Page 30 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

Neville covered his eyes. “And you were diverting me so brilliantly.”

It was time to buck up and face the demons of Eton past.

Ugh.

There was something endlessly fascinating about buildings that were almost four hundred years old.

As their carriage moved slowly toward Eton’s heart, Arabella studied the imposing red and cream brick structures. People often talked of Eton as an old school steeped in English history, but until one drove amongst it, it was hard to understand how old and how steeped. For God’s sake, the school had been founded by King Henry VI. Not the miserly king who ended the War of the Roses or his monstrous son who churned through six wives and introduced the wretched Buggery Act, but the Henry before them.

Oh, the tales these bricks could tell.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered.

Nev snorted. “Welcome to Eton. Less of a mouthful than Kynge's College of Our Ladye of Eton besyde Windesore. On your left is the College boarding house where all us highly unfortunate King’s Scholars resided. I know those arched doors and narrow windows don’t appear particularly terrifying, but inside was the first-floor Long Chamber where we slept; the less said of that vile inhumanity, the better.”

“It masks the crimes well. Is that the chapel?” she asked, pointing to a large cream brick building.

“Indeed,” said Nev, grimacing. “Prayers every day at five in the morning.”

Arabella clasped her hands, fighting the urge to burst into every building and liberate the boys like a madwoman freeing chickens from a coop. “Which boarding house is Toby in again?”

“It’s called Jourdelay’s,” said Nev. “This one up ahead.”

The moment the carriage pulled up, Arabella scrambled out and glared ferociously at the four-story red brick building. The surroundings here were far more pleasant; two lads were sitting under a mulberry tree sketching and another group were kicking a ball about in the courtyard.

She didn’t trust the tranquil scene for a moment.

“Shall I bring the parcel?” asked Nev.

“Just hold for a bit, I want to find Toby first,” Arabella replied, walking toward the front door of the boarding house.

A young woman in a plain gray gown immediately appeared and bobbed a curtsy. “Good morning, madam. Are you looking for Dame Sara?”

Nev leaned down. “Each boarding house has a dame overseeing it,” he whispered.

Arabella smiled at the maid. “I am Lady Carlisle. His Lordship and I are looking for our nephew, Master Toby Carlisle. Is he indoors or outside?”

“I believe he’s watching the hoop racing on the west side of the building, milady.”

“Thank you,” she replied, already marching away and preparing for battle, Nev hurrying after her. Only when she saw for herself that Toby was safe and well would her mind ease.

It actually took less than a minute to find him; the lad was playing conkers with another boy of about the same age. While they were both wearing black trousers, white shirts, and black waistcoats like all the Eton boys, shorter, fair-haired Toby was laughing, while the other lanky, brown-haired boy seemed more solemn, although he was smiling at the game.

“Toby,” she called, trying not to yell like a fishwife and embarrass him.

The lad turned and his face lit up. Then he bounded over, the other boy trailing behind him. “Aunt Arabella! Uncle Nev! What are you doing here?”

“We are a more efficient mail carriage for parcels,” said Nev as he ruffled the boy’s hair. “Are you going to introduce us to your friend?”

“Oh!” said Toby, grinning bashfully. “May I present my very best chum, Lord Denby. He’s an heir like me! I call him Harry. Harry, this is my aunt and uncle, Lord and Lady Carlisle.”

The lad bowed, very stiff and formal. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord. My lady.”

Nev’s brow furrowed. “Wait. Denby. Heir to whom?”

Something like deep, aching sadness flashed across Denby’s face, an emotion far too intense for a ten-year-old.

Toby clapped his friend on the shoulder and gave them a surprisingly fierce look. “His father is the Duke of Stanforth. But Harry’s not like him. He’s much better and nicer. He cares about others, even if his father hates him. And I’ll plant a facer on anyone who argues, it doesn’t even matter if Headmaster Keate flogs me.”