Lady Blandford said nothing but seemed to try to signal him with exaggerated movements of her brows. At one point he feared her entire head would take flight with the effort.
Richard ceased trying to decipher what she was trying to tell him and instead hoisted Nicholas up to his own eye level. “A man can change his own destiny if he chooses.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “I c-can’t…
“Yes, you can. One of my own brothers had trouble with his words, but wanted so much to be a Dublin barrister, he changed the outcome of his future.”
“But how?” Unshed tears formed in the boy’s eyes.
“I can’t tell you, but tomorrow, I’ll show you. We’ll find a quiet place along the shore, and I’ll show you.”
Richard let out a long breath at a firm knock on the door of the ducal bedchamber and set the boy back down onto his feet. The young footman assigned to the boisterous, muddy gang of three had arrived to take charge and clean up after the dogs.
Richard wasglad Lady Blandford had insisted on joining him and Nicholas on their expedition to the small cove at the bottom of the steep pathway winding along the ocean away from the lodge. He’d overestimated his own steadiness on his feet and deliberately leaned toward the safety of the bluff while trying to ignore the abyss to his immediate left.
The cries of shore birds and the fish-tainted scent of rot and decay underlaid the linen-like smell and snap of wind-blasted grasses bordering the narrow cliff path. His superstitious aunt had insisted the squawks and shrieks of shore birds were those of sailors lost at sea. As a lad, of course, he’d believed her. Even though he now knew better, raucous sea birds had always made him a little uneasy.
Milady Amazon had wisely placed Nicholas behind her while she followed closely behind Richard, just in case. In fact, at first, she’d resisted his idea to make the trip down the steep path to show her son how Richard’s brother had overcome his stuttering challenges.
The light gray, roiling clouds forming on the ocean’s horizon promised rain later, a daily Cornwall threat in October.
Harriet straightenedher shoulders and stood as tall as she could. The lieutenant’s takeover of dealing with her son’s speech impediment that had plagued him ever since the horrific aftermath of his father’s death at Waterloo had left her unsettled. Only the duke’s intervention to have himself declared the boy’s guardian had saved them from her brother-in-law’s machinations.
She’d followed her husband to his assignment as an aide de camp in Belgium. They’d been dancing at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball when his regiment had been unexpectedly called to duty. She still had nightmares of the days that followed. She’d returned to their rooms in Brussels to await his return. But he hadn’t returned. A lieutenant in his regiment had brought her the news. It was left to her to travel with other wives to the fields outside Waterloo to search among the carnage for her husband’s body. Once she got there, she found out he had survived, but was near death at a farmhouse nearby. She stayed by his side for the week he struggled to stay alive. All the while footman Thomas’s father stayed by her side, making sure she survived the horrors in the aftermath of the battle.
She’d left their toddler son in the capable care of his nurse, at her cousin’s estate, Bocollyn, in Cornwall. Unfortunately, Sidmouth had been away on business when news of her husband’s death reached her brother-in-law. He’d ridden the scant twenty miles separating their estates and wrested her son away from the servants.
It had taken over a year of legal battles on the part of her cousin to have Nicholas returned to their care. By that time, the damage had been done, and now the boy still bore the unhealed emotional scars of being terrorized by his uncle.
Since that time, she’d determined to hone her archery skills to protect Nicholas and herself. She never again wanted to feel the helplessness she’d experienced when she’d finally returned home to discover her son had been taken.
“Someday,you’ll become a man who’s responsible for the welfare of all the people on your father’s estate. There will be times when you’ll have to choose your words carefully. It won’t always be a good idea to speak quickly and spill out your thoughts without consideration.” Richard slowed his words, trying to remember he was speaking to an eight-year-old boy, not seasoned Marines.
“But…” Nicholas teetered on tip-toes in the sand along the shore, vying for Richard’s attention. Harriet looked away, as if searching for something along the horizon. The dogs had taken up predictable positions beside them. Max seemed keenly vigilant, swiveling his huge head and giving sharp barks at the birds swooping and crying in circles above them. Fleur lay close to Richard’s feet, her gaze glued to his every movement.
“Begging your pardon, milord, but I’m not finished yet.” Richard stabbed his forefinger into the air to make a point. “When a man takes his time and thinks through what he’ll say, two things happen. First, he has time to reflect and make sure the thoughts that come out are the right thoughts. Second, people have to wait to see what he’s going to say, and that makes them think twice before disagreeing or ignoring whatever he has to say. It never hurts to take your time to think through your words. Always remember, your word is the most precious thing you have.”
“But, but sometimes, I c-can’t stop. I n-never know when it’s going to happen.”
“Nicholas—back in Ireland, I have six brothers. They’re a hard-headed bunch of men, and most of them ended up in my father’s regiment. All except Alain. He wanted something else.”
“What was that?” Nicholas leaned forward, his mouth open in a small ‘O.’
“He wanted to be a barrister in Dublin.”
“And did he get what he wanted?”
“Yes, finally, but it took him a long time.”
“Why?”
“Because he stuttered.”
Tears filled the boy’s eyes, and Richard wanted to kick himself again, but he knew what Nicholas needed to learn outweighed mere hurt feelings.
Richard walked near where the waves lapped at the sand and bent over. He selected a medium-sized smooth stone lodged in the wet sand and handed it to Lady Blandford. She gave the stone, and then him, a disparaging look, but rubbed the oval furiously against her skirts. When he took the stone back and then placed it in the boy’s hands, Nicholas gave both of them an odd look.
“What do I do with this?”
