The Return of the Duke - Grace Callaway Page 0,110

capable woman I e’er knew. Weren’t anything she couldn’t do if she put ’er mind to it, and being a loving wife and mama, she put ’er mind to looking after us. But for all that, she ’ad a flaw.”

“She did?” To Fancy’s mind, her mother had been perfect.

“She lacked confidence in ’erself. She never asked for what she wanted, always made do with what we ’ad and never once complained.” Da’s voice grew scratchy. “It was a part o’ ’er charm, no doubt about it, but it also kept ’er from ’er ’eart’s desires.”

“You were what she wanted, Da,” Fancy said softly. “She loved you.”

“Aye, and what I wouldn’t ’ave done to give ’er more.” Da’s eyes suddenly glittered. “Did you know your ma ’ated those ironstone dishes I bought ’er?”

Fancy blinked. “No, she didn’t. She mended them again and again, so well that the cracks didn’t show. We used those dishes for years.”

“She fixed ’em because she knew I couldn’t afford to buy more,” Da said heavily. “But before she breathed ’er last breath, I asked ’er if there be anything she wanted to tell me, any last thing she would regret ’olding back. And she said to me, Milton…I always ’ated those ugly dishes.”

Awareness prickled through Fancy, her throat thickening.

“We both laughed and then we cried because our life together ’ad been so blessed that the worst thing about it was those damned dishes.” Da took off his spectacles to briefly wipe his eyes. “But you see, petal, if I’d but known ’ow much me Annie longed for a bit o’ real porcelain, I’d ’ave moved ’eaven and earth to get it for ’er. All she ’ad to do was ask.”

“Oh, Da.” Fancy reached over and grasped his hand.

“Me point being, don’t sell yourself short. Don’t be afraid to make demands o’ your ’usband, especially when what you want be more important than dishes, more important than anything. I know you thought that by making yourself into a duchess, you would win ’is ’eart, but that ain’t what you need to do, petal.”

“Then what?” she asked achingly. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Believe in yourself, me Fancy. Trust that you’re the woman your fellow needs. The truth is, you’ve always been a lady in ’ere,”—Da pressed his palm to his heart—“where it counts. If your duke don’t see that, then ’e’s the one who ain’t deserving o’ you.”

Later that afternoon, still mulling over her da’s words, Fancy went to help her brothers pick apples at a nearby orchard. Da had fixed up the farmer’s pots and pans, and in exchange the farmer had said they could take as many of the last harvest fruit as they could carry.

Sam Taylor, whose family was camping nearby, decided to tag along.

Fancy was glad to see Sam again and especially glad that no tension lingered between them. She’d always thought of him as a brother, and it was a relief to have him acting that way again. The moment they arrived at the orchard, Sam and her brothers began pelting fallen fruit at each other. When she told them they had work to do, the nodcocks started aiming at her. To defend herself, she joined in, and by the end of it, they were all sticky and laughing like lunatics.

It felt good to laugh, she realized. To play in the sun and fresh air. She thought with a pang that Toby and Eleanor would love apple picking.

“Oi, Fancy,” Sam called. “You want to ’elp me with this tree?”

He was standing at the end of the row, pointing at the tallest tree.

“The apples are the biggest, but they’re ’igh up, and we ain’t got a ladder,” he said. “I’ll ’oist you up, and you grab ’em.”

She went over, craning her neck to look into the leafy branches. Clusters of red, plump fruit beckoned. Sam was right; these apples did look the best.

“Can you lift me that high?” she asked dubiously.

Sam grinned and held up an arm, flexing. “I’m strong as an ox.”

“And dumb as one too,” her brother Liam said with a snicker.

Before the lads could start another battle, Fancy said hastily, “All right, then. I’ll climb on your shoulders, but you be sure to hold me steady, Sam Taylor.”

“I’ll treat you like me ma’s finest china.”

“Your ma doesn’t have any china,” Fancy pointed out.

Sam got down on one knee and gestured at her. “Stop arguing, will you, and climb up.”

Taking off her shoes, she clambered onto Sam’s shoulders. True to his