by Diana Quincy
“I like it here,” Patience announced. “I like the duke, too.”
Prudie’s expression grew a bit mournful. “But I miss home.” Her lip quivered. “Are we ever going home, Izzy?”
Isabel’s heart felt tight in her chest. She knelt beside the child and took her into her arms. “This is our new home, Prudie.”
The child sniffled, burying her face in Isabel’s shoulder. “But I miss home. I want to go home.”
“There, there,” she said soothingly, holding the girl more closely. “You will see. This will feel like home soon. We just have to give ourselves time to become accustomed to being in a new place.”
“And you like the duke, don’t you, Prudie?” Patience asked her sister.
“I think so. Maybe a little. But I miss my doll’s house.” Prudie began to sob in earnest. “I want my doll’s house.”
“I know you do.” Isabel stroked the girl’s back as she held her. “But it was too big to bring in the carriage. We brought two carriages and both were full.”
“Wah!” Prudie wasn’t holding anything back now. “But why,” she said through heartbreaking sobs, “didn’t Cousin Adam bring it with him after he visited Uncle Abel?”
“He didn’t know, Prudie,” Patience said. “Nobody told him to.” She looked at Isabel. “Did you tell him to bring the doll’s house, Izzy?”
“No, my darlings, I didn’t think of it.” Prudence had only played with the old doll’s house in Cornwall on occasion. Isabel was shocked the girl would make such a fuss over it now. She surmised that general longing for the home they’d left behind—rather than the actual doll’s house itself—was at the heart of Prudie’s tears.
“Look at all of the things we have here,” Patience said to her sister. “We have Pan. We didn’t have a dog before. And the duke’s playroom is better than any chamber in Cornwall.”
“That’s true.” Prudie pulled away from Isabel, swiping the back of her hand across her eyes to dry her tears. “I do love Pan.”
At the sound of his name, the animal trotted over and rubbed himself up against Prudie’s legs. She dropped down onto the floor and embraced the animal, then drew back to pet him playfully. “You’re such a good dog, yes, you are.”
A knock at the door diverted Isabel’s attention from Prudence. Dowding came in, followed by Dr. Jarvis.
“I’ve come to look in on Prudence,” the doctor said. “To see if she’s completely recovered from her ailment.”
“That is very kind of you.” She greeted him warmly, remembering well that he’d been her ally on their first evening in London and had prevented the duke from sending them all back to Cornwall practically the moment they’d arrived. “Prudence is doing very well.”
He looked beyond her to the child on the floor playing with the dog. “So it appears.”
“But as long as you are here, perhaps you’d care to examine her,” Isabel suggested.
Dr. Jarvis had Prudie sit on the chair while he performed his checkup. Isabel watched approvingly as the doctor spoke with the girl in gentle tones and listened gravely to her responses. He was such a pleasant man and not unhandsome with intelligent pale gray eyes that dominated his face. When he was done with Prudence, the doctor gave Patience a quick examination as well.
“They’re doing exceedingly well,” Dr. Jarvis told Isabel as she walked him out, leaving both girls on the schoolroom floor playing with the dog. “It’s a credit to how well you look after them.”
She flushed with pleasure. Isabel found herself enjoying Dr. Jarvis’s company. He was exceedingly genial and had a calming way about him. “You are excellent with the girls,” she said. “Do you have children?”
“Alas, no. In fact, there is no Mrs. Jarvis,” he said easily. “At least, not as of yet, but I do hope to remedy that situation in the near future. And what of you? Do you harbor hopes of wedding one day and having children of your own?”
“Perhaps, one day. For now, the girls keep me occupied.”
“It is easy to see that you are devoted to the children’s welfare. They are fortunate to have such a caring woman looking after them.”
They came to a stop in the front hall and Isabel turned to the doctor. “Well, my thanks again for coming to look in on the children.”
“It was my pleasure. As was the added delight of speaking with you.”
“Tom?” The duke came striding into the hall followed by Dowding, who carried Sunderford’s hat and gloves. “This is a surprise.”
Dr. Jarvis bowed. “Your Grace.”
Sunderford’s brows drew together. “What brings you here?”
“I was looking in on the children, Your Grace.”
“Why? Have they taken ill?”
“No, Your Grace. I was checking on Prudence to assure myself that she’d recovered well from the journey from Cornwall.”
“Oh.” He took his hat and gloves from the butler. “If you’re leaving, I’ll walk out with you.”
“Certainly, Your Grace.” With one last look and a tip of his head toward Isabel, Dr. Jarvis followed the duke out the door.
* * *
—
Sunny was looking over the latest accounts from Parkthorn Hall, his country seat, the following day when Pan’s infernal barking cut into his peace. The hound was howling as though someone was pulling its claws out one at a time. What the devil was going on?
He’d taken the estate reports into the solarium for review while the carpet in his study was being replaced. The racket was disturbing his concentration. He threw down the papers and stormed in the direction of the commotion. Sounds of a waltz being played on the piano joined the ruckus.
The melee was coming from the music room, a chamber Sunny rarely visited. As he drew near, he heard the most unusual thing, the sound of a woman laughing. In her amusement, the woman’s laugh was loud and unladylike, a true belly laugh. He didn’t recognize the voice. Curious, he peered in through the half-open door.
A gray-haired woman Sunny didn’t recognize was at the piano while Pan sat on the floor beside her howling the way a wolf bellows at the moon. In the middle of the vast room, Finch waltzed with one of the brats, moving in exaggerated rapid steps that had Patience stumbling to keep up, although the child’s laughter impeded her ability to move quickly.
“You’re far too slow!” Finch actually guffawed as she quickened her step. Scurrying to keep up, the child laughed even harder but eventually gave up, dropping to the floor still convulsing with merriment before being immediately set upon by a howling Pan, who clearly wanted in on the fun.
“Me! Me!” Prudence dashed after a twirling Finch. “It’s my turn.”
“Do you think you can keep up with the Queen of the Dance?” Finch’s blue eyes twinkled as she spun around the room, dancing on her own with complete abandon. Her arms were flung out to her sides as she whirled, her cheeks full of glorious color. A few strands of her imprisoned hair escaped their confines to frame her face like thick golden streamers.
Sunny was mesmerized. It was as if he were watching a different woman entirely. He would never have imagined that the nanny who walked as if a stick had been shoved up her arse could move with such a joyful lack of inhibition. Up until this moment, he hadn’t even been certain the shrew could manage a smile. But it was clear now that she not only knew how to laugh and smile, but the woman also knew how to move. She danced with confidence and certainty, elegance and grace. The woman before him was no wallflower and never had been.
Prudence finally caught up with the whirling dervish. The nanny caught hold of the girl’s hands, and they spun and spun, in tandem, in absolute frivolity, until they collapsed on the floor together in one giant laughing heap. Patience and Pan clambered over and soon the entire lot was a laughing, exhausted heap of conviviality.
The scene was alien to anything Sunny had
ever experienced. He had definitely laughed in his time, most certainly once he’d escaped his father’s clutches, but there was something else in the air besides music and laughter, and that element was a sense of belonging. She might only be the nanny, but Finch and these girls were family. The profound feeling of love and acceptance engulfing the chamber made Sunny’s throat hurt.
“Oh, Mrs. Loder.” A breathless Finch sat up on the floor and addressed the woman at the piano. “I do hope I did not interrupt the children’s music lesson too terribly with my silliness.”
“Nonsense, my dear.” The older woman smiled kindly as she gathered the sheets of music before her. “We were already done, and I daresay that all children—and adults—could use some frivolity from time to time.”
Beside Finch, Pan suddenly stilled. Sniffing high into the air, he turned expectantly toward the door as if sensing Sunny’s proximity and barked, his tail swishing.
Feeling like an intruder, Sunny stepped away before anyone else could take note of his presence. He retreated back to the solarium and to the unread reports that needed his attention.
* * *
—
Several days later, Sunny threw open the schoolroom door, interrupting the nanny as she read to the girls. Pan was sprawled out on the floor near the children, napping in a sliver of sun glinting across the parquet floor.
The children were seated side by side at the long table. Their startled expressions as they swung their little heads around turned hopeful once they saw who it was, which suggested to him that they welcomed the intrusion.
Not so with the nursemaid, who stood by the window with an open book in her hand and an exasperated look on her face. Finch wore one of her usual dark, shapeless gowns, a tightly wound hairstyle…and round, brass-framed spectacles. The dancing nymph from the music room was nowhere in evidence.
“You wear spectacles, Finch?” he said with surprise. “I had no idea.”
“I require them while reading,” she said coolly, “which is what I was doing before you interrupted us.”
“I never took you for a glass eyes,” he teased. “I had the impression that, unlike the rest of us mere mortals, you possessed no flaws. I’d have thought you’d tolerate nothing less than perfect vision.”
Finch pursed her mouth. “Is there something you needed?” she asked stiffly. “The girls and I are in the midst of our lesson.”
“Bugger that,” he said. “I have other plans.”
The girls gaped at him before covering their mouths with their hands and collapsing into each other in fits of giggles. Having no idea what they were about, he shot them a questioning glance.
Finch shut the book in her hands with a decisive snap. “Use of such language is inappropriate in front of children. As well as when there are ladies present.”
“And are you a lady, Finch?” he asked with sincere interest. “I confess to being curious about you.”
It wasn’t a lie. There was obviously something deeply wrong with him. Despite holding the shrew in deep dislike, he found sparring with her endlessly amusing. And there was something about seeing her in spectacles—which made her appear even more uptight than usual with her hair plastered so firmly to her head that the flow of blood to her brain had to be impeded—that he found strangely alluring. His prick, which usually shrank defensively in her withering presence, actually twitched with interest.
“It would hardly be appropriate for a duke’s great-granddaughters to be schooled by a village girl,” she said, pretending to answer while neatly sidestepping his question. “You mentioned having plans?”
“A masterful diversionary tactic, Finch, I applaud you.”
“Are we going somewhere, Duke?” Patience asked. He knew the cheeky urchin was the tumbler because she’d developed the habit of calling him Duke, while Prudence seemed to take great pleasure in addressing him as Cousin Adam.
“Miss Finch is.”
The shrew raised an eyebrow above the brass frame of her spectacles, which he found startlingly arousing. He’d never before had the strict-schoolmarm sexual fantasy that some men harbored, but he realized now that he might have been remiss. The idea of stripping Finch of her spectacles and loosening her hair—the challenge of rousing some passion within her and then witnessing what would happen once she was stripped of both her dreary clothing and governessly reserve—struck him as an incredibly enticing challenge.
“Well?” she said, her demanding voice breaking into his fantasy.
“Huh?” he responded.
“I said that I cannot possibly go anywhere at the moment because we haven’t completed our lesson.”
Ah yes. He remembered why he had come in the first place. “And I said, bug—erm…forget about that. You, Miss Finch, have an engagement.”
“I most certainly do not. I never make any appointments during the hours when the girls have their lessons. We maintain a strict schedule. Children require a routine.”
Bugger that. He suddenly felt an exceedingly high degree of compassion for the children under her care with all of her rigid nanny rules. “I made the appointment for you. Come along, the modiste is expecting us.”
“The modiste?” she asked incredulously. “You made an appointment with the modiste on my behalf?”
“What’s a modiste?” one of the girls wanted to know. It had to be Prudence, given her quiet voice and the slightly alarmed expression on her face. He didn’t like that the child seemed perpetually fearful and couldn’t help but wonder if Prudence’s constant apprehension was the result of the nanny’s dark view of the outside world. If so, he’d put a stop to that. He couldn’t abide people who cowered and he wouldn’t allow the harridan to make either of the girls timid or cowardly.
“A modiste is where you go to get a new dress,” Sunny told the children. “And Miss Finch here requires a gown for my upcoming ball.”
“A ball?” Prudence had a dreamy look on her cherubic face. “Oh, Izzy, you’ll look like a princess in a ball gown.”
“A ball?” Patience sat up straighter and squirmed in her seat as if she needed to use the chamber pot. “Can we come? Can we come? Can we come?”
“Patience, my dear,” Finch gently admonished the girl as she removed her spectacles and folded them neatly before placing them atop the closed book she’d set on the table. “We heard you the first time and no, children do not attend balls.”
“Why not?” asked Prudence.
“Yes, why not?” Sunny echoed.
Finch gave him a deprecating look. “How many balls have you attended where children were present?”
He looked her squarely in the eye. “I rarely attend respectable entertainments, and the rather private parties that I do attend are definitely not suitable for children.”
She looked away from him. “However, perhaps something can be arranged.” Finch smiled fondly at the girls. It was a genuine full smile the likes of which he’d only previously seen on her during the music-room interlude. It occurred to him that maybe she smiled a great deal, but just not in his presence. “It will do no harm for you both to peek down at the guests if you behave and apply yourself to all of your lessons before His Grace’s rout.”
“Come along,” he urged. “I haven’t got all day to wait on my governess.”
She stared at him. “Surely you don’t intend to accompany me.”
“I most certainly do.”
“But why?”
“I intend to see to it that you get a decent gown and not another of those”—he gestured toward her dress with exaggerated flourish—“abominations you are so fond of.”
Dread filled her eyes. “It will not do for you to accompany me to the modiste. People will make certain base assumptions if you and I go there together. You are my employer.”
“I’m aware. I do pay your wages.” He gave a lazy smile. “A
nyone who is at all acquainted with me will most definitely not make any base assumptions about us.” No one of sane mind would fathom he could be at all attracted to this humorless harpy. Yet that’s what made his strange interest in her all the more delicious.
“Still,” she said stubbornly, “it isn’t done.”
“Very well. If you’re so concerned about appearances, the brats can come, too.”
The urchins erupted, jumping to their feet and cheering. “Huzzah!”
He was surprised by the tumbler’s enthusiasm. “You don’t seem the type to find a visit to the dressmaker so exciting,” he remarked to the child.
“Oh, I’m not excited about looking at some silly dresses,” Patience assured him. “But I’ll do just about anything to avoid finishing a lesson.”
“Patience!” Finch shook her head disapprovingly, but the twitch of her lips looked suspiciously like a suppressed smile.
“Onward then,” he said, leading them all out of the schoolroom.
Chapter 8
The duke took them to a shop on Upper King Street in Bloomsbury Square. The children went wide-eyed when they entered, taking in the flocked wallpaper and colorful fabric displays designed to entice customers.
Prudence immediately dashed over to a pink, frothy fabric and ran a reverent hand over it. “Izzy, you should have a gown made of this. It’s so beautiful.”
“Perhaps.” Isabel preferred vivid colors, but couldn’t help but smile as she watched the girls eagerly explore the shop. London and all of its excitements were completely novel to children raised primarily in the wilds of Cornwall. “You may look your fill, but please refrain from touching anything.”
“Good day, Mrs. Bell,” Sunderford addressed the woman who bustled over to greet them. “This is Miss Finch. She requires a ball gown.”
The proprietress was younger than Isabel would have thought, perhaps in her midthirties, with a broad, pretty face and friendly smile. “Miss Finch, a pleasure. Perhaps you could tell me what you have in mind.”
