Free Chance the Winds of Fortune by Laurie McBain Page A

inquired, a mocking look in his heavy-lidded eyes as they lingered on his wife. “If I remember correctly, Sabrina corresponded almost daily with Mary while you were visiting Green Willows,” the duke informed Richard and Sarah, to their astonishment. Then a grin of amused satisfaction warmed his lean face as he met Sabrina’s startled gaze. “Now, if you will forgive me, I’ve a small errand to see to,” he excused himself. “And do not despair, my sweet, for I promise I shall not be too hard on Robin. Indeed, how could I, when he looks just like you?”
    The duchess gave an audible sigh of relief, for Lucien could be quite a stern parent at times. “He will settle down, Lucien. He’s just excited; after all, Mary and the children will be here tomorrow, and then Robin will have plenty of companions to play with,” she said to reassure her doubtful-looking husband.
    â€œThat is precisely why I want a word with him now,” Lucien replied, shaking his head as he walked to the door. It opened just as he reached it, and his elder son and daughter hurried in, followed almost immediately by a loaded down tea tray.
    â€œPoor Rendale, he’ll never escape their pranks now that Robin will have accomplices,” he predicted as he paused in the doorway, his narrowed gaze resting briefly on his two children. “I trust you will help keep an eye on your brother, for if there is any trouble, you will bear the brunt of my displeasure,” he warned, disregarding their groans of protest as he left the room.
    â€œFather! That isn’t fair!” Francis called after his retreating back. “If Robin knew we were supposed to keep him out of trouble, he’d just get into more,” he complained, frowning with concentration as he selected a plate full of sweets from the tray.
    â€œAnd what was that dire warning about?” Richard demanded of his niece and nephew, swiping the rich, cream-filled cake that Francis’s hand had been hovering over. Then his chuckles of appreciation filled the room as Rhea Claire recounted the afternoon’s incident, Francis’s uncharitable remarks making the earl look more ridiculous than ever.
    â€œI did warn you, my dear,” Richard told his wife, “about marrying into this madhouse. And I believe Lucien is well justified in his concern for the earl’s safety, for Mary, despite her gentle appearance and manner, is usually the center of the storm,” he joked, selecting another sticky-looking confection.
    The duchess sipped her tea, her eyes traveling around the room and lingering every so often on a laughing face. She spied her forgotten embroidery and smiled thoughtfully; she knew that Mary would most likely be more than pleased to complete it, for she had inherited their late aunt Margaret’s expertise with needle and thread. Dear Aunt Margaret, who had never quite known where she was, or even what year it was, Sabrina remembered, her smile turning sad. Yet Aunt Margaret could sew a line of delicate stitches straighter and neater than any royal seamstress. Ah, well, it would be good to see Mary and her family again, the duchess thought in anticipation while she poured fresh tea into the cups being held out to her expectantly.
    * * *
    Rhea Claire’s bedchamber at Camareigh was decorated in shades of pale blue, yellow, and silver. The tall windows, overlooking the gardens along the south wing, were draped with hangings of pale blue and silver damask. A canopied bed with hangings in the same pattern sat snug in one corner, while a molded fireplace occupied the wall opposite. A small chaise longue, delicately curved and upholstered with soft down cushions of blue velvet, and several curved-back white armchairs, with pale yellow and silver-striped brocade cushions, filled in the space before the windows. A small writing table and chair were positioned at the end of the Aubusson carpet, but it was at the