Unlaced At Christmas. Elizabeth Rolls

bars of ‘The Coventry Carol’, then thought the better of it. The song was beautiful, but melancholy. If he was serious about becoming a bridegroom, he would do well to put sad thoughts aside.

      At the very least, he could learn to laugh at his own foolishness for suggesting such a thing. At his age, he should know better than to speak without thinking of the potential consequences. He had no proof that he would be able to stand the sight of the girl, much less bed her. Nor did he know if the girl would make a suitable duchess.

      Of course, he had irrefutable proof that young Tom would make a terrible Montford. He must trust that Gwendolyn took after her mother both in looks and sensibility. If she did, all would be well. The mother had hair the colour of nutmeg without a strand of grey in it, and a piquant temper, as well. After two children, her figure was still trim. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, but their skin was smooth and unblemished. She’d have been prettier had she smiled, of course. But she’d had little reason to do so.

      All in all, she was a most handsome woman. After dinner tonight, he would offer the as-yet-unseen Mr Marsh his congratulations on his own fortunate marriage.

      But now he’d arrived at the door to his temporary chamber and was greeted by a probing look from the recalcitrant Benjamin. He dropped the small bag of clothing he had brought with him on a chair beside the bed and met the boy’s gaze. ‘We meet again, Master Marsh. I wish to wash before dinner.’ He glanced at the boy’s grimy hands. ‘You should, as well. Is there water to be had in this room, or must I go back to the kitchen?’

      The boy pointed to the pitcher and basin in the corner.

      Montford poured out a generous amount and began to splash the road dirt from his face and hands.

      He could feel the gaze of the boy, heavy on the back of his neck. ‘So you are a duke.’ The boy spoke as if the fact was somehow in doubt.

      Montford gave a slight bow of his head in acknowledgement, but did not turn around. ‘Indeed I am.’

      ‘You don’t look like a duke.’

      ‘And how is a duke supposed to appear?’

      ‘Well, you wouldn’t be in Reddington, for one thing. We see the squire in church sometimes. But no dukes.’ The boy said it with a finality that suggested he was unsure of the existence of the peerage as a species.

      ‘I came here for the wedding,’ Montford reminded him. ‘My nephew was to marry your sister. If you have seen him, you have seen the heir to a dukedom. It is very nearly the same thing.’

      ‘So he said,’ the boy replied. ‘But if that is any indication of what dukes are like, I’ve had enough of them, and good riddance.’

      Montford dried his face and went to sit down on the bed beside him. ‘Unfortunately, he is not a very good example. His behaviour was most ignoble.’

      The boy nodded. ‘She is better off without him. When he met me, he handed me the reins to his horse without so much as a please or thank-you.’ The eyes narrowed again. ‘And he patted my head.’

      ‘He did not dare,’ the duke said, trying to sound indignant.

      ‘But he did not pat Boney.’ When he saw the duke’s confusion, he added. ‘Our spaniel. He is the best dog in the world.’

      ‘I saw him at the door,’ the duke agreed. ‘He does appear to be a most devoted animal.’

      ‘Tom Kanner walked by him as though he was not even there,’ the boy said with a frown. ‘And when Boney got in the way, he kicked him.’

      ‘He did not,’ the duke said, actually indignant this time.

      ‘He moved him with his boot,’ the boy amended. ‘But if he will not treat a dog properly, it was no surprise that he was not right to my sister.’

      ‘That is a most wise assessment,’ the duke agreed. ‘I am afraid I must agree with you. Young Tom is a blight on the family tree. He paid no attention to his father when that man was alive. Now that he thinks he will have my coronet, he pays no attention to me, either.’ Montford tried not to frown as he said it. How wise was it, really, to tell his greatest worry to a ten-year-old boy? ‘In any case, I should not have mentioned him. He is nothing like a duke at all. You must not judge me based on your acquaintance with him.’

      ‘So long as you do not kick my dog, I shall not,’ the boy said, though he was clearly not impressed. Then he asked, with no preamble, ‘Have you met Lord Nelson?’

      ‘Unfortunately, I have not.’

      Benjamin gave a disapproving shake of his head, and Montford could tell that he had fallen one notch further down the ladder of approval.

      ‘But I have met the king,’ he added, to save face. ‘The Regent, as well. And Wellington, of course,’ he added, for what little boy was not eager to hear of him?

      Apparently this one. ‘My father was in the navy,’ he said, as though that settled the matter. ‘He was the captain of a ship. He is dead now.’

      The news hit him with the force of a broom. Dead? It made sense, of course. The lovely Generva Marsh certainly behaved as though she was master as well as mistress of the house. Her husband must have been gone for some time. There was no sign of mourning in her clothing or behaviour.

      Unless one counted the way she had taken his hand as he’d talked of his own troubles. Despite the fact that he had just offered for young Gwendolyn, he had been quite envious of Captain Marsh at that moment. But if Captain Marsh existed only in memory...

      It was too late to have such thoughts. He had just asked permission to court her daughter. If only he’d known that the fearless creature who had taken a broom to him was widowed... One wondered what she might strike him with should he announce that he had mistakenly offered for the wrong woman.

      ‘Even if you have met King George, it does not mean that I need give you my bed, despite what my mother might think.’ Master Marsh was a sensible creature, more concerned with his own comfort than making nice to strangers for the sake of their titles.

      ‘I will play you for it,’ the duke said. ‘We could match coins.’

      ‘Do I get to keep the coin if I win?’ the boy asked.

      ‘Not if you wish to keep the bed, as well,’ the duke said.

      ‘Very well.’ The boy nodded. ‘Then give me the coin and you can have the bed. But do not tell my mother about it. She would not approve.’

      * * *

      With the arrival of the duke, dinner became another source of stress. When Generva had awoken, she’d planned for nothing more than a simple meal. It was still a day from Christmas Eve, not yet even part of the twelve-day celebration that the duke’s household probably made of Christmas. With the departure of Tom Kanner, her own house was practically in mourning.

      Suddenly, she found herself entertaining the peerage. She had never played hostess to a man of such rank. Indeed, the most exciting invitation she had received was for a single dinner in the house of the local baron, and that had been as an honour to her husband. They had been seated nowhere near the head of the table. The food had been grand enough, though, and tonight she would have to struggle to emulate it.

      With a sigh, she ordered Mrs Jordan to cook the roast that had been set aside for Christmas dinner, as many side dishes as could be found in the pantry, and for her to take more than usual care not to burn the potatoes. She could open the bottle of wine that she had been saving as a gift for the happy couple. Her favourite apple tart was really quite simple, but would look better if the crust was dressed with an arrangement of sugar leaves and apples. And there would be the last of her husband’s port for after.

      With the supper menu settled, she went upstairs to the bedrooms to roust her erstwhile children so that they might know what was expected of them.

      First she rapped sharply on Gwen’s door and informed her through the panel that