Page 36 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

Their nephew rolled his eyes. “I heard her barking at Mama a few weeks ago. When they were getting me ready to go to Eton. Grandmother doesn’t want me to be a lord, she wants me to go to Divinity School at Cambridge, then become a curate, then a vicar. Like her precious Harvey. A traveling vicar. Why does she think I am a slug-head who can’t remember all the bad things he did? Father was a vicar like I’m…like I’m this raisin pastry.”

A snicker erupted from Neville, and despite his best efforts it soon became a full-blown belly laugh. Describing a self-indulgent ne’er-do-well like Harvey as a traveling vicar was the most ludicrous story imaginable; the fact that even a ten-year-old saw through it like glass demonstrated exactly how ludicrous. Even Arabella’s shoulders were shaking as she attempted to control her amusement. “You are definitely not a raisin pastry. You are clever and observant and know damned well what is what.”

Abruptly Toby turned exceedingly grave. “I don’t want to be like Father. Every day I try not to be. He didn’t care about anyone. And he yelled at me because I wouldn’t tell him he was the best and cleverest and that he was going to be very rich. He made Mama cry a lot. I don’t understand why Grandmother loved him so, so much and talks about him like he was a saint.”

Arabella sighed and sat back in her chair. “Sometimes when a loved one dies, especially when they pass at a younger age, people remember only the good and not the bad. Over time, the good can become very, very, very good.”

“Or just lies,” said Toby bluntly.

“Or just lies,” agreed Neville. “I wonder if your Aunt Arabella needs to hear directly from your lips how you feel about being my heir. For it does have a lot of responsibilities, and because we have together chosen not to have babies, those responsibilities will fall to you.”

“I would hate for the barony to be a crushing burden,” added Arabella. “Something too heavy that you are unprepared or unwilling for. So please be frank.”

Toby nodded. “I like being the heir. Knowing that one day, far, far away I will take over from Uncle Nev and sit in the House of Lords and make speeches and help people. I mean, I don’t want to know everything now, because Harry said being a peer means sitting in a library and reading lots of boring papers. But maybe when I come home each summer holiday you could show me one thing about the barony.”

Arabella brightened. “Like ledgers?”

Neville snickered again. “Be very careful, Toby, what you wish for.”

His nephew blinked. “I love numbers. My tutor said I am best at mathematics.”

Oh God.

Neville shook his head and glanced at his wife. “He’s all yours, my love.”

Arabella clapped her hands in true glee. “Next summer, Toby. You and me and a ledger.”

Neville could only smile at such madness. But another, much larger part of him felt pure relief. Toby wanted to be his heir. And he and Arabella would support the lad in all ways possible; especially against his grandmother and the vicar nonsense. And repel horrific ideas like the one to impregnate a maid that had aged him about twenty years. Neither he nor Ara would ever forgive the dowager for that; there would be serious consequences, it was just a matter of what and when.

“Is this a private party, or may anyone join?” asked a familiar deep voice, and they all turned to see Edmund and Harry in the dining room doorway. Edmund had his arm around his son’s shoulder, and the lad was positively glowing.

“Come in,” said Arabella. Then she grinned. “I promise I have not entirely taken over your household.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” said Edmund softly. “Will you stay? Supper and a guest chamber is no trouble whatsoever.”

“Please?” said Harry. “Father said when Cressida gets home we can play toy soldiers with someone who fought at Waterloo.”

Toby gasped and turned pleading eyes on them both. “Can we?”

“Yes,” said Arabella, glancing at Edmund. “There is much more to be said, I think.”

Edmund inclined his head in clear deference. “I’ll inform the kitchens to set an extra three places. Perhaps after supper we could discuss private matters?”

“An excellent idea,” said Neville as his stomach flip-flopped in anticipation. “Now, let’s finish these sweets. It would be a grave insult to such a skilled pastry cook to leave even a crumb.”

Harry immediately sat next to Toby and piled his plate. Edmund sat next to Arabella, and Neville saw the moment she discreetly touched his thigh, for the duke shivered, his eyes closing briefly.

Edmund needed to be held as much as his son did.

Neville almost smiled; Arabella was well versed in the care and management of touch-starved peers. Then his thoughts turned pensive. Did she truly want another one, though? It wasn’t an easy leap to go from a marriage of two with occasional playfellows, to a marriage of three. And how would they make it work living apart?

Tonight loomed as either shadow or sunshine.

What would it bring?

After a delicious supper of roasted beef, glazed carrots, green beans, creamed potatoes, and meringue with vanilla cream, Arabella, Neville, Edmund, Harry, Toby, Lady Cressida and Sir Kenneth had all proceeded to Harry’s bedchamber to engage in perhaps the most comprehensive battle of toy soldiers in English history.

While Arabella had expected a popular politician like Sir Kenneth to be as good a storyteller as Nev, she’d been pleasantly surprised at how fascinating he could make even the most mundane details.