Page 51 of One Day for a Valet

Two more caterpillars wandered down Violet’s shoulder.

“How many more insects are you hiding in the sleeve of your gown, Duchess?” Christopher teased.

“A few. I thought it would be fun for the children to watch their metamorphoses. Mr Lioni, you must come in and join us for dinner. We’re having … well, I honestly have no idea as I detest menu planning, but I’m sure it will be better warm in the dining room than cool in the cabin.”

Oliver looked away.

“We certainly won’t force you through the door if you prefer your privacy, but I would love the opportunity to get to know you better.”

“No, of course. I would be happy to join you,” Oliver responded, although he didn’t sound even remotely happy at the prospect.

Christopher paused at the door. “If you will excuse me, ladies, Oliver, I will let Gabriel know he gets the pleasure of my company tonight.” He winked at Sofia and walked away, no doubt to ensure the footmen would not serve wine with supper.

A caterpillar swung upside down from Violet’s finger. “I have to find a temporary habitat for these lovelies. I think I will name this one Christopher. His antennae are quite spectacular. Brings to mind Christopher’s cowlick.” She stroked her index finger down the sparse hairs of the caterpillar, then walked towards the kitchens.

The siblings watched her until she was out of sight.

“She’s an odd one,” Oliver said, reverting to Italian.

“She’s just the right sort of odd. I like her very much. I’m fond of all of them. The duke and duchess seem like quite the unlikely pair when taken in apart from one another, but together they just … fit. They’re like the land and the ocean. They have few similarities, but when they come together, the sea crests over the sand, leaving some of herself behind as she welcomes him into her waves.”

Oliver cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Be as poetic as you want, Sofi, but I’m still not going to like him.”

Sofia sighed. “Very well. Hold your grudge. I need to wash my hands and face, and I’m not about to turn you loose here. Come on, I’ll show you my bedchamber.”

Sofia tidied herself while Oliver silently investigated the room.

“They certainly seem to treat you well. Regardless of my opinion of the duke, I am thankful for that much.” Oliver offered up the compliment begrudgingly.

“As I have said, they are exceedingly kind. Come on. We don’t want to be late.”

As they passed back by the open door of Gabriel’s office, she paused at the bright sound of Christopher’s laughter, then lingered in the doorway.

“That is equal parts pathetic and adorable,” Christopher said, his face flushed with laughter, arms braced against the top of the large mahogany desk.

The duke ignored him, his back to the doorway as he fumbled behind the side access panel of a clock until there was an unnatural clang. “That should do it.” He slid a boot pick into his pocket, then gingerly closed the panel as if he had not been committing clock homicide only seconds earlier. The pleased expression drained from his face when he realised he had acquired an audience to the admittedly bizarre behaviour.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “It’s good to see you on your feet, Mr Lioni. Good evening, Sofia. I hear you and the children led a siege today against the west end pond. I hope no ducks were harmed in the assault.”

The duke clasped his hands behind his back and met Sofia’s befuddled stare. He didn’t blink. Not a single twitch to indicate that anything remarkable had occurred. It was extraordinary. The man had a mask of aristocratic composure so convincing that Sofia would have questioned the accuracy of her own eyes had it not been for Christopher’s silent, near-hysterical chortles.

“I dare say the water fowl fared better than the inside bits to that longcase clock you just massacred. What are you doing?” Sofia asked.

“Leave it to an aristocrat to destroy a clock that costs more than I’ve made in my lifetime,” Oliver muttered.

Sofia glared at her brother. Gabriel had the grace to pretend he hadn’t heard the jab. He glanced at the clock, then back to Sofia.

“It’s Violet. She hasn’t been herself recently.”

Sofia tried to fit the destruction of antiquities into the quandary of an unhappy wife, then gave up when it was still not going to make sense. “And so …” she led.

“Violet likes to tinker. To fix things. It makes her happy.”

The duke ran one hand through his curls and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. In that moment, there wasn’t a duke before her, just a man worried over his pregnant wife.

Sofia worked the brief explanation around in her mind until it began to take shape. “Violet hasn’t been herself, so you break things—perfectly intact things—so that she can repair them?” An image of Violet on the floor with the shattered dinner plate came to mind. “The plate?”

The duke shrugged. “It’s what she needs to be happy. Something to study, to figure out. Challenges. And her happiness makes me happy. So I …” his voice trailed off.