The Duke's Marriage Mission

by Deborah Hale

  The duke must have held his son up to the window to watch for and welcome her. In spite of his fears that Kit might fall or take a chill, he had risked allowing the boy a rare taste of freedom for her sake. A warm smile set Leah’s whole face aglow and made an unaccountable lump rise in her throat. Though she doubted Kit could see her, she waved back just as eagerly.

  When the carriage reached the front entrance, Leah was flattered to find the household staff assembled outside to greet her. Some cast her smiles of welcome, while others clearly resented the imposition.

  “What is all this?” she protested to the butler, her cheek blazing with embarrassment. “You should not be standing out in the cold, especially not on my account. I am not a guest at Renforth Abbey.”

  “His Grace’s orders, Miss Shaw.” Gibson bowed to her, at which point the footmen and Lord Northam’s valet followed suit and all the maids curtsied. “To celebrate your return. The young master has been counting the days.”

  “That is very kind, I’m sure.” Leah waved them all toward the door. “But you must get out of the cold at once.”

  “After you, miss,” replied the butler.

  Though she considered it ridiculous to precede the others when she was dressed for the weather and they were not, Leah hurried inside so the servants would follow without delay. From there she hastened upstairs to the nursery, removing her bonnet and gloves as she went. When she spotted a gilt-framed mirror on the wall of the nursery corridor, she paused to smooth her hair and approve the rosy color the winter air had nipped into her cheeks.

  Upon reaching the nursery, she paused to tap on the door before entering. If Lord Northam was still holding his son at the window or carrying Kit back to his bed, she did not want to burst in and startle them.

  “Is that you, Miss Leah?” Kit’s eager cry penetrated the door. His voice sounded stronger than she remembered. “Come in!”

  She was only too happy to oblige. Entering the room, she found the duke tucking his son back into bed. The sight of them both provoked a rush of happiness within her, far more intense than she was prepared for.

  Clearly her young pupil shared the sentiment. His pale, clever face positively blazed with joy at her return. “Welcome home, Miss Leah! Papa took me to the window so I could watch you drive up. Did you see me waving?”

  “Indeed I did, though I could scarcely believe my eyes.” Leah flew to his bedside just as the duke straightened and turned toward her.

  Something about his weary but welcoming smile made it difficult for her to breathe, suddenly. She managed to arrest her headlong flight far too close to His Grace. He raised his arms, making her wonder whether he intended to ward her off or enfold her in a welcoming embrace.

  Instead, Lord Northam gave an awkward chuckle as he thrust out his hand. Grasping hers, he shook it cordially, though with rather excessive force. “Your return is most welcome, Miss Shaw. My son has been counting the days until your arrival. We have used it to practice his arithmetic. I hope you had a pleasant journey from Berkshire.”

  At the end of his somewhat lengthy greeting, the duke still had Leah’s hand clasped warmly in his, pumping it up and down.

  “As pleasant as any long coach ride can be at this time of year,” she replied. “Thank you for sending your carriage to fetch me from the village. It was a delightful surprise and most kind of you.”

  When His Grace finally released her hand, as propriety demanded, Leah wished she could find some excuse to prolong the contact between them.

  “It was no inconvenience.” Lord Northam stared into her eyes as if his had been starved for the sight of her. “The coachman was happy to have some occupation. I may have to send you on drives to the village and back just to keep him in good humor.”

  Leah chuckled. She had missed the duke’s wry wit.

  Before she could reply, Kit piped up, “Pardon me.”

  He sounded a trifle vexed that the adults seemed to have forgotten him. “Did you see the banner we hung for you, Miss Leah? Papa helped me make it.”

  Leah forced her gaze away from the duke to his son, then to the window. An expanse of bright pink fabric hung from the top of the curtains. A message of welcome had been printed in yellow paint, surrounded by simple shapes of flowers in other vivid hues. She was surprised it had not drawn her gaze the moment she entered the room.

  “What a neat job you made of it and what pretty colors!” She moved closer to the window to get a better look at the banner. “Never in my life have I had such a fuss made over my comings and goings. Thank you both!”

  Kit and his father seemed gratified by her response to their efforts.

  “Consider it an attempt to make up for your original reception at Renforth Abbey,” said the duke. “It ought to have been warmer. If I could have foreseen your invaluable contribution to Kit’s well-being, I would have made you welcome from the beginning.”

  Was His Grace trying to say he wanted to make a fresh start, without his earlier resistance to her efforts? If so she would be happy to accept.

  “Tell us about your holiday, Miss Leah.” Kit patted the bed beside him, inviting her to occupy her accustomed spot. “What did you do at Nethercross to celebrate Christmas?”

  “A great many things.” Leah deposited her gloves and bonnet on Kit’s writing table then settled on the bed beside him. “Practically the moment I arrived, Charlotte, Phoebe and Sophie recruited me to go collect greenery, from which to construct a kissing bough.”

  “Kissing bough?” Kit wrinkled his nose. “What is that and how do you make one?”

  Leah cast the duke a rather reproachful glance as if to inquire how it would have harmed the boy to experience such Christmas traditions. She explained to Kit how evergreen boughs were wired into a spherical framework then decked with ribbons, fruit and other festive trimmings.

  “It sounds very pretty,” said Kit. “But what does it have to do with kissing?”

  “It is a Christmas tradition. If a man and woman meet up beneath the bough, they are obliged to exchange a kiss.” As she spoke, Leah found her gaze drawn toward Lord Northam, who stood before the mantel watching them.

  For reasons she could not fathom, he looked quite severe.

  Leah turned her attention back to Kit. “We entertained carolers on Christmas Eve and attended lots of lovely church services. Lord Steadwell gave a party on Boxing Day for his tenants and neighbors. Later in the week we were invited to an assembly hosted by their neighbors, Admiral and Mrs. DeLancey.”

  Kit heaved a sigh. “I wish I could have gone with you to Nethercross for Christmas.”

  Again Leah’s gaze flew to the duke. His son’s words made him wince. She sensed how torn he was between thoughts of Kit celebrating such a merry Christmas and fears of the boy becoming overtired or contracting an illness.

  Determined not let Kit fall into self-pity, Leah replied in as bright a tone as she could muster. “I am certain the Kendrick girls wished that too. They plagued me with questions about you—Sophie in particular. She is nearly your age and a great lover of fairy tales. She has read Gulliver’s Travels, and when I told her all about your Lilliputian figures, she was quite envious.”

  “She wanted to know about me?” The thought seemed to rescue Kit from his sulk before it had properly begun. “Tell me more about Sophie. What does she look like? What does she like to do besides read fairy tales?”

  Leah exchanged a covert smile with the duke, who relaxed visibly. “Sophie is a little taller than you. She is the youngest of Lord Steadwell’s daughters. She has lovely red-gold hair and blue eyes and she has a terrific imagination. She likes to write her own stories and draw pictures of the characters. She likes to dress up in old clothes and put on theatricals.”

  “I wish she lived nearer, so she could visit me,” Kit mused. “I would let her play with my little people all she liked.”

  “As a matter of fact, Sophie said the same thing about you. So I suggested she write you a letter, which she promptly
did. Shall I fetch it for you to read?”

  If she had brought a chest of gold and jewels from Nethercross, Leah doubted Kit would have been more excited. The duke did nothing to discourage his son’s enthusiasm. At the boy’s eager bidding, Leah hurried away and returned bearing Sophie’s letter. Kit opened it with great ceremony and proudly read it aloud to her and his father. He exclaimed over a self-portrait Sophie had enclosed, insisting it must be framed and hung where he could see it.

  “I believe Sophie would like it very much if you wrote back to her,” Leah suggested. “Would you like to begin writing a letter of reply tomorrow?”

  She was anxious for Kit to make the acquaintance of someone his own age, even if it was only by post. Besides it would provide her young pupil useful practice with his reading and writing.

  Kit did not greet her suggestion with the enthusiasm she expected. Instead his smile faltered and his shoulders slumped. “What will I have to tell her? I never go anywhere or do anything exciting.”

  Leah thought for a moment. When she replied, her words were addressed to the child, but also to his father. “Perhaps we shall have to do something about that.”

  The excitement of his governess’s return seemed to tire Kit out, making it easier to get him settled for the night. That pleased Hayden, for it meant he would be able to dine with Leah Shaw. It seemed like a very long time since he had enjoyed the pleasure of her company and conversation.

  “I am glad to hear you had such a fine holiday visiting your friend,” he remarked as he held her chair. “I hope all that activity did not tire you out.”

  Miss Shaw gave a soft chuckle. “To be quite truthful, it did rather, trying to keep up with three energetic girls wanting to go in all different directions. There was never a dull moment.”

  Hayden took his accustomed seat opposite her. “I hope Renforth Abbey will not seem tiresome after all the festivity of Nethercross. Pray tell me more about your holiday. Did the Steadwells have any other guests to stay for Christmas?”

  Leah Shaw shook her head as the soup course was served. “Grace has no relatives but a stepfamily, from whom she has long been estranged. Her husband’s sisters have homes and families of their own.”

  Hayden tried not to show how relieved he was to hear it. Her explanation of the kissing bough ritual had made him wonder if she was speaking from experience. “The parties you attended, I suppose they involved a great deal of dancing.”

  She shrugged. “Some. Lord Steadwell and Admiral DeLancey were kind enough to claim a dance or two from me. The other gentlemen did not seem to know how to treat me, as a lady or a servant. The usual dilemma of a governess.”

  Though she spoke in a jesting tone Hayden found nothing amusing about it. He did not care to think of her plagued with dance invitations, yet it roused his indignation that she might have been snubbed by Lord Steadwell’s neighbors.

  “The loss was theirs entirely,” he growled, “whether or not they possessed the wit to realize it.”

  “You are very kind to say so, Your Grace, but not everyone is as blind to social distinctions as you appear to be. Admiral DeLancey reminded me of you in that respect.”

  Hayden might have resented Miss Shaw’s admiring observation about another man, but he recalled her mentioning that the admiral was married.

  “What else did you do in Berkshire?” he prompted her as their soup bowls were removed and the fish course served.

  “Are you not tired of hearing about it?” She gave an indulgent chuckle. “I should have thought the subject had been quite thoroughly aired in the nursery.”

  “Not at all.” He enjoyed listening to her, whatever the subject. “Surely there must be a few details my son did not interrogate out of you.”

  “Perhaps one or two,” she admitted then obliged him with a fuller account of some of her activities.

  As she spoke, her tone and expression grew animated. She painted such a vivid picture of Christmas at Nethercross that Hayden could imagine Kit and him in attendance as well—helping the Kendrick girls gather greenery, passing around mugs of piping hot cider to the carol singers, partaking in festive dinners. His sense of caution sternly warned him that such frivolity would carry a host of threats to his son—a fall, a chill, acute indigestion. Yet when he pictured Kit’s smiles and sparkling eyes, the promise of his son’s enjoyment outweighed the risks.

  “Lord and Lady Steadwell sound like a fine couple.” Anyone who treated Leah Shaw so kindly merited his approval, even if they had lured her away from Renforth Abbey for a whole fortnight. “You say her ladyship was a friend of yours at that dreadful school? How did she come to marry a baron?”

  By now they were well into a course of succulent game pie but Hayden scarcely noticed what he ate. Miss Shaw’s spirited conversation provided a more nourishing feast for his mind and heart.

  “That is a story fit for a fairy tale,” she replied. “You see Grace was always a great beauty, though it brought her nothing but trouble at school, and later in her work as a governess.”

  When Miss Shaw told him how her friend had suffered unwelcome attentions from gentlemen in the houses where she’d worked, a blaze of outrage swept through Hayden. “I hope you were never subjected to any such liberties in your previous positions!”

  She laughed at the idea though he found nothing amusing about it. “Fortunately, my looks do not begin to compare with Grace’s. Neither is my disposition as sweet and gentle as hers. There was one young scoundrel who claimed to admire me. When he persisted after I tried to discourage him, he got a pitcher of cold water over his head to cool his ardor.”

  Hayden’s relief vented in a hoot of laughter. It eased his mind to know Leah Shaw was capable of taking care of herself in such a situation. Yet he yearned to protect her if she should ever need it. He wanted no harm coming to the woman who was so important to his son.

  “Poor Grace was not so fortunate,” Miss Shaw continued. “By the time she accepted the position at Nethercross, she had resorted to disguising her looks with spectacles and a dowdy, old-fashioned cap. It turned out Lord Steadwell had hired her precisely because she appeared so plain. His daughters’ previous governess had eloped and he did not want to risk them losing another one in the same way.”

  As she related her friend’s history, Hayden hung on her every word. He could sympathize with Lord Steadwell’s concern for his daughters, yet he wondered how the baron could have failed to recognize the beauty living under his roof. Much as Leah Shaw extolled the delicate golden loveliness of her friend, he preferred more vivid coloring, animated by a bright, lively spirit.

  By the time pudding was served Miss Shaw had concluded her story. “After all their early difficulties, Lord and Lady Steadwell appear to be living happily ever after. Now that he has recovered from the grief of his first wife’s death and is happy with Grace, his daughters are far happier as well.”

  Her words sparked the beginning of an idea in Hayden’s mind—an idea that part of him was reluctant to consider.

  “There was one other thing that happened on my holiday,” Miss Shaw continued. Was she perhaps puzzled by his lack of response to the conclusion of her story? “I am pleased to report, I have my next position already engaged.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Hayden knew what she must mean yet he shrank from acknowledging it.

  “Admiral and Mrs. DeLancey are planning to take her son on a tour of the Continent and they have asked me to accompany them as Henry’s governess.” Miss Shaw’s mobile features glowed as she spoke of the opportunity. “What could be more ideal? I shall be able to travel and see the sights at no expense to myself. Then when I have saved enough money for my own tour, I can return to those places I admired or visit others the DeLanceys missed.”

  It was clear she expected Hayden to share her enthusiasm for these plans, but that was impossible. He could not even pretend. The toothsome pudding turned to sawdust in his mouth.

  “There is only one minor difficulty.” Miss Sha
w pretended to measure it between her thumb and forefinger.

  Only one and minor? Hayden could foresee any number of significant difficulties with her leaving Renforth Abbey.

  “What might that be?” he forced out the question in spite of his constricted throat.

  “The DeLanceys hope to sail for Ostend by the end of June, which is a month earlier than I had intended to leave Renforth Abbey,” Kit’s governess replied in an offhand tone, oblivious to the tempest into which she had thrown Hayden. “But I am certain we can find a suitable replacement in plenty of time.”

  They might find a governess to fill the position, Hayden reflected as he tried to stifle a spasm of alarm. But would they ever find a one as devoted to Kit as Leah Shaw? Or one courageous enough to oppose the will of a stubborn duke to secure more freedom for her pupil? Even if they located a candidate with those qualities, would she be so adept at making Kit’s studies a pleasure for him rather than a chore? Would she provide Hayden with such stimulating company?

  Once again, it seemed Althea had been right. It was imperative he find a way to keep Leah Shaw at Renforth Abbey—by whatever means necessary. That conviction collided in Hayden’s mind with an earlier thought he had been reluctant to acknowledge. Lord Steadwell had kept his daughters’ governess at Nethercross by making the lady his wife.

  Hayden wondered whether he ought to consider following the baron’s excellent example.

  Chapter Ten

  “ARE YOU QUITE well, Miss Shaw?” The duke’s question stirred Leah from her private thoughts as she stared out a tall window at the end of the west range.

  Her view of the Renforth Abbey grounds was as drab and dreary as it could possibly be. In the two weeks since she had returned from Berkshire, the dusting of Christmas snow had been washed away by days of cold rain. Only once during that time had she managed to escape the house for a brief walk. Even then there had been nothing to see but sodden ground, bare trees and bushes. Her boots had gotten soaked and the hem of her skirt thoroughly spattered with mud.