“None of Them Will Be My Mother!” the Duke’s Son Declared — Until the Cook Brought an Apple Pie

“None of Them Will Be My Mother!” the Duke’s Son Declared — Until the Cook Brought an Apple Pie

Chapter 9

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She worked in the library after supper then, two or three evenings a week, with the lamp turned low and the ledger open and the clock ticking on the mantel. The Duke worked at the opposite desk with his own papers, and neither of them spoke much: it was the most companionable silence she had ever known.One night near 11:00, a cup of tea appeared at her elbow, and she looked up to find him already back at his desk, studiously not looking at her. She tasted it: strong, hot, and entirely without sugar."How did you know?" she asked."You pull a face when it is sweetened," said the Duke to his papers. "I observed it at Michaelmas when Weatherby erred. I have observed a great many things, Miss Vale. It is a failing of mine."The first frost came on the 9th of December, and it turned the kitchen garden into a field of crystal. Rosamund was crossing the stone path to the herb beds with her basket on her arm when her boot found the glazed patch beneath the hornbeam, and her feet left the earth entirely.A hand closed under her elbow, quick and certain, and held her upright against nothing at all.For one suspended moment, she was aware of a great many things: the warmth of his palm through her sleeve, the clean, sharp scent of bergamot, the cold air burning in her lungs."Careful," said the Duke rather quietly."Thank you, Your Grace," said Rosamund, very much too fast.Neither of them moved. Then he released her, and cleared his throat, and found something remarkable to study in the sky.She discovered the hutch two days later, quite by accident, in the loft over the stables, where she had gone in search of a missing egg basket.The Duke of Ashborne was on his knees in his shirtsleeves among wood shavings and planks, with a hammer in one hand and a small, perfect, very carefully shingled house in the other. It had a little door; it had a tiny chimney; it had, she saw, a window cut in the side with a miniature sill."It is an estate matter," said the Duke without turning, in the voice of a man caught in his own bedchamber."Your Grace, it has a chimney.""Estate matters," said Theodore with dignity, "may be detailed."She went away with her lip caught between her teeth, and she kept his secret. The hedgehog moved into the hutch on the following Sunday, and Master Edmund announced to the entire nursery that someone whom he would not name had a most unaccountable fondness for hedgehogs."Papa," said the boy at supper that week, with the air of a man raising a point of order."I will certainly not.""You go quiet when Rosamund comes into the room. And red."Theodore laid down his fork with great care. "I am resting my face," he said. "It is a technique.""It is a very odd one," said Master Edmund. "And you do it only for her."There was a profound silence at the table. Mr. Weatherby, behind the Duke's chair, developed a sudden and urgent interest in the sideboard.

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“None of Them Will Be My Mother!” the Duke’s Son Declared — Until the Cook Brought an Apple Pie

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