Page 26 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

“I promise I will not let him get spoiled,” he said earnestly. He looked up at Malcolm, his expression turning solemn. “I want him to be the best dog ever. And when he’s trained, we can make the best team! Like you and your rifle.”

Malcolm let out a dry chuckle, the comparison catching him off guard. “I think you might be aiming a little higher than you should, Nicholas,” he said, his mouth twitching into a wry smirk. “But you are right about one thing: you make a good team. You and Hector, that is. Just be patient. It takes time to build that kind of trust.”

Nicholas nodded with the gravity of a seasoned soldier taking orders. “I promise to make him the best. I shall teach him every trick I can think of!”

Malcolm watched the boy, noting the way his small boots beat a rhythmic beat against the earth.

There was something endearing about the way he spoke of Hector, as if Malcolm’s dog was the key to his entire future. Malcolm felt the weight of the boy’s trust, a heavy and unfamiliar responsibility that sat alongside his rifle.

He was teaching Nicholas more than how to handle a setter; he was teaching him how to lead.

The pair walked on in silence for a few moments, and Malcolm found himself satisfied by the quiet. Nicholas’ presence no longer feeling like an intrusion as it had on his own grounds of his estate.

Malcolm felt the weight of the moment sink in. The boy was no longer just a neighboring child or a trespasser. Somehow, his life had become entangled with Nicholas’, a responsibility he hadn’t asked for but was already carrying. Still, he had been stern with his insistence that neither Lady Romwich nor Nicholas was welcome at Brigrock Hall, no matter the circumstance.

But Benedict’s advice occurred to him, about a direct invitation.

Yet… he was getting to know Nicholas alone, but had yet to know Lady Romwich alone, and part of him started to really, truly consider such a situation.

He had to be careful not to go entirely back on his word, but figure out where he wanted to go from that moment. Would he allow Nicholas back to play with Hector? And what would the repercussions by from his mother?

His questioning was broken as they reached the group and handed the pheasant to a waiting groom, his eyes shifting back to Nicholas one last time.

He was still staring at the bird, his face lit with a sense of wonder. Malcolm turned back to the hunt, but the silence of the woods felt different now.

Chapter Nine

“You have been staring at that tree line for twenty minutes, Penelope,” Violet remarked as she gave her ball a single, unhurried thwack.

The ball rolled toward the hoop, and Violet smiled happily before returning her focus back to Penelope.

“I am watching for Nicholas,” Penelope said. “What else?”

Her knuckles were white where they gripped her own mallet. She had been holding the thing for the better part of an hour without once swinging it. Truthfully, she didn’t know if she had missed her turns, or if the other ladies had been so successful that she had not yet garnered one.

Penelope quickly realized she did not care, for her focus really was on the tree line.

“Of course you are.” Violet’s tone was teasing, as always, when she thought Penelope was fooling herself.

Penelope still couldn’t quite tear her gaze from the tree line. The game of Pall Mall had long since lost its purpose. Nearby, other ladies played in desultory pairs, their gossip wandering further from the game with every passing turn.

The afternoon sun had moved past its height, beginning its slow, heavy pull westward, casting long, bruised shadows across the grass.

Penelope had placed her ball twice, missed both times, and retrieved it without feeling. Her attention kept fracturing, pulled toward the dark gap in the oaks where the hunting party had disappeared earlier.

She told herself it was Nicholas she was watching for. She was mostly certain it was Nicholas.

Violet retrieved her ball and set it up again with elaborate, maddening calm. “Deep woods on the north side, someone mentioned?”

“Lord Hillsborough’s keeper. At breakfast.”

“Mm.” A pause. “Deep enough to lose a child.”

“That is precisely what I just said.”

“Is it?” Violet looked up, eyes wide and in mock innocence. “I thought you said it first about fifteen minutes ago. And then again just now. And at least once in between, I believe.”

“Violet.”