Page 63 of A Highly Unlikely Duchess
As the afternoon wore on, Emily sat back and watched, mesmerized. She had expected Theodore to be stiff, or perhaps overly cautious, but he was surprisingly agile with the boy. There was no weight of grief or formality between them, no dark shadows of the past. Frederick actually looked happy, and in that moment, Emily thought to herself that she had made the best decision for him. That she found the perfect person for him.
Frederick was laughing openly. The full laugh, the unguarded one, the one Emily had not heard since he arrived, came out freely and without reservation, carried across the garden on the warm afternoon air.
She heard Frederick shout something. She heard Theodore respond.
“You'll never catch me!” Frederick shouted again, darting around a muddy patch.
She turned, drawn by the sound of his voice.
Theodore turned on a dime, his boots slipping for a fraction of a second. “Is that a challenge? Because I must warn you, I am —”
Before he could finish, Frederick lunged forward, catching Theodore right at the back of the knees. With a startled grunt and a very un-ducal flail of his arms, Theodore went down.
He landed squarely in a patch of thick, dark mud. Emily gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She waited for the explosion, for the cold fury of a man whose expensive buckskin breeches had just been ruined.
Instead, Theodore sat up, wiped a streak of mud from his cheek, and looked at Frederick with a predatory, playful glint in his eye.
“Oh, so it’s war, then?”
Before Frederick could retreat, Theodore’s hand shot out. He grabbed the boy by the waist, and Frederick went into the mud with a shriek that startled the birds from the trees at the far end of the garden. Within seconds, the Duke and the boy were embroiled in a chaotic, messy tussle. They were wrestling and laughing, both of them quickly becoming indistinguishable from the earth beneath them.
Emily watched them, her heart doing a strange, fluttering somersault. He looked so good with children. It made her wonder whether he would want some of his own one day.
She shook the thought as quickly as it came. It was dangerous to daydream about a man who only spoke of a cordial marriage.
Theodore, however, was no longer looking at the mud. He was looking at her, and her eyes widened when she realized this. A wicked, boyish grin spread across his face as he wiped a smear of mud across his forehead like war paint.
“Frederick,” Theodore said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you see the Duchess? She looks far too clean. It is quite insulting to both of us, don't you think?”
Frederick gasped, his eyes widening. “She’s very clean, Your Grace! It’s not fair.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Theodore declared, springing to his feet. “Should we get her?”
Emily’s eyes went wide. “No! Your Grace, don't you dare! This is French silk!”
But Frederick was already launching himself toward her like a tiny, muddy cannonball. Emily shrieked, gathered her skirts, and bolted. She ran toward the line of willow trees, her laughter echoing off the stone walls of the estate. She could hear the heavy thud of Theodore’s boots behind her and the frantic patter of Frederick’s feet.
She really did not like the idea of getting covered in mud.
“This is not fair!” she called back at them, trying to make her way out of the garden through one of the other gates.
“Frederick,” Theodore said from somewhere behind her. “She is heading for the gate.”
Frederick changed direction.
Emily changed direction, too, but she made it approximately four more steps before Theodore caught her.
His arms came around her from behind, both of them, wrapping around her waist and lifting her slightly off the ground. She felt the mud from his coat transfer to her dress, instantly ruining the delicate fabric. She groaned, but even as she protested, she found herself clutching at his arms, her shoulders shaking with laughter.
“Theodore!” she called his name breathlessly, half annoyed, half amused.
“Hold still,” he said. “What use is it to wiggle? Do you think you can pry yourself away from me?”
“I am absolutely not going to hold still,” she argued.
Frederick arrived and got both hands on her skirt. The mud was everywhere now, and she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
“There...” Theodore whispered, seeing no need to shout as she was wrapped closely in his arms. “...right where you’re supposed to be.”
