“It is. I like the simplicity of his style.”
“These paintings are good, too. Yours?”
“Not my work, no. I have no skill with oils. That set came from my estate at Leahollow, in Norfolk.”
“Why do you live here if you have an estate in Norfolk?”
“Because I am the duke’s heir and his grace requires me to be here,” Merrington said tersely. Then, after a moment’s silence, he exhaled slowly. “I beg your pardon. That was uncivil of me. You do not know the circumstances, after all.”
“My fault,” Simon said equably. “I am inclined to say whatever comes into my head.”
Merrington gave a bark of laughter. “That is refreshingly honest. The truth is that I am not at all comfortable with my new position as official heir.”
“New position? How is that? Is the duchess—?” He saw the expression on Merrington’s face, and realised he was treading on dangerous ground. “None of my business, is it?”
“It is no secret. The duke has been married three times, has sired innumerable children, including four sons. All have died, the most recent only last June, a boy of six. At that point, his grace surrendered the battle and sent for me. Until then, I was quite happy as a lowly country gentleman with a modest estate.”
“Leahollow. This one here?” He pointed to a framed pencil drawing hanging above the desk.
“Yes. It has been leased out for some years, since I preferred to live in Norwich.”
“And here you are buried in the country again.”
Merrington gave a rueful smile. “Indeed. I should not complain — indeed, I do not, for we are kept in the utmost luxury, and his grace has generously opened his doors to my entire family.”
“And you met your wife here,” Simon said, still prowling round looking at the pictures on the walls.
“Yes!”
There was so much animation in the single word that Simon looked at him in surprise, to see a smile of such warmth that he almost felt embarrassed. There was a man who adored his wife!
Almost at once the smile faded, to be replaced with a much more anxious expression. “If only this baby were born! The waiting is so hard.”
“Hoping for a son?”
“I care nothing for that, so long as my wife survives the ordeal,” he said savagely. “Ihatethis waiting, knowing that any day could be her last on this earth. The duke lost his first duchess that way, so naturally we are all… nervous.” He heaved a sigh. “There is nothing to be done about it. God’s will, and so forth.” Another sigh. “Well, shall we make a start, Payne? I am to show you my sketches, and also the drawing I made of the orangery at Marshfields.”
“Marshfields?”
“Home of the Duke of Camberley, to whom my wife is related.Distantlyrelated… and on the wrong side of the blanket.”
Simon chuckled. “There is one of those in every family, so they say. Not always acknowledged, though. Your family history is… complicated.”
That brought a wintry smile. “So it is. My sketches are over here.”
***
Sophia had breakfast with Mama and her sisters in their own little apartment, as usual. She was wild to go downstairs and find out more about the intriguing Mr Payne, and her sisters were so minded too, but Mama was adamant.
“This is the home of a duke, girls, and I will not have you scampering about chasing eligible men like hoydens. You will be dignified and restrained, and remain ladylike at all times.”
“We can be dignified and ladylike just as well in the breakfast parlour as here,” Charlotte said, not unreasonably.
“We are never hoydenish,” Augusta said with dignity.
“Nor do we scamper,” Maria said. “At least, I do not.”
“None of us do,” Charlotte said firmly. Being the eldest, she was the most certain of the rightness of her opinions.
