Chapter 9
“Good work today, you two.” Désirée set down the slate and brushed off her hands. “You are now free to do as you please until supper time.”
“Hoops!” Frederick burst out of his chair and ran out of the schoolroom. He had been practicing the two-hoop trundle at every opportunity, and very nearly had the trick of it.
Annie, however, did not move. She stared up at Désirée with curious eyes until she finally blurted out, “Why doesn’t your pig have a French name? Is he really your uncle’s pig?”
Sometimes Désirée was almost certain Annie put up with her just to secure more playtime with the le Duc family hog.
“Chefisa French name,” she answered. “It can mean something like ‘master cook,’ as it does in English, but it also means ‘leader’ or ‘manager’ or ‘director.’ In his head, Chef really is in charge and we arehispets.”
Annie giggled. “Can you teach me French?”
Désirée arched her brows in surprise. “Would you like to visit France one day?”
“No.” Annie wrinkled her nose. “But I would like to have a secret language with you. We can tease Frederick and he won’t even know! It can be ale ducjust for you and me to share. We can eatmille-feuilleand whisper in French.”
Désirée hid a smile. As far as secret languages went, French was perhaps not the best choice—Annie’s father as well as several entire countries could speak it—but the idea that Annie saw Désirée’s cultural differences as aspirational rather than objectionable warmed her heart.
“Very well,” she said. “If you meet me here in the school room half an hour before breakfast every morning, I will teach you French.”
“Thank you!” Annie leapt from her chair and flung her arms about Désirée in a quick squeeze. “I’m going to go find Frederick, but I’m not going to tell him anything!”
She shot out the door.
With a shake of her head, Désirée closed the school room door and went to the large sash windows in the front parlor. Out in the street, Annie and Frederick were arguing over the iron hoops. Désirée made a mental note to have her brothers create two perfect new ones for each twin, so they could both double-trundle at the same time.
She glanced at the clock upon the mantle. Soon, the kitchen would begin preparing tonight’s meal. Although the offerings were relentlessly English, Désirée had taken to lending a hand more often than not in order to learn how to prepare a few new dishes.
When she returned home with new skills, her brothers might not be so impressed, but Uncle Jasper would appreciate the expanded menu.
On her way to the kitchen, light spilled into the corridor from the open door to Jack’s study. He glanced up just in time to motion her to come in and join him.
“Finished for the day?” he asked as she sank into the chair opposite his desk.
“Annie and I have a secret,” she said with a teasing smile.
He narrowed his eyes. “It better not be pins on my dining chair and toads under my pillow.”
“I will never tell,” she answered solemnly.
“I have a secret, too,” he said. “Parenting is hard.”
Désirée imaginedthatverdict was about as proprietary as French as a secret language, but refrained from quibbling at minor details.
“Your children are splendid,” she assured him. “Very clever and capable and confident.”
“And very ten-years-old.” He made a face. “My apologies. I have no place to fish for sympathy. When you were their age, your life was unimaginably harder.”
Désirée did not have to imagine it. She had lived the horror. Losing everything and doing anything to stay alive amid constant terror. She would not wish it on anyone.
“My family was not the only one to experience tragedy. Yours did, too.” She met his eyes. “Especially you.”
He blinked at her as if she was the first to acknowledge that the loss of a wife was every bit as devastating and life-altering as his children’s loss of their mother.
“I believed in love, and marriage that lasted forever,” he said after a moment. “And then eight years into my marriage, it was all over. I divided my time between the nursery and the sickbed, but even without sleeping I could never do enough. But I tried. Husband and father. Nursemaid and lady’s maid. Nanny and footman. It didn’t matter.”
“Of course it mattered,” Désirée said softly. “Just because someone we love is now gone doesn’t mean the time we shared with them was for naught.”
