Schooling the Duke (The Heart of a Scandal, #1)

by Christi Caldwell

  With a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, Graham’s ward enthusiastically pumped her hand.

  “Splendid to meet you, Mrs. Bryant. It will be lovely having a friend about. Hampstead spends most of his evenings in his private suites,” the young lady confessed as the unlikely trio settled into their seats. “Unless I search this one out”—she jerked her chin at him—“I’ve been left,” she dropped her voice, “to my own devices.” Ainsley winked. “Not always a bad thing, is it, though?”

  At the scandalous admissions tumbling from the girl’s mouth, a laugh bubbled up from Rowena’s lips. When was the last time she’d laughed? That expression, nay, any hint of emotion—happy, or otherwise—had been discouraged at Mrs. Belden’s Finishing School. Smiles were to be gentile and practiced. Laughter, never anything more than a polite giggle... but how very wonderful it felt to simply smile again.

  Aware of Graham’s gaze on her, she schooled her features. “His Grace has brought me to meet you, to see if we might suit.”

  “Oh, we’ll suit,” Miss Hickenbottom said, following that assurance with another impish wink.

  Speechless, Rowena took in Ainsley Hickenbottom with her skirts tied up and breeches showing. Barely an inch above five feet, she had the diminutive form of a child and not a woman about to make her Come Out. And she knew with just one look that Graham was wrong; Ainsley Hickenbottom was far more spirited than she had ever been in all her wildest girlhood years.

  He clasped his hands before him. “Miss... Ainsley.” At that deliberate effort to use the child’s name, a warmth suffused Rowena’s chest. This was the boy who’d welcomed her to the village and earned her friendship. “I should be clear that in summoning you both here, I want to ascertain that the post is one Mrs. Bryant in fact wants.”

  Oh, blast him. She smiled through her teeth. Must he be so... so... direct?

  “Ahh,” Miss Hickenbottom said, her shoulders slumped, that slight, detectible sag so at odds with the lively girl who’d skipped in like she owned this very office. “I see.”

  I see. Two words Rowena had thought and uttered throughout the whole of her life. Every time children had dashed away from her in the park, to when her nursemaid had insisted she not bother her mother while she was entertaining a visitor.

  This is why Graham had asked her to come. Not because he sought to humiliate or shame her. Not because he wished to make her an indecent offer and renew their previous love affair.

  It was because of this young lady.

  It was also why Rowena could not go. No matter how much she wished it. No matter how much it would gut her and break her apart inside being constantly forced to relive the pain of what had once been. Once upon a lifetime ago, she had been this girl, and all that had pulled her from her lonely state was a village boy whom she’d met. A boy, who happened to be a duke’s son. And from there, a whole world had opened to her. She’d found another friend in Jack and young ladies of Berkshire’s most distinguished families. How quickly it had all been yanked away.

  She pushed aside the nostalgia. “I assure you after a brief meeting,” she began softly, “I’m very excited to guide you through your Season.” Those words, taking Rowena, herself, by surprise. Miss Hickenbottom yanked her head up quickly, knocking her cap askew. With the shock that flared in the girl’s wide eyes, Rowena found herself, for the first time since Graham’s reentry into her life, welcoming the post. “If you’ll have me, that—”

  “Yes,” the girl interrupted with a toothy grin. She reached for Rowena’s hand once more and gave another firm shake.

  “It is my expectation that your evenings will be filled,” she said, when Graham’s ward released her hand, “so, you shan’t be... uh, left to your own devices.” Rowena turned to her employer. “Isn’t that correct, Your Grace?”

  “Indeed,” Graham confirmed.

  At her pointed look, he started. “I’ve received a number of invitations. Dinner parties. Soirees.” Ainsley made an exaggerated yawning noise.

  Rowena cleared her throat. “But I expect His Grace will also coordinate a visit to the theatre and Vauxhall Gardens,” she neatly put in, ignoring the sharp look Graham slid her.

  Ainsley clapped excitedly with a young girl’s lack of artifice, confirming Rowena’s read on the young woman. “When will we attend?”

  “Soon,” she supplied earning another glare.

  “About bloody time,” Ainsley mumbled and fixed a glower on her guardian. “Tucked away here, I had no hope of ever finding a swan.”

  Rowena exchanged a mutually befuddled look with Graham. “A swan?”

  “I’m sorry.” The girl let out a beleaguered sigh. “A muted swan. You’re correct. Entirely matters which kind of swan.”

  When Rowena was a girl of fifteen, she and Graham had joined opposite hands and swung about, counting each time they circled around, until they’d collapsed in a dizzying heap upon the lush, Wallingford grass. Speaking to this peculiar, if garrulous, charge felt a good deal like that. “I’m afraid I do not follow—”

  Ainsley hurled her hands high. “The muted swan. Magnificent creatures. They swim beak to beak. Why,” warming to her topic, the vibrant child stuck a foot out, “the males even help with nest-building and watching over the eggs.” She pursed her mouth. “Though, if you ask me, any decent male, swan or the human-kind, should help care for his partner.” Clever girl. Ainsley jabbed a finger in the air. “And, of course, they mate for life.”

  Rowena choked on her swallow and, from the corner of her eye, caught the growing horror in Graham’s chiseled features.

  “Therefore, I want a swan someday.”

  When Graham had shown up and all but forced her into his employment, she’d been filled with a resentment at his manipulation of her life. Now, with this innocent, effusive girl before her, and knowing the coldness and unkindness she would face, Rowena would rather be no other place—particularly at Mrs. Belden’s.

  How am I going to return to that lonely, miserable place where no one knows me and all hate me?

  “Yes, well, I promise to prepare you so that you may find your... uh... swan, Miss Hickenbottom,” she said softly with another smile.

  “Splendid,” the girl said with a clap of her hands. “And, please, you must call me Ainsley. Horrid enough being saddled with a name like Hickenbottom that I shouldn’t have you going about calling me by it.” Rowena opened her mouth. “Not unless you intend to be one of those nasty sorts of companions I’ve heard about.”

  Every student who’d entered her classes at Mrs. Belden’s had hated her from the moment they’d set eyes on her. Revered and feared, each instructor was thought of as a dragon and nothing more. “I don’t—”

  “I do not take you for one of those mean sorts,” Ainsley assured her, patting her hand. They shared a smile, and then the girl looked to Graham. “I take it we are concluded with our introductions? I’ve a book to finish reading.”

  Most other lords or ladies would be horrified and offended by the girl’s lack of artifice and grace. Rowena found her an endearing image that reminded her of the girl she’d once been.

  “Of course, you may return to your...” Graham’s words trailed off as Ainsley gave a parting wave to Rowena and then skipped out, slamming the door in her wake.

  Well. The girl was a veritable whirlwind. Except, as with all whirlwinds, they eventually settled, and when they did, all that remained was the scattered dust.

  “The theatre?” he said as soon as they were alone. “Vauxhall?” His voice emerged a garbled growl.

  “She needs to know some cheer, Graham.” There would be cruelty enough that Ainsley should find joy where she could.

  “She needs to be polite. She needs—”

  “If you’re so clear on what the young lady needs then perhaps you should see to her edification and I can return to Mrs. Belden’s.”

  That effectively silenced him.

  “I see we are understood.” Rowena dipped a flawless curtsy. “If there is not
hing else you require, Your Gr...”

  Graham stalked slowly toward her and all words went out of her head as he stopped beside her. Heat rolled off him in waves, momentarily blotting thought and reason, so all she was capable of was breathing in the deeply masculine scent of his sandalwood soap and the hint of brandy that clung to his breath. “Thank you, Rowena.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that she’d not accepted the post for him, but rather a child, more like her than any other girl she’d taught in her ten years at Mrs. Belden’s. The words, however, would not come. For part of her had accepted the post for who Graham was. A man who, given his elevated status could have easily turned the task of finding a companion over to a man-of-affairs. The late duke certainly wouldn’t have lowered himself by meeting with a companion and a child. And he’d certainly not have tolerated a girl in breeches and dusty boots anywhere near him. He, however had... and it knocked loose another desperately needed defense against him.

  “You were right,” she said, taking a step away and putting a safer distance between them. “She is a remarkable young woman.” Society would kill her spirit. It was inevitable. But mayhap, she could help her retain some of that inner joy and strength.

  Rowena dropped a curtsy. With his gaze searing a place in her back, Rowena took her leave, praying she’d not made another mistake where Graham Linford, the Duke of Hampstead, was concerned.

  It is about the girl. Focus on the girl.

  Drawing in a breath, she registered Graham sliding back into the leather folds of his seat, as she left his office and went in search of Miss Hickenbottom. Rowena paused at the end of the corridor and looked first right, then left.

  “In here.”

  At that exclamation, she wheeled around. Miss Hickenbottom stood with her head peeked around the corner of an open doorway and motioned her forward. “Miss Hick—”

  “First,” the young lady began sticking one finger up. “I thought we’d already agreed I’m simply Ainsley because of the whole horrid Hickenbottom business.” Rowena’s lips turned up in an involuntary smile. “Second, I’m not one of those miserable sorts of ladies. Can’t afford to be.” She paused. “I’m a bastard.”

  A kindred warmth unfurled inside for this girl who was more alike to her than different. It was not the first time Ainsley had reminded Rowena of her birthright. It was that defensive, dare-the-world-to-mock-me look Rowena had perfected as a small girl in London whispered about by maids and servants. She wandered over. “We are more than our birthrights,” Rowena said, her words ending on a gasp as Ainsley shot a hand out and wrapped fingers around her wrist. She tugged her inside.

  “You know of it.” The young lady’s words were more of a statement of observation than a question.

  Rowena wetted her lips. She’d been listening in on her and Graham’s exchange. “I do,” she said tentatively. How much more had she heard? Her mind raced, as she desperately tried to recall that intimate discussion. She should feel suitable horror and terror. A passing servant, a word back to Mrs. Belden, and the carefully crafted lie she had lived all these years would come crashing down about her like a sugar castle in a rainstorm. Oddly, there was something freeing in owning who she was. In a move that would have seen her sacked by Mrs. Belden and any other respectable employer, she hitched herself up onto the table beside her charge, a girl only a few years younger than the age her sisters would now be. “I do know something about it,” she confessed, freed all the more with the truth. “Though my mother eventually married a vicar, I didn’t always have a comely papa.” The miserable blighter, alive still, had washed his proverbial hands of his offspring after he’d tired of her mother.

  “Oh, there was nothing comely about my papa,” Ainsley said, flashing another one of those troublesome smiles, which quickly faded. “He was more a friend who spent most of his nights out drinking and whoring, his days sleeping, and the other times, telling me outrageously bawdy jests. We did get on great, though,” she said wistfully. “It has been lonely without him.”

  What a peculiar life this young lady had known. And Rowena would wager, given those handful of stories she imparted, that this one’s girlish innocence had never truly existed. She covered her charge’s hand with her own.

  “Mr. Miserable believes a bastard can’t ever become a lady.”

  Rowena had heard that same, ruthless opinion more times than she could recall in her eight and twenty years. It still did not stop her from wanting to pummel the nose of the gentleman speaking ill of Ainsley. “Who is Mr. Miserable?”

  “Hampstead’s man-of-affairs.”

  Of course. Jack Turner. Unease brought Rowena’s eyes briefly closed.

  He doesn’t matter. He is dallying with French beauties while you are left here with his father who will see you ruined...

  What would he think of her reemergence? For the first time the extent of her peril in being here, with both Jack and Graham knowing of her past, settled around her brain, spreading fear through her like a fast-moving cancer.

  “Must say I was quite pleased when Hampstead insisted on finding me a companion on his own.” Ainsley grinned. “I’d no doubt his man-of-affairs would have brought me back a cruel sort.” She pulled herself onto a nearby side table and swung her legs back and forth in an innocent manner better fitting a girl of seven than seventeen. “Do you know him well?”

  Her mind went blank and then raced.

  “My guardian, that is. I saw the look pass between you,” she said with such matter-of-factness Rowena choked. “I saw the way he watched you.” There was a wistful, far-off quality to those whisper-soft words. “I’m fairly certain he was about to kiss you when I interrupted.”

  Rowena glanced about, desperate for escape. She’d been far too confident in her abilities these years. Nothing had or ever could have prepared her for Graham’s quick-speaking ward.

  “Is the duke your swan?” Ainsley asked curiously.

  “Is he my...?” And her mind recalled the romantic young lady’s talks of swans and forever partners. “No,” she exclaimed as heat burned from the roots of her hair down to her toes. At one time, he’d been. “We knew one another briefly as children. I’m now merely a servant in His Grace’s employ,” she settled for weakly.

  Ainsley peered at her through narrowed eyes. Did she seek to gauge the veracity or Rowena’s assertion?

  She went still under that scrutiny.

  “Hmph,” her charge observed with far too much acuity for a lady who’d obtained her information at keyholes. “Regardless, I think you and I shall get on well.”

  Some of the tautness seeped from Rowena’s toes. This was safe. This relationship of instructor to student was familiar territory she’d danced within for years. Only... the easy smile on Ainsley’s lips that met her pretty brown eyes was... real, when, in the past, other young ladies had only looked at Rowena as a dreaded dragon. “I believe you’re right,” she added softly. For as long as she was here. Then she would be free to return to Mrs. Belden’s where she’d promptly forget the time spent with Graham Linford, the Duke of Hampstead.

  Liar.

  The young lady hopped down. “I’m...”

  At the worried lines creasing Ainsley’s brow, her curiosity stirred. “You are?” Rowena gently prodded, climbing off her perch.

  “I’m a bit worried about the coming weeks. The duke intends to introduce me to Society,” she clarified. “But there is the whole bastard-business, and—” The young woman firmly clamped her lips. For all Ainsley’s bravado and beautiful show of confidence, she worried still. Because, ultimately, daughters born on the fringe of Society well knew the cruelty that existed for anyone outside that respected sphere.

  “You will be marvelous,” Rowena promised, hating that she made a promise she could neither keep nor ensure. The disdain directed at her, a girl of seven, was still as fresh as it had been all those years earlier. Graham’s was a ruthless world. It was a place where station and rank mattered, and where ladi
es were deemed outcasts just because of their parentage. “Come.” She held her elbow out. “Let us cease worrying and go prepare for your first introduction to Society.”

  Excitement replaced the earlier worry and Ainsley looped her arm through Rowena’s. They made their way from the library and started down the corridors. “One of the benefits of having a lax guardian is they do not insist you don those dreaded whites or ivories, and I’ve plenty of freedoms.”

  Only, Rowena had once possessed plenty of freedoms. Now, to school a young girl in being cautious with what one did with those freedoms.

  Chapter 12

  Rowena’s proficiency with her students at Mrs. Belden Finishing School had earned her the vaunted post of head instructor. She’d been so feared by the students, revered by the other instructors, and respected by the headmistress that she’d truly come to believe herself truly an accomplished instructor.

  Until now.

  After almost ten years working with young ladies, she came to appreciate her own infallibility.

  “But it doesn’t make sense.” That beleaguered complaint was followed by an exaggerated sigh. Abandoning her efforts at walking with a measured gait, Ainsley hurled herself onto the ivory upholstered sofa. The scowling girl draped her legs over the arm of that chaise, rucking her skirts about her knees. Rowena winced. “Why does it matter how I walk?”

  Why, indeed.

  After an hour practicing gait and posturing and positioning, Rowena resisted the urge to dig her fingertips into her temples. For if she were as skilled as she’d believed, she would have suitably answered Ainsley the first time... and not ten questions later. Alas, she had spent so much time following the script of Mrs. Belden’s lessons that she’d ceased to think for herself. “It shouldn’t matter,” she finally said, validating the girl’s frustrations. For they were shared and real. “And yet, just as there are men and women”—like Rowena herself—“who must work in order to survive, there are certain rules that guide Society and should be adhered to.”