The drawing room of the Duke's private residence was bathed in the warm, golden light of a new morning. Owen sat on the edge of a plush, velvet sofa, his small feet not quite reaching the floor. He looked around the room, his eyes wide with an awe he couldn't conceal. He gazed at the high ceilings, the elegant furniture, the grand piano in the corner, and the way the sunlight streamed through the tall, clean windows, making dust motes dance like tiny fairies in the air.
He bounced up and down several times on the soft sofa cushion, a wide, delighted grin spreading across his face. It was the most comfortable thing he had ever sat on.
Delia entered the room carrying a tray with a crystal jug of lemonade and two tall glasses. She smiled at the sight of him. "I see you're making yourself at home."
