Lucy’s hands tightened at her sides, her chest rising with indignation. “If experience were all it took, then surely the household would already have been managed. And as for my talent, Your Grace, you have seen nothing yet.”
“Miss Crampton, your audacity is staggering.”
Lucy’s pulse quickened, and she knew then that if the conversation continued any longer, she was going to lose her mind. “Perhaps you are right,” she said, adjusting her gloves. “Maybe it is best I leave.”
“That is exactly what I have been trying to say!” Rowan snapped. “Leave, Miss Crampton. That is what I wanted all along.”
Before Lucy could respond, a small, determined voice interrupted.
“No one is leaving!” They both turned to see Anthony standing firmly, small hands planted on his hips.
Rowan let out a sigh. “Anthony, I will not have you running off, dragging others into?—”
“I do not care, Father!” Anthony interrupted, small fists clenched at his sides. “I do not care about what you think is proper! Father, we need her!”
Rowan’s brows shot up, incredulous. “We need her? Do you understand what you are saying, boy? You are speaking of a stranger.”
“I do.” Anthony’s voice cracked and then steadied. “I do understand. Because this is not just about me, Father. It’s about my brothers, too. I am worried about them. The house feels empty without someone to keep it whole. Someone to care for us, to make sure the boys are looked after, to manage the household properly!”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening. “The house is kept,” he said sharply. “We have servants, a housekeeper, and governesses. Everything is in order. Do you imagine that a stranger can do what the staff and I have maintained for years?”
Anthony lifted his chin defiantly. “It’s more than that. The estate needs a duchess, and you know it. You cannot do everything, Father. Are you not tired of pretending that you can?”
Rowan’s expression hardened, but there was a shift in his posture, a tightening at his jaw as if weighing the truth in the words.
“I know you are strong, Father. I know you are capable. But even the strongest men need help sometimes. You do not have to admit it to anyone, and I know you won’t. But we do. We need amother. Miss Crampton can help us find the perfect one. It is for us as much as it is for you. Do it for us, Father.”
Lucy watched, her chest tightening. The determination in the boy’s eyes, the raw honesty in his voice, was impossible to dismiss, and for the first time, she saw Rowan falter, even just a fraction, behind the mask of authority and severity he wore.
Rowan let out a measured breath. “Fine.” He turned slowly toward Lucy, dark eyes sharp. “We will discuss this... arrangement in more detail back at the estate. It’s late. We should head back.”
Lucy nodded, her pulse still fluttering from the tension of the evening. She helped Anthony climb back into the carriage and then herself, settling into the cushions. The horses began their slow clip-clop along the road, and the night air wrapped around them, cool and still, carrying the faint scent of the surrounding woods.
Anthony, sitting upright beside her, looked almost impossibly small against the breadth of Rowan’s commanding presence, yet his confidence radiated so much that it made Lucy’s chest soften. He kept his gaze forward, but she could feel the certainty that she could do what he had asked.
In that certainty, she found a spark of strength. A warmth that reminded her why she had chosen this path, why she had accepted this challenge despite the danger and confusion of the night. But with that warmth came something else, a fragile, startling worry in her chest, the strange, pressing need not todisappoint him. Not this little boy, so earnest and determined, who had trusted her with something far greater than she had ever been entrusted with before.
“You… you mean I will be living here?” Lucy’s eyes widened.
She stepped into the wide, dimly lit hallway of Langridge Manor, her hands clutching the straps of her bag as the housekeeper guided Anthony away to his room. She lingered for a moment, taking in the grand proportions of the hall, the polished wood, the glint of brass sconces casting soft shadows.
“Yes. You will be living here, Miss Crampton. For the time being, at least.”
Lucy blinked, unsure whether to be incredulous or flustered. “I wasn’t expecting that. I had planned to stay at an inn during my time here. You don’t have to?—”
“You are not staying at an inn,” he interrupted. “Due to the circumstances we find ourselves right now, you are my guest, by necessity and by my son’s insistence. That is final. You stay here until you are done with the task that brought you here.”
Lucy’s gaze lingered on him despite the fluttering in her chest. They stood only a few feet apart in the vast hallway, the silence and echoes stretching between them heavier than the polished floors and grand staircases around them.
“So…” she began carefully, tilting her head as if weighing each word, “the reason you relented was because of your son?”
Rowan’s brow arched. “Why are you asking me that?”
Lucy shrugged. “You do not strike me as the sort of man who would yield, Your Grace. You are… proud as one should be. Yet, here you are, allowing your son to influence a decision you had stated clearly you did not wish to make.”
Rowan cleared his throat, his gaze flicking away briefly, then back to her. “Sometimes,” he said slowly, “one does what is required for the betterment of those around them. This is one of those instances. My son is the next Duke of Langridge. He must begin to trust his own decisions, to exercise his voice. I would be negligent not to allow him this guidance.”
He stepped closer, the space between them still commanding, still tense. “If he believes you are necessary, then I will hear his point. I will accept your assistance in this matter and only in this matter. Consider yourself here for two weeks. Two weeks to accomplish what has been requested.”
