Page 57 of A Family Bargain with the Duke

CHAPTER 24

The days following the Winterbourne ball were uneventful, though Louisa found her thoughts returning to that evening with rather more persistence than she cared to admit.

She had been perfectly capable of occupying herself since then, yet some memory of the dance seemed always to find its way back when she was least prepared for it.

By the time Saturday afternoon arrived, she had decided that the gardens offered a far better use of her attention.

“There. That ought to hold you for the afternoon, provided you decide not to abandon me for the stables within the hour.”

She smoothed the blanket flat against the grass, weighting each corner with a small stone she had gathered from the garden path. She settled herself in its center with Eleanor beside her, the baby propped against a folded shawl and blinking up at the drifting clouds with the solemn wonder infants reserved for entirely ordinary skies.

Kit had already claimed his corner, his sketchbook open across his knees, a fresh sheet of paper weighted down with a smooth garden stone against the light breeze, and was frowning down at a stub of charcoal worn nearly to nothing.

This is exactly the sort of afternoon I imagined that first day at Ashvale, Louisa thought, tucking her skirts beneath her and reaching to smooth a strand of Eleanor’s dark hair. A house that no longer feels quite so hollow, filled instead with the ordinary business of children drawing and babies blinking at clouds.

“That charcoal is worn to nothing, Kit. You’ll want a fresh one before you get much further.”

Kit held it up for her inspection, an expression of mild betrayal on his face, as though the charcoal itself had personally failed him.

“I have more in the house, but I confess I have no idea where Mrs. Whitfield has put the little knife for sharpening them properly.”

“I believe I do.”

Louisa looked up to find Julian crossing the lawn toward them, his coat discarded somewhere behind him, sleeves already rolled to his forearms, a small leather case in one hand that he held aloft with the satisfaction of a man producing exactly the solution required.

“Your Grace. I thought you meant to go through the tenant accounts all afternoon.”

“I did.” He lowered himself onto the blanket’s edge without waiting for an invitation, settling cross-legged beside Kit with far less regard for his own dignity than Louisa would have expected from a duke, and opened the leather case to reveal a small, well-used knife and a handful of spare charcoal sticks. “The accounts, however, have been sitting on my desk in the same state for the better part of a week, and I find I have grown considerably less interested in them than in whatever you two are doing out here.”

“We are drawing horses, mostly. And clouds, when Kit grows tired of horses, which happens less often than you might expect.”

“A wise use of an afternoon.” Julian took up one of Kit’s worn charcoal stubs and began working the small knife against it, shaving thin curls of wood away until a proper point emerged. He handed the sharpened charcoal back with a small flourish. “There. That should satisfy even the most exacting artist.”

Kit examined the point with exaggerated seriousness, then gave a single approving nod.

“High praise,” Louisa observed.

“Indeed.” Julian looked faintly pleased with himself. “I have spent the better part of five minutes earning it.”

Kit’s mouth twitched.

Louisa laughed. “I believe you’ve impressed him.”

“Then my afternoon has not been wasted.”

Louisa watched them for a moment. Julian’s dark head was bent close to Kit’s as he sharpened a second stub, then a third, their conversation easy and unhurried. A warmth settled in her chest at the sight.

It was such a small, ordinary thing. The sort of domestic moment she suspected most families took for granted. Yet their family had fought so hard to earn it.

“You have charcoal on your hand.”

Julian looked down. “Occupational hazard.”

“On your face as well.”

“Surely not.”

“Just there.”