Then I wept.
And I felt loved, like I’d never felt before, vibrating deep in my bosom, in my bones.
“Does it dishonor you, us, if I keep digging to know who I was?”
“No, Jemina. It’s your past. Knowing what or who you were is your right. I know you will always be good. There’s too much good in you for you to be any other way.”
For one last moment, I held on to Patience, heard her pure heart, and knew, like I hadn’t in a long time, that everything would be all right.
“Dry your eyes. His Grace should think we came from a mission, not had a sentimental talk. We must keep him guessing.”
We started for the door. “And have some charity for Ashbrook. He deeply loved Phoebe Dunn. The mistress business was the wrong thing to ask, but he did. He’s moving forward. That’s something.”
He knew all of this and still wanted me. “I suppose it is.”
“Jemina, Ashbrook is the keeper of secrets. If you two were more sure of each other, I think he’d be more forthcoming.”
I smiled, for Patience was right. The man knew more. I’d have to figure out how to get it out of him. “You think he’s a pillow talker?”
She shook her head and laughed with me all the way to the duke’s study.
Mr. Gerard stood at the door. “Your Grace, hurry in. Plan B will be loud. It might involve those canons you asked me to store in the basement.”
The duchess held her breath and opened the door. “We’re . . .”
Peeking over her shoulder, I saw such a sight.
The duke’s notes were scattered across the floor like snow on the sleek dark mahogany. Baby Lionel was swaddled in His Grace’s arms as they both slept on his leather tufted sofa. The man was baby happy. From the content look on Lionel’s little face and that snorting button nose, the baby was duke happy too.
My friend sighed and hummed my lullaby. “ ‘There was once a little boat.’ ”
She tiptoed and went to her son and lifted him. The boy’s whistle snores sounded lovely and light.
“Jemina, the duke has even put on a fresh napkin.”
“How can you tell he did it and not a maid?”
“There’s a medal pinning the ends together. I’m not sure if I should salute my son or fret about him soiling the red ribbon.”
“Salute.” The duke’s sleep-warmed voice rumbled.
Patience dimpled as he pulled his watch from his pocket. Then he pushed up on his crutch and kissed her.
“Ah, my beloved. I see Lady Shrewsbury let you escape early. By Jove’s hand, it’s a miracle. It’s not quite eleven.”
The man put a hand to the middle of Patience’s back, his noble chin resting on her shoulder. He looked at ease in a simple shirt, waistcoat and breeches, not his garnet-colored regimentals with his chest lined in medals.
Patience kissed his cheek and ruffled his ash-blond hair. “You have done well, my love. I’m sure Lionel’s been no trouble, but your papers—”
“Crawling practice, my dear. Yes, I know my boy is only nine months, but he’s quite advanced. In his eyes, I see greatness.”
Holding Lionel close, Patience curled into the duke’s chest. She fit perfectly alongside him. “Yes, I see it too. You’re the perfect father for Lionel.”
With a second kiss to his cheek, Patience sang. “ ‘There was once a little boat, a little boat.Ohé! Ohé! Matelot. Ohé! Ohé! Matelot.’ ”
The duke sang too.
Their voices light and dark blended about the words.
