The Duchess Hunt Read Free Page B

finished removing Sarah’s stockings
and cleaned her knee, muttering about how the injuries looked horrible, but
they were really quite minor, and once she’d cleaned them and applied a bit of
salve, Sarah would feel as good as new. At one point, when Mrs. Hope had pulled
Sarah’s dress up over both her knees, she glanced up at Simon. “If she were any
older, Your Grace, I’d have you leave the room.”
    Simon’s expression didn’t falter. “I found
her, so I am responsible for her. I’ll stay until I’m certain she’ll be all
right.”
    She gave him a shy smile. She was already
all right, thanks to him. She wouldn’t have ever imagined that a duke could be
so kind. Or a duchess, for that matter.
    Ever since she’d come to Ironwood Park
with Papa and lived under the shadow of the enormous house and his dire
warnings should she go anywhere near the family, she’d formed an image of the
House of Trent as a group of cold, unkind aristocrats who would brush her aside
like an annoying fly – if they’d even bother to look down their noses at her.
But they were nothing like that. Beneath the great gabled roofs and beyond the
marble and silk and gilt, they were a shockingly regular family.
    One of the boys – Mark, Sarah remembered –
stepped forward, cradling a steaming cup in his hands, which the duchess took
and handed to Sarah after blowing a bit upon its surface. It was sweet and warm
and soothing, and Sarah sipped at it and held her body as rigid as the statue
of the Laocoön while Mrs. Hope applied the woodsy-smelling salve. If the
Laocoön could be so still while being strangled by a gigantic serpent,
then she could be still while her cuts stung and burned.
    And if Simon had thought her brave, then
she would be.
    Just then, the door opened, and yet
another servant stepped in, followed by her father. He rushed inside, then
halted suddenly, drawing himself up and fumbling to remove his wide-brimmed
gardener’s hat as the boys tumbled in behind him.
    “Your Graces.” He bowed low toward Simon
and his mother. “Please forgive me. My daughter —”
    “Ah, you must be Mr. Osborne.” The duchess
rose from her chair to greet him. “Welcome to Ironwood Park. I do hope you have
found its landscape to your liking.”
    Papa’s gaze flitted to Sarah, who gave him
a fearful look, but she was still trapped behind Mrs. Hope’s ministrations, her
leg being held down, and she couldn’t move to his side despite the fact that
his expression summoned her.
    “Ironwood Park is an idyllic setting, Your
Grace. I am honored to be employed here. The landscape is nothing less than an
artistic masterpiece, and I will do my best to maintain its glory.”
    Sarah swallowed hard. She knew what Papa
was doing. Trying to convince the duchess that despite his daughter’s wayward
behavior, he was determined to perform his duties well.
    He was trying to keep his position. And it
was Sarah’s fault he had to do this.
    “It
is
quite lovely, isn’t it? Boys” – the duchess waved her hand toward
the door as she addressed her sons – “you are excused. You may remain outdoors
until dinner. Keep an eye on each other, and please try not to ruin your
clothes today.”
    “Yes, Mama!” The four boys tumbled back
out of the room, but Simon didn’t move from his mother’s side. He stood
quietly, his shoulders straight and hands clasped behind his back. He gazed at
her father with solemn green eyes, his face a mask of politeness.
    The duchess smiled at Sarah’s father. “The
duke rescued your daughter from the throes of a blackberry bush attack.” Her
dark brows rose into perfect arches. “No one informed me when we took you on
that you were in possession of a family, Mr. Osborne. Fredericks has been
remiss. I have told him time and again that he must tell me everything about
everyone who makes their home at Ironwood Park.”
    Papa bowed his head. “It is only Sarah and
I, Your Grace. My wife, she – died last year.” Papa