Duke of Disrepute (Dukes of Distinction #3) - Alexa Aston Page 0,33
parlor and entered. He indicated for her to sit while he rang for Pratt. Normally, he’d want Katie but she had remained at Claire’s bedside.
“We missed tea but her ladyship is rather tired after her journey and accident, Pratt,” he told the butler. “Have Cook prepare a supper for us. It’s to be brought here.”
He liked the winter parlor for its intimacy, knowing the food would be rolled in on a teacart and no footmen would be hanging about, listening to their conversation.
“I’ll take care of it at once, Your Grace,” the butler said and left.
Weston turned and saw she’d risen, going to the fire. She held her palms out to the blaze. His mother’s dress was a bit tight on her, revealing her curves. The tempting mass of hair that tumbled down her back called to him as a siren. He longed to run his fingers through it.
Joining her, he also held his hands out. “It’s very cold for December in Devon. The rain and wind make the cold’s bite even worse.”
Her hands fell and she returned to her chair. “Yes. I’ve lived in Devon all my life, except for time spent in London. I don’t remember a colder winter, much less one coming so early.”
He took a seat near her. “Claire said both her papa and grandpapa were in heaven. How long has it been since they passed?”
“My husband died three years ago come March. A carriage accident in London.”
“March, you say? My friend, the Duke of Windham, married a widow who lost her husband and child in a carriage accident around that same time.”
Her eyes widened. “Lord Borwick? And Nathan?”
“Yes. It must have been the same accident. Phoebe, the former Lady Borwick, wed my friend this past summer and is now the Duchess of Windham.”
He thought to plant in her head that widows do remarry. Especially when it’s to a duke.
Tears now welled in her eyes. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked gently.
“No. I . . . had just learned that I was with child when Ruthersby died. We had to wait months to see if I birthed a boy or girl in order to see if the babe would become the new Earl of Ruthersby.” She swallowed. “I had a son and named him Nathan, after the boy in the accident. I thought that little boy hadn’t lived but a part of him could live on through my Nathan.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. Without thinking, he reached up, his thumbs wiping them away. The contact sparked something within him. Something he hadn’t felt before. From the look on her face, neither had she. He lowered his hands and fumbled, finding a handkerchief in his coat pocket and presenting it to her.
“Thank you,” she said softly and pressed it to each cheek. Then she added, “My boy only lived three days. That meant my husband’s younger brother became the earl.”
Weston could see it now. The man and his obnoxious wife, hovering about, waiting to see if he or an infant would become the next Earl of Ruthersby. The baby’s death had proved convenient.
“So, you’ve been a widow for a while now. I don’t recall seeing you last Season. Isn’t it time you began to circulate in society again?”
A shadow crossed her face. “No. I am too busy for that.”
“Doing what?” he demanded.
She looked taken aback by his question. “I . . . help care for my two nephews. They need me. Their parents . . . aren’t . . . well, they are busy themselves. The boys need attention and understanding.”
“You act as their caregiver? Their governess?”
She nodded.
“I suppose they pay you no salary.”
Lady Ruthersby bit her lip. A frisson of desire rippled through him. He wanted to be the one sinking his teeth into her full, bottom lip.
“They do provide a home for Claire and me.” She shrugged. “Besides, my father passed away a couple of days ago. I will be in mourning for him.”
“I knew your father slightly,” Weston said. “He was a kind, jovial man. A man who would want his daughter taken care of. Your brother-in-law isn’t doing so. You need to participate in the Season, my lady, and find yourself a new husband. Besides, those boys are almost old enough to be leaving for school. Where will that leave you?” he asked. “You need to think of your daughter. You are a good mother. You need to find her a father.”