Page 25 of The Duchess’ Second Chance

“Will you sit down, please?”

Worthington hesitated, frowning. Sampson had never asked him to sit down in the study before. It made sense that he would find the request an awkward one. But right now, Sampson needed to talk to someone who might be able to give him some perspective about what had happened when the girl had been in this room, and he had no one else. He couldn’t speak to Amanda; she might misunderstand and think he was angry with the little girl. And his morning meeting with Oliver had shown him all too clearly that his friends wouldn’t take his plight seriously.

Worthington sat down. “How may I be of help?” he asked.

“I want to know what you think of her,” Sampson said. “Of little Rose.”

“I’m afraid I’m not sure what you’re asking me,” Worthington admitted. “She seems an ordinary child.”

“Does she?” Sampson asked. “You didn’t form any impression of her beyond that?”

Again, Worthington hesitated. “She seems as though she’s been through some difficult times,” he said. “She seems to have her guard up.”

“That’s what I perceived from her as well,” Sampson agreed. “I don’t know what to do about it. I want her to feel at ease here. This is her home, after all.”

“I’m sure she’ll settle in, given time,” Worthington said. “You’ll just have to wait and be patient.”

“I hope so,” Sampson said. “I’ve never dealt with children before, Worthington—have you?”

“I have none of my own,” the butler said. “I do have a young nephew, my sister’s child. I suppose I might say I have some experience because of him.”

“And do you know how to make him feel at ease? Is he comfortable in your presence?”

“I think he is. But you must understand, Your Grace, that that’s different from your situation.”

“Because of my scar.” Sampson lifted his fingers to his face and ran them over the deep contour of the scar. It was a self-soothing habit he had picked up since the war, a way of reminding himself that the scar was simply a part of him now and always would be. The more he touched it, the easier it became to think of it as a permanent part of his face. He didn’t like it, but he was beginning to feel at home with it—as if it was a guest that had moved into his house against his will and was never going to leave.

You can learn to live with anything, I suppose.

“I wasn’t referring to that,” Worthington said. “I only meant to point out the fact that the little girl doesn’t know you very well yet, so, of course, it would be difficult for her to feel any measure of trust or comfort. It’s not the same with my nephew. He’s known me all his life.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Sampson conceded. “But what am I supposed to do about it?”

“It’s kind of you that you want to make her comfortable, Your Grace,” Worthington said. “It’s good of you to worry about such things. The fact that it matters to you…that’s something she’ll notice on her own eventually, I’m sure. And when she does, it will go a long way toward assuring her that you’re someone she can trust.”

Sampson sighed. “But what about in the meantime?” he asked. “I want this arrangement to work out. I want it to be something that allows for contentment from all parties involved. That’s what George would have wanted.”

He was fairly sure it was, at least. He understood that George had never even known the little girl…but he had wanted to raise a family with Amanda. He’d wanted her to have the chance to be a mother. Rose was probably the closest Amanda would ever come to that, and he wouldn’t feel as if he was fulfilling his vow if he couldn’t manage to make Rose feel at home.

He ran a hand over his face. This was all proving to be much more complicated than he had ever expected, and the fact that his feelings for Amanda hadn’t faded was not a help. When she’d walked into the room, he’d been half-tempted to get to his feet and go embrace her.

It would be a perfectly appropriate thing for a man and his wife to do…and yet, perfectly inappropriate for me and Amanda. Because this isn’t that type of marriage and never was. Because we don’t have that sort of relationship with one another. We never will.

Sampson let out a long sigh. “All right, Worthington,” he said. “Thank you for talking to me about this matter. Will you please let the cook know that I want to make sure there’s something special for dinner? It’s the first meal the three of us will be eating all together, and I’d like to show the duchess and the little girl that they can expect quality while under my roof.”

“Of course.” Worthington rose and nodded. “I’ll see to it that the dinner is of special quality, Your Grace, never fear.”

He opened the study door and let himself out, remembering to pull it closed behind him.

Sampson leaned back in his chair and pondered the conversation he’d just had—and the one just before it, in which little Rose had stood in this room glaring at him.

Worthington was right. He was sure her anger masked a lot of fear. A lot of insecurity about her place in the world. And, of course, she couldn’t possibly feel comfortable here, given that she didn’t know the place—or Sampson—at all.

He wasn’t sure what he could do about that. He hadn’t engaged in this marriage in order to befriend children. Allowing her to live here, providing for her well-being, that was one thing. But he had no idea what to do with her beyond that.

It really isn’t my responsibility, he reminded himself. It’s not even what Amanda asked of me. The thought put him somewhat at ease. Amanda would see to the girl’s personal comfort. It really wasn’t Sampson’s job to do that. His part would simply be to ensure that she had everything she needed to live comfortably and safely.

Yes. That’s all I need to worry about—and I know I can do that.