The Extraordinary Tale of the Rebellious Governess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  “Come in.”

  Obediently, Lucretia followed the other two men inside, and stood behind them as the Duke took his seat behind his desk and gestured toward chairs. A servant had already lit a fire on the hearth, its welcoming blaze lending a slightly more cheerful air to the solemn occasion. “Miss Brent, you may sit over there.”

  The Duke pointed to a small wooden chair to his right, and Lucretia took it, unwilling to meet his still angry face. Twining her fingers in her lap, she expected him to begin by asking questions of Thomas. Instead, he shocked her when he spoke.

  “Miss Brent,” he said, his voice only a shade quieter than earlier. “I would like to hear your version of events first.”

  Lucretia swallowed hard. “Certainly, Your Grace.”

  Forcing herself to meet his anger and keep her own voice from shaking, Lucretia recounted how Henrietta wished to see her pony, being escorted by John Kelley, seeing the rider, hidden from the grooms, and his weapon.

  “You saw him take aim at Henrietta?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “And you pushed her out of the line of fire?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  As others had asked her, so did His Grace. “And there is no doubt in your mind he aimed at my sister?”

  “None, Your Grace. Her Ladyship stood to one side of Mr. Kelley and myself. The rifle was pointed in her direction. I recognized the angle of its barrel. Unless his target was the pony, that only leaves Lady Henrietta as the one he wished to shoot.”

  “Did you perhaps recognize this rider?”

  “No, Your Grace. He was a stranger to me.”

  The Duke turned to Thomas. “Can the grooms verify any of this?”

  “All of her words, save none saw him up close or from the front, Your Grace,” the butler replied. “By the time they gave chase, he spurred his horse into a gallop and was gone.”

  “Might you recognize him if you saw him again, Miss Brent?”

  Lucretia nibbled her lower lip. “I might, Your Grace. He did not appear to be gently born, and his hair was long and unkempt.”

  “What color?”

  “Blond, Your Grace,” she answered, thinking hard. “He was not dressed in livery and wore a brown coat.”

  The Duke frowned slightly, drumming his fingers on his desk. “Can you describe the horse?”

  “In part, Your Grace. A very dark bay. There may have been white on it, but I cannot be certain.”

  As the Duke asked her his questions, Lucretia relaxed, her hands no longer shaking. He did not appear to be angry with her as much as furious that his young sister had been the target of a murderous villain. She could hardly blame him, as she herself had been almost as angry. To imagine someone killing that innocent little girl…

  “I am sorry, Your Grace,” she said, blushing, when she realized the Duke had asked her another question. “I fear I was woolgathering for a moment.”

  His Grace waved his hand negligently. “I merely asked if your wound had healed sufficiently.”

  “Indeed, yes, Your Grace,” she replied quickly. “Thank you for asking.”

  He glanced at Thomas and James. “Now then,” he began. “We now have a fairly accurate description of the assassin and his mount. So what do we do with this information?”

  “We search for him, Your Grace,” James said, his tone firm and almost as angry as the Duke’s had been. “Carry out a search of the local towns and villages, but in secret, discreetly. I would volunteer my services to this task, but I fear my face is too well known. Someone will ask questions about my poking my nose into taverns.”

  “I agree, Your Grace,” Thomas added. “We must have someone search for this miscreant posthaste. In your absence, I made a few inquiries in the village, but had little success.”

  “Your face is as recognizable as mine,” James said to him. “But we must also consider the fire set in the stable, Your Grace. Two events such as these may be related.”

  The Duke nodded. “I, too, have considered it from that aspect. Someone setting fire to my stable and then an assassin trying to kill Henrietta, these are not a coincidence. So, James, do you have someone in mind to search for this man and horse?”

  “Most assuredly, I do, Your Grace,” James replied, smiling in a fashion that sent a shiver down Lucretia’s back. “I will set my little bird free to fly and seek out what we need.”

  While his statement meant little to Lucretia, and Thomas’s only indication of surprise was a slight lifting of his brows, it obviously meant something to the Duke. He nodded, turning in his chair to stare into the fire. For long moments, no one spoke. As it was not her place to break into the Duke’s musings, she waited with patience. Yet she discreetly studied His Grace’s profile, noting his slightly hawkish nose and jutting brow. A tendril of his hair had come loose and tumbled over his forehead, giving him a rakish appearance. Lucretia craved to run her fingers over it, and push it back into place.

  As though feeling her eyes on him, His Grace’s sharp penetrating eyes suddenly flicked to her. She glanced down immediately, feeling heat rise to her face. Caught mooning over the Duke like some milkmaid over her swain. Keep your eyes to yourself if you want to stay on here.

  “Miss Brent?”

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “I know I can trust in your discretion,” the Duke said, his tone soft. “You will not speak of what we discussed here.”

  Her face lifted. “I would never betray either you or Lady Henrietta, Your Grace. You both have my undying loyalty.”

  His smile, tender and oddly very sweet, softened the stern lines of his face. Lucretia, despite her vow not moments before to keep her face down, met his jade eyes without blinking. She knew she should not stare so, but his words rankled. He should know that I would never do anything to harm Henrietta, even upon the pain of my own death. Her secrets, his secrets, I will carry to my grave. A strange connection formed between them, as though just by looking at one another, they shared, without words, a mutual understanding and comradeship. The Duke seemed to see it as strongly as she, for his smile widened ever so slightly, and he dipped his chin in the tiniest of nods.

  “Gentlemen, leave us please.” The Duke continued to meet Lucretia’s eyes, unblinking. “I wish to thank Miss Brent for her bravery in privacy.”

  The two men rose from their chairs and bowed low, then with quiet steps retreated from the study. The door shut softly behind them. Yanking her gaze back to her lap, Lucretia tried to understand what, exactly, had just passed between herself and the Duke. No such thing had ever happened to her before. She knew, before he spoke, that he wanted her alone. Presumably to thank her, but somehow she knew he wanted her alone for other reasons.

  “You displayed remarkable courage, Miss Brent,” he said at last, his tone soft. “And some incredible instincts.”

  “I have always felt the need to protect children, Your Grace,” Lucretia replied, shunting her eyes from his. “I – the orphanage was not always a very nice place.”

  Through their heightened awareness of one another, Lucretia felt his gaze on her sharpen, knew his body tensed. Do not let him ask, please, do not ask me what I know you are going to. Desperately, she sought for something to say to him, an excuse for her obvious reluctance to speak, for the way she suddenly cut her eyes from him.

  “You suffered in there?”

  “Incidents,” she began, trying to muster the words to answer his question while not answering it directly, “incidents have occurred that placed my life, and those of the children, in danger. I expect that I developed some rather overprotective instincts when it comes to the small, helpless ones.”

  Lucretia tried to smile, to convey that such things were commonplace, after all. “But we are talking of London, are we not, Your Grace? London teems with criminals of all types. And I consider myself most fortunate that Your Grace saw fit to bring me from that dismal place.”

  The Duke failed to smile, and his gaze pierced her through. “I
believe I am the fortunate one, Miss Brent. I have no doubt that any other governess would not have recognized the threat to my sister’s life until it was far too late. But you, you did not just recognize it, you acted. And for that action, I am grateful and in your debt.”

  Flushed with embarrassment, Lucretia studied her folded hands. “Your Grace, I did what any loyal servant would do in my place.”

  “Perhaps, Miss Brent. But they did not and you did. Therefore, I wish to reward you for your courage in protecting Henrietta.”

  Now his words did enrage her. Lucretia stiffened, her hands clenched in her lap. She dared not look at him, for he would no doubt see her anger and defiance, and grow angry in his turn. Slowly, she counted to ten to rein in her temper, to not hurl her ire, as well as a few choice insults, straight into his face.

  “The service is its own reward,” she stated, unable to loosen her stiff jaw. “I seek no other.”

  “Miss Brent,” the Duke said, his tone mild yet commanding. “Look at me.”

  Lucretia fought the urge to deny him, to maintain her steady stare at her hands entwined in her lap. But he was a Duke and she a common governess, and she had no choice but to obey him. She knew a muscle ticked in her tense jaw, for it never failed to betray her anger for others to see. He would see it, then denounce her. She braced herself for the tirade to come.

  “I see that my offer of a reward vexes you,” he said. “May I ask why?”

  Counting slowly to ten once more, Lucretia drew in a deep breath and forced her clenched jaw to loosen. “I acted out of love for Lady Henrietta, Your Grace. I love her as I loved the children in London, or my own sister.”

  Her chin lifted. “To be offered a reward for that love demeans me, and your sister.”

  For a long moment, he stared at her and she at him, him calm, appraising, she defiant, angry. Lucretia knew she would lose such a contest with the Duke, but refused to halt. She knew such defiance could get her dismissed from his household, although she suspected his honor would forbid such. After all, Lucretia saved Henrietta’s life. Yet, a more cynical part of her also recognized that the aristocracy could have honor, and still dismiss an annoying governess.

  “You are right, Miss Brent,” he said finally. “I formally withdraw such a tactless statement, and apologize.”

  Lucretia felt all breath leave her lungs and not return. What did he just say? The Duke of Breckenridge, one of the foremost peers of the realm who is said to have the Prince Regent’s ear, and was listened to, just apologized to her, a common girl. Spots swirled in her eyes until she remembered to draw breath. “I – I must say – thank you, Your Grace.”

  His green eyes smiled, reflected in the firelight, though his mouth never moved. I know he is amused and pleased, but how I know it, I will never understand. “I fear I misjudged the love you have for Henrietta, Miss Brent, as well as underestimated it. Though I am sure you understand by now, that with you at her side, you may become a target for this assassin, as well.”

  Though Lucretia already considered that prospect, and dismissed it almost as quickly, she knew that to display a dismissive attitude over the veiled threat to her life might make the Duke think her careless. But she also did not want him to think her afraid. “I realize that, Your Grace,” she replied calmly. “I will continue in my capacity as Lady Henrietta’s governess.”

  “Perhaps I should appoint you her bodyguard,” he said, his tone dry. “That would entail a raise in pay, you know.”

  Before she stopped it, her chin rose. “I accepted that role when I came here, Your Grace.”

  To her shock, a peal of genuine laughter emerged from his throat, and the Duke threw his head back as his amusement sprang forth. For a moment, she sat, spellbound by the sight of a Duke roaring in laughter. Then she found in her previous words no small humor as well, and chuckled along with him.

  “Ah, you are a treasure, Miss Brent,” he said, his laughter dying down to chuckles and a grin. “I would have you dine with Henrietta and myself this evening, if you can endure my boorish company for a while longer.”

  Lucretia smiled. “I would enjoy that tremendously, Your Grace.”

  “Excellent. I will inform Thomas to set an extra plate for you. If you will excuse me, I do wish to consult with Roderick for a few minutes before supper.”

  He rose and came around the end of his desk, extending his hand to her. Lucretia permitted him to assist her up, shivering with delight as his strong fingers enclosed hers. He stared deep into her eyes, smiling with a strange mixture of amusement and admiration. “Until then, Miss Brent.”

  “Until then, Your Grace.”

  Lucretia dipped into a deep curtsey, pulling her fingers from his with reluctance. Turning, she felt his eyes on her back as she glided on feet she barely recognized as her own all the way to the door. She slid through it, and closed it gently behind her. Leaning against it, Lucretia breathed deep, transfixed by the memory of his laughter, his hand on hers, the very odd connection they shared.

  As Roderick walked down the hallway toward her, Lucretia straightened hurriedly, smoothing her skirts as she walked with what dignity she effectively gathered around her, past him. She acknowledged his nod with one of her own, and all but bounced down the corridor once he entered the Duke’s study.

  * * *

  Sensitive to the comings and goings of the Duke’s household, Lucretia knew immediately when John Kelley vanished from his duties. Rumors flew about the manor house that he had been dismissed, but Lucretia knew better. She had observed from the solar window his rapid conversation with James, and their parting in different directions. The next day, John had vanished, his chamber emptied, and a horse gone from the stable. Not a priceless Breckenridge, but a horse of a decent enough quality that a man of John Kelley’s social stature could never afford. Lucretia discovered James’ little bird.

  Of course, she told no one of her observations. Over the next few days, she continued teaching Henrietta poetry and the literary classics, gave her basic lessons in French, and, without intending to, taught her to curse in Italian. Brought to horrified giggles when Henrietta repeated what Lucretia had muttered when she had no idea Henrietta was listening, Lucretia fell to her knees in front of the girl.

  “Promise me,” she begged, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “You will never say that again.”

  “What did I say?” Henrietta asked, her own confused smile wide as she gazed into Lucretia’s face. “I just repeated what you said.”

  “I will make you a promise,” Lucretia said. “If you make me one.”

  “What is that?”

  “If you promise to never repeat it, I promise to tell you what it means in ten years.”

  “Why not now? What did I say?”

  Lucretia smothered her shocked laughter with her hands over her mouth, her eyes streaming. “Something little sisters of Duke’s do not say, while Italian laborer’s do. Do I have your promise?”

  “Then how did you learn it?”

  “From listening to Italian laborers in the London orphanage,” Lucretia replied, still trying to choke down her giggles. “Please, I do not know if your brother understands Italian, but you must never let him hear you speak those words.”

  “Very well, Luce,” Henrietta said, nodding. “I promise. But you will tell me in ten years?”

  “I promise I will tell you in ten years.”

  After that, Lucretia made certain she kept her annoyances internal, and ceased muttering under her breath – in all languages. As far as she knew, Henrietta kept her promise and never repeated the Italian curse where someone might hear her. Thus, when the Duke happened by to check on his sister’s studies, he found Henrietta busy practicing her French while Lucretia covered her guilt with a bland smile that she was sure he saw straight through. Her low curtsey, hopefully, covered her flush of embarrassment.

  As he listened to his sister recite a French poem, Lucretia felt his gaze shift toward her. Worried he recognized her te
rrible guilt, Lucretia flushed, her own gaze fastened on Henrietta with near desperation. “My Lady,” she said, her throat dry, “you must try again. It is pronounced je t’aime. Please, now try again.”

  As Henrietta correctly spoke the French words, Lucretia felt self-conscious with the Duke’s eyes flicking between his sister and herself. She wore, as she usually did when in private with Henrietta, a plain grey gown with a high lace collar and her hair unbound, flowing freely down her back. Flushing faintly, yet again, as she realized how she must look to him – like a tavern hussy with no regard for propriety. Still, his face showed little save interest, and no social outrage over her lack of proper dress.