Nancy Atherton - Aunt Dimity and the Duke

“But what about Nell? Can’t see her and Bertie huddling around a campstove.”

Emma removed her sunhat and shook her hair down her back. “Nell will build castles wherever she lives,” she said. “I think she’ll enjoy helping you build a real one. And the Pyms will be on hand to pamper her.”

Derek’s eyes crossed suddenly and he flinched as a jet of water passed within inches of his nose. He scrambled to his feet with a roar and the marauders scattered, squealing with delight, save for one scamp, for whom Peter had expressed great admiration, who let rip a parting shot that hit Derek full in the face. Swiping a hand across his dripping chin, Derek flopped sullenly on the blanket and muttered that perhaps the manor house was worth looking into after all.

“A spot of rough living’ll do the boy a world of good,” he declared. He dried his face with the napkin Emma offered, then cast it aside and grew serious once more. “But what about you, Emma? If I’m spending all my time working on the house, I won’t be bringing home many pay slips.”

Emma picked up the discarded napkin and dabbed a few remaining droplets from Derek’s forehead. “Not a problem,” she said firmly. “I love my work and I, too, am very good at what I do. I’m sure I’ll be able to find a job in London that I can commute to. I may even set up my own consulting business. I have no qualms about supporting the family until you’ve finished with the house.”

Derek sighed. “Won’t leave you much time for a garden,” he said ruefully. “The Pyms’ tree peony may be the last thing you plant for quite a while.”

“I’ll have the rest of my life for a garden,” said Emma. “And you’ll have some time at home with Peter and Nell. It’ll give you a chance to get to know each other again.”

“If I survive,” Derek muttered. He sighed deeply. “You’re a stubborn woman, Emma Porter.”

“Wait until you see my plans for my home office,” said Emma.

“I’ll build you the office of your dreams,” Derek murmured, and, twining his hand through Emma’s hair, he leaned over to nuzzle her neck.

“Now, there’s a sight that does an old heart good.”

Derek swung around and Emma blinked at the glowing face and startling figure of Syd Bishop. It was the first glimpse she’d had of him all day, and she scarcely recognized him. He wore a relaxed, cream-colored three-piece suit, a shirt the color of weak tea, a silk tie in a deeper brown shot through with streaks of bronze, and, to top it off, a white Panama hat, tilted at a dignified angle above a beaming face. The duke and Kate slowly walked up on either side of him, their faces slack with astonishment.

Syd’s smile faltered and he raised his hands with a questioning shrug. Pinching the lapel of his jacket, he asked, “What about it? Mrs. Cole’s decided that I need a new look.” He lifted his hat and held it rakishly above his head. “So, what do you think? Is it me or is it me?”

Five hundred years of breeding came to their rescue. “My dear fellow,” the duke said gracefully, “if Nanny Cole says it’s you, who are we to argue?”

Syd replaced his hat and glanced with pleasure at the subdued gold cufflinks on his sleeves. “I gotta admit, it makes me feel kinda young again.” His eyes met Emma’s as he added, “Not as young as some I could mention.”

“Yes, Derek,” remonstrated the duke. “What the devil do you think you’re up to, disporting yourself so wantonly in front of the children?”

“The children are already used to it, Grayson,” Kate informed him.

“We’ve gotten their permission,” Emma added with mock solemnity.

“As a matter of fact,” Derek said airily, “I was trying to dissuade my intended from embarking on a very risky venture.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Grayson offered.

Derek eyed him warily. “Thanks, old man, but you’re the last person I’d come to for help on this particular matter.”

“Still worrying about the manor house?” Kate asked, sitting down beside Derek. “I don’t know why it bothers you so. Emma’s perfectly capable of paying the butcher’s bills while you toil away in the drains.”

“Spoken like a true duchess,” Grayson declared.

Syd clapped him on the shoulder. “This’s gotta be a big weight off your back, Duke. Petey tells me you don’t got to worry about the Fete for another hundred years.”

“I rather doubt that I shall be the one doing the worrying by then, but I take your point.” Grayson smiled shyly. “It is a bit of a relief. Funny thing, though. I’ve spent my whole life preparing for this day, and now that it’s here, all I can think about is the wedding.”

“You keep thinkin’ about the wedding, Duke,” Syd advised. “Keep lookin’ ahead. You gotta make sure there’s a little duke to pass the whole shebang on to, am I right?” Emma tried not to smile as Syd pulled a pocket watch from his cream-colored waistcoat. “Listen, kids, I’d love to hang around, but the show’s gonna roll in five minutes and Mrs. Cole’ll blow a gasket if I’m not there on time. You comin’, Kate?”

Kate sprang to her feet and took Syd’s proffered arm. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Have you seen Debbie Tregallis?” she asked as they turned to walk away. “Doesn’t she look beautiful in blue?”

Syd paused to look over his shoulder at Emma. “Not half so beautiful as some I could mention. Catch you later, sweetheart.”

“Catch you later, Syd.” Blushing, Emma looked out over the lawn. People were streaming out of the castle ruins and away from the shelter of the marquee to cluster at the foot of the terrace steps. Grayson stood with his hands in his pockets, surveying the scene, and nodding warmly to the Pyms, who returned his nod, smiling their identical smiles.

“Terribly good of Ruth and Louise to join the fun,” he commented. “Terribly good of everyone to pitch in the way they have.”

“Well, I’ve been useless to you, Grayson,” said Derek. “Didn’t fix the window or find the lantern.”

“Ah, but you found something much more important,” Grayson pointed out, “and your children took care of the rest. It’s quite fitting. Penford Hall has always owed a great deal to its children.”

“Will you be sorry when the Fête is over?” Emma asked.

“I will, as a matter of fact. It’s been such a splendid day.” Grayson stiffened suddenly. “Good Lord,” he said, “is that Teddy Tregallis? Oy! Teddy! Over here, old man!”

Emma looked over to see a tow-headed boy around Peter’s age standing in the entrance to the castle ruins, his water pistol hanging limply from one hand as he looked back over his shoulder, grinning broadly. At the duke’s shout, he came running, but the smile never left his face.

When the boy had scrambled to a halt at Grayson’s side, Grayson put an arm around him and squatted down conspiratorially. “I say, Teddy, old man, it’s no good making a target of yourself. Martyrdom’s all well and good, in its place, but if you’re determined not to be dragooned into service by Nanny Cole, then you mustn’t stand around in plain view. Take it from one who knows.”

“Yes, sir,” said Teddy. “I mean, no, sir.”

“Never mind,” said the duke, mussing the boy’s hair. “They’d probably reject you anyway, in your current damaged state. How’d you bung up the knee?”

The boy bent forward slightly to stare at the neatly taped square of white gauze that covered his kneecap. “Fell down in the ruins, sir, tryin’ to hide out in the chapel.” The boy looked over his shoulder. “A lady in the chapel fixed it for me. She was awfully nice, sir. Told me about the lady and the lantern.”

Grayson’s hand slid from the boy’s head to touch his own knee as he, too, looked toward the castle entrance. “Did she?” he asked.