A Governess of Great Talents

by Murdoch, Emily E K

  Meredith bit her lip. Was this a sign of things to come? She had hoped for a lack of interference, that was true, but that was far more extreme than even she could have imagined. This was disrespect. Was her charge going to be this thoroughly ignored? Was she?

  Courtesy cost nothing, Meredith thought sternly, and she often found it was those with the least funds who had the most.

  Rising from her seat and keeping a hold of her reticule, which contained both her reference from the earl and her appointment letter from Miss Clarke, Meredith started to meander around the drawing room.

  This was intolerable. Perhaps she should go and see if the housekeeper could show her to her room? The woman was a little stern, Meredith thought with a smile as she peered at one of the paintings but surely would understand.

  Ethelbert Carmichael, fourth Duke of Rochdale, said the little note underneath the painting.

  She raised an eyebrow. Interesting names, these Carmichaels.

  It was only when the little clock chimed half past the hour that she really lost her temper. This was insupportable! The clock was slow as it was, and she was tired of waiting for a man—she would not call him gentleman, he had not yet earned that right—to turn up, take a look at her, and allow her to finally take to her rooms!

  It could not be clearer that the elder brother had something to learn, as well. Perhaps, amongst her lessons for the younger Carmichael, she would be able to teach them both a few manners, even if—

  The door opened with a bang, and a tall, dark haired, and thoroughly irritated looking man stepped into the drawing room.

  Meredith swallowed as she turned to face him. The Earl of Marnmouth had been…well, not exactly old, but past fifty and utterly besotted with his wife. There had been no awkwardness between them, no tension, just the pragmatic relationship of governess and master.

  It would not be the same here, she could tell from the moment their gazes met. This Duke of Rochdale was…

  Well, there was no other way to describe it other than handsome. Sparks seemed to fly between them as he slammed the door behind him and glared, sparks she could not see but certainly feel.

  Dressed in a well-cut frock coat and tall riding boots splattered with mud, the Duke of Rochdale had that brooding, frustrated look of a man who was accustomed to getting his way and had not done so.

  Meredith stared, the silence ever-increasing until she remembered herself.

  She was here to serve.

  Meredith broke the connection as her gaze dropped, and in that moment, she reminded herself of two things. Firstly, that she was a governess of the Governess Bureau. Falling in love was forbidden. Second, that a duke, of all people, would never look at her in that way.

  She was here to be the governess to his younger brother, and that was all. She was not the sort of lady to permit her head to be turned—nor that sort of servant who would hitch up her skirts at the first opportunity.

  As Meredith rose from her curtsey, it was to see the Duke of Rochdale bob his head briefly.

  “Good afternoon,” he said curtly.

  Meredith paused to collect herself, ensuring all her frustrations were adequately removed from her tone, before speaking. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

  She waited for him to continue, giving him the responsibility of conversation, as it was his house, and she, his servant. This meant they stood in silence for a few moments, moments elongating into discomfort the longer they went on.

  Meredith’s aching feet begged for relief, but she could not merely sit down because she was tired. The Duke of Rochdale was before her! This was his house, and until he invited her to be seated, she would be forced to stand.

  It was a full minute later, or that is what it felt like at least, of continued silence before Meredith finally broke it.

  “I will sit, if you do not mind.”

  “What?” The duke looked utterly distracted, as though he had been so lost in his thoughts, he had forgotten not only what he was doing here in the drawing room, but who she was. “Sit? Oh, yes, sit.”

  Meredith inclined her head in gratitude and moved to the gaggle of armchairs around the fireplace, mercifully unlit in this heat. Seating herself, she watched the duke move across the room like an angry cat, all hackles and strides, and drop lazily into the armchair opposite.

  Everything about him seemed designed to draw her in. His jaw was tight as though holding back fury, his gray eyes stormy, his whole body lounging on the armchair as if he owned the place.

  Which he did, Meredith reminded herself. This was no time to lose your head, girl! This was a duke, yes, and a rather handsome, young one at that, which she had not foreseen. But just because his presence was intoxicating, that did not mean he had even noticed you.

  Meredith cleared her throat. The sooner this conversation started, the sooner she could leave this exhilarating man and retreat to her rooms. “Will I have the pleasure of meeting the younger Lord Carmichael, too?”

  It was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. The Duke of Rochdale glared, brow stern and eyes suspicious. “What do you know of him?”

  It was not an unreasonable question on the face of it, but the tone was so fierce, it was as though she had suggested they sacrifice him to the sun.

  Perhaps he is just overprotective, she thought to herself. It was natural for any parent or guardian, in this case, to be wary of anyone coming in close proximity with their charge and that she agreed with. Add in the complexity of brotherhood, half-brotherhood at that, and perhaps it was not so surprising that he snapped in this way.

  “Nothing,” she said blandly. “Save that he is your half-brother, and that I am engaged here to teach him.”

  At her calm and undramatic words, a change came over the duke. He relaxed, brow smoothing and a smile now dancing on his lips.

  “Ah,” he said. “Yes. Excellent. I am glad to see his reputation does not go before him.”

  From memory, the boy was but eight years old. How much trouble could an eight-year-old boy get into that his guardian was concerned his exploits had reached London?

  “You must forgive me for being so brusque Miss…Miss,” said the duke. “We have a name to protect.”

  “We all have names to protect, even if we do not have impressive titles to go with them,” said Meredith without thinking.

  The moment the words had left her mouth, she clamped her lips shut, but the damage was done. The words were out, and there was naught she could do to take them back.

  Meredith burned, heat rising to her cheeks and her hands twisting in her lap. Once again, that dratted temper of hers had risen to the foreground, and she had allowed it to slip through—and before a duke, before her new employer!

  For years she had struggled with her self-control, always convinced that she had bettered it, that she had it under control…and then something like this happened.

  “You’ll always be fiery, girl,” her father had said with a wry smile when she had raged at him the last time she had seen him. “Run as far as you want, change your name, lie about us…but that temper will always be there.”

  “Yes, indeed, we all have names to protect,” said the duke, startling Meredith from her reverie. To her surprise, he was smiling. “Well put, Miss….”

  Meredith swallowed. “Hubert.”

  It had seemed such an innocuous name, and years ago, when she had searched for a new one, it had seemed to fit.

  It felt false now. For the first time in her life, she wondered why she had gone to so much trouble to hide the roots of her past. Surely he would not even recognize the name—

  “Yes, the Carmichael name is one my brother and I—”

  “Half-brother, is that right, Your Grace?” Meredith could not help but interrupt. It was vital she had an exact understanding of the dynamics between the two of them, and now, in this first meeting, was the time to do that.

  That it required her to interrupt a duke had not occurred to her.

  The Duke of Rochdale r
aised an eyebrow. “Yes, that is right. I am surprised you have remembered.”

  Meredith smiled. “The Governess Bureau only sends the very best.”

  It was with some pride that she spoke. In London, membership of the Governess Bureau was something to be proud of, but the more she had seen of this wild northern country, the more she wondered whether they had any sense of its import.

  From the Duke’s response, very little. “Ah, yes, I saw the advert,” he said nonchalantly. “In truth, Miss Hubert, I have struggled to find a governess but only due to my lack of time to spend on the problem.”

  The problem? It was an odd way to speak of a child, and Meredith could not help but wonder whether the poor boy heard his older brother speak of him in that way. It was hardly likely to garner brotherly affection.

  “Finding the right educator,” Meredith hazarded, “is a serious business and should not be taken lightly.”

  She had not been entirely sure whether that was the correct sort of response, but it appeared that the duke was simply not interested.

  With a languid shrug, he said, “I suppose it is, though I admit I do not care for it much. It was only because I am so tied up with affairs of politics, and then there’s the election…”

  The duke’s voice trailed away, his gaze slipping past her and toward the window. Meredith waited for a moment in silence, not entirely sure whether this meant it was her turn to speak, and then cleared her throat loudly.

  Nothing happened. The duke was lost in his own thoughts and, by his frown, they were not happy ones.

  Meredith frowned, too. She did not expect every parent or guardian to be devoted to their charges’ study. Education, or at least the instruction of it, was not for everyone.

  But this was not the Duke of Rochdale’s problem. Far from only being disinterested in his brother’s education, he seemed utterly disinterested in her, too—and this election that he had mentioned.

  Now she looked closer, without the rush of attraction that had initially blinded her, Meredith could see lines of worry across his brow and around his eyes. Alfred Carmichael had the look about him of a man who had aged a great deal in a short amount of time.

  There were even flecks of silver around his temples, Meredith realized, and the man could not be that much older than she was. The preoccupation on his face, for she could tell it was that and not rudeness now, had utterly claimed him.

  There was nothing quite like having a Governess Bureau woman in the house, she had always found. But this man? It did not seem likely he would accept any advice or even questions from someone like her.

  Meredith cleared her voice again as the silence continued. “The election, did you say, Your Grace?”

  The duke blinked and started, as though astonished to find her there. “Election?”

  “Yes, the election,” Meredith said kindly. “You mentioned the election.”

  “Yes. Yes, I did.” He sighed heavily. “Let us not speak of that. I can hardly escape it as it is.”

  The words were so unlike what she had expected, Meredith wondered for a moment whether she had misheard her new master. Escape it? He was the one running for election, wasn’t he?

  It was bizarre to see a man with such power have so little interest in wielding it.

  “I will be frank with you, Miss Hubert, as I hope you will always be frank with me,” said the duke heavily. “I have little interest in you if I am honest. No, do not get yourself into a flap about it,” he said hastily as Meredith opened her mouth. “I do not mean I have no respect for you, nor that you do not perform an essential role in my household. But I have no interest in where the beef comes for my pies, and I have just as little curiosity in your history or references.”

  Meredith closed her mouth. She had been ready with an elegant and almost witty retort to make him smile, and see that taking her seriously would be crucial—but how did one argue with that sort of statement?

  Such blatant rudeness, and it would be considered rudeness if spoken by anyone without a title, could not be countered.

  “You are here to teach my brother. Good. Teach him, and you will be well rewarded,” continued the duke, with clearly no understanding of the offense he was giving. “Archie needs a firm hand and a good dose of Latin.”

  “Yes, I have a curriculum planned,” began Meredith. “I actually thought—”

  “He is a rascal,” interrupted the duke darkly. “Stealing food from the kitchens. Asking impertinent questions. Playing tricks in church. Ink all over his bedclothes, I have had to discipline him more than once.”

  Meredith stared. These seemed like minor infractions compared to some of the horror stories Miss Clarke had shared in her warnings to new governesses.

  “Give him discipline. Keep him and yourself out of the way. Out of my way.”

  Meredith’s temper was starting to curl around the edges of her heart again. She was a servant, that was true, and she would never consider herself to be an equal with her master. Far from it, if he had any comprehension of her past…

  But there were little rules within these complex households, rules she had learned to follow. One of those rules was that butlers, housekeepers, governesses… Well, they were a little set apart from the other servants. A little more prestige, certainly higher wages. Able to read and write, certainly. Not on a level footing with the master of the house, but not nearly as low as a scullery maid.

  “Thank you for making my position here so clear. In equal frankness, may I inquire, Your Grace, why I was not met by you when I arrived?” Meredith asked stiffly. “I may also inquire why I was left waiting for so long with no attention.”

  She had never spoken so to her former employer, but then, she had no need to. Who was this man, this, this duke, to treat her so poorly when she came from one of the most respectable suppliers of governesses in the Empire?

  The Duke smiled. “’Tis not my job to entertain you, Miss.”

  Meredith gaped, unable to hide her surprise.

  “Anyway, my housekeeper should have given you the attention you deserve—tea, and cake, and that sort of thing,” he continued blandly. “Why did she not?”

  How was one to respond to such a question? She had been in his house but two hours at most, and now she was expected to tell a gentleman—nay, a duke—why his servants were not performing their duties adequately?

  But Meredith knew better than to give into the temptation of a scornful remark. She would be living in this house for a long time, years, if she was fortunate. It would never do to ostracize the other most senior female servant before she had even met the rest of the staff.

  No, she would need to keep the housekeeper—Mrs. Martin, wasn’t it?—sweet if she was going to succeed in this house.

  “I believe your housekeeper was otherwise engaged,” she said quietly.

  The duke sighed heavily. “Oh yes, that damned—I beg your pardon. That business with the undermaid, I still need to get to the bottom of it.”

  Meredith’s curiosity was piqued, and despite herself, she said, “Business with the undermaid?”

  “She had to leave in a hurry this morning, apparently—or at least that is what Roberts, my butler, informs me,” he said, with little interest. “The house is all at sea because of it.”

  Meredith had never heard of such a thing. Well, maids leaving, that was hardly surprising. Some left to get married, others found positions in other households, though she could not imagine what other households there were close to Rochdale Abbey with sufficient employment for undermaids.

  But did not the master of the house always know why his servants had left him? Why was the housekeeper dealing with it and yet not telling the master? Why did the butler not even know?

  Questions upon questions arose in her heart, but Meredith swallowed them down.

  She needed to succeed. The boy, Archibald, was twenty years younger than his half-brother, and the duke before her could be no more than thirty. That meant she probably had about fiv
e years, if she was fortunate, before the boy went to school.

  Five years. It was a heady thought; five years of comfortable living, a warm place to sleep, three meals provided, and all the grounds she could wish for to explore.

  It was luxury compared to London, and if she were not foolish and stopped poking her nose in where it was not wanted, she would be rewarded with what every governess, in her heart, wanted.

  Comfort and security.

  Meredith nodded. “I understand.”

  The clock on the mantelpiece chimed, and both Meredith and her new employer glanced at it. Six o’clock.

  The duke sighed. “Blast—I mean…you will have to excuse me, Miss Hubert, I am not accustomed to having a lady in the house. I am afraid I have many draws on my time, and I will need to be departing in a moment for another…”

  His voice trailed away, and Meredith waited for a moment before clearing her voice again. Really, he was a most easily distracted fellow.

  “Yes,” he said hastily. “Right. I will tell you the rules of the house, and then you can see yourself out.”

  It was all Meredith could do not to bristle. So rudely dismissed, and after no words of thanks, no queries about her difficult journey here, the muddiness of the roads, the weather…

  All the pleasant societal niceties had been ignored. How was this man to run for Parliament with such manners?

  “This is your house, Your Grace,” she said aloud, “and I am in your service.”

  “Yes,” he said, eyes flashing. “You are.”

  As their gazes met, it was all Meredith could do not to gasp. There was something there, something that crackled in the air between them: a fury, a desire, a determination to be aloof, and yet a connection between them that made little sense.

  How was she going to control herself around such a man who made her at one moment furious and at the other desperate to be closer to him?

  Meredith had never met many gentlemen who had…well, been attractive.

  She had now, and was utterly at sea how to conceal her thoughts. Could he tell what she was thinking? He was a duke, surely far more worldly than she was.