The Duchess of Winshire’s beloved James had added a conservatory onto his townhouse as a wedding present for his new wife. Even a decade later, Eleanor felt warm at the thought. No. A decade did not decrease her appreciation of her husband. Rather, it made it richer and deeper. The conservatory was just one of many ways he showed his deep love for the companion of his old age. Her lips curved in amusement. Not as old as all that! Bed sports with a generous man she adored, and who adored her in return had been a revelation to the former Duchess of Haverford. Neither her children nor his appreciated the passion between the couple, and they tried to be considerate, but really! They were married, after all.
Today, the conservatory was a play house for two of her favourite people. The little Marquess of Abersham, not quite four years old, was a godson–almost an honorary grandson, since his father had been a close friend of Eleanor’s own son for most of his life. Lady Sarah Grenford, that son’s daughter, was almost a year younger, but imperiously certain of her right to rule of the child-sized tea table where the two children entertained an assortment of dolls, stuffed toys, wooden animal and tin soldiers to afternoon tea.
Eleanor had refused a seat on the tiny chairs in favour of an adult-sized chair pulled close to one side of the table, but she accepted the tiny porcelain cup Sally handed her, filled with coloured lemonade.
“Now you must hand Grandmama the custard squares, David,” Sally commanded, and Abersham obeyed, carefully carrying the plate around the table balanced on both palms. He bowed as he offered it, and it tilted, the contents threatening to slip off before he slapped a hand over the top of them.
“I saved them, Aunt Eleanor,” he told her proudly, lifting a sticky hand to allow her to select from the offerings, the custard slightly squashed under cracked icing.
“You crushed them, silly,” his sternest auditor pronounced.
“I’m not silly,” the young lord protested. Then, clearly feeling that honour must be restored, he stalked towards Sally waving his custard-covered palm in threat.
“Abersham, your manners, please,” Eleanor reminded him. “And Sally, ladies never call other people ‘silly’. You have hurt your friend’s feelings.”
Sally’s eyes widened and she turned to Abersham, all contrition. “I did not mean to, David. Here!” She picked up a linen napkin. “Let me wipe your hand clean.”
Abersham grinned, and licked his palm. “All clean,” he said, “and it tastes good.”
Eleanor thought about reprimanding the child again, but he had nurses and parents for that and, after all, he would not still be licking his palm at dinner parties when he was twenty. Let him learn kindness now and manners later.
Both were the eldest children of dukes, which meant they were more indulged than was good for them, but they both had sweet natures, and were dearly loved. And they had one another as the best of friends. What would the future bring them, she wondered, as she used a spoon to select the undamaged edges of her custard square.