Fleur gathered the child into her arms and held her tightly. But Lady Pamela flailed at her with one free arm and kicked at her with both feet. She broke into loud shrieks as Fleur scooped her up into her arms and sat in the window seat with her, cradling her, rocking her, crooning to her.
The door opened and Mrs. Clement came bustling in.
“What have you been doing to the poor child?” she said to Fleur, her eyes glinting. “What is it, poor lovey?”
She reached out her arms to take Lady Pamela. But the child shrieked louder and clung to Fleur, her face hidden against her bosom. Mrs. Clement disappeared again.
Lady Pamela was crying quietly when the door opened again several minutes later. The Duke of Ridgeway closed it quietly behind him and stood looking for a few moments. Fleur had one cheek resting against the top of the child’s head. She did not look up.
“What is happening?” he asked, advancing across the room. “Pamela?”
But she continued to cry quietly in Fleur’s arms.
“Miss Hamilton?”
She raised her head to look at him. “Broken promises,” she said quietly.
He stood there for a while longer and then slumped down onto the window seat beside them, half-turned to them, one of his knees brushing against Fleur’s. He reached out to run one finger along his daughter’s bare arm as it circled Fleur’s neck.
And Fleur looked at him to find him staring back bleakly, his scar starkly noticeable in the light from the window on his weary face. It was once a remarkably handsome face, she thought, remembering his portrait, despite the blackness of hair and eyes and the prominence of his nose—perhaps because of those features. But it still was handsome, the scar somehow enhancing rather than detracting from the strength of his features.
If she had not met him under such terrifying circumstances, if she could but rid her nightmares of the image of that face bent over her while he did painful, humiliating things to her body, perhaps she would always have seen him as handsome.
He shifted his gaze to his daughter. “What can I do, Pamela?” he asked her. “What can I do to set things right?”
It felt as if he were talking to her, Fleur thought with an inward shudder.
“Nothing,” the child said, pausing for a moment in her crying. “Go away!”
“Mama promised that you could meet the ladies someday, didn’t she?” he said. “And I promised to talk to her and remind her. But I have not done it yet. I’m sorry, Pamela. Will you forgive me?”
“No!” she said against Fleur’s bosom.
He sighed and laid his hand over the back of her head. “Will you give me a chance to put it right?” he asked. “There is to bea picnic at the ruins this afternoon. Shall I arrange for you to come too?”
“No,” she said. “I want to stay with Miss Hamilton and learn French. She is to teach me this afternoon.”
“Please, Pamela?” he said. “If we persuade Miss Hamilton to postpone the lesson until tomorrow?”
Fleur kissed the child’s hot temple. “We will learn French tomorrow, shall we?” she said. “It is such a lovely day for a picnic. I expect the ladies will all be dressed in their muslins and have pretty bonnets and parasols.”
“And there are to be lobster patties, so I have heard,” the duke said. “Will you come, Pamela?”
“If Miss Hamilton comes too,” Lady Pamela said unexpectedly.
Fleur’s eyes locked with the duke’s.
“But Mama and Papa will want you all to themselves,” she said.
“Miss Hamilton will be glad of a free afternoon,” he said at the same moment. “She does not have many.”
“Then I won’t go,” the child said petulantly.
He raised his eyebrows and Fleur closed her eyes.
“Do you like lobster patties, Miss Hamilton?” he asked quietly.
“They always were my favorite picnic fare,” she said.
