Page 75 of Yours Truly, the Duke
Wyatt flinched at the truthful sting of her words. In many ways all she said was true, but his childhood wasn’t as ideal as Fredericka seemed to think. The memory of Grant taking Wyatt’s punishment because he hadn’t known his lines of poetry came rushing back. If he hadn’t been a duke’s son, he might have been the one with the useless, scarred hand. Wyatt had to live with that.
His childhood was often lonely until he went to Eton. His father would leave him with doting servants and tutors while he went to summer house parties, London, or on a hunt that lasted for weeks. It was part of growing up and Wyatt managed.
Being at Eton with other boys all around had never been a problem for him, and he couldn’t understand why some of them cried and were upset. At home, he didn’t have brothers, sisters, or neighbors to play with, and no one to talk to other than adults no matter which of his father’s homes they were living in at the time. Eton had been a dream come true for Wyatt. There he had more than enough boys to talk to and play with. He never felt alone. That feeling hadn’t changed as he grew older. He enjoyed participating in tournaments with his friends, the clubs, and having the camaraderie of people around.
“No, I’m not an example for anyone, but you are being unreasonable, Fredericka,” he declared, letting aggravation show in his voice. “They were having a good time.”
“I am their aunt and guardian for now. Nothing is more important to me than their upbringing, welfare, and how they behave. I’m reasonable about everything concerning them.”
“No, you aren’t. You are always so busy trying to make them behave properly and be perfect that you won’t allow them time to just be children.”
“Of course I do,” she argued, seemingly taken aback by his frankness. “I listen to them and try to grant their wishes when possible. I have to be their mother and you are no help when you try to corrupt what I’ve worked so hard to instill in them. You seem to have forgotten I am in danger of losing them to Jane. I must have them be proper at all times.”
Wyatt held his anger in check. He had to. Tension showed around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. Seeing her outraged about a simple time of play tore at his gut. More so since what she said was true. She was worried she would lose the children. He understood that. He could settle the case right now if he was willing to go to the Lord Chancellor with the repugnant story about his brother-in-law. But did he want to do that on the basis of gossip when the man had indicated he would rule for Wyatt?
“I do realize the position you are in, Fredericka. I told you this would take time and I had to be careful or I would end up hurting you more than helping.”
“You should have thought about that before you made the promise to me.”
She turned and started marching out.
“Don’t forget we are going to a ball tomorrow night. You need to be ready by half past eight.”
She swung back to face him long enough to say, “I’m not going anywhere with you. You can go on your own.”
“I will,” he said defiantly to her retreating back as the heat of anger radiated through him. “And just so you know, Charles didn’t stutter very often this afternoon. When he was relaxed, playing, and having a good time he spoke normally. And Elise actually opened up and talked to me about her mother for the first time.”
When he finished, he realized he was talking to an empty room. She hadn’t heard a word he’d said about the children.
Wyatt shook his head and sighed as his annoyance toward her tamped down. The roomwasa disaster and it didn’t look or smell like a place young girls should be. Maybe Fredericka was a little wrong and a little right. Without warning, his father crossed his mind, and he wondered what the duke would say about him playing with kids, comforting them, and liking the experience. What would he say if he knew Wyatt actually enjoyed being with his wife even when they were having an argument?
Sure, she was a lot of trouble, but he couldn’t help but think she was worth it.
CHAPTER 21
LINES TO A BELLE
—O. W. HOLMES
Thine eye had other forms to see—
Why rest upon his bashful cheek?
With other tones thy heart was stirred—
Why waste on him a gentle word?
Nervous as a cat on the bow of a boat in the middle of the Serpentine, Fredericka handed her wrap to the attendant and looked toward the entranceway of the large, sweeping ballroom of the newly refurbished Grand Ballroom. Glittering light from the brass and crystal chandeliers could be seen from the open doors. Sounds of lively music were almost drowned out by the solid roar of chatter and laughter.
Walking into the ballroom with Wyatt by her side would have been challenging enough, but walking in alone was downright terrifying. Her knees were knocking together and her legs wobbly as she stood in the vestibule trying to summon the courage to enter the festive room to face Wyatt, and everyone else.
It was never easy to admit to oneself, or anyone, that you overreacted and made a mistake. But she had. The children were only playing under a table. Messy tables they’d had no part in making, and there was no onearound to see them except her and Wyatt. Jane was not going to come running in and see the children in such a setup as Wyatt had orchestrated. But Fredericka was always fearful. Because of that she was the one showing bad behavior yesterday afternoon by getting so upset.
She had no idea why she said she wouldn’t come with him to the ball tonight other than her mounting frustration about the issue with Jane hadn’t been settled. In fact, it had gotten worse since she’d come to live in the duke’s house. That was her fault. Not his. He hadn’t invited her. He hadn’t even welcomed her at first.
But he had asked her to come to the dance.
The modiste had accomplished a miracle by creating several extraordinary designs in a short time. Once Fredericka realized she must attend the ball, she settled on a gown with a gold brocade bodice threaded with copper-colored banding that enhanced her hair and eyes. It was cut fashionably low across her shoulders and neckline where the swell of her breasts rose from beneath the expensive fabric. The high-waist skirt was overlaid with a sheer of white flowing silk that rippled and fluttered when she walked. Combs adorned with dark alabaster beads held up her chignon. A golden ribbon secured a large topaz at the hollow of her throat. Given the time restraints she had to dress, she’d done all she could to look as beautiful as possible for Wyatt.
