? The late duke apparently believed that if a small herd made a profit, quadrupling it would make four times as much. The pasture land can't support them, and thanks to his steward's stupidity, we can't afford to feed them over the winter, either."

The woman launched into a recital of the ratio of sheep to meadow, "Though we haven't the land to keep sheep ourselves," and provided several shrewd ideas about ways to dispose of the blighters before winter took full hold. Will listened with half an ear, tucking away the thoughts to share with Archer.

He had far more interest in the color talk of husbandry brought to Catherine's cheeks. He had a sudden vision of seeing that face over breakfast every morning while they went over the business of their own estate. The thought stunned him.

"What is it, my lord?" Catherine asked, watching him closely. "You look as if you've had a fright."

"Not a fright, merely an unexpected thought," he replied. One much too soon to talk about. "It's nothing." He pushed the thought of Catherine at his table to the back of his mind. He needed to marshal all his attention for the conversation he wanted to have with Lord Arthur.

***

Her father turned so dark with rage, Catherine feared for his heart.

"We do well enough, damn you. We don't need Eversham's charity. Not now, not after everything," the old man raged.

Chadbourn had bungled in as she feared, but what he laid out had been generous and well intended. Papa's old hurts are in the way of his reason.

"Think, man," Chadbourn soothed. "The boys deserve an education at least. They are a duke's grandsons. Don't tell me they aren't."

Papa's chin quivered with pent-up emotion. "I won't deny that, but that doesn't make it the Earl of Chadbourn's business."

"As long as the duke is my ward, it does. The estate has an obligation, and I intend to see it met. The least owed is to educate them as gentlemen and prepare them for professions."

"Randy doesn't want a profession," Catherine cut in. "He will be content to be a farmer."

"Be that as it may, he can be an educated farmer, just as I am, title or not. What of Freddy? Horse mad and eager for glory. The cavalry—"

"You want to send my boy off to war?" Papa shouted. Catherine felt sick at thought. Yet, she had to admit to herself, she feared Freddy would take the king's shilling just to get away from farming. School and an officer's colors would be better.

"No, no. That would be up to Freddy. For now, schooling. Charles is bound for Eton next year, and having friends with him would ease his way."

"Not that damned place. My father condemned me there."

Chadbourn smiled broadly, taking Catherine off guard. "Harrow it is," he said. "Much better. My own school. It can be just as harsh, but friends make it bearable. The boys would be together."

Papa looked like steam gathered for another explosion. "Nothing need be decided today," Catherine soothed. "Perhaps Mrs. MacLeish has that tea ready." As if on cue, the woman herself knocked and entered with a tray of tea and biscuits.

"Oh look, Papa. She made your favorite butter biscuits." Catherine smiled at the woman who had fed her family since Catherine was a tot. Mrs. MacLeish gave her a cheeky wink. "Thank you," Catherine whispered.

Tea and sweets soothed ruffled feathers, but settled nothing. An uncomfortable hour later, she walked the earl out.

"Give him time to get used to the idea. He's been estranged for so long."

The earl took her hand, but instead of bowing over it, he held it firmly and searched her face.

"What breach keeps him from accepting the support any well-managed estate would give?" His eyes held nothing but sympathy and concern.

She couldn't deny him.

"I don't entirely know. I was just twelve years old. My mother and I had been living with an aunt in Scotland. Papa brought us back to Wheatton to see her father, who was vicar here, before he died. The old duke, his father, disowned him when he married my mother, but could do nothing about Songbird Cottage. Papa's mother left it to him. I think the old man resented that."

He looked as if he meant to ask more; she prayed he didn't. What am I to say? No, my mother wasn't married when I was born? No, Lord Arthur isn't my natural father?

Before he could, three boys came raging from the woods.

"The owl, Cath! We saw him," Randy called.

Once sufficient amazement over the sighting had been expressed, Chadbourn helped the young duke into their phaeton. He bowed over Catherine's hand and took his leave, but his eyes never lost their sympathetic look. It was almost enough to give a woman hope. Damn the man.

Catherine turned from the sight. The duchess will not like this day's activity, she thought.