“I’ll let you get back to work,” he said.
She took up the mop and bucket. “The baby spit up. Wilhemina will be wondering what happened to me.” She hurried off, and Duncan stowed his supplies in an empty wooden bucket and set about finding the first oil lamp. He’d take the lower floors first. He didn’t need Mr. Fog to tell him the best way to evade Molly was to stay away from Lord John’s chamber for as long as possible.
Chapter Seven
“That’s very good!”Lucy exclaimed, when Johnny read the words she’d written on the slate. She’d been working with him for three days and had finally abandoned Tom Thumb and invented her own reading lesson. He knew his letters, so she began taking them and combining them into small, simple words.
“A cat sat,” Johnny read again, pointing to each word as he said it.
“Perfect. Should we try another?”
“Can’t we go outside?” His gaze strayed to the window, which was practically glowing with bright midday sun. Lucy had learned to keep their lessons short and varied. She’d begun with maths this morning, helping Johnny sort his marbles into sets of ten. Then they’d sorted them by color. She had no idea if she’d ever need to protect him from an assassin, but at least he’d be able to read and do simple sums when she was through.
“One more and we’ll go outside. We can bring the ball this time.”
“Can we kick the ball like we did before?”
“If you get this next one right then we’ll play.”
She erased her sentence and began writing another. She was rather looking forward to a game of kick ball herself. They’d found an open area out of sight of the house, where she could run and not worry about Lady John seeing her and being shocked if she took a tumble or lifted her skirts to her knees.
She turned the slate toward Johnny and waited as he sounded the words under his breath. With a triumphant smile, he read, “Abatsat!”
“Brilliant.”
“Miss Lucy, how does a bat sit? Papa told me bats hang by their toes.”
“Oh? What else do you know about bats?” She listened to him chatter as they made their way outside and to the open area where they kicked the ball. The sun was warm, and Lucy helped Johnny shed his outer garments even as she shed her own. They threw them in a pile and Johnny rolled his ball on the grass, running after it so he might be at a distance to kick it. They kicked the ball between them for a half hour before Lucy spotted Duncan. She hadn’t expected to see him. After that first meeting in the Wilderness, he’d stopped by the nursery as she was straightening it up at the end of the day. They’d spoken briefly in hushed tones the last two days. She had seen nothing suspicious or of interest, and it seemed neither had he.
But she’d learned in her time at the Home Office and at the Farm that every agent for the Crown must have one great strength—patience. She and Duncan would have to wait and remain vigilant, not an easy task when it seemed nothing was happening. Not to mention, in a lovely setting like Richmond Park, it was easy to be lulled into complacency.
But now Duncan was striding toward them, scowling. She’d noticed he scowled more lately. Their few interactions the last couple of days had been brief and curt. Perhaps the role of footman did not fit him. Or perhaps she’d wounded his pride when she’d told him he was far too much of a gentleman to attract her romantic interest. In any case, she missed his smiles and warmth. He was the only friend she had at Pembroke Lodge, and her position as a nanny—not really one of the staff but not one of the family either—made it unlikely she would make any others.
“Duncan!” Johnny called, kicking his ball chaotically. It went far to the right of where Lucy stood and rolled into a wooded area nearby. Duncan’s gaze shifted from Lucy to Johnny, and the agent smiled. Lucy felt a stab of something in her belly. She had wanted to see Duncan smile, but for some reason it bothered her that his smile was not for her.
“Have you been crying?” the boy asked, his expression going serious.
