Sophia nodded jerkily. “He seems to believe that he changed in such a manner that he couldn’t come back. That he no longer belonged here because he isn’t the same person. I think also, in some way he believes his mother would have been disappointed with the life he lived and the man he turned out to be.”

“She raised them to be sensitive, caring boys. The duke would have done his best to destroy that.” Mrs. Kettle glanced down and shook her head. “But what I would like to tell you, madam, is that within one week of the duke’s death we received a letter from the new duke’s land manager reinstating us to our positions as house- and groundskeeper.” Mrs. Kettle pressed her hand over her own heart. “The letter also contained a draft for the full amount of our wages for the years in between.”

Sophia’s heart swelled with a sudden rush of emotion. “Mrs. Kettle—”

“All that time, you see, he’d waited until he could make things right. As right as he could. He is still that same dear boy at heart.” The handkerchief again appeared for a swipe to both eyes—and then across for a dab at Sophia’s. “He just needs time to remember.”

The sound of a door and men’s voices ended their conversation. Mrs. Kettle gave her hand another squeeze before disappearing again into the kitchen.

Vane entered the room and the first sight of him took Sophia’s breath away. Snowflakes glistened in his hair, but warmth glowed in his eyes as he laughed in response to something Mr. Kettle said. Even if she and the duke never found true happiness together, she hoped their time in Lacenfleet would bring him some peace from the difficulties of his past.

“Duchess,” he said upon seeing her. “We’d best be on our way if we hope to complete this quest of baking cakes today.”

Mrs. Kettle emerged from the kitchen, a small bag in her hand. “More sugarplums for the trip to the house! And your dear mother’s book of cookery, where you can find the recipe for the cakes.”

Before traveling to the house, Vane steered the horse and sledge to the village grocer for the purpose of purchasing the necessary ingredients listed in the recipe book. Outside the shop, furrows from other horses and wagons marred the snow, as did a host of footprints coming from all directions in the village.

When they crossed the threshold, the grocer, a Mr. Gilmichael, left the customers he had been assisting, two elderly ladies, and rushed forward to welcome the duke and duchess and introduce himself. Everyone else present gave a respectful bow or curtsy.

“How may I help you today?”

“Please do complete your business with your customers,” Vane insisted. “We will wait until you are finished.”

The two gray-haired ladies, dressed in heavy caps and dark wool clothing, nodded their thanks, and the grocer returned to his place behind the counter.

In a low voice, he counseled, “Now, you must understand, this is the last I can offer to you on credit with your account being so much in arrears.”

“Yes, Mr. Gilmichael,” one of the ladies answered with a nod. “We thank you for being so generous today.”

Vane sensed Sophia’s rapt attention to the conversation, and indeed, when he glanced down, he discovered her green eyes to be twin reflections of sympathy.

A moment later, the grocer presented the two old women with a small crate of coal, which they struggled to lift from the counter.

Sophia jabbed him with an elbow. “Offer to deliver the crate to their home.”

“Me?” he inquired. He was not in the habit of playing delivery boy.

The ladies held the crate between them and struggled with its weight toward the door.

“Don’t be haughty. Just do it,” she urged.

Just then, the door opened and damn his eyes if Lady Meltenbourne did not enter.

Sophia nudged him. “Claxton.”

“Ah—pardon me, ladies.” He stepped toward the two, which appeared to startle them because their eyes widened and they dropped the crate to the wooden floor with a loud thud.

“Yes, your Grace?” they responded in unison, voices hushed.

“It would give the duchess and myself great satisfaction if you would allow us to convey your purchase to your door.”

“Oh no,” said the taller of the two, clearly mortified. “We couldn’t ask it of you.”

Sophia stepped forward. “It’s no trouble. We’ve a sledge, you see. If you’ll just provide us with your address, we’ll bring your parcel around once we’ve finished our shopping.”

The two glanced at each other. Again, the same woman spoke. “We’d be very grateful, then, if you’d deliver the crate to the orphan house.”

She provided them with detailed directions. After a profuse round of thanks, the two ladies disappeared through the door. Lady Meltenbourne, by now, had wandered off to the opposite side of the establishment and presently perused the offerings there.

“The orphan house,” whispered Sophia, her gloved hand rising to her mouth. “What a paltry bit of coal on a cold day such as this.”

She turned with brisk efficiency toward the grocer. “Mr. Gilmichael, could you please pull your account ledger? The duke and I would be interested in satisfying the outstanding debt for the orphan house and creating a satisfactory line of credit so that they can obtain the coal and food they require at times such as this.”

“We would?” said Claxton.

She threw him a sharp glare. “Yes, we would.”

Mr. Gilmichael presented the ledger for their review, and Claxton negotiated with Sophia a suitable settlement toward the cause. They also quadrupled the ladies’ purchase of coal for that day and purchased several bags of apples and oranges to add to their delivery so the children would have a special treat.

“Now, your Graces, what can I help you with as far as purchases?”

Sophia glanced into the recipe book. “Let’s start with citron.”

The grocer turned from her and selected a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and string, which he placed on the counter between them.

“My only package.” He smiled. “Not much demand for citron in Lacenfleet with the ingredient being so expensive.”

A short time later, when their purchases had been loaded onto the sledge and the grocer returned inside, leaving them alone, Claxton assisted Sophia into the seat. “For barely being my wife, you’re quite free with spending my money.”

“You’ve an estate here, which makes Lacenfleet your village, Claxton. It’s only right that you take an interest in its people. I’m certain the duchess did when she was alive. Not only that, but it is Christmas. If we don’t see to the orphans having what they need, who do you think will?”

Sophia was correct, of course. His mother would have done just the same. He could not help but admire her for her generosity. Such charity hadn’t occurred to him, not here in Lacenfleet or in the villages near any of his other estates. Which made him a selfish, arrogant ass, didn’t it?

“Mrs. Stone, the innkeeper, told me the people here have seen very difficult times over the last several years.” She spoke with quiet passion. “You have in your possession the power to change that.”

“Ah, but what you suggest now goes beyond simple charity,” he answered. “Once the river thaws, I’ve no plan but to shutter the house again. It’s not as if you and I would ever live here for any real length of time. I will, however, speak to Mr. Kettle over how to make better use of the land for the benefit of the village.”

Just as Claxton took his place on the blades, the grocer emerged from the doorway in a flustered rush. “Oh, your Grace, I’m so glad to have caught you before you departed. I’ve more gifts for the orphans.” He held two large paper sacks. “Peppermints. From the Countess of Meltenbourne inside. She asks that you deliver them with all the rest.”

Claxton observed a warm blush brighten Sophia’s cheeks, one he could only interpret as pleasure. She took the bags and settled them onto her lap.

“Please tell her thank you,” said Sophia as Claxton snapped the reins.

After a brief trip, they delivered the coal, fruit, and peppermints to the orphan home and remained for the next hour as honored guests, drinking tea and visiting with the children. The two widow caretakers could only press their faces into handkerchiefs when informed of the duke and duchess’s generous financial bestowal. Only then did Vane return with Sophia to Camellia House as a fresh layer of snowflakes fell.

Their morning had passed in pleasant companionship, the ugliness of the days before, while not forgotten, at least dimmed. Still, Sophia’s words of that morning sounded over and over again in his mind, that perhaps a separation remained the best decision for their marriage. But for his part, he could only see how well they got along together, just as they had before tragedy had pulled them apart. He had enjoyed their morning and could not be more pleased at how she and the Kettles had taken to one another. And their good deed for the orphans. He’d never been so moved by the simple act of giving a gift. And yet the gift would have gone ungiven, if not for Sophia.

In the kitchen he laid the fire while Sophia opened packages.

“Remember, the shopkeeper recommended that we dry the flour well.” Sophia placed two pans, in which she’d spread the powdery stuff thin, on a small table near the stove. “This will be your flour, and this will be mine.”

Vane, at Sophia’s direction, searched the cabinet for baking tins. “How very good of him to realize neither of us are experienced bakers.”

“Don’t try to throw me off, you sneaky devil,” Sophia teased.

He glanced over his shoulder, his attention immediately snagged by the velvety tone of her voice. “Sneaky devil?”