by Liz Tyner
She didn’t know why she’d not recognised him at first, but then she’d only seen his father a few times.
Plus, this duke had not been shaven when she’d first seen him. She’d always, somehow, assumed that dukes woke up clean shaven, perfectly groomed and perhaps occasionally needed their hair dusted, not with powder, but to remove the earth that had surely been stirred up as people scurried around to do their bidding.
This man did not fit her vision of a duke.
He couldn’t seem to stop himself from moving. She expected that he also retraced every word she’d said, searching for all he could figure out about the situation.
She’d watched his back as he worked. The thin lawn of his shirt, sometimes dampened by sweat, did nothing to hide his muscles as he strained to find an escape. She knew at times he had concentrated so hard he forgot she was there, mumbling curses.
He’d once stopped and pulled a splinter from his thumb with his teeth. The way his eyes had darkened and his teeth snapped, he’d appeared wilder than anyone she’d ever seen. Dukes did not have feral glints in their eyes.
Oh, goodness, perhaps they did. Perhaps they were just like her grandmother, except on the other side of the societal ladder. They kept to the top rung, her grandmother on the bottom, and everyone else was trapped between them. And now her grandmother was shaking the ladder.
An irritation flashed in her. She didn’t want to be at either end of the hierarchy.
She just wanted to hang on to the ladder and be left alone.
She recognised that little things about him had seemed to change now that she knew he was a duke. It didn’t seem possible. He appeared bigger, stronger and more capable. And he was scruffy, especially since he wasn’t wearing the coat with the one button ripped away.
But now she saw the truth. He acted as a leader would.
He’d not been able to stop trying to escape because his life was his to control. Always. Now it was not and he could not accept it.
Whenever he rested, he did so by moving about the edges of the room, searching again for something he might have missed to free them.
‘You’ve tried the floor, walls, the door and both windows. A thousand times over.’
‘The alternative is to do nothing,’ he said. ‘Which will result in nothing. I will find a way out. If for no other reason than to keep her from having the last laugh.’ He paused, but then sat on the bed. ‘You’re correct, though. This is not a game of movement, but of strategy. To move accomplishes no preordained result if it is not planned properly.’
Her grandmother worked by the same principles, but she claimed the stars told her which way to move.
‘If something she imagined told her to do something wrong, she should not have listened. Because she didn’t listen when you told her to set us free.’ Miranda waved her hand about, her voice becoming falsetto. ‘I must do this or that because the stars tell me. Well, if the moon had told her to stick her finger in a fire, I dare say she would have doubted that.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Chalgrove whispered. ‘Perhaps, in a sense, that is what the stars told her and she did it.’
Chalgrove kept his sight on the door. He didn’t want her to see his mistrust.
She let her knees drop and fell to the bed.
She stared at him, determined, it seemed, to convince him.
‘I’m content with my status of governess. I have had men express an interest in courting me, but I see no reason to leave a comfortable life. Granted, it isn’t always easy. But I have children to care for—a family of my choosing and their choosing—and my life is considerably better than a wife’s might be.’
He watched her eyes. He accepted that someone had expressed interest in courting her. She had an expression that captured a glance and stretched it into longer ones.
‘The men who asked to court you—how did you meet them?’
She shrugged away her answer. ‘At the shops. I take the children out for walks, even though I always have Nicky with us. He drives the coach. He’s got a whip and it’s not for the horses, he said.’
‘Protective?’ He could understand someone wanting to take care of her. She did appear fragile. Willowy. But from the thrust she’d landed on his shoulder, he would gauge her sturdy.
He only had her word she was a governess, though. And servants sometimes moved to the wrong side of life.
‘Very. He understands I am a gentle woman. These are extraordinary circumstances.’ She spoke the words rapidly. And she also declared them as if she’d also expressed them, at least to herself, many times. ‘I work hard to be proper at all times. It is my employment and my livelihood. I must.’ She tapped her chest. ‘And the little ones. They are my heart.’
Her eyes softened when she mentioned her charges.
‘I must get back to them.’ Her lips quavered. ‘The children... They are my happiness.’
‘It is a perilous thing for anyone else to hold your happiness.’
‘True. But as soon as I held Willie... I saw him in his nurse’s arms and he had two little teeth, more drool than smile, and I just fell in love with him. There are hours when I don’t love him, but still, he has my heart.’
She’d not even needed to say it. He saw the love reflected in her face and heard it in her voice. So, she did care for the children.
‘He’s a mess.’ She smiled, shaking her head, and the emotion he heard in her words magnified. ‘And Dolly. She is a treasure and the despair of her brother as he doesn’t like to share attention. But Dolly is too precious to even know when she is getting notice.’
She paused, reflecting. ‘I cannot be upset about the misfortunes of my life because it brought me my mother, and then, when she died, it brought me Dolly and Willie. So, I hold no one responsible for the past. But I don’t want an old woman to take my future away from me.’
She slid from the bed, reaching for his coat on the floor, but then she stilled and glanced back at him. ‘It concerns me to see such a garment tossed aside. I feel it should at least be off the floor.’ She indicated a peg. ‘May I?’
Instead of answering, he strode to the peg, then wrenched it free and held it.
‘Why did you do that?’ she asked.
‘I realised it might be held in place with a nail and presumed that might help us.’ He tossed the peg aside. ‘But the nail has rusted through. Broke easier than snapping a twig. Easier than losing trust.’
‘Trust?’ She lifted his coat. ‘I would have trusted the old woman to take these buttons. But she didn’t.’ She slipped a finger beneath the rip in the coat. With his strength, he’d torn the button from the fabric.
‘I once knew a woman who would have happily snipped them off and pouted at my mistake of not wearing more,’ he said.
‘You were tricked?’
‘I courted a woman whom I cared for. She was already married. I didn’t know it. No one else knew, except her husband, I suppose.’ He shrugged.
That had sweltered inside him for months, like banked ashes kept from waning, which could still cause pain.
He’d been so convinced Susanna was a jewel. But afterwards, he’d recalled so many little things that should have warned him. He’d recounted them over and over and been amazed at how easily he’d brushed them aside as they occurred. He’d been deceived by an alluring woman and he’d fallen into her machinations.
‘It’s different. For a...duke. You have to marry. I don’t.’
‘I don’t have to marry. The Royal Dukes can take their time. I can be the same. I have many friends. I have my family. My mother. My cousins. My sister. She says I am the twin of her heart, except I am of the wrong gender, the wrong size and the wrong sensibility, and rarely see things as she does.’
‘It isn’t that you don’t have people to show you care in your life. It sounds as though you might have too many. You don’t feel
the need for a wife because you have numerous people who love you.’
‘Life isn’t about love. Susanna didn’t put me off marriage. She made me wary of my ability to see the truth.’ She’d misled him so completely. ‘My perceptions were flawed. I truly had faith Susanna was more than she was. I overlooked her mistakes easily enough.’
He moved to his feet, remembering the love Miss Manwaring had in her eyes for the children and realising that even Susanna had cared deeply for a little dog he’d given her. ‘This talk accomplishes nothing. We’re imprisoned and thinking of things we don’t need to concern ourselves with. Escape is all we should consider.’
Chapter Seven
Miranda watched him stride into the other room.
In her mind’s eye, she could see him brush the flannel over his bearded chin, around his neck and into the hollow at his collar.
She pulled the pillow over her face, trying to close out the visions of him, but the gesture didn’t work.
She noticed him in a way she’d never been aware of a man before.
He was titled and she was certain that increased her awareness. Even though her father had lived among the peerage, he’d always kept her secluded from his life.
He’d really not wanted her observed. After all, she was his ward, not his child. He’d never accepted her.
She’d not particularly cared. He’d been gruff with the servants, not spoken to her governess and had been condescending to her mother.
The only thing she ever remembered her mother openly going against him was in her insistence that Miranda be their ward and a part of their family. Although Miss Cuthbert claimed her father didn’t have a bad opinion of Miranda, she strongly doubted it.
When Miss Cuthbert left, then heard of another governess post and wrote to Miranda about the employment, Miranda obtained it before telling her father. She presented it to him as a fait accompli.
His jaw had flexed when she told him and he’d agreed it might be best for her.
Within days, she’d started over in her new life. None of the servants seemed particularly welcoming at first, but she didn’t care. Getting away from her stepmother had made Miranda feel like singing and kicking up her heels.
She had sung and she’d danced with the baby in her arms. Willie’s mother usually spent Sunday afternoons with him, and spare mornings here and there, but she was completely happy to keep Miranda close at hand.
Miranda had been so thrilled to discover a new child was on the way.
Willie’s mother hadn’t recovered from the second birth. But Miranda hadn’t had time to mourn her as Dolly had been a fitful newborn and the first wet nurse hadn’t stayed. Willie had also been demanding because he’d been used to constant attention. Miranda had had a morose employer, Mr Trevor, a little boy with an over-abundance of energy and a baby who needed cuddles much of the time.
But in those circumstances, she and the staff became closer. They all rallied together, working to bring Mr Trevor back among the living, to keep Willie quiet and Dolly settled.
One night, after a particularly rough day, Cook stepped out of her role and brought Miranda teacakes after the house quietened. Miranda had been surprised, both that Cook had noticed Miranda hadn’t eaten and that she’d strayed upstairs, and taken on the duties a maid would normally assume. Cook had claimed that she’d not wanted to see Miranda faint away with a babe in her arms, as her own daughter once had.
They’d talked long into the night, alternating who carried the whimpering Dolly, and Miranda had realised she had a family.
Now, she gazed around the room at the meagre surroundings. She’d lived in poverty and in wealth. While she liked the tidiness wealth brought with it, she hardly noticed her surroundings, only aware of the people around her and their goodness or badness.
Chalgrove stepped back into the middle of the room and scrutinised the walls, windows and doors, before his regard stopped on her and locked with the intensity he might have used if she’d had the key to their escape.
* * *
Her hair, Chalgrove noticed, haloed around her head, pins loose.
He could easily understand why she was a governess, particularly after she got misty-eyed over a little one. Miss Manwaring would be good with children. It was the comforting feeling he’d sensed emanating from her. The children would like that. Hell, grown men would like it.
He’d never really reflected much about having children, but now that he was with Miss Manwaring he realised he’d want someone like her as a governess to his children.
It would make marriage easier, not having to worry about who took care of his offspring, or what kind of mother his wife might be. If Miss Manwaring would be a governess to his babies, his wife would never even have to check on them. He’d not even need to take much care in their raising until they were... Until his children were old enough to be in society. He would need to introduce them to the people among the ton.
‘Children are fine enough, once they speak and if they are well mannered.’
She jumped as if he’d slapped her.
‘My father would agree.’ Her lips and her chin went up.
He had been slapped in retaliation. A novelty. Oh, his long-time friends would offer verbal jabs and punches, but a woman didn’t do such a thing. He wondered if she’d jab again. He wondered if he could see those eyes flash.
Softly, he took in a breath. ‘Babies. They’re such a nuisance. Squabbling little things that take too much care. A woman’s work. Not suitable for a man.’
Her lips thinned. Her eyes narrowed.
‘Babies are best kept secluded from society. The crying and all.’ He spoke softly. The fury increased and, if her eyes were any indication, it was directed at him.
‘I’d really consider you overqualified to be a governess, having been raised in prosperity. I’d suppose this Miss Cuthbert is more suitable to taking care of the smelly little beasts.’
There was silence between them and her eyes reminded him of a lit fuse reaching its end where the powder would spark and flash.
‘I suppose you could be correct, Your Grace. Thank you ever so much for that wise observation from a man who was once a smelly little beast.’
He’d never heard the words ‘Your Grace’ spoken quite so directly, except on the rare occasions of ire when his mother addressed his father so. He tightened his lips to keep the smile hidden.
‘It is fortunate you have not married,’ she muttered.
‘And do you agree with my assessment on children?’
‘I think they do sometimes grow up into narrow-minded adults and that is a shame.’
He scratched his cheek. His narrow-minded adult cheek. ‘Tell me one good thing about a babe less than a year old.’
Her chin jutted his way and her body followed. ‘Their little wisps of hair. It is the softest thing. Better than any silk when it brushes against your cheek. And it has a soft scent. That is what love smells like. And then, when you hold them in your arms, if you have a heart at all, it just melts with love.’
‘Does it?’
‘If you have a heart.’
‘I suppose I’ve never held a child. Perhaps I will some day, just to see if I have a heart.’
‘It would be a waste of your time, I’m afraid.’
‘You are very sensitive about those little babies, aren’t you?’
‘I suppose I have ancestry of the lowest class, because I noticed quite a few of the servants smiling when they saw Dolly and even now as she’s older. It is the joy of childhood. She doesn’t yet know she’s better than everyone else.’
‘Oh.’
‘Willie does. He was born that way, though. I suppose it is because he is a male, Your Grace.’
The words were softer this time. She’d rested her gauntlet after testing it a few times across his face.
‘Perh
aps it will be enlightening to hold a child. And see what love smells like.’ His eyes held hers.
‘Don’t be surprised if the baby wets on you. They tend to do that.’ Smug eyes. Lovely ones, and he’d bet his last pence that if he ever held a child, it would wet on him. It just would and the awareness jumped between them. She would have the last laugh on that.
‘And you still like them?’ he asked.
‘Of course. It would be impossible not to. For me.’
‘Some day, I will hold a child and, if it wets on me, I will think of you.’
‘Please do,’ she said, eyes smiling, accepting his surrender. ‘Babies are very good about sensing when a stranger is holding them and not good about hiding their feelings.’
Their eyes met and locked. In that moment, he imagined them in a room, a child between them and the laughter over the baby’s actions.
Both jerked their gaze away at the same time.
If they didn’t get out of the little room, he’d soon be as daft as the old woman. He needed to get his mind off the governess who held that babies smelled like love.
He changed the path of his thoughts to their escape. He had to get them free.
‘When you were brought here, did you notice anything about the door? How it might be barred?’ he asked. ‘Was it a simple board slid into a U-shaped holder at each end?’
She took in a breath and shrugged. ‘I rushed in. I didn’t pay much notice.’
‘How did they get you inside? I assumed you were taken just as I was.’
She stopped. ‘A man came to get me in a cart. He said someone I used to know was dying and she wished to speak with me.’ She clasped her hands, brushing a thumb over her wrist. ‘How could I refuse a dying woman? I thought she might have something to tell me about my birth. My parentage.’
He could see her point, but still, she wasn’t revealing all she knew. She wouldn’t be keeping secrets unless they were harmful.
For some reason, the knowledge saddened him. She was betraying him. He just didn’t know how.
Progressing to the door, he prodded the wood, taking out his frustration on it. He found a dark shape when he inspected the crack in the door facing. A board crossed on the other side. Barred, just as he expected.
