“You are absolutely right, Merry,” Persephone agreed. “I do not want them to leave. It has only been a few days and the physician said it would take at least a sennight for Temperance to recover from the fever.”

  “A fortnight would be better,” Constance added.

  “Mum hardly ever cries during the day,” Maddy whispered.

  The tears welling in the little girl’s eyes gutted Flaherty. “Here now, I can barely handle one woman’s tears—not the both of ye. Someone has to stop. Now!”

  Instead of the immediate reaction Flaherty expected, Merry gasped, Constance’s eyes widened in shock, and the duchess snorted, trying to cover her laughter.

  “What part of this do ye find amusing, Yer Grace?”

  Persephone met his stern expression with one of irreverence. “Do all men expect someone to stop crying simply because you tell them to?”

  Flaherty would rather be on the receiving end of Garahan’s jaw-jarring right cross than admit that tears unmanned him. He was helpless trying to stop them. Most often he had no idea why a woman started to cry in the first place. On the defensive, he muttered, “’Tis me duty to fix this. Why can I not tell her not to cry?”

  Merry’s eyes danced with merriment, while Constance stared at him.

  The woman weeping in his arms did not sound as if she intended to stop anytime soon. Flaherty had to admit that he had lost control of the situation. That was unacceptable. “Someone has to stop crying!” He raised his eyes to the ceiling and mumbled a curse he hoped the duchess would not hear. They had orders not to upset Her Grace, but he was in the middle of a maelstrom of tears that was slipping out of his control.

  Maddy wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I stopped, Just Flaherty. See?”

  “There’s a lass,” he crooned. “Now, if yer ma would only stop, we could all sit down with a nice cup of tea and chat.” He stared at the women surrounding him, daring any one of them to contradict him.

  Her Grace was the first to agree. “That last part of your suggestion makes more sense than the first.” She turned to the cook. “Constance, the tea should have steeped by now. Have one of the footmen fetch it along with a plate of your lavender scones. They are delicious, and the scent is so soothing.”

  “At once, Your Grace.”

  “Merry, please join us. My darling duke will have no reason to complain that I have overexerted myself if you’re with me.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” The housekeeper entered the room first, shifting chairs and retrieving the blanket that had fallen to the floor.

  “Are ye wanting to sit, lass, or lie down?” Flaherty asked Temperance.

  Maddy giggled, breaking through the tension in the room. “Mum can’t sip tea lying down.”

  “Well now, Miss Maddy, ’tis an excellent observation. We’d best set yer ma in the chair.” He leaned down and gently placed Temperance on the seat. Pulling his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, he wiped the tears from her face, stifling a groan when more welled up. “I’m thinking ye’ll be needing a half-dozen linens if ye cannot shut off yer tears, lass.”

  The duchess placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you for arriving in time to prevent an injury, Rory. We’d better let you return to your duties before you are missed.”

  He inclined his head. “Aye, Yer Grace.” Relief filled him when he glanced at Temperance, and she’d managed to stop crying. “If ye have need of me, I’ll be patrolling the perimeter.” Bending down, he brushed his hand over Maddy’s curls. “Ye’re a brave little lass. Keep an eye on yer ma for me.”

  Her expression shifted from worry to resolve. “I will.”

  “Faith, I know it. Thank ye.” He strode to the door and steeled himself to not look over his shoulder and see if Temperance watched him.

  Flaherty left the building, intent on retrieving his gelding. Striding toward the stables, he wondered if Temperance’s husband had been able to easily halt her tears. His gut churned and his temper simmered as he reached for the door, and it struck him—he was jealous of a dead man! “Ye’re a fecking eedjit.”

  The snort of laughter had him spinning around and tossing a punch. Garahan tilted to the side. “Yer aim is off.” Frowning, he added, “Ye’d best get yer head on straight before ye ride out to guard the perimeter.”

  Flaherty curled his hands into fists before relaxing them. “Me head’s fine.” He grabbed hold of the handle and yanked the door open.

  “Keep telling yerself that, boy-o.”

  Garahan’s laughter grated, but Flaherty ignored it. The urge to pound on his cousin was strong, but his sense of duty was stronger. His horse was saddled and ready for him. He led the gelding out of the building, gained the animal’s back, and headed toward the road that wound around the duke’s estate.

  A mile down the road, he couldn’t remember if he’d thanked the stable master. The man took excellent care of the horseflesh the duke owned. Flaherty and the rest of the guard appreciated the man. The fact that he could not recall meant that his head was muddled. I won’t be admitting that fact to Garahan—or anyone else!

  Rounding the bend in the road, he glanced over his shoulder as the trees obscured his view of the duke’s ancestral home. Once Wyndmere Hall was out of his sight, it was easier to set aside his worry for the distracting woman and the wee cailín aside. He’d left them in the care of the duchess—a force to be reckoned with when she wanted her way—and the duke’s staunch housekeeper and cook. The older women and Humphries the butler had proven their mettle when Wyndmere Hall was under attack from the unhinged Viscount Hollingford.

  Scanning both sides of the road was second nature to him. Alert to changes in the landscape, and the itch between his shoulder blades when he sensed danger, Flaherty covered the familiar ground, while memories from the attack two years ago added to his sense of unease.

  At the time, the newly pregnant duchess had been the catalyst convincing Merry and Constance to put herself, the duke’s sister, and two of her friends to work. They had gathered and sorted the linen to be used as bandages and retrieved herbs that would be needed, while water heated and threads were boiled. Willing hands helped chop vegetables and meat for the stew, soups, and meat pies Constance deemed necessary to feed the men defending the duke and his family. Loaves of bread and batches of scones were consumed while more were baking. Every single man and woman on the duke’s staff had pitched in wherever needed, while tenant farmers fought alongside the duke, his brother the earl, and the sixteen men in the duke’s guard.

  Flaherty slowed at reaching the first of the handful of spots sharpshooters had used in the past. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, he urged his mount to pick up the pace. Riding through an open section with fields on both sides of the road, he admitted to himself that he missed that span of time he and his relatives were all stationed together. They had fought and bled side by side to uphold their vow to the duke. Not long afterward, the duke’s brother had married, and the first of the duke’s guard had been assigned to protect Earl Lippincott and his bride Lady Aurelia.

  Movement to the left caught Flaherty’s eye and had him slowing his mount to a walk. He slipped the rifle off his shoulder, took aim, and waited. The hedgerow moved close to the ground as a fox darted from beneath it. He exhaled, eased his finger off the trigger, and slung the rifle over his shoulder.

  The rest of his patrol was quiet—eerily so. He’d be reporting that fact to Patrick, who’d relay the information to His Grace. They would no doubt discuss whether to request that additional men be sent north to increase their numbers. Captain Coventry, the duke’s London man-of-affairs, and Bow Street Runner Gavin King would combine their resources and discuss who best to send to the Lake District.

  Guiding the horse to the south, Flaherty let his thoughts return to the green-eyed, dark-haired woman who’d unknowingly tugged at his gut and whispered to his heart. The overwhelming need to protect her and her daughter surprised him. Having watched his cousins wrestle with needs that sometimes conflicted with their duties, he accepted that his head and his heart had never been captivated by a woman before—separately, yes, but never settling on the same woman.

  Three and a half hours into his patrol, the lass was still on his mind, firmly wrapped around his heart—alongside her daughter. With half an hour left until the shift change, he knew without a doubt that the two lasses held the key to his happiness and the future they would make together.

  “Rory lad, ye’ve finally done it,” he mused as Wyndmere Hall was once more in sight. “Ye’ve given yer heart to the wee lass and her ma. God help me if they hand it back!”

  Chapter Seven

  Temperance could not help but stare at Flaherty as he left to man his post. She’d thought her husband was the only man with shoulders that broad or a chest that deep. Memories teased the edges of her memory, begging to be let back in, but she held them off until she was alone again. She needed to be a help, not a hindrance.

  Constance returned, followed by one of the footmen bearing a large tray. “Please, set it over there.” After the man bowed to the duchess, he retreated to the hallway. Temperance hoped he was not close enough to listen to their conversation. From the way the ladies relaxed, she decided if they were not bothered by a footman overhearing whatever they said, then she wouldn’t be either.

  “Mum, your nose is red.”

  Temperance sighed. “I’m certain that my eyes are too.”

  Maddy patted her mother’s face and sighed. “They swelled up.” She pressed her lips to Temperance’s cheek and patted her face a second time. “Tea will help.”

  Constance smiled. “Tea is just the thing…the stronger, the better.”

  “Not too strong,” Merry warned. “Invalid’s diet. Remember?”

  Temperance felt as if she’d been hugged. These women had showered herself and Maddy with attention and caring. She had to find a way to repay them.

  “You are such a wonderful help to your mum,” the duchess remarked. “Merry tells me you folded the linen cloths all by yourself.”

  Maddy beamed at her. “The hand ones…not the big ones.”

  “The size isn’t important—the task undertaken and performed to the best of your ability is what counts, Miss Maddy.”

  Her little girl’s happiness with the compliment was infectious, though Temperance worried her daughter’s exuberance and lack of deference to the duchess’s title would upset Persephone. Protective as a mama bear, she decided the direct approach would be best.

  “Your Grace, may I ask you a question?”

  Persephone frowned. “Of course. Ask me anything.”

  “I have become more protective of Maddy after having to leave my last few employers. I hope you do not think I’m trying to overstep. That isn’t my intention, but Maddy is such a happy child that she sometimes forgets the proper way to address the people we meet.” When the duchess merely inclined her head, Temperance continued. “Neither Maddy nor I have ever met a duke or duchess before. Please do not think we do not respect you or your title, Your Grace. We hold you in the highest regard, and are beyond grateful for your indulgence, allowing us to remain here for the last few days.”

  Persephone sighed. “If you are about to tell me again that you intend to leave in the morning, let me remind you that the physician has yet to return to reexamine you. Until he assures me that you are fully recovered, you are not leaving.”

  Temperance was surprised by the duchess’s firm tone. She had not heard her use it before. “But surely we are in the way—”

  “You are not. Jared and I are so pleased that you appear to be regaining your strength. Tomorrow morning, Merry will help you move upstairs. You and Maddy will have the yellow guest room. It has a lovely view of the rose gardens.”

  “Mrs. Duchess—” Maddy began, only to furrow her brow in concentration and look at Temperance.

  “It’s Your Grace, remember, Maddy dear?”

  The little one nodded, reminding Temperance of her husband’s mop of blond curls. “Your Grace?”

  “Yes, Miss Maddy?” Persephone replied.

  “Did you forget about”—Maddy looked at the open door and turned back, lowering her voice to just above a whisper—“the faeries, the dew, and the flowers?”

  Persephone’s soft laughter filled the room, chasing away Temperance’s worry. The duchess was nothing like the merchant’s wife. She would never raise a hand to Maddy.

  “I was waiting until everyone finished their first cup of tea. But now is the perfect time to discuss our plans. Would you please close the door, Maddy?”

  Temperance watched her daughter bounce up, rush to the door, and, using two hands, close it. “Like that?”

  “Just like that.” Still smiling, the duchess refilled their cups while Constance served the lavender scones, adding an extra dollop of clotted cream to Maddy’s. “Thank you, Constance, these are delicious.” She finished off her first scone and turned to the ladies. “Now then, Miss Maddy and I plan to go to the gardens early in the morning.”

  Maddy clapped her hands together. “It’s a dawn ’scursion.”

  The duchess nodded at the little girl. “An excursion because we’re hoping to see faeries.”

  Maddy bounced on her chair and nearly fell off, but caught herself in time. “Faeries! Know why, Mum?”

  “I believe I do,” Temperance replied. “Your grandmother and I used to wait and watch for the faeries when I was your age.”

  “I don’t remember her.” Temperance held out her hand, and Maddy took it and climbed up onto her lap. Laying her head against her mother’s breast, she sighed. “She and Grandfather are in Heaven with Papa.”

  Her throat tightened, but Temperance ignored it to answer, “Yes. So is Uncle Matt.”

  “He and Papa were brave.”

  “Aye, my love. The bravest.”

  “They saved miners,” Maddy told the duchess. “’Cause the ceiling broke when the floor rumbled.”

  Understanding filled the duchess’s dark eyes.

  Before her daughter said anything further about the tragedy, Temperance said, “Maddy, dear, we can talk about Papa later, when we’re alone.”

  Maddy shrugged, but thankfully fell silent.

  Needing to distract her daughter before she started talking about her father again, Temperance said, “I saw a faerie with flaming red hair and green eyes. Her wings were as delicate as a spider’s web.”

  The duchess smiled. “The one I saw had ink-black hair like yours, Temperance. Her bright-green eyes tipped up at the corners. Her smile was decidedly mischievous.”

  “’Cause they like to laugh and spin and fly up high!” Much to the delight of the other women, Maddy demonstrated by laughing, spinning, and throwing her arms out to her sides as she flew around the room.

  “Maddy, you know you aren’t supposed to run inside,” Temperance scolded her.

  “Just this once,” the duchess said. “To show us how faeries fly. It has been some years since I was Miss Maddy’s age.”

  Temperance crooked her finger, and Maddy slumped her shoulders and dragged her feet until she reached her mother’s side. “Do I have to ’pologize?”

  “You do.”

  Maddy sighed deeply. “To everyone?”

  “You do, but you should address the duchess first.”

  “I’m ever so sorry, Your Grace.”

  “That was a lovely apology, thank you, Maddy,” Persephone said.

  “Sorry, Miss Constance, Miss Merry.”

  The older women inclined their heads, accepting the little girl’s apology.

  “Well done,” Temperance said.

  “Can I have another scone, Mum?”

  “You need to ask Her Grace,” Temperance reminded her.

  “Mrs.—Your Grace, can I?”

  The duchess’s warm smile was all the assurance Temperance needed that Maddy would be forgiven for running circles around them while she flew. “Of course you may. Do you have room in your tummy for one more with clotted cream?”

  Maddy’s eyes widened. “Yes!” When Temperance sighed loudly, Maddy remembered her manners. “Please and thank you.”

  While her daughter nibbled on the scone, Temperance asked, “Will we be able to watch for faeries without an escort?”

  The duchess’s eyes brimmed with merriment. “We shall certainly try—that is the fun part.”

  “Fun?” Temperance asked.

  “Oh yes, outwitting Patrick O’Malley and his cousins will be a rare feat, but I believe we are up to it.”

  “Your Grace?” Maddy asked.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “You forgot Just Flaherty.”

  “Maddy, dear,” Temperance began, “his name isn’t Just—that was his way of telling you he wants to be called Flaherty.”

  “He said it twice, Just Flaherty. ’Member?”

  When the duchess stifled her laughter, Temperance gave up. She would try to explain later. “What about Flaherty?”

  Maddy frowned at her mother, but before she could say anything, the duchess chimed in, “We discussed asking Flaherty to carry you outside, if you were too weak. Maddy didn’t want you to miss out on our excursion.”

  “’Cause I love you, Mum.” Maddy scooted closer and pressed a feather-soft kiss to Temperance’s cheek.

  “I love you too, Maddy.”

  “Now that that’s settled,” the duchess said, “I suggest you rest, Temperance, just for an hour or so.”

  “Oh, but I’m not tired.”

  “When I tell Mum that, she makes a face.”

  The duchess’s lips twitched, and Temperance appreciated that Her Grace did not want Maddy to think she was laughing at her. “Does she?”

  “Uh huh. Like this!” Maddy scrunched her face until her eyes were tiny slits and her chin was jutting out.

  “I see. Do you think it would work if I made that face at her?”

  “Yes! Do it!”

  Temperance could not believe how wonderful the duchess was with Maddy—but then, she was a mum herself, though her twins were younger. When the duchess made the exact same face as Maddy, Temperance bit her bottom lip and hung her head. “I’ll rest, Your Grace.”