Devin saw the flash of a smile on Sera’s lips before she hid it behind her raised teacup.

  “More lessons on the wars with Bonaparte?” Win asked.

  “Perhaps,” he said, wishing to be vague.

  For some reason, he didn’t want to admit to Win that he was having to learn how to write again. The thought probably had not occurred to his friend that Devin could no longer hold a writing instrument with only three fingers. Well, he could—but everything he wrote was illegible.

  “If you do go out, you will see movement all about,” Win continued. “Tomorrow is All Hallow’s Eve. The tenants enjoy a celebration and so we are continuing to honor that annual tradition.”

  “What will it consist of?” he asked, curious since Easton Ridge had never held any event during this time of year that he could recall.

  “From what I gather, there’s to be a carving contest. Dunking for apples. Some dancing and eating and a bonfire. The wood for that will be cut today and stacked tomorrow.” Win shrugged. “That’s all I know. Apparently, Woodbridge has honored this custom for many years. I was always away at school this time of year, which is why I don’t recall it. I’m sure it took place when I was young but I have no memory of it. Most likely, I wasn’t taken down to participate. My father had strict ideas regarding mixing with the help.”

  “It sounds interesting,” he said. “I will have to go out and see what it is all about.”

  They finished their breakfast and he excused himself, heading to the top floor and the schoolroom. Entering, he saw Miss Birmingham working with Charlie, while Freddie was engaged in copying words from a book.

  Devin saw that a slate, chalk, and a cloth had been placed at the end of the table and slid into a spot, immediately going through the alphabet with ease. By its end, Miss Birmingham had joined him.

  “You seem quite at home using your left hand, my lord,” she praised. “Your progress is tremendous.”

  “I worked in my room last night,” he told her. “I also tried shapes.” He grinned. “I am rather proud of my octagon.”

  “Show me.”

  He did and she nodded her approval. “I think we can move from slate to parchment today. I will collect some for your use.”

  Devin saw the boys shooting surreptitious looks at him and decided to address the matter with them.

  “I am learning to write with my left hand. Miss Birmingham has set lessons for me to do and I will be working on building up strength in my left hand, as well as mastering writing.”

  “Does your right hand hurt? Where your fingers were?” Freddie asked.

  He saw Miss Birmingham wheel, ready to chastise the boy, but he held up a hand. His left hand, he was proud to note, leading with it as she had suggested.

  “That is a good question.”

  One he wasn’t certain how he should answer.

  Yes, he did still experience pain where his two smallest fingers once rested. He had heard of this from other soldiers who were missing limbs. The doctors called it phantom pain, where pain came from a body part no longer there. For him, it had started less than a week after his fingers had been amputated. Sometimes, it merely throbbed. Other times, it burned and cramped. Still other times, he experienced shooting pains.

  His doctor had told him he would most likely experience it the rest of his life. That his brain received mixed signals and thought the two appendages were still there. Devin hadn’t liked hearing that but had to accept it since there was nothing he could do to change it. Still, explaining all this to two six-year-old boys would most likely confuse them.

  Holding up his hand, he touched the stumps where his two fingers had been. “It hurt quite a bit when they were cut off. The same as my chin did. The surgeon stitched up my chin and it itched something horrible for some time. These places on my hand also itched and burned some. But the flesh has healed over them and will continue to do so. It merely feels odd now, as if I am off-balance sometimes. It has also given me an appreciation for the small things.”

  “Like fingers,” Charlie said.

  “True. Things—like writing—which came easily to me are hard now. I am learning how to eat with my left hand. Use my tooth powder and brush my teeth with it. Open doors with my left hand. It is a lesson that I will always carry with me.”

  Freddie frowned. “What do you mean, my lord?”

  “As I said, I now appreciate things I never thought about before I joined the army and went to war. Things I used to take for granted—and I am certain you do, too. Such as the bed I sleep in. In the army, you sleep on the ground or if you are lucky, on a rickety cot. To come to Woodbridge and sleep in a bed with pillows and bedclothes to warm me is a true luxury.”

  “What else?” asked Charlie.

  “Definitely food. Your cook makes everything taste wonderful and meals and tea are a treat. Food in the army was bland, almost tasteless, and you would have to chew a piece of meat a good one hundred times merely to get it down. It was that tough.”

  “I like eating at Woodbridge,” Freddie shared. “It’s the best food we’ve ever had.”

  “And we have our own room here,” Charlie pointed out. “We aren’t all cramped in one room and in one bed.” A shadow crossed his face. “When Mama got sick, we let her have all the bed and Freddie and I slept on the floor.”

  “That was kind of you,” he said. “So, enjoy the small things in life.”

  “And the big things,” Freddie said. “Like getting to learn. We didn’t go to school in London.” He looked pained. “We weren’t very nice when we came to Woodbridge. We were mean and chased off our governesses. Until Sera came. We were nice to her.”

  So, Win had been telling the truth about the pair.

  “Learning is a privilege. I hope you will treat it as such. Miss Birmingham is a wonderful teacher. Learn all you can from her.”

  “We know that,” Charlie said. “Uncle Win said if we work hard, we’ll get to go to school with other boys our age.”

  “You will like that,” he told them. “For now, enjoy what you have here.”

  “Will you tell us some more about the war?” Freddie asked hopefully.

  “I can if Miss Birmingham wishes you to learn about that.”

  “I want to go back and look at the globe and the atlases,” Charlie said. “Can we, Miss Birmingham? Please?”

  “Of course,” she said, depositing a pencil and parchment in front of Devin. “Freddie, finish copying your spelling words. Charlie, we need to finish solving these problems. Then we can go downstairs again.”

  Devin remained in the schoolroom, practicing with his pencil while the trio adjourned to the library. He had to stop frequently because his hand cramped more than it had when he merely held a piece of chalk. He also realized how much concentration was involved in holding a pencil and forming letters. What had come so naturally to him was now a task he focused on with intensity.

  Miss Birmingham returned with the boys in tow. They were atwitter about what they had seen out the library window.

  “Wood. Lots of wood being brought,” Freddie told Devin.

  “That is for tomorrow night’s bonfire,” he said, explaining what Win had shared at breakfast.

  The idea of a celebration had the boys jumping in their seats. Miss Birmingham laughed and told them, “I think we can take a holiday from lessons tomorrow afternoon.”

  “How about all day, Miss Birmingham?” Freddie queried.

  “A nice try but I believe working tomorrow morning will help the day pass more quickly,” Miss Birmingham retorted. “We can also ride early tomorrow afternoon and that will help keep the two of you out of trouble.”

  “Good try, Freddie,” Charlie said.

  Freddie beamed. “I didn’t think she’d budge.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Devin remained with them several hours, chiming in as the governess taught a few lessons. She didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she welcomed his comments.

  “I am meeting with Mr. Kepler soon,” he told her while the boys were engrossed in a story Charlie read to them. “I have several questions for him. He gave me a few ledgers to study. Although I am good with numbers, there were things I did not understand.”

  “It is probably due to the system he uses,” she said casually.

  “System?”

  “Yes, to record various things.”

  She began talking about crops and fallow fields and the importance of crop rotation, then moved to discussing various ways accounting was done in ledgers. The more she spoke, the more he realized how knowledgeable she was.

  “You sound as if you could run an estate yourself, Miss Birmingham.”

  She blushed. “I did help Papa run ours. He called me his shadow because I spent most of every day with him. While other girls learn to embroider and play the piano, I was riding the estate with him, meeting with tenants and discussing harvesting techniques and how to make improvements to our mill.”

  “You should be the one replacing Kepler. Not me.”

  She frowned. “That is unheard of. While His Grace seems very openminded and generous, he would never think to hire a female to serve as a steward, much less on as large a duchy as Woodbridge.”

  “But you have the knowledge. Even the experience, which I sorely lack. I never did anything with my father. I wasn’t his heir and so I meant nothing to him. He never taught me a single thing. He rarely spoke to me. I am not prepared to be Win’s steward. You are. I will tell him so. Your talents are being wasted.”

  “You bloody fool,” she hissed, quiet enough so her charges didn’t hear her. “Can’t you see I am doing the only thing a woman in my position is allowed to do? I will have you know, I am quite good at being a governess, as good as I would be as a steward. I am not wasting my time with those beautiful boys sitting there. They need me. To teach them language and maths and history and a little about life, even as I nurture them.”

  She stood, glaring at him. “This is my life. I am not wasting it.”

  Devin caught her wrist and pulled her back into the chair she had vacated. She sat, he suspected, so as not to cause a scene.

  “I apologize,” he said. “I was thoughtless. I understand England is a patriarchy and men are supreme in every role that counts. I hate that you don’t have a choice on what you might wish to pursue.”

  “Apology accepted,” she said stiffly.

  “You are already tutoring me in handwriting. Might you do so regarding estate management?” he asked.

  He watched her mull it over. “I have missed that part of my life,” she admitted. “All right. If you do choose to accept His Grace’s offer—and only if you need help—I would be willing to work with you.”

  “Thank you,” he said humbly. “I realize I could learn much from you.”

  As well as finding much to learn about her.

  Devin still wished to understand this woman. She kept so much to herself. He wanted to unwrap the mystery that surrounded her.

  And, God help him, he still wanted to do more than kiss her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Julia had caught the excitement which permeated the household on All Hallow’s Eve. It had been present from the moment she’d set foot in the kitchens this morning. Cook had told her many of the tenants would bring food but that the main house always provided the bulk of the feast.

  The tenants on her family’s estate had always celebrated Guy Fawkes Day instead of All Hallow’s Eve. She was looking forward to the festivities at Woodbridge. For a moment, sadness filled her, remembering all the good times she and her parents had on Guy Fawkes Day every fifth of November. Brushing a tear aside, she resolved to throw herself into today’s celebration and quell the memories from her past.

  She had gone to the Woodbridge library and researched All Hallow’s Eve and would use some of what she had learned in that morning’s lesson. Lord Devin was present, sitting at the end of the table. She had provided him with a list of common words in English to allow him to begin to string letters together on the page. He also was practicing writing his name. In cursive, no less. The man was certainly in a hurry to learn the skill of writing again.

  She couldn’t blame him. His army career had been ripped from him, a place which had become home to him. As a second son, he was expecting to be in the military for the rest of his adult life. To have it torn from him in such a tragic, unpredictable fashion must have been difficult. It was obvious he wanted to do something useful with his life. He was intelligent and personable, which would make him a good steward. Working for his close friend would also hold some advantages. He might even live in the main house instead of the cottage where Mr. Kepler resided and continue to mix in society. Why, he might even wed one day.

  Why did that thought irritate her so much?

  She didn’t have feelings for the man. Truly, she didn’t. Just because they had kissed and he was quite good at it meant nothing. A simple attraction, which had been resolved by a few kisses. Lord Devin would make a life for himself here at Woodbridge. She would not. Oh, she would be here at least a year, maybe two, but the day would come when her pupils would be caught up with their peers and need to go away to school.

  Julia would simply keep her distance from Lord Devin while she remained at Woodbridge. They would both be quite busy with their separate positions. Once he had gained enough confidence in his writing, he would no longer need to come to the schoolroom. She did not eat with Their Graces and so she would rarely see him. The thought shouldn’t sadden her as much as it did.

  “Get ahold of yourself,” she said under her breath.

  She decided after she completed her mission here at Woodbridge and the boys were enrolled in school, she would take a break from governessing. She had always wanted to travel. See a bit of England—if not the world. She had the funds to do so although no traveling companion to accompany her. It didn’t matter. She might be alone but she refused to be lonely. Lady Sowbury had seen to making this possible. She had yet to take advantage of the old woman’s legacy. When she left Woodbridge, Julia believed it would finally be time to do so.

  “Let’s put away your books for now and talk about the festivities happening at Woodbridge today.”

  Freddie slammed his book closed and pushed it aside. “What are we celebrating, Miss Birmingham?”

  “Tonight’s celebration comes to us from the ancient Celts, who lived in England long ago. They held a festival called Samhain, which meant end of summer, on the first of November. That date is halfway between the autumn and winter solstices. On the Druids’ calendar, it was thought to begin the new year.”

  “Like we start a new year after Christmas each year. In January,” Charlie piped up.

  “That’s right,” she said, proud he had remembered the work they had recently done on days and months. “The Druids believed that a spirit—a ghost—might be able to slip through the crack between the end of the old year and the start of a new one and visit loved ones. Others worried that evil spirits might slip from the dead and harm the living. That led to bonfires being built and lit.”

  “Like outside,” Charlie said. “I heard it’s going to be big and tall. All the farmers are working today to stack the logs high.”

  “They are,” she said. “Bonfires were said to mimic—act like—the sun. The bonfire is supposed to protect everyone who comes to see it.”

  “When we collected eggs this morning, Cook told us that everyone puts out the fires in their cottages and here in the big house before going to see the bonfire,” Freddie said. “Then they light torches from the bonfire and take them back and light their fires at home again.”

  “That a nice custom,” she said. “A new start.”

  “Cook also said everyone should remember those who passed,” Charlie said solemnly. “That means we need to remember Mama tonight.”

  She placed an arm about him. “Then you should do so. I will remember my parents, as well.”

  “Good morning,” a deep voice called from the doorway.

  Julia saw both Their Graces had come to the schoolroom and quickly stood. “Your Graces,” she said, bobbing a curtsey.

  “I hope we are not interrupting the lesson,” Her Grace said.

  “We were talking about the origin of tonight’s festivities, Your Grace,” she told the pair. “How it started in Celtic times.”

  The duke and duchess came and took seats, the table now filled. Julia slipped into her chair, wondering why they had come. Then she recalled how upset Charlie and Freddie had been when Her Grace became ill and knew why the couple had come to comfort these boys and share their good news in as private a setting as possible.

  “We wanted to talk with you about something very important,” His Grace said, taking his wife’s hand and smiling tenderly at her.

  “We know you have been a bit worried about me,” Her Grace said.

  Panic filled Charlie’s face. “You aren’t going to die like Mama did?”

  The duchess ruffled his hair. “No, Charlie. But I have been a little sick lately because I am going to have a baby.”

  Both boys looked at her blankly.

  Freddie spoke first. “Why does a baby make you get sick?”

  Her Grace laughed. “I wish I could answer that. I only know that it affects some women that way.”

  “Like your sister?” Charlie asked. “She’s going to have a baby.”

  “Yes, Minta was very sick for a few months. Then it went away. I am feeling sick in the mornings.”

  “You threw up,” Freddie said.

  The duchess smiled. “I did—and will probably do so numerous times. We did not want you to worry, though. It is all part of what happens before a baby arrives.”

  “When does the baby come? Are you going to get fat like Aunt Minta?” Freddie asked.

  Julia frowned at him and he looked sheepish.

  “Your aunt isn’t fat,” His Grace said. “It is the babe growing inside her that makes her belly so large. When it comes out, she will look much as she did before. In the meantime, we wanted you to know that your cousin is coming sometime in late May.”

  “May?” Charlie said, his nose crinkling up. “That’s forever.”