The Duke of Defiance (The Untouchables #5)(40)

“You must beget an heir. At least I hope you can. Eight grandchildren and not one of them is a boy.” The contempt in her voice was clear. “I managed two spares, and sadly, they were needed.”

Did she miss his brothers? He’d thought she would’ve been practically prostrate with grief, but she’d never been terribly demonstrative. In fact, one of the things that bothered her most about Bran’s “defiance” was his open and deplorable show of emotion.

“Believe me, I wish I hadn’t been needed.” Then he could be back in Barbados, and he wouldn’t have had to tear Evie away.

The muscles in his mother’s jaw clenched. “Yes, well, here you are. We all do our duty.”

“Tell that to my daughter. She’s left the only home she’s ever known and now finds herself in a strange place.”

Her eyes flashed with offense. “England isn’t strange. It’s her home. She simply requires care to help her adjust.”

Bran narrowed his eyes at her for a moment. “You assume I haven’t thought of that. She has a nurse and a governess. Both are quite accomplished.”

“Wherever did you find them?” She asked as if he wouldn’t know where to look. And he supposed he hadn’t if not for the help and support of the Kendals, and most importantly, Mrs. Shaw herself.

As if conjured by his thoughts, she arrived at the sitting room door with Evie. Both of them looked rather charming—their gowns were the same color. Had they planned that?

Evie eyed her grandmother with a blend of curiosity and caution.

Bran’s mother reacted to the direction of his gaze, pivoting on the settee so that she faced away from him and toward the doorway. “My goodness, is this Lady Evangeline?” The question held a wonder that Bran had never heard from his mother. It made him unsettled.

Evie took three steps toward her and performed a beautiful curtsey. “Good afternoon, Grandmother.”

“Come and sit with me, dearest.” She patted the settee next to her, and Bran had to bite his tongue lest he tell Evie to sit somewhere else instead. “Is that your governess?” She flicked a half-interested glance at Mrs. Shaw.

“Yes,” Evie said, smoothing the skirt of her dress down over her knees after she perched on the edge of the settee. “Mrs. Shaw is the sister of the Duchess of Kendal. She’s a splendid governess.”

Bran’s mother’s eyes darted to his with surprise. “Indeed?” She looked toward Mrs. Shaw, who remained at the threshold, her expression serene. “Are you going to join us, Mrs. Shaw?”

Bran blinked at his mother. Had she just invited the governess to sit with them? Bran would’ve wagered everything he owned against such an occurrence.

Mrs. Shaw’s brows elevated slightly as she looked to Bran. He understood her question and inclined his head in response. She moved slowly into the room and took the chair to his right, across a low table from the settee with Evie and her grandmother.

Bran watched as his mother smiled dotingly at his daughter. He’d never, ever seen an expression like that on her face. “How do you like London?” she asked Evie.

“It’s a bit dreary compared to home,” Evie answered.

“Now then, England is your home,” she said disapprovingly. There was the mother he knew and despised.

“I suppose it is now.” Evie’s tone was sullen, and she kicked her legs a few times. She stopped abruptly, and Bran attributed that to the glance she darted toward Mrs. Shaw. Bran looked in her direction and saw that she was watching Evie with encouragement. Her presence was somehow helping this moment, and Bran wouldn’t forget it.

“Come now, dearest,” his mother said, making Bran cringe with the use of an endearment. He tried to think of what she’d called him and realized she hadn’t called him anything nice or pleasant. He’d just been sardonically referred to as “Bran the Defiant.”

“I know England must be very different, but you’ll come to love it more than you did that other island. Ours is far bigger, you know. And we have large, remarkable cities and of course many more people like us.”

“What do you mean, ‘like us’?” Evie asked.

Yes, Bran wanted to know the answer to that too.

“I mean more educated and refined people. Your father is an earl now. You understand how important that is, that he has very specific duties to his country, people, and the crown.” She flicked a glance toward Bran, as if asking if he understood that as well. Of course he did. It was like an albatross around his neck.

Evie looked at Bran and gave him a small smile. “Yes, but he’s still my papa.”

Bran’s mother addressed Mrs. Shaw. “What do you plan to teach Lady Evangeline?”

“All manner of things. I’ve only just begun my employment. I’m still ascertaining what she knows.”

The dowager countess pursed her lips. “She’s only five. What can she possibly know?” Her aghast tone made Bran’s teeth grate.

“I’ll be six next month, and I can read,” Evie said, somewhat defensively which only exacerbated Bran’s irritation. How dare his mother make Evie feel bad—Bran wouldn’t tolerate it. “And I know my numbers up to one thousand.”

“She’s already completing mathematical equations,” Mrs. Shaw added.