Free Strathmere's Bride by Jacqueline Navin Page B

any time whatsoever, when I would approve the children—” his jaw worked as he visibly struggled with the next words “‘—wallowing in the dirt? ”
    She tried a weak smile that turned into something more akin to a grimace. “No.” To her horror, her voice squeaked.
    “Thank you, Miss Chloe, for I feared that perhaps my sanity was failing me. I knew I had specified in clear language what my wishes were regarding Rebeccah and Sarah’s excursions out-of-doors— what they were to be, when and how they were to be conducted. I was even given to understand you were m compliance with these wishes.”
    She knew she should sit quietly and wait him out, but she couldn’t help herself. “Your grace, if I may—”
    “No!” he thundered, his eyes blazing as he brought his left hand slashing through the air. Chloe sat back with a little squeak.
    He seemed no less surprised than she. He angled his head down and away from her, peering intently at some point on the Aubusson carpet to his left, or perhaps beyond it, until he could speak again. “No, Miss Chloe, you may not.”
    “I only wished to apologize.”
    He gave her a hard stare. “And should I expectyou mean that, or is this another of your convenient shows of capitulation meant to appease me, which, I have learned, are as sincere as crocodile tears?”
    “I am no liar, monsieur. ” It was said with dignity.
    “I am glad to know it. I would like to hear an explanation.”
    “What do you wish me to explain?”
    “I want to know why you disregarded my wishes and took the children outside and allowed them to roll in filth like common waifs in the streets of London?”
    Her mouth opened and the words spilled out before her brain even registered the impulse. “Did you never enjoy the play of children less noble than yourself?”
    It was unconscionable, really, to use the snippet of gossip Mary had related so relentlessly against him, but the way it stymied him brought a thrill to her heart, and it drowned out the pangs of her conscience.
    When he was silent, she asked again, “Did you never play as the commoners do? Or was it always lofty pursuits? Geometry and finance and classical literature?”
    “I fail to understand,” he said at last, “how this questioning of me relates to your giving me an explanation. Please address the topic, Miss Chloe, and avoid straying into one of your delightful tangents, which always seem to conveniently divert attention from the matter at hand.”
    He was lending no quarter. “I merely wished to know if you could understand the intention behind what I admit was my disobedience. I did go deliberately against your wishes. I regret that. I have noreal explanation except that I think having the children indoors all day in such fine weather as this, with winter fast approaching, is criminal. I believe they need diversion, especially at this time in their lives.”
    “And I have stated that they need stringent routine, to bring structure and security to this particularly difficult time.”
    “With all respect, your grace, I do not know how you would be aware of what Rebeccah and Sarah need. You know them not at all.”
    “This is a conversation we have had before. They are children. And they are the children of a duke. They need instruction and discipline. That is final, mademoiselle. ”
    Quietly, wearily, she said, “No, your grace, they do not.”
    “I trust I am in a better position to determine what my nieces’ needs are than you.”
    “No, your grace, you are not. I know them. You do not. I am very sorry for the message. It gives me no pleasure to tell you that you have no idea what is best for those two little girls. It is a harsh truth, but there it is.”
    “And I suppose you are well versed in child rearing. What philosophies do you espouse, Miss Chloe, that advocate thorough soaking in storms and then allowing children to grovel in muck?”
    “Water dries, sir. And dirt is washed off. Within moments, voilà, one