* * *
She looked terrified, captured there by his hand on her wrist. He thought that if he let her go she might scurry away like a mouse from a housecat. Her lips, pink and plush in the candlelight, were parted slightly and he could hear her breathing.
“I…of course, Your Grace,” she whispered. Her voice was sweet, and a little bit gravelly from thwarted sleep. He couldn’t have guessed that a woman as calm and self-possessed as she could have his same troubles with sleeping. His own chaotic mind kept him up many nights, but it was hard to imagine this subdued creature having such untidy thoughts.
To find that the woman who had so fascinated him shared this private affliction endeared her to him. All at once, the mysterious governess felt more like a comrade. They were both well acquainted with the demons that only came alive at two in the morning.
“Come, sit down,” he said, leading her to the settee nestled between bookcases. She placed the book she carried and her candle down on the low table next to the seat. The book, he noticed, she placed face down, with its spine facing away. He remembered the title of that one, having been mentioned in one of Bridget’s letters. Apparently, a scandalous scene in the otherwise common romance had caused some controversy.
He wondered if Miss Peaton even knew about it. Perhaps she had picked it up innocent of its reputation. The thought that she did know about the book, and had chosen it on purpose, made his stomach flip. Again he was shocked by his body’s reaction to this woman. He wished suddenly to know more about the quiet Miss Peaton, in order to justify his interest.
She looked down at her hands, folding them delicately in her lap in a manner that seemed habitual to her. Even in her nightgown with her hair loose she had such poise.
“You have interested me, Miss Peaton,” he began. Her eyes darted up at him in what might have been surprise, but she didn’t respond. “I thought at first that you were older than you are.”
“What made you think so?” she asked.
“I don’t know, precisely. That is, it’s hard to put my finger on it. You seem…world-weary. Or as if you are looking down on the rest of us, in our foolish, immature ways.”
“I certainly couldn’t look down on anyone here,” she answered.
“I don’t mean to accuse you,” he assured. “You are too somber to be haughty.”
She smiled meekly. “I’m merely shy, Your Grace.”
He cocked his head to the side, studying her eyes in the flickering light of their two candles. “Are you, though?”
She stammered softly, her plush lips parting then closing again.
“I don’t think you are shy. To me, you seem like a vault. There are untold depths to you into which I could drop all of my secrets.”
Even in the half-light he could see her color rising. He was embarrassing her. He leaned away from her, realizing how far in he had leaned. He felt compelled to apologize for his forwardness, but she spoke before he had the chance.
“W-what keeps you awake, Your Grace?”
He scoffed. “I can’t stop thinking about tonight’s terrible dinner. Have you met Lady Margaret?”
“I haven’t. Not directly. We…” She grinned that cheeky smirk he was beginning to like so much. “We don’t run in the same circles.”
Gerard laughed. “Right, of course. And how lucky you are for it. Not to say that she’s a dreadful lady. I’m sure she has many accomplishments and merits to her name. But…” He paused. “Miss Peaton, I feel that I can talk to you candidly. And I find myself feeling unmoored and in need of a sympathetic ear. Does it trouble you much to hear me speak like this?”
“I’m not troubled, Your Grace.” She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, not defiantly, in fact the change in posture was so subtle he might not have noticed it had he not been studying her so intently.
“I imagine you’ve heard about my past.”
This seemed to give her pause. She blinked, hesitating before answering. “Yes.”
“It seems that the people around me have decided that it’s time for me to move on and get married. Do you agree?”
“I’m hardly the person to ask such a question.”
“It’s just because of your position as an outsider that I desire your opinion most of all,” he urged, leaning forward again. The shadows danced across her face, both exaggerating and masking her expression.
“Do you want to be married?” she asked him.
“Yes.” The admission caught even himself off guard. It was a truth he had hidden from himself, though it showed in his fear about staying in Stonehill. He was susceptible to the machinations of amateur matchmakers, not because of grief, but because of his deep desire to be married. To be a husband and a father.
“Then you should marry,” she answered plainly. “Not out of obligation, but out of desire. If you don’t mind my saying, Your Grace, there are so few people in this world with the privilege to order their life according to their heart’s wishes. You are someone who can do as he pleases. I don’t see why you should not.”
“So, not Lady Margaret, then?”
He thought he caught a smirk in the corner of her lips for just a moment. “Evidently not.”
He leaned back in the seat once more, thoughtfully casting his eyes about the darkened room.
“Will you marry one day, Miss Peaton?” he asked.
“I’ve made it this far in my life by not stubbornly setting my mind on any one path. I take life as it comes to me, making the best choice I can see in any given moment.”
He grinned. “So, we are both in the same position of waiting to find the person who persuades us into matrimony.”
“You might say that.”
“Your companionship has comforted me, Miss Peaton. I hope that I have not offended you.” There were no discernable signs of strain or discomfort in her that he could see. He knew, however, that if anyone could put on an unbothered front, it would be her.
“Not at all, Your Grace. I’m honored by your confidence.”
He wanted to tell her that it was he who was honored. He felt that he had accomplished something in this short conversation. In the morning, when they should meet again, it would be on different footing than before. An odd sort of friendship had been born in that dark library, one that both excited and soothed him.
Instead, he turned his eyes upon her, soaking in the sight of her nightgown and long hair. “You should try to get some sleep now,” he said.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said, bowing her head obediently before rising to her feet. He rose as well, reaching for her candle and the book and handing them to her silently. She folded the romance against her chest.
“Goodnight,” he whispered.
She nodded, murmuring the same before padding quietly out of the room, leaving him standing in the dull pool of flickering light by himself.
Chapter Eleven
“Is it true? Has he come back?”
Gerard recognized the feminine voice immediately and with a wide grin he entered the sitting room where the callers had just been brought.
“Lady Rosaline!” he greeted enthusiastically.
“Gerard! Er…I mean, Your Grace. How wonderful it is to see you again!” Her glossy black hair emerged from beneath her bonnet as she removed it. Her pale face was flushed from the wind outside, but it only made her look more beautiful.
“Oh, nonsense, Rosaline. You know you’re like a sister to me. Call me Gerard, just like old times,” he said warmly.
Her smile widened. It was hard to believe that the rowdy, precocious child who had run around with him and Bridget in their childhood had grown into such an elegant lady. She retained, however, that glimmer of mischief in her eyes.
“I simply can’t believe I missed the birth. I meant to be here, of course, but I had to be in Paris with an ailing aunt, of all things. Well, anyway, I’m back now.”
Bridget was brimming with excitement. Gerard knew that, in his grief and isolation, Rosaline had stepped in to f
ill his shoes. She and Bridget had always been the best of friends, of course. But in the past years when he had been so preoccupied with his grief, their bond had grown ever closer.
“Here she is. Isn’t she beautiful?” Bridget boasted, placing the babe into Lady Rosaline’s arms.
“She’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. Though I’d expect no less from you, Bridget.”
Jonathan cleared his throat cheekily behind his wife. Rosaline glanced up at him with a mirthful raise of her arched brow. “I suppose you played your part as well, Your Grace.”
Gerard laughed. It was a comfort, in some ways, that no matter how much he and his life changed, Rosaline remained ever the same. She cooed over Anne, kissing her downy head and gently pinching her round cheeks. It struck Gerard just then, seeing her with Anne, that it was strange Rosaline was not yet married. As the daughter of a Baron, elegant, and good humored, there was no reason he could see for her to not be able to find a husband.
Of course, asking her about it outright was out of the question. He made a mental note to bring it up with Bridget later, if he remembered.
“And where is Lord Limingrose? I want to see my godson,” Rosaline said, tearing her eyes away from the newborn with some apparent difficulty.
“He’s at his lessons, I imagine,” Bridget said. Motioning to her husband’s valet, who was nearby, she asked, “Would you please find Miss Peaton and have her bring Thomas here?”
The man bowed respectfully and ducked out of the room. Gerard’s heart skipped a beat at Miss Peaton’s name. He had not seen her since their conversation in the library the night before, though he had thought of little else. That morning he had awoken at Stonehill feeling different. More at ease. The comfort of having a friend, someone to whom he could confide, and trust that they would not try to influence him one way or another, was substantial.
The world seemed slightly brighter. And now that Rosaline was there as well, he found himself in rather a good mood. It was a marked difference from his normal state, especially since coming to London, and he relished it.
His mood brightened even more at the sight of Miss Peaton in the doorway. Thomas stood in front of her, looking reluctant to come into the room. She urged him forward, but he resisted.
“Oh, Thomas, how I’ve missed you! Don’t be shy, come here.” Rosaline urged. Thomas hesitated only a moment longer before stepping into the room and greeting his godmother.
Miss Peaton was stepping away. Gerard wished to call out to her, to urge her to stay, but it was not his place to do so. So when Bridget called out, he was greatly relieved.
“Oh Miss Peaton, please do stay,” Bridget said, motioning for the governess. Miss Peaton folded her hands together in front of her and obeyed. Her dark gown stood in stark contrast to the diaphanous pastels of the other women in the room and the romantic white décor of the room. “Rosaline, you met Miss Peaton briefly before leaving for Paris, I believe. Since that time she has proven herself a most remarkable woman. We consider ourselves very blessed to have her with us.”
Gerard studied the governess. She did not blush, but she ducked her head down deferentially. Bridget was looking at her with that warm, friendly smile that endeared her to so many.
“You must be a talented woman to bring out our Thomas. He’s doing well in his studies, I presume?”
Miss Peaton nodded. “Yes, he’s doing very well. I can hardly keep up with his progress.” The governess’s meek persona was no match for her pride in her pupil. She raised her chin. Gerard felt himself smiling. This proud, quiet woman could distract him completely even in such a full room as this.
“Miss Peaton,” he said, stepping forward. “Please, sit down. I’m sure I speak for us all when I say that you are most welcome in our happy group.”
Miss Peaton looked up at him and in the flash of recognition in her eyes he was brought back to the quiet of the library. He longed to be alone with her again, to draw her into some conversation that might reveal more of herself to him.
She seemed hesitant, all too aware of the class stratus that separated herself from the rest of the people in that room.
“Oh yes, of course!” Bridget chimed in.
Miss Peaton glanced about the room, apparently looking for some sign of admonishment from the others, but eventually she allowed herself to be led by him to a seat near Rosaline. Gerard settled next to her.
“I had hoped that we might take the children out for a picnic, but this wind!” Bridget exclaimed.
“We shall have to have a little party right here,” Rosaline said good-naturedly. She was still holding the baby Anne, and seemed perfectly content to spend all day in her seat.
* * *
Elizabeth was rooted to the spot. Her discomfort at being surrounded by people who were so far above her made her want to flee from the room. Every fiber of her being itched to leave, but she could not risk being seen as rude. As much as she was an outsider in this group, she couldn’t deny that they were all being most kind and welcoming to her.
She forced her expression into one of placid interest, keeping her eyes on Lord Limingrose. The child also kept his eyes on her. Although she knew that Lord Limingrose loved his family and his godmother, his shyness was exacerbated by these kinds of gatherings. The adults in the room all seemed to want to get him to perform for them, by reciting French poetry or showing off some other subject of his learning.
His father was trying to cajole him into telling a story from his history lessons when Elizabeth managed to catch the Duchess’ eyes. Without saying any words, they understood each other.
“Perhaps we might have some music,” the Duchess said, smiling placatingly. “Miss Peaton, do you play?”
Elizabeth glanced at the pianoforte in the room. It was the one that she instructed Lord Limingrose on. “Not very well, I’m afraid,” she answered.
“She’s very modest,” the Duchess said. “I’ve heard you practicing. Won’t you, please?”
Elizabeth stood. She did not have the confidence in her skill to want to play for such a distinguished group, but to refuse seemed petulant. She crossed to the pianoforte and sat down, casting a glance behind her at the Duke. He must have read the nervousness in her face because, as if she had called him, he got up from his seat and came to stand over her as she played.
His nearness made her heart race for reasons unrelated to nerves about playing. Glancing up at him, she met his eyes and saw the warm, encouraging way he watched her. With a deep, steadying breath, she began to play a song she knew by heart. The tune was jaunty and light, so at odds with her fright and heady discomfort. Happily, her hands remembered the song and she could play it automatically, even while her mind was preoccupied.
She glanced up at the Duke again, but he was smiling over her shoulder. On the other end of the room, the Duke and Duchess, and Lady Rosaline danced and joked and enjoyed the music, but the Duke of Hadminster never left her side.
After the first song, it began to worry her that the others would find it odd that he stood next to her for so long, rather than joining with the rest of the party. This level of care and attention to a lowly governess surely looked unusual. It had been one thing to share an intimacy with him in private, but to make their budding friendship apparent in public made it seem wrong, somehow.
Shouldn’t you go and stand by the others? She glanced up at him, even as she secretly enjoyed his attention.
Although she knew she had nothing to be ashamed of, for she had done nothing improper, she grew ever more nervous about his standing so close. He didn’t seem to notice or care. In fact, as time went on, he inched closer to her, until he was standing so close that he might have laid his hand on her shoulder. For a tense moment, she thought that he would.
Despite the embarrassment it would have brought her, a part of her dearly wished for him to do it anyway. She imagined how the weight of his hand on her shoulder would feel. She imagined his fingers brushing against her neck.
She chanced a
look up at him, and saw him looking down at her with such a strange look in his eyes that she wondered if he had been thinking the same thing.
At the end of the second song, Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap, eager to stop this performance. The Duke noticed her discomfort and finally looked up from his study of her face and hands.
“Rosaline, don’t you still play? Surely it hasn’t been so long that you no longer relish the chance to display your skill?” he said.
Elizabeth sighed in relief as Rosaline was gently cajoled into taking her place at the piano. She returned to her original seat and Lord Limingrose came up to sit next to her.
Wild Passions of a Mischievous Duchess Page 9
