Page 29 of Raising the Duke’s Unexpected Twins

Very like the man himself.

Following Mrs. Wright up a set of plush, carpeted stairs, she listened as the housekeeper explained, “His Grace personally gave instructions for the nursery room, wanting the children to have the best environment possible. I hope you too will enjoy it, Your Grace.”

“I’m certain whatever His Grace has chosen is acceptable. And please, you must excuse the hurriedness of the wedding and the arrangements.” Mrs. Wright held up a hand. “It is all no matter. I understand the situation well enough, and I am simply delighted that His Grace has decided to settle himself down. It was about time.”

The old woman turned to wink at her, but Cordelia had no time to utter a surprised reply, when Mrs. Wright said, “Ah, here we are. The young boy and girl playing away inside.”

She put a finger to her lips and together, they picked into the nursery. When Cordelia saw the room painted a light, fresh green, clean beds with plump pillows and bright, white sheets, and wooden boxes of various toys in a section of the room, she was shocked.

“It is all so perfect,” she said, turning to Mrs. Wright with a smile. “I had no idea that he would –”

“Oh, His Grace likes to take everything in hand himself, Your Grace. I was not surprised at all that he should get involved in these matters.” She smiled at her. “Now, I shall leave you to spend time with the children, but your room is ready whenever you are ready. And whenever you are ready for your tour, then do let me know. I am at your disposal.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wright.”

Slowly, Cordelia made her way into the room, her heart beating nervously. It had all been so rushed, and she’d barely spent time with the children before being whisked away in all the wedding preparations and packing her things up to be delivered to the duke’s home. She held her breath as she approached, but when the children looked up, Olivia began to cry, and her heart sank. She had hoped that their time together over the last week would have helped Olivia to calm. Tim, however, stood, and he pointed at the toy on the floor. It was a wooden duck.

Smiling, Cordelia knelt by them, and she picked up the wooden duck. “Will this be your favorite toy, Tim? I know the cloth duck is your favorite too,” she asked, but her voice only seemed to irritate Olivia further. She cried, her thumb in her mouth, her cheeks turning redder and redder.

Unfortunately, she was clutching the lamb, so that was not going to do any good now. She’d never been on the receiving end of the children’s tears. It had only been games and laughter between them.

Well, before, you were not one of two people left in the world to them. She took a breath. Oh Helen, what am I to do?

She moved over to Olivia, reaching out of her, but the young girl continued to cry and turned away.

“Mama,” she said and then burst into fresh tears.

It made Cordelia want to cry herself, cry for her friend, but she was determined to make this a success. She would not be bested by a child, nor would she be bested by grief.

“Come, Olivia. I think it is time for a nap. You are overtired.”

“No!” the young girl cried, and Cordelia sighed, trying to keep her patience.

“But you will feel better after a nap, I think. And I shall sing you your favorite song. The one I always used to sing to you.”

Olivia paused for such a moment and then shook her head. She toddled away, picking up another toy but then plopping into the corner and continuing to cry. Sending up a silent prayer, Cordelia turned to Tim who was watching all with wide eyes. She picked him up and cooed at him, bobbing him in her arms. He gripped at her hair, and she feel a few pins loosening.

“All will be well, young Tim. You will see, and Olivia will see.” She looked about the room. “You have a fine room here. And all the toys you could wish for. We are all of us, very lucky,” she said, attempting to believe it herself. “What do you think of that song? Shall I sing it?”

“Sing, sing!” he said, and she started, her voice wavering a little, but it was mostly drowned out by the sound of Olivia.

She pushed on, and Olivia’s continued crying tried her nerves, and it made her want to scream herself. She hoped that Olivia watching her holding Tim would soothe the young girl, but again, it only continued to irritate her further. Had they lost everything, even what connection she thought she’d had with the children?

Hearing sudden footsteps, she looked up to see Nicholas rushing into the room and when he saw the chaos that was going on around him, he said, “What in God’s name is going on in here?”

CHAPTER 11

Immediately irritated, Cordelia put Tim down, and he toddled away to pick up his duck again. “Well, as you can see, we are not all of us happy in this room.”

“I could hear the cries all the way from the other wing of the house. Is this a nursery or a torture chamber?”

Cordelia crossed her arms. She hated to be seen lacking and especially in front of Nicholas who was so smug about everything and confident in his pleasing manners to everyone. She lifted her chin in defiance, trying her best not to notice just how handsome he looked.

He was not angry, but there was a fire to him as he stared at her. She realized right in that moment that while she had not thought much of marriage, she knew it could only have been with a man who had spirit and fire. She could not have borne a quiet, timid man, and while Nicholas irritated her to no end, he at least could never have been accused of being boring.

He had undone his cravat and removed his wedding coat so that he stood before her in a loosened shirt, the sleeves of which he’d rolled up, showing his strong, browned forearms. Blinking away thoughts of him without a shirt entirely, wondering if his skin was just as browned underneath his shirt, she focused on her frustration.

“You know, you could assist me,” she replied as calmly as she could, even though she was frustrated. “They simply don’t seem to care for my songs anymore, I suppose.” She threw up her hands in an attempt to be casual, but she heard the strain in her own voice.