Being a disappointment to females was nothing new to Rob, though this time he vowed that he would make amends for his carelessness with others' feelings.
Rob bid the children and Miss Smith goodbye, pausing to watch them flit across the courtyard together. That he would much rather follow them and spend the afternoon drinking tea and horsing about in the school room was beyond question—though he was a duke, he reminded himself sternly. He had obligations to his lands, tenants and title.
You also made a vow of celibacy, just last night, a voice in his head added, though Rob was only half listening to it, for his attention was quite diverted by the sight of Miss Smith's bottom as she walked away.
"David, old chap. It's been an age."
After an afternoon spent whiled away in the library with his land agent, Rob had changed for dinner. Once he had finished his solitary meal at the ridiculously long, empty table in the dining room, he had retired to his library for a spot of brandy and contemplation.
Given that his land agent was thoroughly competent at his job, there was little for Rob to contemplate, excepting his new governess. He had just decided that he was a hopeless case, when it came to resisting the fairer sex, when a footman arrived announcing that he had a visitor.
David Dunstable was the younger brother of the late Viscount Blakefield, and uncle to Cressida and James. He was an exceedingly handsome chap, with a mop of blonde hair like his brother's, and an easy charming manner. David was a good decade younger than Rob, and as such, they had not had many dealings with each other throughout the years.
"I heard you were at home and thought I would call," David said with a lopsided smile, similar to his brother's, as he shook Rob's hand.
"Well, this is a pleasant surprise," Rob replied, striding over to his desk and filling a tumbler for his guest. Seeing David had given him a rather queer feeling in his stomach; the young man looked so like his brother had, at that age. Rob took a quick sip of his own drink, to steady his nerves, before handing David his glass of brandy.
"I have been staying in Blakefield," David replied, as he took a seat in one of the leather Chesterfield's. "Just making sure that everything is running smoothly and visiting the children as often as I can."
Was there a note of censure in David's voice? Rob glanced at him and saw that David's face wore a pleasantly benign expression. Guilt was wont to make a man paranoid, Rob reflected, as his visitor continued talking.
Over the next while, David delivered a wealth of news and gossip from the locality—though given that Dottington was a quiet backwater, there was little scintillating in it. Whispers at the church fair that the vicar was favouring one of his parishioners over others, fisticuffs between two love-rivals outside the Dog and Duck, and some minor issue between two farmers about draining a ditch.
"It doesn't compare much to London," David said, almost apologetically, as he finished. He paused and gave Rob a subtle glance, before speaking again; "Though I suppose you will be going back shortly?"
There! Rob knew that the young lad had held some judgement against him for abandoning his wards—the faux-subtlety of his questioned confirmed it.
"No," Rob replied curtly, taking another sip of his drink, "I have been most remiss in my duties to the children and after the horrible business with the governess, I think they need a stable presence in their lives."
"Oh, of course," David replied deferentially, "Still. I am looking after things at Blakefield and call on them regularly, should you get bored of country living and wish to return."
"I shall keep that in mind," Rob replied, hoping that he had managed to keep the note of churlishness he felt from his voice. "Tell me, have you heard anything from the village about the sad affair?"
Mrs Ilford's letter had insinuated that the locals thought Cressida and James had had something to do with the demise of poor Miss Gretchen and, judging from the expression on David's face, he too had heard the rumours.
"I was not here when it happened, I was down in Highfield, looking after my own estate. Though I have heard a few rumours, of course. Just malicious tabbies baring their claws," David continued, with a careless wave of his hand, " Though the children rather added flames to the fire themselves, when they set the rectory afire."
Ah yes, Rob hid an amused smile, the famous fire. He had heard from Mrs Ilford that Cressida and James had simply wished to light a candle for their parents. It was a rather Papist thing to do, but given that their mother had been Italian, one could safely assume that the children had been motivated by thoughts of Catholicism and not arson.
"People do love to gossip," Rob replied with a tight smile—and he would know. He had heard more rumours about himself than he could count; more of them than he would care to admit had been true, but even more had been falsehoods and outright lies. Still, he had always believed that if lies about him had to circulate, at least they were ones which depicted him as virile. Though, he thought with a smile, he would have been long dead of exhaustion if he had actually seduced the number of ladies that the ton had delighted in linking him with.
"And...how are you?" Rob asked awkwardly, after a long pause. He longed to talk of Michael with someone who had known him intimately and to share the loss equally, though his education at Eton had not equipped him with the emotional vocabulary to do so. The famous school produced lads who could speak in Greek, Latin and French, fluently, but who could not utter one word on their feelings. On that score, they were mute.
"Well enough," David replied with a shrug, his face momentarily showing a flash of pain, which was gone in an instant, replaced by a mask of masculine pride. Rob waited for the young man to elaborate further, but David merely swilled deeply on his brandy.
The conversation stalled somewhat, after Rob's inelegant attempt at discussing the late Lord Dunstable, and once David had finished his drink, he stood up and made to leave.
"It was good of you to call," Rob said, standing to shake the young man's hand, "You must call again when the children are awake."
"Perhaps I shall take them out, one day," David replied, his easy smile once more in place. "Or bring them to Blakefield. Fabrizio has visited, once or twice, though I missed him the last time that he called, for I was in Highfield."
"Good—it's best that he visits, for it will be he who is in charge of it all, once he comes of age."
"Yes," David's smile faltered somewhat at Rob's words, "Though one hopes he won't completely empty Blakefield of its silverware, once he's in charge."
Had Fabrizio been stealing from Blakefield House? Rob scowled darkly; given the lad's propensity toward losing all his money at the card-table, it wouldn't surprise him. Though, Fabrizio had to realise that he was not stealing from David—he was stealing from his brother and sister.
"I will deal with Fabrizio," Rob replied, his mouth set in a grim line.
"I wouldn't want you to say anything," David replied hurriedly, "I just wanted you to be made aware of it."
Having extracted a promise from Rob that he would not say anything to Fabrizio, just yet, David went on his way. There was still a dribble of brandy in the bottle upon Rob's desk, so he sat down to finish it, accompanying the fine liqueur with a cheroot.
Once the clock upon the mantelpiece had struck ten bells, Rob made his way to bed. It was an awfully early hour for one to retire—especially one who was used to rolling in the door of his London home as the sun was rising—but there was dashed little else to do.
He could, he supposed, have opened another bottle of brandy, but he was never one to drink to excess on his own.
The house was quiet as Rob padded up the stairs to his bedchamber, though when he pushed open the door he was greeted by the sound of Harley, singing loudly in the dressing room.
"Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hill and valley, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yi-eeeeld."
Rob winced, as the
valet went slightly off-key on the last note—though he had to give him credit for his optimism. Rob banged the door loudly, to let the valet know that he had returned and to prevent the young man from launching into another verse. One was quite enough.
"Oh. Your Grace," Harley poked his head out of the dressing room, his cheeks pink with embarrassment, "I did not realise you were there."
"I'm glad to hear it," Rob replied with an amused snort, "Otherwise I would think you were trying to woo me with your impressive soprano."
"My apologies, your Grace," Harley flushed even further, "I got a bit carried away by—by—Your things. Your things are ready for you in your dressing room."
That Harley had not been carried away by the duke's "things" was most obvious. The valet was most distracted—well, more so than was usual—and he seemed to hum with nervous energy as he helped Rob from his jacket.
"Lud, man," Rob yelped, as the valet tugged too vigorously on his boot and went flying across the room, into the chest of drawers, "What's happened to you? Did Mrs Ilford spike your mead at dinner?"
Actually, Rob frowned, he wouldn't put it past the housekeeper.
"No," Harley shook his head as he scrambled back onto his feet, "I am not drunk, your Grace. I had dinner with Mrs Ilford, Mr Brown and...Miss Smith."
The last name was delivered with a sigh so wistful that it almost brought a tear to Rob's eye. Harley had taken on the look of a love-struck fool at the mere mention of Miss Smith's name. His eyes glistened, the tips of his ears were pink, and a stupidly smitten expression had crossed his face. It would have been rather adorable, had Rob not been hit by a colossal wave of jealousy.
How was it, that as master of the house, Rob had dined alone, while Harley had spent the evening making moon-eyes at Miss Smith across the dinner table?
Because they are both your servants, a voice in Rob's head reminded him tartly. He could not truly be jealous of a mere valet, he was a duke, for heaven's sake!
"I do not approve of romances between my servants," Rob said, bending down to remove his second boot himself, "I will not tolerate any sort of shenanigans under my roof, do you understand me?"
"Yes, your Grace."
Poor Harley looked fit to cry, Rob thought, with a pang of guilt. What right did he have to forbid the young lad the chance to find love? And, he reflected remorsefully, what right did he have to stand in the way of Miss Smith's chances at finding an honourable match?
True, he was attracted to the girl, but he was a duke and she was his servant. He could not offer her what Harley could. He could not marry her. At best, he could make her his mistress, but he did not think that was something which the sweet Miss Smith would tolerate.
"Leave me," Rob said, with a wave of his hand, and Harley fled the room rather quickly.
Rob threw his banyan over his shoulders and padded back out into the bedchamber. Though the bed had been warmed with a warming-pan, and he had quite enough brandy in his blood to render him drowsy, sleep would did not come easily to him.
And when it did, his dreams were filled with visions of Miss Smith and the words of Harley's ballad.
CHAPTER SEVEN
7
Emily took her breakfast with the children in the nursery room, the next morning, before beginning their lessons. The children had, she soon discovered, only a rudimentary grasp of the "Three Rs", and so any lessons in Latin would have to be postponed until they had grasped the basics.
"Did Miss Gretchen not teach you your alphabet?" Emily asked, not a little perplexed, as she watched Cressida write out her letters in a wobbly hand.
"Miss Gretchen did not like us," James replied cheerfully, lifting his head from his page, "She said that we were Satan's own spawn."
Oh, dear.
Emily cast a glance at Cressida, waiting for the girl to correct her little brother, but her face was pale and her mouth resolutely closed. Gracious; Emily touched her hair nervously, had their old governess said such abominable things to them?
"I'm sure she did not say that," Emily said to James, with a kindly smile, "You must have misheard her. Your parents would not have allowed someone to say such horrid things about you both."
"They did not know," Cressida replied, finally looking Emily in the eye, "Miss Gretchen only arrived a few weeks before they—before—"
Cressida's large brown eyes filled with tears, which she quickly blinked away, and her unfinished sentence remained hanging in the air. The poor girl's lip trembled balefully, but she refused to give into the tears which threatened.
"You must miss them terribly," Emily said softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from Cressida's forehead, "And I'm sure that they miss you."
"Mrs Ilford said that they are watching us from heaven," James said, in a matter-of-fact voice, "And that they can see everything we do..."
The boy trailed off and gave Emily a rather worried glance.
"Do you think they saw me stealing jam tarts from the kitchen?" he asked, as he nervously bit his bottom lip. "I know I shouldn't steal, but I was just so hungry..."
Emily bit back a laugh; the look of sheer worry on James' face was quite adorable, but she knew that she must not show him how amusing she found it. Probably, she mused, Mrs Ilford had noted the missing tarts and had tried to needle the little boy's conscience by saying that his parents were watching his every move.
"You must not worry," she said brightly, "It was not really stealing, it was just a little dishonest. If you're hungry again, you can ask Mrs Ilford for something small, to tide you over."
Her morally ambiguous take on James' pilfering of the larder seemed to mollify the boy, for he returned to his writing, his tongue sticking out as he concentrated on forming his letters.
Cressida, on the other hand, looked none too consoled by Emily's words; her young face wore a mournful expression, one which belonged to a person five times her young age.
"Are you alright, dear?" Emily asked softly, though Cressida stiffened as she spoke.
"I am perfectly fine," the little girl snapped, tossing her chestnut plait over her shoulder and turning her face away from Emily.
Lud; Emily heaved a sigh. She had thought that being a governess would be simple, but the complexities of grief were befuddling her. Throughout the rest of the morning, as she guided the children through exercises in arithmetic and reading, she casually brought the late Lord and Lady Dunstable into her chatter. Her own father spoke of her mother every day and it brought comfort to Emily to remember her. She was a firm believer that one should try to keep the memory of those who had passed on alive, and it would do Cressida and James well to talk about their parents.
Over the course of the morning, Emily learned much about the late Viscount and Viscountess of Blakefield. Lady Dunstable had taught the children how to read and write—albeit in Italian—and had generally taken charge of the children's education until the arrival of Miss Gretchen.
"Uncle David said that I would need an English governess, if I was to grow to be a proper, English lady," Cressida said resentfully, when Emily had enquired as to why Lady Dunstable had given up on teaching them. "He was the one who brought Miss Gretchen to Blakefield and Mama just left us with that horrid woman."
Emily bit her lip, unsure of how to reply. It was obvious that Cressida had felt a little abandoned by her mother, even before Lady Dunstable's untimely death. The hiring of a governess, however undesired by Cressida, had been the right thing to do. The children had needed to learn to read and write in English, and it was not right, for a lady to teach her children herself.
"Why don't we read a book?" Emily suggested brightly, for both children were now thoroughly distracted and she knew that they would get little more done in the way of lessons. Emily stood from the table and wandered over to the bookshelf on the other side of the room. The books were old and had probably last been used when the duke was a child.
An image of the towering Duke of Hemsworth as a child brought a soft smile; Emil
y could not believe that such a large, intimidating man had ever been as small as James, but he must have been, at one stage.
She trailed her finger over the spines of the old, leather-bound volumes, pausing as a familiar title caught her eye.
"Robinson Crusoe," she gasped, turning to the children in excitement, "This was my favourite book, when I was a little girl. Come, we'll try and read a chapter or two before luncheon."
Emily sat down in the armchair by the fireplace and, with James in her lap, she began to read. Cressida at first assumed an air of disinterest, but by the time Emily had finished the first chapter, the young girl was hanging on her every word.
They stayed reading for an hour, until a nursery-maid arrived, all aflutter, to call them for luncheon.
"His Grace has asked that you bring the children downstairs, to eat with him," Sally said to Emily, wrinkling her freckled nose with worry.
"Really?"
Emily raised an eyebrow and betwixt the two women, a silent conversation took place. Children ate in the nursery and were only summoned to dine with adults on very rare occasions. Why on earth would the duke wish to spend his midday meal with two children?
Sensing that resistance to this order would be futile, Emily readied the children—straightening James' pantaloons and dusting crumbs from Cressida's dress—and followed Sally downstairs.
"He's in here Miss Smith," Sally said nervously, pausing at the door to the dining room. It was obvious that the nursery-maid felt nervous outside of her domain, for she fled pretty sharpish, as a footman threw open the dining room door.
"How good of you all to join me."
The Duke of Hemsworth stood as Emily followed her two charges into the dining room. He was dressed more formally than the last time she had seen him, in a dark green coat and matching waistcoat over breeches. He was so handsome it was almost sinful, she thought, scuttling past him with a nervous smile.
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