Jenkins, his secretary, had spent the day laying out what was expected of him. Tomorrow, Peterson, his estate agent, would begin taking him on tours of the home estate. Introducing him to the tenants. Maybe stop by and visit the vicar and local authorities.
Of course, they had yet to go over the books together. A task that Devlin had been putting off. He knew at some point, he would have to delve into the numbers again. He shuddered thinking about it.
It was enough to sink a man under the weight of responsibility.
Oh well, somethings can’t be avoided.
Unlike Miss Jones, he thought suddenly. The woman had been avoiding him. He was certain that he had seen her change directions and duck into a linen closet when she saw him approaching.
Was he that upsetting? Or were these country girls different? No. he thought. He had seen the flair in her eyes. She was every bit aware of him as he was of her.
Was that why she avoided him? She was worried what he might do. Compromise her in some way. He really couldn’t blame her. A beautiful woman such as her had surely been pressured and pushed by employers and men of power.
Nodding his head in thanks as Scruggs opened the door, Devlin stepped into the dining room. He was surprised to see his three cousins at the table.
What was this? Was this the normal course of events in the country? ‘I thought children were to be seen only occasionally,' he almost said aloud before catching himself.
Lady Johanna saw the confusion on his face and said, “Father insisted we eat dinner with him whenever he didn’t have guests. Miss Jones assumed you would want to continue.”
The sad frown on Elizabeth’s face at the mention of her father could break a man’s heart. Swallowing, he nodded to the girls and took a seat at the head of the table.
Young Elizabeth and Isobel were to his left. Johanna to his right. Scruggs stood to the side, overseeing two footmen who would be serving them their meal.
The formality of everything rubbed against his back teeth like a persistent piece of grit.
Only the week before he had been able to eat alone and in peace. Now he must entertain three young ladies who looked as if they thought he might try to poison them.
Taking a deep breath, he nodded for Scruggs to begin serving.
“So, tell me about yourselves,” he said as he waited for his soup to be served.
The girls looked at each other. Johanna simply shrugged her shoulders. “What would you like to know, Your Grace,” she said.
Devlin leaned back as he pondered how little he knew about young girls. For all intents and purposes, he had grown up in an all-boys’ school. He had no sisters, his mother had died when he was very young. The only woman in his early life had been his Nanny, and he was rather positive she had been around since the last crusade.
What questions should he ask, he wondered? If it had been boys, he would have brought up trees, forts, dogs. What do little girls do all day?
Smiling inside, he had a brilliant idea. Turning to Scruggs, he asked the butler to send someone to find Miss Jones and ask her to join them.
The butler blanched for a moment, then nodded his head to one of the footmen who quickly left the room. The young man returned a few moments later and resumed his place. Hands at his side like a soldier awaiting orders.
Devlin decided to wait for Miss Jones before addressing the girls again.
At last, the dining room door opened, and Miss Jones stepped into the room. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, she was dressed once again in her simple gray dress. He wondered what she would look like with her hair down. Draped across bare shoulders.
“You asked to see me? Your Grace,” she said.
Her hands were clamped together in front of her. Her eyebrows raised in suspicion. She doesn’t trust me, he realized. Why? I’ve never given her reason to not do so. The thought was troubling.
“Yes Miss Jones, I was wondering if you might join us.”
“Join you? For dinner?” she asked with a confused look.
“Yes. You do eat don’t you, Miss Jones? Most people do.”
“Yes, Your Grace, I eat. But …”
Devlin smiled to himself. The woman was uncomfortable, and it wasn’t just because he’d asked her to join him at the table.
“I assure you, Miss Jones. No one will tell the King that my cousins and I ate dinner with their governess.”
Her shoulders slumped slightly in defeat as she hastily took a seat next to Johanna.
The girls smiled welcomingly to her. They see her as a savior, Devlin realized. Curious.
“A new setting Scruggs, if you will.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” the butler replied without a hint of frustration at the new arrangement. The idea of the governess dining with the Duke must be eating at his insides, Devlin thought to himself.
“So Miss Jones, I asked my sweet cousins to tell me about themselves. Imagine my surprise when they seemed hesitant. Perhaps you could lead the way and tell us a little about yourself.”
She blanched for a moment, then set her shoulders.
“There is not much to tell, Your Grace. My father was a tenant farmer. I was born in Yorkshire …”
“You have lost your accent,” the Duke interrupted.
“Yes, well, I was sent away to school at an early age. To Portsmouth, Your Grace. The headmistress insisted we speak as if we were raised in London itself.”
“Ah, that explains it. We seem to share a similar childhood. I too was sent to school at an early age. Tell me. How was a tenant farmer able to send his daughter away to school?”
“My uncle, Your Grace. He was a sailor in His Majesty’s Navy during the last war with the French. He received significant prize money after his ship captured several French frigates.
The Duke raised his brow in surprise. This was interesting, he thought.
Miss Jones continued, “Instead of wasting his money, he invested it. While never becoming wealthy, he became well off enough to send me to school.”
A frown threatened to cross her face at some unpleasant memory. There was something else there Devlin thought. Something she wasn’t telling them.
Pulling herself together she gave them a quick smile and shrugged her shoulders.
“That is all there is really. A farm girl, a boarding school, a few years teaching at Miss Charlotte’s finishing school, and then Governess to the children of the Duke of Hampton.”
“Are you going to send us to school too?” Isobel blurted out.
He saw immediately that it was of great concern to the little girl. He remembered when his father had told him he was being sent away. No explanation, no regret on his father’s part. He could still remember the gut-twisting fear that had torn through that eight-year-old boy.
“No, Isobel. You have an excellent governess. I don’t see any reason to send you away to school. Unless you’d prefer that, of course.”
“No, Your Grace,” the little girl said emphatically. “I think I want to stay here at Pine Crest. At least until I am a little older. Maybe when I am old like Johanna.”
He smiled at her. “Very well, we will think about sending you off to school when you are older.”
“Only for a short while, of course,” Isobel said.
“Oh, why is that?” he asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Miss Jones give a quick frown and subtle shake of her head.
Isobel intentionally ignored her teacher’s warning.
“Because, Your Grace,” Isobel said, “I am going to be a pirate. And pirates start young.”
Devlin fought to hold back a laugh.
Johanna rolled her eyes at her sister’s antics. “Really Isobel, you can’t be a pirate.”
“Why?” Isobel demanded.
“Because you are a Duke’s daughter. A Beaumont. We don’t do things like that,” Elizabeth interjected.
“Actually,” Devlin said, “I believe there was more than one pirate in our lineage. In fact, I do believe one sa
iled with Drake.
“Sir Francis Drake wasn’t a pirate,” Miss Jones said as if the mere thought was preposterous.
“Depends upon your point of view. I am sure the captains of those Spanish galleons would care to differ.”
The girls smiled. They were obviously not used to seeing someone correct Miss Jones.
The pretty governess studied him for a moment, then turned to study Isobel, “If you are going to be a pirate my dear, you will need to finish your vegetables. It is a well-known fact that pirates always ate their vegetables.” Miss Jones glanced at him, almost daring him to correct her again.
Instead, he smiled and resumed eating.
The dinner proceeded much smoother after Miss Jones’ arrival. It was as if the girls felt more secure with her there. More sure of themselves.
He was surprised to learn how different they were from each other.
Johanna with her books. Elizabeth, her drawings. According to Miss Jones, a quite talented artist with a great deal of potential. And little Isobel, a hellion at heart. A scamp who wanted nothing more than adventure and fun.
A girl after his own heart, he thought. Maybe it was something in the Beaumont line.
After dinner, Devlin gently reached out to hold Miss Jones from immediately following the girls to the parlor.
An unexplainable energy seemed to travel between them. Pulling them together like a force of nature.
She looked down to where his hand rested on her arm. Her face grew quite flushed. A most becoming look, he thought. Why did his touch bother her so much? A man could become attached to that blush.
He should make it his mission in life to make her blush. There were so many worse ways to spend a life.
A slight piece of her soft brown hair had escaped to fall across her cheek. The strand of hair had caught on her cheekbone to lay next to her luscious lips. Was it normal to feel jealous of a piece of hair?
He wondered what she would do if he were to reach up and tuck it behind her ear.
Suddenly the most important thing in the world had become to caress her precious cheek. To touch her in a way that would let her know how special she was.
Remembering where he was, and who he was with, he dropped his hand and bowed slightly.
“Miss Jones, thank you for joining us tonight.”
“Yes, Your Grace, Of course. We all have to eat after all.”
He accepted the slight tease as her due.
“I am glad you enjoyed it. I would prefer if you joined us at all meals the girls share with me.”
Her eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment.
“Your Grace, I really …”
“Please, Miss Jones, before you refuse. Remember, it was you who informed me that the girls needed family.”
“Yes, Your Grace. That is you. Not me. I am only their governess.”
“I need you,” he said.
Her eyes jumped for a moment. Seeing her confusion he continued, “I need your help. I know nothing about young girls. I need your help in navigating the waters. Of keeping the conversation moving along. I do not intend to spend my dinners in awkward silence. It is bad for the digestion.”
She hesitated for a moment. He wondered if she was worried about appearances or was she worried about spending time with him.
Probably a little of both.
“It is only for a short time, Miss Jones. Once the girls become accustomed to me, and I them. At that point, we will let you escape.”
At last, she nodded in defeat and accepted his invitation. Or, her eyes queried, had it been a command gently wrapped as an invitation?
“Of course, Your Grace. If it is for only a short time. I will ensure I attend all meals where you might have to interact with your cousins.”
He winced internally. When she said it like that, he wondered if it was really about the girls, or the fact that meals just seemed to taste better when Miss Jones was near.
The governess, seeing that he was done, gave a quick curtsey and hurried to catch up with the girls.
“Miss Jones,” Devlin said.
“Yes? Your Grace.”
“You and I both know, you are much more than a mere governess.”
The slight blush returned to her cheeks making him smile inside. Yes. He was going to enjoy staying in the country. At least for a short while.
Chapter Nine
The soft patter of rain on the window and the crackle of the fire were soothing in the late afternoon. Rebecca pulled the stitch tight, and paused for a moment.
She looked up and checked on the girls. Each of them seemed to be lost in their own pursuits. As she had been with her needlepoint.
Johanna sat on a window seat, legs bent, a book in her hands. The young girl always sat in the same place, in the same position. Only the book changed.
Elizabeth frowned as she studied the bowl of fruit on the table. Her sketch pad laid out in front of her. She had recently started trying to draw still-lifes. Rebecca thought the girl was pushing things too fast. Ten-year-olds shouldn’t really be attempting such difficult compositions. But, Elizabeth wouldn’t be discouraged, and Rebecca had decided against making an argument about it. The girl was only happy when she was drawing.
Little Isobel was on the floor playing with a combination of tin soldiers and the wooden horses her father had given her last Christmas.
A warm feeling flowed through her. The girls were adjusting. They were past the initial stages of grief over the loss of their father. It bothered her that the new Duke had a lot to do with that. His charm and easy nature had gone a long way to making the girls less fearful.
Not for the first time, she worried about Lord Warwick and his inquiries. Would he open up fresh wounds? Would the girls have to relive their father’s death? They were only now on the verge of returning to happiness. At least they could see happiness from here.
She thought again about the Duke. He continued to be insufferable. She could not understand him. At times, she thought him a ne’er-do-well, with little thoughts for others. The stories she had heard, the friends he kept. It was obvious the man was a rake.
At other times, he could be kind and considerate. But, was it an act? she wondered. A way to ingratiate himself into this new family.
While it had always been her intention that the girls and the new Duke become a family. It bothered her how easy he seemed to be at it. The man did everything so easily. It was as if there were no obstacles he couldn’t overcome.
Biting her lip, she admitted to herself that a small part of her was upset because he had not needed her.
The girls didn’t see his easy charm. They didn’t know enough to guard their hearts. It had only been a few weeks. Surely the man would show his true colors soon. A man such as the new Duke did not change from a rake to a domesticated father figure. It would never happen.
He might not need her, she thought. But, the girls would, when his true nature revealed itself.
Sighing, she picked up her needlepoint again and tried to focus on her task.
The click of the parlor door caught her and the girls’ attention. Rebecca almost gasped when His Grace stepped into the room.
They never saw him during the day. He was usually locked up with his secretary or agent. That, or out inspecting the estate. Except for their nightly dinner, he was like a ghost. A presence that hung over them, but was almost never seen.
Now, here he was in the parlor. What could he want? Was something wrong? Had one of the girls done something to upset him?
He smiled warmly and continued into the room. Their eyes locked for a moment, and she felt her cheeks blush. What was it about this man that a simple look could remind her that she was a woman, and he was all man?
Remembering her manners, she rose and dipped into a short curtsey.
“Your Grace,” she said.
“Miss Jones,” he said with a nod to her.
Each of the girls looked on with interest. They too, were surprised, and waiting to
be informed on their transgression.
The man was insufferable, she thought. He walked into a room, and all activity stopped. It was as if the world revolved around him. What was more? He expected it to do so. The thought made her want to grit her teeth. Instead, she smiled and waited to be informed of his wants and desires.
“Ladies,” he said. For some reason, Rebecca thought he included her in that simple word.
“I have decided I need a break. Mr. Peterson’s books are enough to try a saint. Numbers and numbers. I do believe I will die if I must study any more numbers. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I might join you.”
All three girls beamed with the thought of spending time with the Duke. All Rebecca could think about was how things changed whenever he was present.
Her body didn’t feel normal, and her mind seemed to be slower to act. It was enough to drive a person to Bedlam.
“Johanna can help you with numbers,” Isobel said from the floor. “She is very good with numbers. She helps me.”
“Isobel!” Johanna hissed for her sister to stop as her cheeks blushed a bright red.
The new Duke chuckled. “That sounds very enticing. How much I would enjoy turning over the duties to Lady Johanna. Unfortunately, it is my responsibility. So I suppose I will be the one who will have to decipher his scratches.”
Johanna smiled at her reprieve and then shot her sister a look of disgust. As if saying, ‘How could she be so stupid as to suggest she assume some of the ducal duties?’
The Duke stepped to warm his back before the fire, and glanced at the governess. Rebecca felt a warm shiver travel down her spine. The man was handsome. Those wide shoulders of his seemed to take up half the room.
“So, Miss Jones, Is it acceptable that I join you for the afternoon? I am not interrupting anything am I?
“No, you are not interrupting,” Elizabeth said before Rebecca could respond.
“Of course Your Grace,” Rebecca said. “We would enjoy your company.”
The Duke smiled at her. That infuriating smile of his. The one that seemed to be meant for her and her alone. He had a way, she realized, of making each person feel special. As if they were important to him.
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