Brandon was in the midst of reviewing the correspondence from the servants he had permanently installed at Wingfield Hall when his daughter’s cry echoed beyond his study, punctuated by three barks and a series of racing feet slapping the marble.
Where was her blasted nursemaid? He had warned the woman not to allow Pandy to race across the marble. She would slip and fall and crack open her head. Christ knew how many times he had done so as a lad when no one had been watching him. To say nothing of the many times he had slid down the railing of the grand staircase when he’d been alone. Once, he’d nearly broken his leg for his troubles. On another occasion, his neck. Fortunately, Pandy hadn’t discovered that dangerous source of entertainment just yet. Though, if she took after him at all, she would soon enough.
“Miss Pandora, do please walk,” cautioned a well-modulated lady’s voice that decidedly didnotbelong to Miss Partridge, the nursemaid.
No, this was a voice he recognized all too well, and not just because it made his stupid prick twitch to attention.
Lady Grenfell. What the devil was she doing here at his town house, and with Pandy?
He rose from his chair, frowning, gratified that his daughter’s footfalls had slowed. The dog barked again.
“And you must be a lady as well, Cat,” she cautioned the dog quite as if she were speaking to a human.
“Yes, Missus Lady Grenspell.”
“I told you that since we are friends, you are to call me Lottie, my dear.”
The voice was kind and warm, and it wrapped around his heart like a vise. Curse it, why was he eavesdropping in his own home, at his own study door? And mooning over the countess’s voice at that? He shuddered, disgusted with himself.
There was a small knock at his door that he recognized as well.
“Enter,” he called, trying to summon his composure.
The door burst open to admit Pandy, Cat, and an unsmiling Lady Grenfell presiding over them. She was predictably lovely in navy silk and…dust. Her cinnamon-gold hair had come partially free from her elaborate coiffure, and her hands were red and scraped.
He strode forward. “Lady Grenfell, what has happened?”
“Lottie saved Cat,” Pandy told him, adoration evident in her voice and eyes as she gazed up at the countess and continued with a breathless explanation of events. “A mean boy throwed a rock at Cat in the park, and Cat runned away. I loseded her leash. Miss Partridge telled me to let Cat go, that she has fleas. But I runned after her, and Missus Lady—Lottie—catched her and then she falled over ’n hurted herself on the stone path and Miss Partridge catched up to us and said she’d use the rod on me again. Don’t let her use the rod on me again, Duke.Please?”
The rod.
The nursemaid wasstrikinghis child? Why did he not know this?
“That was rather a lot of information, Pandy girl,” he said gently, taking in the tear-streaked nature of her small, cherubic cheeks.
She’d been crying.
He wanted to tear the paper hangings from the damned walls until his fingers bled.
“Your Grace, I hope you’ll forgive me for overstepping my bounds and bringing your daughter and Cat here myself,” Lady Grenfell interjected. “However, after I ran across Pandy in Hyde Park, it was plain to see that my intervention was necessary.”
Dear God.He had never felt more like a failure in his life than he did in that moment.
“You are injured, madam,” he observed grimly.
“I am perfectly fine. A few mere scrapes. But I would like a word with you before I go, if you please.” She sent a telling glance in his daughter’s direction.
“Of course.” He moved to the bellpull, and when Shilling dutifully appeared, he asked the butler to have one of the chambermaids escort Pandy and Cat to the kitchen to see if Mrs. Willoughby had any treats to offer them. He also requested a wash basin, soap, and cloths.
The maid arrived posthaste, depositing the basin, soap, and cloths on his desk as he instructed, and whisking away Pandy and Cat. Pandy, pleased at the notion she might soon have her hands on one of Mrs. Willoughby’s sweet confections, waved gaily at Lottie as she took her leave.
“Thank you for saving Cat, Lottie!”
“Any time, my dear child,” Lottie told her with a fond smile and a wave of her own that served to remind Brandon of the injuries she’d sustained on his daughter’s behalf.
Or perhaps on behalf of his daughter’s dog named Cat.
Either way, the fault was his.
