They wouldn’t need him.
Even sober, even without the added strain of a night of drinking and socializing in a decidedly uncivilized manner, he couldn’t stomach more upheaval. Regardless of his motivations, which were selfish, he wanted his home to be a bastion of peace, not a coop full of hens that squabble and peck at every given opportunity.
Conversely, Reeve worried that Miss Sedgwyck might very well be one of those silly girls who presented more trouble than she was worth. He knew the type well: overeager to please, lacking two thoughts to fuse together in her head, and possibly looking to ensnare a duke into a liaison that might end in marriage.
Reeve had no objection to casual bedsport whatsoever, but for it to happen with a governess was shockingly unseemly. Even to me. Despite what the rumors stated about the Duke of Havoc, he would not indulge in such a thing.
So, it was with an uncomfortable mixture of hope and trepidation that Reeve and his daughters sat in the drawing room. One girl was on each side of him. All three of them were well groomed to wait upon the new addition to their household.
Once an agreement was reached, a date had been chosen for Miss Sedgwyck’s arrival. Yesterday eve, Reeve had sent his carriage to collect her. The driver had arrived in York and was provided with accommodations for the night by the Sedgwycks. At dawn’s first light, Reeve had instructed, the driver was to leave with Miss Caroline.
If his calculations were correct, and they always were, she should be arriving presently.
As if spurred by his thoughts, wheels clattered on the cobblestones outside. Their sound was muffled, as everything was for him, but even his sorry hearing could catch them. Reeve smiled to himself complacently.
Sophie, who caught the expression on her father’s face, said with a frown, “What a peculiar smile, Papa. What’s happened?”
Reeve could have ignored her and feigned that he had not heard her question. But knowing that the end to undertaking Lady Malliston’s duties was near, he said, with good humor, “Nothing at all. I am just… thinking.”
Thinking of his feminine savior, Miss Sedgwyck, who would relieve him of unnecessary monotony and the inconvenient shame he felt at being unable to genuinely connect with his children.
Why must I feel guilty about it?
He was tempted to rush to the window for a glimpse of their new arrival. However, he had instructed his daughters not to do so, and he did not relish the idea of their protests should he himself break the rule set for them.
They could be so persistent.
“Has she come, Papa?” Sophie asked.
“I believe we shall know soon enough.”
Within the space of a few minutes, Mrs. Humphrey stalked into the room and her entire bearing radiated disapproval. Her gauntness only enhanced the look of utter distaste upon her face.
“Your guest has arrived, my lord.”
At this announcement, but more than likely because she was terrified of the housekeeper, Phoebe sidled closer to Reeve and shoved her clammy little hand into his large one. He glanced at Sophie, whose eyes were fixed on the door behind Mrs. Humphrey.
Reeve refused to let Mrs. Humphrey’s tone, which conveyed nothing but the greatest disdain, incense him. Since he had explained Miss Sedgwyck’s hire and her purpose, Mrs. Humphrey and Miss Ball had, if it was possible, redoubled their efforts to treat him coldly. He didn’t care one jot. In fact, he rather enjoyed rattling the old women.
Finally, he possessed enough leverage to make them squirm. The presence of new blood would demonstrate to them just how unneeded they really were.
He dangled the thought of their dismissal before them, and more insidiously, of their irrelevance to his household, with all the relish of a cat batting at a trapped mouse.
He would fondly remember the moment when they realized he was calling in Miss Sedgwyck, a replacement for Miss Ball. He’d summoned them both to his library, much as he had the day he’d returned home to find them up in arms against poor Duckie, and relayed in no uncertain terms that it was time to admit a new face would be more effective in the betterment of his daughters. Miss Ball could remain at The Thornlands, he’d said, but she would be sharing housekeeping duties with her sister.
At his words, Miss Ball had gone dangerously pale and he wondered with very little care if she might faint. He rather hoped she did.
Mrs. Humphrey’s face resembled that of a gargoyle’s, fierce and twisted.
“But,” she’d protested, much more quietly than she should have – to rile him, of course, but he stepped closer to her with a wry expression, theatrically cupping his ear and leaning toward her – “We were practically family to Lady Malliston! You cannot simply see us out onto the streets just because your daughters refuse to abide by proper decorum.”
Reeve didn’t have to say he could. Both women knew full well that he was within his rights to dismiss them under whatever conditions he wished.
“Now, Mrs. Humphrey, when did I say I was throwing you out onto the streets? Cease your rambling, my dear woman, and count your blessings.”
He was only bound by a strange, twisted sense of honor to his late lady wife, awful as she had been to him, to keep them in his service. He would, however, continue letting the thought of dismissal linger in their minds. They were old, dreadfully redundant, and only addled his home life in a way he did not appreciate.
In a perversely elegant manner, he thought, staring at Mrs. Humphrey, it is similar to the way in which they held the threat of paddling over Sophie and Phoebe’s heads.
Miss Ball, who was apparently overwrought by the unexpected turn of events, had not emerged from her chamber all day. That was fine with Reeve, though he knew she was just sulking. He wanted everything to proceed without mishaps. The fewer people he had to concern himself with at the moment, the better.
“Even I could hear that, Mrs. Humphrey,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “We shall wait here until she refreshes herself. She has traveled all day, after all.”
“She has voiced no such wish to do so,” said Mrs. Humphrey. She sounded as though she had just sipped pure lemon juice.
This gave Reeve some pause. Most young women Miss Sedgwyck’s age would adhere to the reality, or the pretense, that they needed to retire to the room that had been prepared for them. They would probably maintain that they needed to attend to their toilette.
But not Arthur’s daughter. Interesting.
Her looks were no concern of his, but it made Reeve surmise that she was older than he’d thought, which could indicate that she was not interested in the matter of her appearance.
Or perhaps she’s just uncomely?
Either was just as well, but he hoped for his daughters’ sake that she was, indeed, older, past girlish fripperies and vanities.
In the end, her education made more difference to him than her figure or her face. He did not think that Arthur had lied about her aptitude or her cleverness.
“Well. Thank you,” he said to Mrs. Humphrey. He waved his marred hand in a clear but wordless dismissal, purposefully using his left to signify that he did not care what she thought of his imperfect physicality. “Have Edgar show her in.”
Clearly, she understood he had no wish for her continued presence. The housekeeper quit the room with her narrow nose stuck in the air, and as she had been when she’d entered, she was still stalking. Reeve idly wondered if she’d ever walk like a woman of manners again, or if he had heaped too many indignities upon her by asserting his dominance over her and her sister.
On both sides, Sophie and Phoebe gave little, but audible, sighs of relief as she left. He squeezed Phoebe’s hand. Surprised by the minute show of fatherly affection, she glanced sidelong at him. He was just as bemused that his hand seemed to have had a mind of its own, and immediately relinquished her hand when their eyes met.
Reeve fixed his attention to the doorway while straightening his back. Why are you anxious? Don’t be so absurd.
There were easily a baker’
s dozen of ways this could go wrong; he wanted it to proceed perfectly. The battlefield never felt so complex to him as this banal matter of solving household problems. He could read offensive and defensive lines like words on a page.
By stark contrast, domestic matters stymied him.
Without consciously directing them, his eyes fell downwards.
When Edgar announced Miss Sedgwyck, Reeve was still contemplating the gleaming parquet panels.
Then she entered the room.
He glanced up only enough so that he would not appear either rude or nervous – truth be told, he could be both in social situations, now, so he readily employed rudeness to obscure the nerves – and inspected a pair of narrow feet in serviceable brown traveling boots.
He knew Arthur, like many old soldiers who did not have family money or titles, had fallen on hard times. These shoes attested to it. They were clean, but at least a few seasons old.
Above the boots was an equally practical fawn-colored dress to match. It was without much adornment, although there were newer cream lace accents that, perhaps, the owner had tatted and added herself to hide mending or new hems. Reeve eyed the dress before he took a proper look at Miss Sedgwyck. Like the boots, it was not new. He could not help but note that the dress, however plain it was, could not hide a fine, delicate figure. A simple white shawl was strewn over her shoulders and wrapped at her graceful neck, obscuring her bosom and shielding her from the slight chill in the air.
Perhaps she is not ugly.
At last, Reeve looked into her face. She looked nothing like her father, or what he recalled of the man; she must have favored her mother. Her dark eyes were striking, not that he could quite ascertain their color at this distance.
He hoped he did not look terribly taken aback. That would not do.
She was, in a word, beautiful, possessing the same fine features that he’d seen on ancient busts and statues during his travels. Even her frilly little cap, which was, like the rest of her garb, seasons out of date and an accessory that would have better suited his girls, not a woman grown, was not as unbecoming as it might have been on a less lovely creature. It contained most of her hair, but the rattling carriage, he imagined, had loosened some tendrils near her hairline.
As with her eyes, Reeve had some difficulty assessing its shade. The fading light of day did not help him. It could be chestnut, or maybe auburn.
Not ugly, then.
For some reason, the way she had thwarted his lazy conjectures through no fault of her own other than possessing good attributes peeved him. He hoped the sigh he uttered was not too noticeable.
She did not need to retire to her room, or attend to herself in any way to become presentable for her new employer. Even after a long journey.
Reeve was a good judge of age. It came from practice, mostly, having had to estimate the age of younger men who had enlisted. Women presented only a slightly bigger challenge, if only because he had been exposed to fewer of them unless one counted ladies of ill repute. In their cases, life had rarely been kind to them and often made them look older than they were.
He guessed that Miss Sedgwyck was out of her teens, if only just. She had a calm bearing that befit an older woman, though.
Not that any of the women in The Thornlands were particularly dignified.
When Edgar, who lingered at the door, cleared his throat, Reeve knew he had stared for a little too long. He was thankful that his complexion, slightly browned from his time in military service and naturally inclined toward olive, would not give away his faint blush.
He quickly stood to receive her. Phoebe, unexpectedly, rose first, but Sophie readily followed her sister.
“My lord,” Miss Sedgwyck said. She curtsied.
“Miss Sedgwyck.”
Good Lord, was that a creak in his voice? And why on earth had her name come out as more of a question?
She could be no one else. He did not ever receive visitors.
At least I know my face is still inscrutable, thought Reeve. His show of surprise, however tiny, made him surly.
He had been told many times that his countenance was unreadable. It had been an endless point of contention between him and Lady Malliston, who would sigh and pout and insist he was being callous. He had quickly given up trying to explain to her that his face was just not a reliable way of reading his emotions.
In battle, it had always been an advantage.
It was an advantage, now.
“Yes, my lord,” she said. If he was not mistaken, she sounded slightly confused. The half-question, half-statement present in the way he’d stated her name must have been more obvious than he’d hoped. “I am honored and pleased to be in your household at last.”
Before he could reply, her eyes fell upon his daughters. “Are these to be my new pupils?”
Without waiting for his answer, she took a few paces forward, smiling at Phoebe and Sophie in turn.
“Yes,” said Reeve. He indicated each girl with a hand upon her shoulder. “This is Sophie, my eldest, and Phoebe.”
Bobbing shy curtsies that were less refined than he would have preferred – but he could only blame Miss Ball for that – the girls stepped toward Miss Sedgwyck.
She, to his surprise, went to her knees on the parquet floor so that she could be eye-to-eye with the little girls.
Even Edgar gave a sound of… was it approval? Disapproval?
Reeve couldn’t be sure without seeing the man, and his ears certainly did not distinguish one emotion from the other without the help of his eyes.
“Aren’t you girls just darling?” she said. “And as alike as two peas in a pod, too!” She beamed at them. “I am certain we shall have the most delightful time together.”
Reeve had no idea how to reply to this show of what seemed to be genuine interest. He just stood there, a little behind the trio, and glanced over their heads at Edgar, who had the smallest of smiles on his old face.
On the other hand, Phoebe and Sophie seemed to know what to do.
“You are beautiful,” Phoebe declared in her little voice.
Reeve only just caught it, and he only just caught it because he was rapt, trying to untangle what he was seeing and how he felt about it. He raised an eyebrow in surprise. Phoebe did not take to strangers. She took only to him, which he still didn’t comprehend, and to Sophie.
“Thank you, Phoebe,” said Miss Sedgwyck. She seemed truly pleased at the compliment, though it came only from a little girl.
“Will you paddle us… or shout at us?”
The question emerged from Sophie’s lips in her usual blunt manner. It made Reeve’s breath catch in his throat.
He coughed and, to his chagrin, discovered that he was rendered temporarily speechless.
He should be reining Sophie in, or apologizing to the new governess… anything to mitigate the barbarity implied in the innocent, but impertinent, query. He was already the Duke of Havoc.
He did not also need to be known as the “duke who had his daughters beaten at every infraction”.
Miss Sedgwyck’s beautiful face fell into an expression of disbelief, then pity. She said seriously to Sophie, who herself looked as serious as the grave, “You may have no doubt that I shall never hit or paddle you. Why anyone would ever want to do such a thing is beyond the pale.”
She paused, seemingly to make sure Sophie and Phoebe were listening.
They were.
“My father and his sister, my Aunt Lydia, raised me. Never once have I been struck in punishment.” Then, she smiled. “And believe me, I was not the easiest child in all of England.”
Reeve was amazed when his girls gave each other a look… and giggled. Small giggles. But they were sounds of mirth and relief nonetheless.
“You would never cause mischief,” said Phoebe with finality, as though her opinion settled the matter.
Reeve could have been knocked over by a feather. In actuality, he looked stiffer than a wooden plank, standing there rooted to the flo
or, the crook of his arm still raised against his mouth after his little coughing fit.
“I shall tell you later when we are better acquainted and you have no reason to think ill of me what sort of mischief I caused,” said Miss Sedgwyck. “Though, you must promise never to let it give you ideas.” She winked. Very minutely.
With that, Reeve knew his girls had accepted her.
Phoebe reached out her hand, which Miss Sedgwyck took readily, and Sophie, normally the more forward of the two, gazed up at her father before responding in kind. Reeve wondered if she could detect any of his thoughts. Probably not, although she generally had an uncanny ability to speak exactly the thing he wished to remain unsaid.
Then Sophie returned her attention to Miss Sedgwyck. She said, “I like you, Miss Sedgwyck.”
“You may call me Miss Caroline, then.”
Sophie nodded. “Miss Caroline.”
Like she was an established financier about to strike a deal, Sophie offered her hand to Miss Sedgwyck, who relinquished Phoebe’s to give it a firm shake. Even Reeve almost smiled at Sophie’s gesture.
He had a sense that Miss Sedgwyck was his wisest decision yet, even if that decision only relieved him of having to tend to his daughters when he’d rather be seeking his fortune at the tables or his pleasure in a doxy’s bed.
He found his voice at last. Reeve cleared his throat and said, “I am glad for your safe arrival, Miss Sedgwyck. I am equally pleased with the affection you seem to have kindled within my daughters. I daresay you shall find Sophie and Phoebe are most pleasant. Kindly do well by them.”
His speech sounded stilted and a little too cold, even to his own blunted hearing.
Miss Sedgwyck relinquished her grasp on Sophie’s hand and stood, brushing off the front of her fawn dress. “You have my word, Lord Malliston, that Sophie and Phoebe shall be treated as though they were my own flesh and blood. That means no paddling, either by my hand or some blunt object.”
The mild jest was for the girls, but he might have sworn she directed it more at him.
So… she has spirit.
Satisfied, especially by her lack of affect, Reeve nodded. He did not quite smile but, still, he felt his face relax. In a brief, baffling moment, their eyes met and held – Reeve’s brown against her dark green. Her eyes were green: he could see them better, now.
Duke of Havoc Page 5
