"Randy doesn't want a profession," Catherine cut in. "He will be content to be a farmer."
"Be that as it may, he can be an educated farmer, just as I am, title or not. What of Freddy? Horse mad and eager for glory. The cavalry?—"
"You want to send my boy off to war?" Papa demanded, horrified. Catherine felt sick at the thought. Yet, she had to admit to herself, she feared Freddy would take the king's shilling just to get away from farming. School and an officer's colors would be better.
"No, no. That would be up to Freddy. For now, schooling. Charles is bound for Eton next year, and having friends with him would ease his way."
"Not that damned place. My father condemned me there."
Chadbourn smiled broadly, taking Catherine off guard. "Harrow it is," he said. "Much better. My own school. It can be just as harsh, but friends make it bearable. The boys would be together."
Papa looked like steam gathered for another explosion. "Nothing need be decided today," Catherine soothed. "Perhaps Mrs. MacLeish has that tea ready." As if on cue, the woman herself knocked and entered with a tray of tea and biscuits.
"Oh look, Papa. She made your favorite butter biscuits." Catherine smiled at the woman who had fed her family since Catherine was a tot. Mrs. MacLeish gave her a cheeky wink. "Thank you," Catherine whispered.
Tea and sweets soothed ruffled feathers, but settled nothing. An uncomfortable hour later, she walked the earl out.
"Give him time to get used to the idea. He's been estranged for so long."
The earl took her hand, but instead of bowing over it, he held it firmly and searched her face.
"What breach keeps him from accepting the support any well-managed estate would give?" His eyes held nothing but sympathy and concern.
She couldn't deny him.
"I don't entirely know. I was just twelve years old. My mother and I had been living with an aunt in Scotland. Papa brought us back to Wheatton to see her father, who was vicar here, before he died. The old duke, his father, disowned him when he married my mother, but could do nothing about Songbird Cottage. Papa's mother left it to him. I think the old man resented that."
He looked as if he meant to ask more; she prayed he didn't. What am I to say? No, my mother wasn't married when I was born? No, Lord Arthur isn't my natural father?
Before he could, three boys came raging from the woods.
"The owl, Cath! We saw him," Randy called.
Once sufficient amazement over the sighting had been expressed, Chadbourn helped the young duke into their phaeton. He bowed over Catherine's hand and took his leave, but his eyes never lost their sympathetic look. It was almost enough to give a woman hope.
Damn the man. The duchess will not like this day's activity, she thought.
Chapter Six
But he came in smelling of cow, Chadbourn! And not for the first time. I told Franklin to burn his clothing, burn it! You must allow Franklin to birch him." Sylvia sat upright, but her hands shook, and her pupils looked large in her rheumy eyes.
"I will not!"
"Emery would have," she whined. "He would demand it."
"Emery was a jackass, and I am not Emery, for which, sister, you should be thankful." Will clenched his hands into fists to keep from wrapping them around the scrawny neck of the tutor who held his nephew by the jacket, held him so high, the boy's feet almost lifted from the floor. Charles held his face in a brave show of courage, but his eyes pleaded with Chadbourn.
"Unhand His Grace this instant," Will shouted. "You will not birch him today or any other day. Has this happened before?"
"Only when necessary," Franklin said, chin up, eyes on Sylvia. "Boys require discipline." He gave Charles a shake as he pushed the lad away.
Will put an arm around the boy's shoulder. He could feel tension vibrating through the young body, but Charles held himself upright.
"From the state of his math knowledge, I suspect he has had more 'discipline' than learning from you."
"One cannot teach what he will not learn, my lord." Franklin made the title sound like an insult. "I only follow His Grace's—that is the late duke's—wishes," the man sniveled.
"You finally got one thing right. His Grace's father is the late duke. I will not have my nephew beaten, and certainly not over a trivial offense."
