The Only Reason for the London Season

by Kristin Vayden

  "Girls, in spite of what you heard, remember that the duke is taking very good care of you. You're fed, you have a warm place to sleep and now, you have me. I imagine it is quite a difficult adjustment for him as well. Let us have grace for, well, his grace. Shall we?"

  ****

  Charles wiped his face with his white-gloved hand at the gentle and unaccountably forgiving tone of the woman just on the other side of the door. Thoroughly shamed not only by his butler, who had calmly reminded him that his guests were nearby and therefore privy to his loud declaration, but now the lowly governess also. There was only so much humbling a duke could survive without taking to an evening of fine brandy.

  A copious amount of fine brandy.

  Her words were gentle, but it was primarily what she said. In all of this, no one had even considered his feelings. As he thought of it, it did sound rather selfish. The poor girls had lost their parents and were forced to deal with the likes of him. But still, it was a miserable adjustment for him, regardless of the fact that they'd be in Bath shortly. Before, all he had to worry about was his land, his title and his-self. Now, he had the lives, the destinies of three young women, and as much as he truly was the monster the ton gossiped about, he wasn't completely heartless. He took his job seriously, and those girls wouldn't go without a single necessity or want. He'd make sure of it.

  He listened closely, waiting to see if she'd speak again.

  "Yes Miss Lottie. I suppose your right. Truly we've not even met him yet. So it wouldn't be fair to judge him."

  "At least yet," chimed in another voice.

  Charles grimaced. He'd been avoiding them for a few days now, conveniently leaving and returning when he knew they wouldn't be awake. He truly had no idea what to say to them.

  So he said nothing at all.

  "I'm sure his grace is quite busy." The governess spoke again.

  Was it his imagination or did her voice sound beautiful? Like it belonged to a beautiful woman, that is. He would know, he'd heard the voices of a great many women, many of them beautiful.

  Curiosity captured his fancy and he decided that there was no time like the present, so he straightened his stature, tugged his gloves into place and took a deep breath. Pushing the door open he was greeted by four gasps of surprise.

  The young girls all looked remarkably alike, and strangely enough, reminded him of his mother's portrait of when she was younger. His eyes then moved to the governess.

  And his mouth went dry.

  He would have to have a very serious word with Mrs. Pott.

  Mentally, he ran over his requirements for a governess for the girls. Appearance had never been spoken about, but in his head he was thinking someone, well, like Mrs. Pott.

  Not the tempting beauty regarding him calmly. Calmly? Shouldn't she be at the least, mildly afraid? He was a duke after all, and his reputation did precede him. Surely she knew, unless she was foreign?

  "Hello, ladies." He bowed crisply then strode over to the head of the table. Murray was out shortly, filling his wine glass and setting a place for him.

  "Your grace," the beauty replied, the girls echoing her voice in quick succession.

  "I trust you are the new governess?" he asked.

  "Yes, I was hired by your housekeeper just this morning," she replied, clearly not foreign but proper English.

  "Very good, and you lovely ladies, must be the misses Lamonts."

  "Yes, sir," they murmured in unison.

  "I'm pleased to make the acquaintance of such lovely ladies." He nodded, but his gaze slid over to the governess.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly as if seeing through him.

  Perhaps she did know his reputation then. No matter, in a few days' time, at the most, she would be gone to Bath with the girls, removing the temptation.

  ****

  As his bloody luck would have it, it rained. Not your English spring shower, but a monsoon-like torrential downpour.

  And after the first day, after he had tried to escape the confines of his house and ended up soaked before he made it to the second step, even with an umbrella, he decided he needed to catch up on his business.

  By mid afternoon, his eyes blurry and fully ready to direct themselves somewhere other than fine print, he strode out to the library.

  And found it was already occupied. Before he was noticed, he began to close the door, then paused.

  "Miss Lottie? How do I waltz?" one of the girls asked, he assumed the oldest.

  "Waltz? Well, first you should learn the cotillion, quadrille—"

  "Oh! I know those! I just never… well we were going to learn the waltz next but…" Her voice trailed off, distinctly hesitant and… sad?

  Belatedly he remembered the wards' loss of their parents. He knew the empty ache of loss that accompanied the death of one's mother and father, but he suspected that the wards were far more attached to their parents, than he had been to his.

  "We shall remedy that, then." The governess spoke again her tone overly bright, as if she had heard the sorrow as well. Carlotta. He practiced the name in his mind, letting its cadence float to his lips in a whisper. It was a beautiful name, a passionate name. The sound of it evoked the idea of color and desire.

  It was not the name for a governess, he decided, but a temptress.

  Which was all too accurate.

  A governess masquerading as a temptress. Heaven help him.

  "Now, Beatrix? Can you play the pianoforte for us? Slowly, if you please."

  "Yes, Miss Lottie."

  "Bethanny, I'm going to lead. But first, you must know that before you waltz, you must have permission from a patroness of Almack's. Understood?"

  "Yes, Miss Lottie."

  "Now, then. My hand will hold your waist, and your hand will rest on my shoulder. Very good. Beatrix? If you will?"

  The music began, painfully slow and all other instruction given was unclear. Charles stood to leave, took a full step away from the door and then—

  She laughed.

  It was glorious sound, deep and rich, unabashed and unapologetic with a joy that came from deep within. It was artless, it was full, it was perfect.

  Turning back around, he stared at the door, willing for the beautiful laughter to ring again.

  He wasn't disappointed, and to his amazement, he felt himself grinning, then chuckling as he heard the other girls join in with the governess' amusement.

  Unable to resist, he knocked.

  Then entered, because well, it was his house.

  "It seems that you are having entirely too joyful of a time in here," he said as he entered.

  The music stopped.

  The girls stood up straight.

  The laughter…ended.

  And his grin left at the same time.

  "Is there a problem, your grace?" the governess, Carlotta, asked.

  "No, no problem. I seem to be needed, however." He felt a roguish grin take the earlier one's place as a wicked thought entered his mind. "It seems that you are attempting to teach a waltz, am I correct?" he asked, walking forward.

  "Yes, your grace," Carlotta responded, her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

  "It is very difficult to learn unless observed first. Er…" He turned to the oldest girl, furrowing his brow as he tried to remember her name.

  "Bethanny," Carlotta helped.

  "Yes, Bethanny, have you ever seen a waltz?"

  "Once, my parents showed me but it's been quite a while, your grace," she stammered, her cheeks high in color.

  "Then allow me to assist." He turned towards Carlotta, took three steps and held out his hands. "May I have the honor?" He bowed.

  "Of — of, course, your grace."

  Her cheeks were blooming with color, her eyes widening in surprise as her lower lip caught in her teeth in what appeared to be anxiety.

  Glancing over to the piano player, he lifted his chin and then lowered it, signaling for her to begin.

  He placed his hand at her waist, squeezing it slig
htly as he pulled in a respectable distance. A moment later, her hand rested on his shoulder, even as her gaze was firmly set on the location of his cravat. After grasping her hand and arching it out, he began to lead.

  And all semblances this waltz had to a million others he had danced in his past ended in a breath. He had danced with a great many women in his day, but none of them compared with her.

  His hand burned where it touched hers, causing the heat to crawl up his arm, burst through his chest and ignite a passion he would rather have remained hidden. The scent of lemon and lilac rose from her skin, inviting and fragrant and intoxicatingly alluring. Her steps were light, her body the perfect size and shape, the shape being all too close to the forefront of his mind as his hand rested on her waist.

  He guided her through the steps, using the most subtle of cues for his direction and finding her flawlessly attentive. Her steps were graceful, and though her gaze hadn't lifted to his, he was shamelessly memorizing the heightened color of her cheeks, the delighted curve of her smile and her enjoyment made his complete.

  Till she glanced up.

  And he was reminded just how dangerous this dance could truly be. The music continued, reaching a crescendo that pulled him into the melody, and without forethought, he pulled her in tighter till he could feel her warmth.

  Only when she stiffened and her gaze shifted back to his cravat did he realize what he was doing.

  Only then did he remember that they had an audience.

  A very young audience.

  "That, Miss Bethanny, is how you waltz." He slowly released Carlotta as the music ended, his gaze never leaving her face, then loosing himself in her green depths as her gaze rose to meet his.

  "Oh." Came Bethanny's reply, breathless.

  "Thank you, your grace." Carlotta curtseyed, and if he wasn't mistaken, her tone was deeper, husky… affected.

  "The pleasure was mine." He bowed and then glanced away, and into the faces of his three wards, all wearing very different expressions.

  Bethanny's lips were split into an excited grin. The one on the piano, Beatrix? She was blushing as she turned away and stacked her music and the youngest… Robert-something, started twirling with an invisible partner.

  With a bow to the governess, he quit the room, his lips curving into a grin as he relived the sensation of her in his arms. But as soon as the delightful thoughts tumbled through his mind, he remembered her station.

  And his.

  And how foolish it was to entertain even the slightest attachment.

  But bloody hell, if she wasn't perfection in his arms, then he didn't know what was.

  ****

  "Let's have some tea, shall we girls?" Carlotta said as soon as the door closed behind the duke. She needed something, anything to distract her from the spell he had expertly woven around them while they danced.

  If she ever doubted the rumors of his nature before, she believed them now. The man practically turned the waltz into a ruining experience.

  It was delicious.

  And wrong. Very, very wrong.

  He was her employer, and a duke for heaven's sake! She could not let herself be affected by him.

  She would not let him affect her.

  "Miss Lottie! Do you think his grace will dance with me when I'm older?" Berty asked, her eyes wide with hope. "I've never seen anything so beautiful!" She sighed happily as she danced around the room, mimicking the waltz.

  "Perhaps," Carlotta answered, her composure returning as she watched Berty twirl.

  "He's a very good dancer," Beatrix commented as she stood from the piano. "You both are. I hope I'm as graceful as you, Miss Lottie," the girl added with a shy smile.

  "I'm sure you'll be much more graceful than I, Beatrix," Carlotta answered with a grin.

  "Is, I don't mean to question, Miss Lottie, but was that how close the waltz is?" Bethanny asked, her brow furrowed.

  Carlotta felt her face flush. "Not exactly, when you dance you'll want to maintain a bit more distance."

  "Why?" Berty asked, pausing in her dance.

  "For propriety's sake. The waltz is a very controversial dance, you see."

  "Why?" she asked, again. Carlotta was discovering it was the child's favorite question.

  "For many reasons, first, you are only with one partner not moving about like in a reel. Second, you are holding hands with the gentleman you are dancing with."

  "Oh. That was my favorite part." Berty's shoulders slumped.

  "If it's not proper though, why did you and the duke dance so close?" Beatrix asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

  Carlotta opened her mouth to give some sort of reply, one she hadn't quite thought up yet, and was interrupted.

  "Because… he's the duke and he may dance how he wants," Berty answered with a decisive nod.

  "And there you have it." Carlotta nodded as well, thankful for the little girl's statement.

  "Now, I believe I mentioned tea?" She spoke with a smile. Anything to get their little minds off of the most beautiful waltz she'd ever experienced.

  ****

  It was day four of the horrific rain. And Charles was feeling all the goodwill of a spring bear. He had finished all his paperwork, his estate business and anything else he could find. There was one final piece of business he had to attend to.

  He fingered the thick envelope then called for Murray.

  "Yes, your grace?" Murray asked, his lean face emotionless.

  "Please have this delivered to the address specified. Immediately."

  "Very good, sir." With a bow, he left.

  It's done. Charles thought to himself, feeling a weight lifting off his shoulders.

  He couldn't determine if it was the influence of having those wards in his home, or the allure of his pretty governess, but the thought of a mistress had turned decidedly sour.

  It was an impulsive action, but one he didn't regret. Celine had been nothing if not gracious, but… the idea left him empty, hungering for something more, deeper. Something he didn't quite understand or know how to attain but needed nonetheless. Taking the first step, he wrote the letter releasing her from his protection. No doubt she had quite a few gentlemen waiting for her availability, she had no worry about her welfare.

  He felt lighter, somewhat confused at his rare inclination at emotion, but pleased nonetheless and so, with a somewhat sunnier disposition than he began the morning, he left his study and wandered down the hall.

  And was immediately bored.

  Blasted rain.

  And, because he was curious, and indeed he found it far too entertaining of a prospect, he wandered towards the nursery. He told himself it was not to see Carlotta, as had taken to calling her in his mind, but to check on the wards. They were his responsibility, after all.

  He chose not to remember that just a few days ago he was wanting to ship them off to Bath without ever having to set eyes on them again.

  So with a blissfully ignorant decision made, he paused at the nursery door, and waited. It was curiosity, he told himself. Nothing more. But he was spending an awful lot of time pressed against doors recently. He smiled wryly. To think, Charles Evermore, Duke of Clairmont, listening through doors. What had the world come to?

  But as much as he tried to deny the truth, it didn't stick.

  It was her voice. The soft melodic tones were full of life; unpretentious and free they didn't have a sharp edge or double meaning. It was astoundingly refreshing, like an unexpected English rain shower just when you're overly warm from a long ride through the countryside. He hadn't even realized how jaded he'd become.

  "Girls, wait here."

  The words barely registered in Charles' mind before the door swung open, knocking him soundly on the forehead.

  "Bloody—"

  "What — oh! Your grace! Pardon me I had… are you injured? Should I call for Murray?" Carlotta asked, her face etched in concern.

  Charles studied her. Her eyes were wide with fear but also, concern. Her
gaze roamed his features, no doubt searching for injuries. Her eyes focused on a point just above his brow.

  "Your head." She spoke softly, then reaching out she placed the softest touch to his forehead, grazing his skin before her eyes widened as if realizing just what she was doing.

  "I'm so sorry, forgive me."

  "Nothing to forgive." Charles nodded, but his body was still humming from her gentle touch. Like a static shock only infinitely more pleasurable, her touch had created the softest glow of warmth that started at his head and traveled through the rest of his body, slowly growing into the familiar burning of desire.

  He swallowed. Now was not the time to think about bedding the help. Come to think of it, it wasn't ever a good time to think of bedding the help.

  "Was there something you needed?" Carlotta asked, her face still concerned.

  Wrong question, because he could think of a great many things he… needed.

  "I'm quite well. Just a… bump." He winced as he touched the tender place on his forehead.

  "Again, I'm so sorry."

  "There's no need."

  Carlotta nodded, and turned to go back into the temporary nursery.

  "Wasn't there something you needed, Miss Standhope?" Charles asked smoothly, inwardly grinning that she was so flustered.

  "Oh, yes. I'm needing, well, my hair pins actually." She glance downward, a humble smile teasing her lips.

  Her very pink and delicious looking lips.

  "Hair pins?" His curiosity completely peaked, he crossed his arms and waited for her to explain.

  "Yes, it's a game of sorts."

  "Very well, don't let me stop you."

  She bobbed a curtsey and left.

  He thought about leaving too, but found himself too curious.

  She returned shortly, and paused in walking through the door as her gaze rested upon him, sitting in a chair. He grinned at her expectantly.

  "His grace wishes to play too!" Berty exclaimed, her face lighting up in a cheerful smile.

  "My, well, I'm sure his grace will at least, find our game diverting." She spoke hesitantly as if she didn't quite believe the words she was speaking, but said them nonetheless.

  She laid out several pins, most of which were open in the shape of a 'V'.