“He is ugly,” said Augusta. “An ugly duck.”
“Everyone always talks about how ugly he is,” explained Harry. “But then one day, he is beautiful.”
“Oh.” Patience glanced at Mr. Woodsworth. “I believe I have met someone like that.”
“Who?” asked Augusta, her dark brown eyes wide with interest. “Who is an ugly duck?”
“Oh, no one is an ugly duck, exactly, but don’t you think your uncle is a bit serious?”
Both of the children stared back at her with their heads cocked to one side.
“You think Uncle Anthony is an ugly duck?” Harry asked, his voice louder than Patience would have liked. Mr. Woodsworth glanced in their direction for a moment. “I don’t think he is ugly.”
“Oh, neither do I, but I have seen him turn beautiful.”
“Uncle turned beautiful?” Little Augusta’s eyes brightened, and she turned to look at her uncle with what looked like a newfound respect.
“How did he do it?” Harry looked skeptical. “And why isn’t he beautiful now?”
“I think he is beautiful now.” Augusta bent toward Patience, looking for confirmation. “Why don’t you think he is beautiful now?”
“Oh, he does strike quite a figure.” Patience truly hoped he was out of hearing distance. “But I saw him turn beautiful just like that duck. And it was easy. He just had to do one simple thing. Do you know what that was?”
Both of the children shook their heads.
“He smiled. Have you seen your uncle smile?”
Augusta put a finger to her lips and tipped her head to the side. Harry also looked deep in thought as he said, “I’ve seen Uncle smile.”
“When?” Patience asked.
That stumped him. He had no reply.
“Should we make him smile now? You can see him change just like that duck did.”
This time both of the children nodded, their eyes wide.
“Are you going to tickle him?” Harry asked.
Patience covered a snort with her hand. Mr. Woodsworth’s eyes flashed in their direction once again, only this time Patience was picturing her fingers reaching under his jacket to find just the right place to torment his ribs. Mr. Woodsworth’s frown deepened as if he could read her thoughts. His disapproving face just made her want to laugh harder though, and she grabbed the edge of the table with all her might. This was exactly what Nicholas must have meant when he told her to be more serious. She couldn’t let her guard down, even around these children. Mr. Woodsworth didn’t seem to be the type of man who would appreciate humor. He looked away eventually, and she took a giant breath.
“No, I will not be tickling Mr. Woodsworth. We must think of a different tactic to make him smile.”
“Biscuits,” said little Augusta. “Biscuits always make Harry smile.”
“They make me smile too, but unfortunately I don’t have any biscuits.”
“Dance with him.” Harry’s face lit up, and Patience realized the transformation must run in the family; the boy looked completely different.
“Pardon me?” Patience asked.
“That is how Papa always got Mama to smile.” He threw his shoulders back in triumph. “He loved to make Mama smile.”
Patience glanced over at Mr. Woodsworth. She couldn’t imagine dancing with him here in the nursery, and she hardly thought that would make him smile.
“I don’t think dancing is the right answer.” What would make a man like Mr. Woodsworth smile? A well-balanced ledger? “Tickling might be the only answer, but I am afraid I don’t know your uncle well enough to do that. Why don’t you tickle him, Harry?”
“Me?” he squawked. “I don’t think I know him well enough either.”
“Quite possibly no one does,” Patience said. Mr. Woodsworth and his sister were walking toward them. “We will think on it, and perhaps we can come up with something together. I shall be spending a lot of time with you, and Augusta can only work on her numbers so often in a day.”
“Are you sure she is competent enough to be with the children? She is just a maid,” Mrs. Jorgensen was saying once again in French. Patience focused on the book the children were looking at. Mr. Woodsworth and his sister weren’t lowering their voices or talking behind their hands. They obviously felt secure in their knowledge that the new maid wouldn’t understand them.
“She is competent,” Mr. Woodsworth said. “See how your children have already warmed up to her. She may be unconventional, but there is something about her that inspires confidence.”
“A maid that inspires confidence?”
“Oui” was Mr. Woodsworth’s short answer. Patience didn’t dare look up. She feared her eyes would be shining in gratitude. No one had ever said anything like that about her before. He was probably just saying it to appease his sister, but Patience would remember it anyway. She was someone who inspired confidence. That was no small feat. And it had nothing to do with being the daughter of a duke. It was Patience herself he was speaking of, not her position.
“How was your visit with Miss Patience?” Mrs. Jorgensen asked her children, returning to English.
“Good,” Harry answered.
“She thinks Uncle is a duck.” Augusta piped up.
It took all of Patience’s control not to throw a hand over Augusta’s mouth. Perhaps she had inspired too much confidence in the girl. “I didn’t say that.”
“Are you a duck?” Augusta asked.
“No, he is not a duck.” Patience didn’t dare look at his face. Those frown lines would be deep.
“But you said—” Augusta started. Patience gave up on propriety and threw a hand over her mouth.
“I never said you were a duck.” Patience snuck a look at Mr. Woodsworth’s face. He wasn’t actually frowning—it was more of a confused scowl.
“That’s true,” said Harry. Bless the boy. “She never called you a duck.”
Patience dropped her hand away from Augusta’s face and straightened as much as she could in the tiny child’s chair she was sitting in. “You see, I would never call you a duck.”
“She said you smile like a duck.” Harry snorted and ducked his head down. Patience shot him a look that she hoped conveyed her disappointment in his disloyalty.
“And she said she wouldn’t tickle you.” Augusta simply had to put the final nail in her coffin, and right after Mr. Woodsworth had called Patience competent. It had been nice while it had lasted.