by Abigail Agar
“To be honest, Duke, they have been spending a great deal of time indoors…” the doctor said.
“To hell with your opinions, Doctor,” the Duke stammered. He shot up from the chair, letting the washcloth slap to the floor. He paced once more, drawn his arms behind his back. Every muscle in his body felt tense, almost spasming.
Chapter 8
When the children spotted the mansion from the edge of the field, Max let out a wild “whoop” of joy. It felt like they’d been apart from the estate for many months, had been on a strange and at-times horrific journey together. As they eased across the grass, through the very last of the light, Marina watched as the wide front door of the mansion opened like a large mouth—waiting.
In the doorway stood the form of Sally Hodgins, her arms crossed over her large chest, and her face sour, down-turned. When Marina and the children took to the first step, Marina heard Sally cluck her tongue.
“The Duke will not take kindly to this.”
Marina blinked up at the maid, feeling the darkness that echoed between them. Beads of sweat trickled down her back, between her shoulder blades, and her hair had grown untucked and was swirling out behind her.
“You look like a wild woman. And my Lord, what have you done to our poor Christopher?” Ms Hodgins cried. She spun back from the door, gesturing for them to enter. She dropped down to peer into the eyes of each of the children as if she cared about them at all and then pointed towards the far corridor. “Go. We’ve left dinner waiting for you. It’s cold, but you must be famished. And you—” She spun back towards Marina, who continued to grip Christopher against her. “Carry Christopher to his bedroom this instant.”
“We need to call the doctor,” Marina whispered, hating how soft and feminine she sounded.
“The doctor’s already here, tending to the Duke,” Ms Hodgins said. “I’ll direct him to Christopher’s room immediately.”
Seemingly not wanting to leave Marina alone with Christopher, Ms Hodgins bumbled up the steps behind them, escorting Marina into Christopher’s room and watching as she laid him back on the mattress. He was clearly exhausted, his eyelashes closing fully for minutes at a time. Still, his colour hadn’t returned—it had morphed into a grisly green. Marina wrung her hands, her mind spinning. Certainly, a child couldn’t die from something like this… Something as simple as a leg injury…
But of course, everything in the world could go wrong, and had before.
“Get back!” Ms Hodgins said, pointing towards the door.
“But I don’t want him to be here alone …” Marina said. “What if he wakes and is frightened …”
“Go to your room. You’re not to deal with the children at this time, whatsoever,” Ms Hodgins said, her lips almost buzzing with how quickly she spoke. “I’ll return shortly with the Duke.”
Marina slid into the hallway, her heart hammering somewhere in her throat. She felt incapable of drawing breath. Reaching for the walls, she paused, placing her forehead against the brick. How had she possibly ruined her job so quickly? Why hadn’t she paid better attention? And how—how in the world—had Christopher gotten so far away, so quickly?
She marvelled at the young boy’s intrigue at the world: at his sudden, incredible desire to fulfill a prophecy he’d promised for his younger brother. If that wasn’t some kind of full-blown, beautiful love, then Marina didn’t know what was.
When Marina finally reached her room, she touched her cheek to find that it was dotted with dirt and tears. She blinked into the foggy mirror near the far wall, finding a crazy woman peering back. Her skirt had been torn; her hair was covered in twigs and dirt. She collapsed on the stool before it, scrubbing her cheeks for a moment before deciding that it wasn’t any use. She needed a proper scrubbing, a big bath. And she wasn’t entirely sure the estate would lend her something like that after nearly killing one of its children.
“You were a mistake, Marina,” she whispered to herself, echoing the words her brothers and sisters had so often told her. “Of use to no one at all. Destructive.”
Her books and clothes, newly unpacked, would have to be slotted away all over again. She would have to send word to Martin to pick her up—or else ask to be taken by one of the horsemen at the carriage house. She shuddered at making these arrangements. Where on earth would she turn? Could she truly appear back on her mother’s front porch, ask if she could remain for a few more weeks? Perhaps she could find some kind of suitor, by then? A man out there, who’d “missed the boat,” as she had. Or perhaps a widow?
When Ms Hodgins finally did rap on the door, perhaps an hour had passed. Marina spun around on the stool, gazing at the strange shadow of this woman, so dominant over her. She clucked her tongue once more, and then spoke.
“The Duke would like to see you in his study immediately.”
“How is Christopher?” Marina asked, whirling to her feet. “Is he all right?”
“That’s none of your concern, now,” Ms Hodgins said, lifting an eyebrow.
“If you’re going to send me from this house, never to see the children again, then I demand to know,” Marina said, surprising herself at her own angry tone. “I would have done anything for them.”
“Then maybe you should have done the one thing you were hired to do, which was to keep them safe,” Ms Hodgins sneered. “As I said, the Duke will see you now. Please, follow me. And don’t bother fixing up your ragamuffin state, my dear. Remember. The Duke is blind.”
Chapter 9
As the Duke and his doctor sat in silence—the doctor scribbling notes in his ledger, while the Duke puffed his pipe, someone flung open the door of his study. The Duke whirled towards the voice of Sally Hodgins, harsh and sizzling with anger.
“They’ve arrived back, Duke. And there’s been an accident. Just as I assumed.”
The Duke didn’t dare speak. His thoughts sputtered on with all the possibilities. Which one had died? Not Claudia, his brave warrior woman—the one who kept their family wrapped together, so stubborn in her ways. And certainly not Christopher—the fiery one, the wild card. Little Max, so anxious, his eyes a bit too big and too optimistic for the darkness of this world. And certainly not Lottie—his baby, the girl who hadn’t a single memory of her mother, who would grow up without knowing that love … if she was allowed to grow up at all …
“OUT WITH IT, Ms Hodgins!” the Duke cried, rushing forward.
“Duke!” the doctor shrieked from behind. He rushed towards the Duke, gripping his shoulders and pulling him back, before he flung himself into the wall—narrowly missing Sally Hodgins. “Duke, you must be careful.”
Sally screamed, falling away from the Duke. When she spoke again, her voice was textured with tears. “I’m terribly sorry, Duke. But it seems that Christopher’s broken his leg. I can’t seem to get it out of them what happened. The girl’s a ragamuffin, carried him all the way back from the woods. Looks like an outright criminal if you ask me …”
“A—a broken leg?” the Duke sputtered. He allowed his shoulders to grow lax. “But they’re all back? They’re all home?”
“Doctor, you’ll need to tend to our Christopher,” Sally affirmed, without answering. “He’s in his bedroom, delirious with pain.”
The Duke stepped back, leaning heavily against the desk. He stretched his hands over his stomach, feeling them quiver against the fabric of his suit. “Yes, Doctor. Please. Tend to him. It’s imperative.”
“I’ll gather my things,” the doctor said. “You’ll show me to his bedroom, Ms Hodgins?”
“Absolutely,” Sally said. “And Duke. I would think that this is an opportune time to meet with the girl and explain to her that she hasn’t fit our expectations of her. That it’s time for her to leave.”
“The girl carried Christopher all the way back from the woods?” the Duke repeated, incredulous. “I can’t very well believe that. She sounded so young. Almost meek …”
“The girl led your children into the woods, and one of them
came back without working use of his limb,” Sally scoffed, her words forceful. “I say that your respect as a father, and as a Duke, lives and dies with your decisions, Sir. And in this case, if you give this girl another chance … Well. I declare that I can’t very well sit with it, sir. Not with all the love I have for these children. I’ve been in this house for years on end …”
“Yes, yes,” the Duke said, waving his hand. He fell deeper into the desk, feeling defeated, alternating between incredible anger and sadness. Every limb felt heavy. But the sweating had ceased. “Fine. Bring her to me. Now.”
“Very good, sir,” Sally sniffed. “I’ll be back shortly. Doctor. Come along.”
The Duke remained against his desk as Sally and the doctor fled from the room, marching towards Christopher’s. Sally clipped the door closed behind her, creating a shell of anger and emotion in the Duke’s study.
When he’d been a much younger man, he’d been more apt to act on these volatile emotions—often breaking things, once busting his hand through a window and causing glass to shatter across the floor. When Marybeth had entered his life, he’d learned to control it. He’d had to. The electric green of her eyes had grown so dark, so fearful when he’d shown even a portion of that earlier anger …
Now, he felt it brimming inside him again. Anger at—at the very fact that he couldn’t find a governess to suit his needs. Anger at Christopher, for surely tearing through the woods and causing himself harm (he knew the boy too well not to suspect this). Anger at Sally Hodgins, for pointing her finger at him and declaring that if he didn’t do his duty and fire the girl, he would be no master of the house whatsoever.
All of this, of course, coupled with the fact of his blindness made him entirely crazy. He reached for a vase on his desk, tossed it into the air, caught it again. His fingers traced the smoothness of the glass. For a moment, he couldn’t quite recall what colour it was. For years, he’d seen it every day, for hours at a time. It had become a part of the backdrop of his life. And now …
He reared his elbow back and tossed the vase towards the wall, making it shatter. The sound was delicious in his ears. He lashed out, looking for something else on his desk to smash. But as he did, there was a knock on the door. He spun towards the sound.
The governess. It was surely time. This, in and of itself, was akin to smashing something. Smashing the promise of the future reality they might have had together—the children and the governess, walks in the woods, the Duke feeling assured that his children were in good hands (rather than stuffed away at a boarding school) …
Smashing hopes.
“Come in,” he boomed.
The door opened. Sally Hodgins spoke, delivering the news, “Here she is, Sir.”
The girl entered, her footsteps light against the wooden floors. She brought with her the smell of the woods—of soil, of trees, of bright and frigid air. She stopped short and seemed to face him. The Duke pointed towards the door, tilting his head. “Ms Hodgins, I will need to speak to Marina alone.”
It was a last-ditch effort, remembering her name. Marina. Marina Blackwater. He supposed it was a name he could allow himself to forget within the hour.
The moment the door closed, the Duke stepped towards the fireplace, his hands latching behind his back. He felt Marina’s eyes upon him, studying him. The tension between them was heavy, charged with the Duke’s anger and Marina’s fear. The fire continued to crackle.
“Duke, if I could say …” Marina began.
“Silence,” the Duke said. He took another step, leading himself towards the chair. He gripped the armrest, easing himself onto the cushion. Then, he splayed his hand forward, directing her to stand before him. “Please. Come closer.”
Marina tapped her little feet across the floorboards. Although the Duke couldn’t possibly know what she looked like, he marvelled that such a young and fresh-seeming thing could have possibly carted Christopher through the woods, his leg busted-out.
“It’s come to my attention that you’ve allowed harm to come to my children,” the Duke said. “And it seems that we have a problem.”
“Duke, I …”
“In my house, you’re to let me speak,” the Duke said. He felt his forehead wrinkle as he arched his eyebrow. Could hear the nearly-silent little rabbit breaths that Marina took, clearly struggling to get through the interaction.
“Yes, sir.”
“My children are my entire universe,” the Duke continued. “And you’ve come into my house and actively tried to destroy it. Taking them into the woods long after dark. What got into you, Marina? Were you raised in the woods? Have I hired a complete imbecile to watch over my children?”
His voice rose, nearly breaking. He stabbed his finger into the armrest, articulating his point. “We’ve lost enough in this house. Too much to have people like you just sweep in, without giving any decision a second thought.”
“Duke, I … I just wanted to give the children a bit of fresh air …” Marina sputtered.
“Don’t speak over me. Don’t contradict me. Don’t you understand that you’re trying to win a battle you’ve already lost?” the Duke cried.
“It’s just. The children need to breathe, Duke. They’re cooped up in this house. They miss laughing. They miss playing. They’re going absolutely wild! I know you’re blind, Duke. That your business is faltering …”
“How dare you!” the Duke cried, bolting up from his chair. Again, the sweat poured from his forehead, easing into his eyebrows. Was it common knowledge that he was losing money? Was this word across the moors, flickering in and out of the city of Leeds—“The Duke is on the brink of ruin! The musical instruments aren’t selling fast enough! The last time he went to the palace, they bought only half of what they’d stated they would!”
“I’m sorry, Duke. I just don’t think that your current situation should affect your children so completely!” Marina said, almost screeching it. She sounded like she was crying. The Duke marvelled at this depth of feeling, despite only being in charge of the children for half the day.
“You’re just precisely the way Ms Hodgins describes,” the Duke said. “So high and mighty, given that your position is, in general, my servant.”
“Servant? If you believe everyone to be working beneath you, then I marvel that you’ve even had any success as a musical instrument seller. Weren’t you a soldier, Duke? Didn’t you once fight for your country?” Marina demanded. “If so, I would think that you would be a bit more humble than this. Me, a servant. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Thank you for belittling me so greatly, behind your blindness. You believe so much that no one can articulate their feelings about you, because, perhaps, we’re meant to pity you, or just fear you, or both.”
The Duke couldn’t believe what she was saying. His lips parted, his jaw hanging low. He’d never been spoken to so harshly. Even Marybeth, when she’d grown angry with him (only once or twice in the incredible span of their love), had chosen words more carefully, ensuring that she didn’t lash out. Everything about her had been gentle, leaving space for the Duke’s occasional outbursts. He’d always assumed that was his right, as a man.
But this governess. This governess he hardly knew, nor would never know the face of, was blaring her ignorance and her arrogance at him. Basically digging her own grave.
“I’ll ask Ms Hodgins to prepare for you to take your leave tomorrow, Marina. You aren’t to spend another moment with my children. It’s clear that hiring you was my greatest mistake thus far.”
“If you truly believe hiring me—me, who already cares more for your children than that horrid woman, Ms Hodgins, and certainly understands them far better—was a mistake, then you’re far more blind than you seem,” Marina cried out. She stomped towards the door, no longer the meek and timid girl who’d stuttered into his mansion earlier that day. She felt like a force of nature, volatile and willing to break any rules to state her opinions.
