‘Which colours do you like the best?’
‘Red and blue,’ he pointed out promptly. ‘What do we do now?’
‘We decide what we want to paint.’
James looked around quickly. ‘My soldier!’
‘Good choice. Let’s sit him on the table so we can see him better. First, we’ll make an outline of his body, then fill in with the colours.’
She showed James how to dip his brush in the paint, then stroke the brush across the sketchpad. She expected that after a few minutes of meticulous work he would get bored with the process, but he did not, continuing with rapt attention under her direction and suggestions until he’d completed a creditable soldier in a bright-red coat and blue trousers.
‘That’s very good!’ she said approvingly, surprised that it was true. Even more surprised that, with his head bent and a rapt expression on his face, James reminded her of her father, recording in deft brushstrokes the details of one of the plants he’d discovered.
Another wash of heat warmed her within. Perhaps Alastair was right. Perhaps there was more of her—and her father—in the boy than she’d thought.
Vastly pleased with his work, James was delighted when she set it above the mantel. ‘There, you’ll be able to see it from your bed and admire it as you eat your supper.’
‘Look at my painting, Minnie!’ he cried to the nurse, who, to Diana’s mild amusement, hovered nearby whenever Diana visited her son. Though the girl seemed to have somewhat relaxed her vigilance, Diana sensed Minnie still didn’t entirely trust her mistress’s sudden, unprecedented interest in her charge.
‘That’s wonderful fine, young master,’ the maid answered, a deep affection in her tone. ‘A right handsome soldier you’ve drawn.’
‘Mama, will you make one, too?’
‘If it would please you.’
‘Oh, yes! I’d love having something from you, something to keep.’
The artless words pricked her again, reminding her how little she’d offered her son since she’d forced herself to turn away from him as a toddler. True, she’d had a compelling reason for withdrawing from him—but no more. Silently she renewed her vow to do better.
‘What kind of picture do you want?’
‘Another soldier.’
‘Very well.’ Taking the brush from him, she deftly created a replica of the toy soldier. James looked over her shoulder as she painted, seeming entirely absorbed.
When she finished, he gave a little sigh of awe. ‘Oh, Mama, that’s wonderful! He looks just like my soldier. Will you put him on the mantel next to mine, so they can keep each other company?’
‘Of course.’
After she’d arranged the two pictures side by side and stepped back, James clapped his hands with delight. ‘It’s like having more soldiers for my army! Only maybe better, ’cause you and me made them together. Thank you, Mama!’
Jumping up, he ran over and wrapped his arms around her.
Still not accustomed to hugs, she started—then slowly wrapped her arms around him as well. From deep within, an impulse welled up to pull him nearer, hold him tighter.
Immediately she resisted it...until she realised that she didn’t have to restrain herself any longer.
Let him love you. You’ll find yourself responding.
Hearing Alastair’s words echo in her ears, she hugged James tighter, pressing her face against his soft dark hair. An aching warmth curled around her heart.
As much as she owed Alastair Ransleigh for his efforts to keep her son safe, she owed him even more for this.
* * *
Meanwhile, in the London office of his solicitor, Mr Reynolds, Alastair explained his need for some information regarding settlements.
A smile creased the older man’s face. ‘Dare I hope that means you expect a momentous occasion in the near future? Let me offer my congratulations!’
Startled at first, Alastair had to laugh. ‘I’m afraid not. A close family friend was recently widowed. Her father is now deceased, and she is not aware if settlements were ever drawn up.’
‘Are the circumstances not specified in her late husband’s will?’
‘The circumstances are rather...complicated. What would normally be set up?’
‘Normally, the dowry or portion brought into the marriage by the bride is guaranteed to her as an annuity in the event of the husband’s death. If a specific sum is not mentioned, usually she is deeded some property as her jointure, the income and rents from which are intended to support her after the husband’s death, when his estate passes to his heir.’
‘In the absence of settlements, she would be entitled to a dower?’
Of course, he had arrived without notice and the new Duke would have many pressing matters to attend to, taking over the reins of such a large estate. However, leaving him tapping his fingers this long, without an offer of refreshment or any other courtesy, was, Alastair felt sure, a deliberate insult.
Any deference to rank Alastair might once have felt had long since been dissipated by the refusal of his uncle, the Earl of Swynford, to support his younger son, Alastair’s cousin and best friend, after the scandal that had embroiled Max at the Congress of Vienna. A deference already worn thin by his army service, where experience and ability was worth far more in battle than rank or title, and his own previous dealings with a Duke of Graveston.
So he was not feeling particularly amiable when the Duke finally deigned to make an appearance.
After exchanging the obligatory bows and greetings, the Duke said, ‘So, Mr Ransleigh, to what do I owe the honour of this visit?’’
The sly smile accompanying those words gave Alastair the distinct impression that the Duke knew exactly who he was and why he was here.