Twelfth Night Secrets by Jane Feather Page B

apparently deriving from the Latin vacca, for a cow. He injects patients with cowpox, and somehow it inoculates them against the disease.” He peered at his granddaughter. “I shall look into it further. If it works, then everyone on the estate must receive this protection, and you and the children most particularly.”
    Harriet smiled a vague acknowledgment, not at all sure quite how to respond. It was never wise to disagree with the Duke when he had taken to an idea, but she had her doubts about sticking needles into the twins, let alone the superstitious folks on the estate. It would come under the heading of witchcraft, she rather suspected. Tom and Grace would object at the top of their lungs.
    She helped herself to eggs. “His lordship is not joining us?”
    “He’s probably out around the estate. He’s a keen sportsman . . . just like Nicholas.” The Duke cleared his throat, then returned to his journal.
    Harriet took a chair at the table and buttered apiece of toast. She knew better than to interrupt her grandfather when he was reading and instead turned her thoughts to the day ahead. After breakfast, she must look over the menus with Cook and Mrs. Sutcliff . . . A gleeful shout from beyond the French windows brought her head up swiftly. She looked over at the windows, which opened onto the frost-sparkling lawns at the rear of the house. The twins were prancing outside, waving and shrieking with laughter, while Tess, the retriever, jumped up at them, barking and wagging her tail, obviously enjoying the game. Behind them came the tall figure of Julius Forsythe, tossing a ball between his gloved hands.
    “What on earth is going on?” Lionel demanded, staring over the top of his paper.
    “I’m not sure.” Harriet went to open the French windows. “Come in quickly, before you let all the cold air in.”
    “We were playing football, Harry!” Tom shouted as he catapulted through the door.
    “Yes, and I scored a goal, didn’t I, sir?” Grace cried, at a pitch rivaling her brother’s. “And then we found enough snow for a snowball fight.”
    “Yes, and we fought against Lord Marbury, and—”
    “Pipe down, the pair of you.” Their grandfather’s bellow cut Tom off in midspeech, and they both fell into openmouthed silence.
    “You may blame me, sir, for the excitement.” The Earl stepped into the room and closed the doors behind him. “Sit, Tess. Heel.” He gestured sharply to the retriever, who was still bouncing around the children. The dog sat obediently at his feet.
    “I fail to see why you should be held responsible for this unruly pair’s ill manners,” the Duke said testily.
    “Nevertheless, Duke, I am responsible for encouraging a rather lively game.” Julius’s smile was a little rueful as he bowed to Harriet. “Lady Harriet, I hope I may be forgiven.”
    “I know my brother and sister far too well to hold you to blame, sir,” Harriet returned with an answering smile that came all too easily. “It takes nothing to get them excited—a dog, a ball, and an element of competition will do it anytime.” She turned to the twins. “You had best go up and find Nurse Maddox. I’m sure she’ll be looking for you.”
    “Off you go,” the Earl said quietly, turning them to the door when they hesitated. “Let your grandfather continue with his breakfast in peace.” He shooedthem from the room, closing the door behind them, then stood with that same rueful smile, tossing the ball from one hand to the other.
    “Have you breakfasted, sir?”
    “Not as yet. I saw the children from my bedchamber window and was struck with the urge to kick a ball around.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I can’t think what came over me.”
    “Neither can I,” muttered the Duke. “Sit down, man. Take a tankard of ale, and Harriet will fetch you a plate of kidneys . . . or kippers, if you prefer.”
    “Or both,” Harriet said, regarding him with a raised eyebrow as she stood at the