The countess laughed. “An old bull like the duke was practically born on horseback. He’ll be a great teacher.”
He winced at the comment, the unavoidable reference to his scandalous mother, but the nanny didn’t smile or offer a pacifying head nod. “I suppose, I’ll just have to show you how well I can handle a horse. You’ll learn to trust me.”
He tipped his shako again and turned his horse toward his men.
Once the parade was done, he’d repair the good working atmosphere he’d begun with the nanny. A last glance at the tense LaCroy, and he knew the battle would be difficult, but he’d win. He was Wellington’s best when it came to war strategies.
CHAPTER 16
A PARADE WITHLEMONADE
Hoping the duke knew what he was doing, I cradled my son and waited for the pressure in my stomach to ease. The thing knotted again and again as the duke’s horse leaped ahead of his marching men. The grounds of Hamlin were sloshy and wet. Sliding would be too easy.
“Dear,” the countess sank deeper into her chair, a finely carved seat of zebra wood. She tapped the lion head sculpted into the leg. “We’re outside on the balcony. It hasn’t started to rain. A lovely military theater is before us. Why do you look as if you might be sick?”
Because I was.
“I should be happy this wasn’t one of the duke’s crazed baby drills. Three-month-olds do not crawl. They tip over. They don’t repeat words. They burp. Lionel’s passage of man-size gas was not a sentence.”
Well, I was sort of proud of that. It meant his little belly was full.
The duke stopped in front of his eight-man battalion. One person shouted. The soldiers, sharply dressed in scarlet regimentals, tossed flintlock rifles over their shoulders and marched in lines of four.
As if he knew I was fretting for his safety, the duke decided to canter his horse around and around the procession.
One misstep and both man and horse could fall.
The duke’s balance had to be perfect or he’d hurt himself.
Or worse.
Something could happen to expose his war injury. The private man loathed to acknowledge it. I understood this. I felt his pain in having to risk others’ scorn.
I splayed a pinkie over Lionel’s lips. “If the clouds don’t hold, rain will come. It will get very slippery, and men could fall.”
Thunder crackled in the offing. Strong and loud, heading for us.
“Dear, he’ll be a wet duke on a horse. He’s fine. And Lionel looks quite comfortable. What has you so anxious?”
Nothing I could say aloud, but every muscle felt ready to rip apart. Disaster loomed. I hadn’t been this way since Markham locked me in the nursery, complaining I was too loud and that I talked too much when I’d said nothing to him. “This all makes me uneasy.”
I tried to hug Lionel for comfort, but his wiggling and coos didn’t work their magic, not this morning.
From her reticule, the countess pulled her gold-framed theater lens and stared at me. “You’re one of his marks, but you don’t look tampered with.”
I almost jumped to my feet. “What? What, ma’am, are you insinuating?”
“Has the duke pulled you aside into one of Hamlin’s secret corners to give you a private lecture, one that involved kisses and promises that go nowhere? We call that tampering in England.”
“The man has lectured on schedules but nothing in a corner. And definitely no kisses.”
But my cheeks flushed when he complimented my bread and when he insisted Lionel and I oversee his troops this morning. I leaned closer to the countess. “I’m not looking for promises from anyone but you. I need to be employed long enough for the Widow’s Grace to figure out how to regain custody of my son. He wants to take my boy with him to war.”
Lady Shrewsbury set down her lenses. “You must’ve misunderstood. You . . . Oh my!”
With Lionel hugged to my bosom, I jumped up and scanned the field. “What?”
“Just making a point.” The countess groaned. “You’re besotted by a man in uniform. Didn’t they have those in Demerara?”
