***
DUNCAN KNEW HE WASan absolute idiot. Lucy had been honest with him. She’d never promised him anything. And yet, he’d wanted her so much that he hadn’t cared.
But he supposed he hadn’t thought about how it would feel in the morning when she told him she just wanted to be friends. Duncan would have laughed at the irony of his own words coming back to him. Once upon a time, he’d told countless women the same thing. He supposed he more than deserved the way he felt right now.
Curious that Lucy had used the worddeservejust now. She’d said he deserved someone who would truly love him. All these years, he’d struggled with forgiveness and hating himself for what he’d done. Had he chosen Lucy to fall in love with because he’d always known she’d never love him back? Had he believed he didn’t warrant love and so he’d sabotaged any hope of ever finding it?
As he trudged back to Pembroke Lodge, Duncan found himself wishing the mission was over. He’d like to be done with Lord John and Richmond Park and Lucy Galloway. What he needed was a new mission that would distract him and take his mind off what it felt like to kiss Lucy and hold her and—
“There you are, Smith.”
Duncan looked up at James, who was standing beside Molly in the yard behind the kitchen. Molly was taking linens off a clothesline while James held a basket for her.
“I apologize for my lateness. I’ll be ready in a moment.”
“No hurry. I thought maybe you’d run off to Gretna Green. But then I saw Molly was still here.”
Duncan glanced at Molly, but she didn’t look at him. She kept her gaze firmly on the clothesline.
“I went for a walk,” Duncan said. “Alone.”
“You forget I share a room with you. No one walks all night.”
“I do.”
“And I’m sure Molly was in her own bed all night.”
“I was,” Molly said. “Wherever he was is no business of mine.” She snatched the last cloth off the clothesline, threw it in the basket, and marched into the house.
“Looks like a lover’s spat,” James said.
“Are you coming?” Molly demanded.
James ran after her.
Duncan took a breath then followed the servants into the house, heading directly to his room to change and wash before starting his duties for the day. He was sorry for the way he’d treated Molly, but it couldn’t be helped. It was for her protection—and Johnny’s. Once they discovered who was behind the threats to the boy, Duncan could apologize to her and explain everything.
He headed downstairs to fetch and carry. It was still early, but down the corridor he heard Lucy’s voice and Johnny’s laugh. If she’d hoped for a few hours of sleep, she obviously wouldn’t have it. Johnny was an early riser who woke up ready to run and play.
“Master John, you must sit and eat,” came another voice. Duncan placed it as that of Wilhemina, the baby’s nurse. “Now look. You’ve spilled your porridge.”
“I don’t like it anyway,” Johnny said.
“Nevertheless, sit down. There’s a good boy. Another spoonful, please.”
“It doesn’t taste right,” Johnny said. Duncan had been about to turn into the kitchen, but now he slowed. Alarm shot through him just as he heard Lucy say, “Spit it out. Johnny,spit it out!”
“What on earth?” Wilhemina said.
Duncan started for the nursery, running at full speed. He skidded into the room to find Lucy pounding Johnny on the back and making him spit into a wash basin. The nurse stood open-mouthed, the baby in her arms, and Johnny was crying.
Lucy looked up as soon as Duncan entered. “Water,” she said. “No, not that.”
He lowered the glass of milk on the table.
“Water from the well. You fetch it.”
Duncan glanced at Johnny, whose face was red and tear stained as Lucy demanded he spit more. Then he ran to the well, pulled up the pail, and looked about for a vessel to dump the water in.
