The Last Duke (The 1797 Club Book 10)

by Jess Michaels

  The only child in attendance was Phoebe, as the others had been put to their naps before the funeral. Now Sarah’s little charge sat on the Duchess of Abernathe’s lap, speaking solemnly to her as the pretty, sweet woman nodded with great interest. Sarah sighed with relief, for she knew having so many kind and attentive adults was good for the fragile little girl.

  “I so love seeing you.”

  Sarah jolted back to her companion. Her old friend Isabel, now the Duchess of Tyndale, smiled at her. Sarah forced the same. “I do too,” she said.

  She meant it. She desperately missed her best friend—she had for a year. But Isabel was not her equal anymore. She was elevated far past Sarah, so no matter how much she wanted to link arms with her and whisper all her fears and troubles, she resisted the urge.

  “I do wish it were under better circumstances.” Isabel pursed her lips and glanced across the room at the new Duke of Kingsacre.

  Kit was standing with the dukes of Donburrow and Northfield presently. Donburrow had a muscular arm slung across his shoulders and the men were not talking, but just…standing together.

  Sarah couldn’t help but be happy he had such support in this moment. She knew it all too well and had wished for the same when she’d felt it.

  “Sarah?”

  She shook her head and drew her attention back for a second time. “Yes, it is a terrible shame about the previous duke,” she said. “He was the best of men. Never anything but kind to me in the short time I was in his employ. Thank you for helping me obtain this position.”

  Isabel wrinkled her brow. “You have thanked me a dozen times already. I think that quite covers your obligation. I am your friend, Sarah. I only wish you would have let me help you more.”

  Sarah flinched. When her mother had died nine months before, Isabel had suggested Sarah simply come and live with her and her husband, Matthew. It had been an enticing suggestion, of course. But unfair. Sarah knew her future. She’d known it for a very long time.

  It was service for her. And so she had come out of her mourning swiftly, pushing aside her grief for her dead mother, and searched for months for a position. Ultimately, Isabel had introduced her to the previous Kingsacre, and here she was.

  For as long as it would last. The new duke suddenly glanced up and his dark gaze slipped to her. His face grew more serious, more closed off, just as it had in Phoebe’s nursery a few days before, and her heart skipped a beat.

  “You may have a chance to help me again,” she said as she darted her eyes away. “I’m not sure I will be governess here for much longer.”

  Isabel cocked her head. “You don’t think Kit will keep you on, despite the bond you’ve formed with Phoebe?”

  Sarah tried not to feel the sting that gripped her every time she pictured walking away from the sweet little girl in her care. “He doesn’t like me. You know that.”

  She looked across the room to where the Duke and Duchess of Crestwood stood together. Meg reached up and smoothed an errant curl from her husband’s forehead, and he smiled at her. Of course, Sarah felt no jealousy when she saw the exchange. In the three years since that ill-fated ball when she’d confronted the duchess, the deep love the couple felt for each other had become not a scandal but a story of triumph in Society.

  They clearly adored each other. Sarah knew enough now that time had passed to see what a great loss it would have been if circumstance had turned her way. She begrudged them nothing. How the duchess felt about her, of course, was a subject up for debate.

  “You think he still holds that silly moment from ages ago against you?” Isabel asked.

  Sarah shrugged. “Who knows? In the time I’ve been here, the man has avoided me to the point it could be considered funny. I once watched him walk all the way around the outside of the garden to avoid encountering me. He doesn’t even look at me most of the time.” She sighed. “There was only one time when his façade cracked and that was the night the duke died. And it was only because he needed my help when he told Phoebe what had happened. I suppose he mostly treats me like a servant, which of course I am.”

  Isabel shook her head. “It’s such an odd thing to hear, for Kit is normally so good-natured and kind. That he has focused so much on one moment from years ago seems so out of character.”

  Sarah wasn’t certain about that assessment. “I suppose I might offend him in some other way.”

  “He is difficult to read,” Isabel said. “You might only be seeing the effect of the strains of the last few years. He’s had so much on his mind since his father began to slip away day by day.”

  Sarah bent her head. Yes, that she could grant him. And she respected the way he had been with the old duke. Kit had hardly left his side, trying to tend to his comfort. He had been a marvelous son. She thought of her own mother. Of stroking her hair as she struggled. Of the day the struggle ended.

  “Losing a parent is…” She trailed off, for she could not finish the sentence.

  Isabel caught her hand. “Oh, Sarah.”

  Sarah straightened her shoulders and gently drew her hand away. Once again, she forced herself to remember her position in the world. The one that could not allow her to collapse in front of the Duchess of Tyndale. Or anyone else, for that matter.

  “It’s fine,” she lied. “I am fine. Even if I weren’t, you have other things to attend to.” She looked across the crowd to where Isabel’s husband was standing. He was watching the pair. “Including your family. The Duke of Tyndale seems to need you. I shall leave you to him.”

  She bobbed out a tiny curtsey and turned. She felt Isabel watching her as she slipped away. Felt the pain of rejection radiating from her friend. Felt the same pain squeezing her heart. But what could she do? They could not truly pretend that nothing had changed. Everything had.

  And if she didn’t find some comfort in her place, she could lose it. The new Duke of Kingsacre would surely be looking for any excuse to sack her.

  She moved to the back of the room, where she could stand ready to be of service to Phoebe if she were needed but would no longer draw the attention of the invited guests. But before she could vanish into the wall, Kit said something to his friends and moved toward her.

  She caught her breath as he crossed the room in a few long strides. He was coming for her. Oh God, would he dismiss her right here in front of all his friends? In front of Isabel? Was this the end at last?

  She smoothed the front of her gown as he reached her, looking down at her for a long moment that felt charged with electric energy. At last the silence stretched too long and she hustled to fill it.

  “Hello, Your Grace,” she said.

  He flinched at the address, and for a moment the mask slipped. She saw intense pain on his handsome features. Loss and grief and torment that she knew all too well.

  In that second, she wanted to comfort him. Take his hands and whisper to him that she knew. That when everyone said it would be all right, it was a lie. She wanted to run away with him, run until neither could feel the pain anymore.

  And then the mask returned and she blushed at her inappropriate response to it.

  “Miss Carlton,” he said, brusque and formal as he glanced back over his shoulder toward the group. “I realize I have been remiss in speaking to you since my father’s…my father’s passing. I think we should talk.”

  She blinked up at him, her heart racing so fast and so hard that she feared he could hear every beat of it. “Oh,” she squeaked. “Right now?”

  “Yes,” he said. “There is no time like the present, especially since my sister seems to be busy with Emma and Adelaide at present.”

  Sarah swallowed hard and nodded, for there wasn’t a way to refuse him. He was her employer, after all. He had all the power.

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “Very good,” he said. “Then please come with me.”

  Kit motioned Sarah into a smaller parlor just down the hall from where his frie
nds were gathered, and watched her walk inside. She turned in the middle of the room to face him, her hands clenched in front of her.

  She was trying to be strong. He could see that in the twitch of her cheek, the way her fingers fluttered against each other in their gripped position and how her gaze darted to him and away. Like a little bird flitting back and forth.

  She was nervous. She was also very pretty. Her blonde hair was bound simply at the base of her neck, but there were a few honey strands that framed her face, highlighting the angles of her cheekbones. She had full lips that were a warm pink color.

  He blinked as those facts rolled through his mind. None were surprising. He wasn’t certain of the first time he’d noticed the young woman standing before him. Certainly they had shared many a ballroom or parlor in the years since she first came into Society. His attention had focused fully on her that night of the ball when she’d spoken harshly to Meg, though.

  After that, he’d watched her. Noticed when she entered rooms, felt when she left them. When her hairstyle changed. When she had a new gown.

  “How is Phoebe?” he choked out, trying to clear his mind of the riot of thoughts clattering around in his head. Jumbled by grief, certainly.

  Her eyes widened a fraction, like she was surprised by the question. She cleared her throat. “As well as can be expected, Your Grace.” She hesitated a moment and then her expression shifted. Softened. “Despite her tender years, she is a very bright little girl. She seems to be a bit easier since you told her she would not be sent away.”

  He paled. “God’s teeth, the very idea that she would be. Where would she get such a notion?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I cannot imagine. A child’s mind twists in its own way. Some offhand comment or something she saw in a story…who knows.”

  “Well, I’m glad that my words comforted her in some way.” He dropped his gaze away. “I try to reach out to her, but…”

  “It’s difficult,” she finished softly. “You’ve had a great deal to do since…well, since that day.”

  He drew a long breath. This was not why he’d asked her here to talk to her. This momentary connection where she comforted him with her gentle words, her soft tone. He took a long step away, putting his back toward her.

  “Well,” he said, sharpening voice. “We will need to be very careful with her for a while.”

  “Of course,” she said slowly. He turned to face her and found she had edged toward the door. “Will that be all?”

  He arched a brow at the hopeful expression on her lovely face. The fact that she wanted to escape him was evident. It sparked a reaction in his belly that made him set his jaw.

  “No,” he said firmly. “My friends will be staying here a while. Is that going to be a problem?”

  The color drained from her face slowly and she swallowed, the action making her throat flutter. Her slender, lovely throat.

  “What do you mean, Your Grace?” she asked, her voice catching ever so slightly.

  He stepped forward. “I saw you and Isabel talking, and you were looking at Simon and Meg. I couldn’t help but think of what I stumbled upon one night not so long ago and if that will impact your ability to perform your duties.”

  For a moment she merely stared at him, hands trembling. Then she widened her stance a fraction, as if bracing herself for whatever would come next.

  “I assume you are referring to the incident that occurred between myself and the now-Duchess of Crestwood years ago?” she asked, her voice surprisingly strong.

  He arched a brow. “I am, indeed.”

  “I assure you, Your Grace, that we aren’t going to have a problem,” she said. “I know my place very well and what I am expected to do to keep it. Is that all?”

  “For now.”

  She blinked at his answer and a momentary terror entered her gaze. Then it was gone and she nodded. “Very good. If you need nothing else from me, I shall go collect your sister and see if she can be coaxed to try to sleep for an hour or so. She is overwrought, and I think it would do her good.”

  “Very good.”

  She turned and moved to exit the room, but at the doorway, she stopped and faced him once more. “Y-Your Grace, I realize you have been overwhelmed by your duties these past few days. I wanted to tell you again how very sorry I am for your loss. I-I know what it is like to lose a much beloved parent. Good afternoon.”

  She walked away, leaving him to gape after her in surprise. Oh, of course he had been given condolences many times in the days since his father’s death. Virtually everyone on his grieving staff had spoken to him and all his friends had done the same. He was certain he would hear many more words like hers in the days, weeks and even months to come, for his father had been much beloved in Society.

  But no one had yet framed his loss in the light of their own. No one had expressed empathy of that kind until she had. He looked to the spot at the door where she had spoken to him, and sighed.

  He didn’t want the woman here. She made him…uncomfortable in ways he could not articulate in words. But now that she had left him alone in the room, he also felt a little…empty. Like he had missed an opportunity he hadn’t known existed.

  He shook his head as he cleared away those odd thoughts. They meant nothing.

  Chapter Three

  If Sarah had believed there might be trouble to come out of the Duke of Kingsacre’s gathering of friends, the two days following his father’s funeral disabused her of that notion. Kit had not spoken to her since their encounter in the parlor. They had returned, somehow, to the same level of relationship they’d had before.

  He watched her. She felt it, though she had no idea what it meant. The rest of the party tiptoed around, quiet and solemn. They kept to themselves and asked for no special quarter from their host or his staff.

  “I suppose I should feel good about that,” she muttered to herself as she moved down the hall toward Phoebe’s nursery.

  Yet she didn’t. She still felt the guillotine hanging over her neck. Kit could drop it on her at any moment and end her employment. Without a reference, that could mean an end to her life as she knew it.

  Her stomach turned.

  She ignored the nausea, the anxiety, and opened the door to Phoebe’s chamber. She’d put the little girl down for bed half an hour before, but she wanted to check on her, make sure she’d been able to sleep. That had become a struggle since her father’s death.

  Sarah stepped into the chamber and stood a moment, letting her eyes become accustomed to the darkness in the room. When she could make out shapes of furniture, she tiptoed forward until she stood beside Phoebe’s bed in the firelight.

  To Sarah’s great relief, the girl was fast asleep, her little thumb tucked between her lips. Someday Sarah would have to discourage that behavior, but for now she had no intention of taking away any habit that offered comfort to her charge.

  She leaned in and smoothed a lock of hair from the little girl’s face. She did care for Phoebe. In the time she’d been here, they’d grown very close, closer since the death of her father, when Phoebe had begun to turn into herself more and more. Sarah could only hope she wouldn’t be dismissed and not just for her own sake.

  She sighed and slipped back out of the room. As she gently shut the door and turned, she started. Coming from the room across the hall was the Duchess of Crestwood.

  Meg smiled as she stepped closer. “Miss Carlton,” she said in a low tone. “I was just checking on my son. Were you looking in on Phoebe?”

  Sarah swallowed hard. She had not had a conversation with this woman for three years. She’d avoided an encounter strenuously. And yet here she was in the hall with her and the duchess was smiling like nothing terrible had ever transpired between them.

  “Er, yes,” Sarah managed when she gathered her composure. “She’s been having trouble falling asleep lately.”

  The duchess’s smile fell. “Poor little lamb. She must miss h
er father fiercely.”

  Sarah nodded. “Indeed, that is true. Though I think having a full house of friends is helping her a great deal. She so enjoys having the younger children here.”

  “She’s wonderful with them,” Margaret said immediately. “I overheard her telling Emma yesterday that she can help because she’s a big girl, not a baby anymore.”

  Sarah smiled. “That sounds like Phoebe.”

  She shifted as she realized how familiarly they were speaking. Too much so, considering their past and the lady’s position. Sarah took a step back and was about to make her excuse to leave the hall when the duchess tilted her head.

  “You seem to be very close to Phoebe, despite being employed here such a short time. I’m sure that offers her great comfort.”

  “I hope so,” Sarah said, glancing back at the door, her personal worries gone for a moment.

  When she looked at the duchess again, she saw a small smile on her face. “If your duties for the night are finished, I think everyone would love it if you joined us. The group is having after-supper drinks in the parlor.”

  Sarah couldn’t help it when her jaw dropped open at the unexpected invitation. “Oh no, I couldn’t,” she said.

  The duchess lifted her brows. “No?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I cannot imagine it would be appropriate, nor that the Duke of Kingsacre would appreciate his sister’s governess inserting herself into such a gathering.”

  Margaret’s face wrinkled. “Gracious, Miss Carlton, that is ridiculous. I am inviting you—it isn’t as if you would be striding in of your own volition. And you were raised as a member of Society, known to everyone in that room. You are one of our dear Isabel’s friends and I know she loves to see you. I insist that you join us.”

  “My dress,” Sarah said as she looked down at her plain, serviceable black gown. Although it wasn’t as fine as the lady before her, she was grasping for any last straw that might save her from the perseverance of this woman.