Chapter Two
Lord Rex, Duke of Smythington
Our private quarters were on the west side of the house and far from the festivities in the ballroom. I tucked Harry into his bed, nearly tripping over some gadget he used for his experiments. No matter how often Eleanor ordered his room cleaned, he managed to put everything back where the servants had found it.
“Good night.” I tightened the covers over his shoulders the way he liked and turned on my heel to leave. Eleanor, with her smooth skin and silky red hair, awaited my return. After a few more minutes in the ballroom, I would suggest we leave to be alone.
He grabbed my wrist, sitting upright. “Don’t go yet.”
Harry wasn’t always very self-aware, rather like me at times. We both had a bad habit of focusing on a project and were blind to everything but the fierce need to complete it. With luck and time, I prayed that he would learn to balance his priorities. Until then, I had to be patient with him and explain things in a way he could grasp them. “There are many people downstairs who are here by our invitation. I mustn’t keep them waiting too long.”
All the toasts and sentimental stories had been entertaining, yet they churned up longings I had tried to suppress.
“It is your anniversary, and Mama said you were celebrating with the people you love.” Harry yawned, his fingers squeezing my wrist. “I am a person you love.”
“You are, indeed.” I removed his hand and gently pushed his shoulders back down to the mattress. In some ways, he was mature for his age, but other ways concerned me. The blanket had fallen to his waist, and I covered him again. I pushed his blond hair from his forehead, revealing a tiny scar at his temple. We were elated when the twins were born, but after Eleanor lost two babies in eight years, we’d despaired of having another. Harry had been a miracle.
He might dislike crowds and cover his ears at loud noises, but he was fearless in other ways. “I found a new species of worm in the garden. I am most eager to study them,” Harry informed me.
“I am sure you will discover everything you can about them.” I tucked his blanket tighter around his frame. Other gentlemen of my station might insist the nursemaid put the children to bed. Tucking the children in had been a tradition Eleanor and I embraced. Some might say Harry, at age nine, was a bit too old for me to perform the service, but I loved my son and would do what I thought was best for him. “Go to sleep. I will see you in the morning.”
“Will you be here in the morning?”
The soft words sent instant tension to my shoulders. I began to say yes until the issues I’d been dealing with on behalf of the nation intruded into my thoughts. I was an active member of Parliament and was in charge of a select committee. My duties were extensive and very important to national security. “I have much to do for Her Majesty.”
He looked at me and frowned. “You are never home.”
“That should all change by the end of the month.” The guilt I carried with me continued to weigh heavily on my mind. I had been forced to take the reins after my father’s untimely death.“The Queen has asked me to do something very important for our country. Once I am done, we can spend time together.”
“I won’t be here at the end of the month. I will be attending Knutchester.”
“It is tradition. Like every Smythington and Larsson before you.” I had met Flynn at Knutchester. His family’s London home was across the green from mine. He was an outgoing and unabashed sort who had been there for me when I needed someone after my father’s death. The night I received the sad news, Flynn comforted me. There had always been a part of me that felt more than mere friendship for him. I had suppressed those thoughts. Yet tonight, those feelings floated to the forefront of my mind.
“Larssonboys, not girls. Beatrix says she can’t go to school,” Harry said, referring to Flynn’s youngest. She was his only friend, and I was pleased she didn’t scorn Harry because he was different.
“That is unfortunate. You, however, will attend Oxford like Atticus. I have very fond memories from both schools.” I had been carefree with the entire world in front of me until my father’s death. When I received news of his demise, Flynn had been a friendly shoulder to cry on. “Every gentleman needs an education.”
“Atticus doesn’t need an education. He will be a duke.”
“Being a duke doesn’t mean he doesn’t need an education.” I was eighteen when my father died, a year older than my eldest. The duties of the title were exhausting, and sometimes, I wished I could simply hand it over to Atticus. I ran a hand through my hair, gripping the strands before settling my hand on the nape of my neck. Shame continued to dog me over the selfish thought. I had been forced into being a duke at a young age, and I didn’t want the same for him. “An education is important to help him navigate when he steps into my shoes.”
“When you die.” Harry bit his bottom lip, a shimmer of tears in his eyes. “I don’t want you to die.”
“You needn’t worry about that quite yet. I am hardly in the grave.” My father was much older than me when he passed unexpectedly. I prayed to be around for my children for a very long time. “Perhaps you can show your worms to your brother.”
Harry worshipped his older brother, and the two of them often spent hours outdoors in the woods at my country estate. “Atticus isn’t interested in worms. He’s too busy flirting with pretty girls.” He released a childish snort of mockery. At nine, he wasn’t interested in girls yet, although he was very close to Beatrix. “I asked him if he liked flirting with ugly girls, and he said I was being ridiculous.”
A light laugh escaped me, and I shook my head at his joke. Harry often surprised me with sharp observations and a keen wit. In times like this, I was confident he would be able to stand on his own two feet. “Go to sleep.”
“Would you be mad at me if I didn’t go to Knutchester?”
“Of course you will go to Knutchester. It is a tradition. Do you wish to go somewhere else?” I wouldn’t count it out if he knew of another school. His memory and recall of details flummoxed me sometimes.
