Natasha made a small sound at his response as she turned away. He followed her toward the kitchen, but Leona, carrying an unwieldy stack of dishes, stumbled past and he quickly relieved the girl of her burden.
“I can do it,” Leona protested with a mulish expression. “I do it every day.”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t stop a gentleman from trying to impress a lady with his great strength, now would you?”
Leona ducked her head, almost hiding her shy smile. “You’re silly.”
He followed her into the dining room and let her direct him where to put the dishes. After he purposefully misplaced two plates and let her correct him, his daughter’s shyness had ebbed again.
“Mr. Duncan isn’t silly at all. Except when he eats torta . He eats more than anyone.”
“Does he?”
“He ate almost a whole cake today.”
Natasha joined them, carrying another set of dishes for him, as well as a platter laden with simple foods. He watched her come and go, bringing dishes into the small dining room as any of his servants might. Yet she did it more in the way his old nanny would have taken care of him.
A shiver ran across his body. This was his family.
Once they were all seated around the table, Leona chirped up again. “The rector taught me about a man named Enus, from Troy. And a great big poem about him.”
“Aeneus?”
Leona nodded.
“Ah yes, Virgil. He wrote a great many poems. Personally I prefer Catullus.” Marcus slanted a glance toward Natasha, who avoided meeting his gaze.
“You read Latin?” Leona continued.
“Yes and Greek and French, of course,” he said with a shrug.
“How do you know so much? Are you older than Reverend Duncan?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only met the reverend twice. But most educated men do learn the classics. He must be a very distinguished man to have earned your respect.”
“The rector knows everything. Almost everything,” Leona admitted. “He doesn’t know that Mama lied.”
“You must forgive your mother.”
She was only four, but that moment had changed her. He tried to remember when, in his own childhood, he had realized his parents were flawed. With his father it had been early––after the second bastard was born.
Leona would forgive, move on, and the loss of innocence would fade but not disappear.
Right then, Natasha looked like she wanted to cry.
“Do you remember, Natasha, the day we first met?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He watched her as he spoke, though he directed his words to Leona.
“I saw your mother across Covent Garden. She was buying flowers.”
“And I thought you were a gentleman.”
“I…I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”
“I was just a girl.”
“I still do.”
“Beauty fades.” Her words were a warning, and he thought about Natasha getting older. How she’d look when her hair grayed, her skin softened and thinned.
“Yours will only grow, and I want to be there, watching.” Natasha wouldn’t look at him, focused steadfastly on her plate, but he took in every little movement, every change of her expression, from the slight opening of her eyes to the parting of her lips, the shaky exhale. “I asked your mother to marry me.”
Leona didn’t respond. The little girl was playing with her food, dragging her fork across the plate with exaggerated interest.
“Leona, would you like that?”
“I don’t know.” She dropped her fork and slumped back, arms folded across her chest.
“Are we finished then?” Natasha asked. She didn’t wait for his response but pushed herself back from the table, stood, and started gathering plates.
Marcus unfolded himself from the chair to help, picking up the platter of partridge and the bowl of buttered asparagus from the center of the table. He found Natasha and Leona staring at him in shock.
“Reverend Duncan never takes the dishes up when he comes for lunch,” Leona said.
“Ah well,” Marcus said with a shrug, “the sooner we clear the
“I can do it,” Leona protested with a mulish expression. “I do it every day.”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t stop a gentleman from trying to impress a lady with his great strength, now would you?”
Leona ducked her head, almost hiding her shy smile. “You’re silly.”
He followed her into the dining room and let her direct him where to put the dishes. After he purposefully misplaced two plates and let her correct him, his daughter’s shyness had ebbed again.
“Mr. Duncan isn’t silly at all. Except when he eats torta . He eats more than anyone.”
“Does he?”
“He ate almost a whole cake today.”
Natasha joined them, carrying another set of dishes for him, as well as a platter laden with simple foods. He watched her come and go, bringing dishes into the small dining room as any of his servants might. Yet she did it more in the way his old nanny would have taken care of him.
A shiver ran across his body. This was his family.
Once they were all seated around the table, Leona chirped up again. “The rector taught me about a man named Enus, from Troy. And a great big poem about him.”
“Aeneus?”
Leona nodded.
“Ah yes, Virgil. He wrote a great many poems. Personally I prefer Catullus.” Marcus slanted a glance toward Natasha, who avoided meeting his gaze.
“You read Latin?” Leona continued.
“Yes and Greek and French, of course,” he said with a shrug.
“How do you know so much? Are you older than Reverend Duncan?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only met the reverend twice. But most educated men do learn the classics. He must be a very distinguished man to have earned your respect.”
“The rector knows everything. Almost everything,” Leona admitted. “He doesn’t know that Mama lied.”
“You must forgive your mother.”
She was only four, but that moment had changed her. He tried to remember when, in his own childhood, he had realized his parents were flawed. With his father it had been early––after the second bastard was born.
Leona would forgive, move on, and the loss of innocence would fade but not disappear.
Right then, Natasha looked like she wanted to cry.
“Do you remember, Natasha, the day we first met?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He watched her as he spoke, though he directed his words to Leona.
“I saw your mother across Covent Garden. She was buying flowers.”
“And I thought you were a gentleman.”
“I…I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”
“I was just a girl.”
“I still do.”
“Beauty fades.” Her words were a warning, and he thought about Natasha getting older. How she’d look when her hair grayed, her skin softened and thinned.
“Yours will only grow, and I want to be there, watching.” Natasha wouldn’t look at him, focused steadfastly on her plate, but he took in every little movement, every change of her expression, from the slight opening of her eyes to the parting of her lips, the shaky exhale. “I asked your mother to marry me.”
Leona didn’t respond. The little girl was playing with her food, dragging her fork across the plate with exaggerated interest.
“Leona, would you like that?”
“I don’t know.” She dropped her fork and slumped back, arms folded across her chest.
“Are we finished then?” Natasha asked. She didn’t wait for his response but pushed herself back from the table, stood, and started gathering plates.
Marcus unfolded himself from the chair to help, picking up the platter of partridge and the bowl of buttered asparagus from the center of the table. He found Natasha and Leona staring at him in shock.
“Reverend Duncan never takes the dishes up when he comes for lunch,” Leona said.
“Ah well,” Marcus said with a shrug, “the sooner we clear the
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