She was already intimidated, and she hadn’t spoken to anyone yet.
After taking a deep breath, she banged the knocker. She heard it echo within and felt herself tremble at making such a noise at such an impressive door.
Yes. She had to admit it. She was impressed by a door.
The door in question swung open and an older gentleman, his head placed at the properly dismissive attitude, looked at her. Noting, likely within seconds, her very worn cloak, barely a whisper of protection against the raw temperature, and the not-so-skillfully darned gloves she had on.
“I am here—” she began, only to have him interrupt.
“I know, and you should have come around to the back entrance. But since you’re here, please do come in.”
Was every person the duke employed entirely too full of themselves? Or perhaps it was just the two servants she’d met thus far. Still, it was worth keeping in mind when she spoke to the man in question.
She followed the full-of-himself butler inside, trying not to stare at all the grandeur inside.
“Wait here, I’ll let the duke know you have arrived.” The butler walked into one of the rooms to the side of the foyer, leaving Lily alone to get more intimidated by the foyer.
Imagine how she would feel when she actually saw one of the rooms.
She counted no fewer than ten doors leading off the entryway. It was hard to fathom just what purpose each room had; perhaps the duke allotted separate rooms for each one of his digits? “Oh, no, Mr. Thumb, it’s not your turn. We’ll be in the ring finger’s room today.” Or did he spend one day a week in each room, with the balance of the three left for holidays, birthdays, and . . . Incredible, she couldn’t even dream up what purpose so many rooms could serve. It must be very hard work to be a duke, given everything one had to do.
Pairing digits with rooms, or making sure nobody used Boxing Day’s room on Michaelmas. Or vice versa. Things like that.
The butler reappeared, making so little noise Lily jumped when he spoke. “The duke will see you now,” he said, managing to imbue his words with the proper amount of correctness plus a healthy dollop of disdain.
He walked ahead of her to one of the many doors and flung it open. “The lady is here, Your Grace,” he said, then gave her a sharp nod that indicated she should enter.
She did, and immediately decided this was the pink room, because nearly every item in the room was pink. And not the healthy pretty color of a late summer rose; no, this was the insipid pink of a wan begonia that had gotten too much sun and not enough water.
It was . . . well, it was tremendously pink, and exactly the opposite of how she presumed a duke would choose to live.
But all thoughts of interior design fled her head when she saw him. Just him; the child was not there.
But his presence was enough. He looked exactly the opposite of how she presumed a duke would look.
He stood next to a spindly escritoire, pink of course, and his whole self was so . . . tremendous, that it seemed he might just knock everything in the room over with his presence.
He was tall, and very, very, very handsome. Extremely male. No, entirely and absolutely virile. That was the word. Virile, with all the connotations that brought the pink to her own cheeks. At least she better matched the room.
Goodness. She’d seen pictures of gods and soldiers and kings and other leaders of men, but she’d never actually felt the impulse to follow one of them anywhere.
This one, though, she might consider following, even though that way led to things a young lady should not be thinking of. Especially a respectful governess who needed to make a good impression.
He had dark hair, straight, which brushed his collar in an unkempt way that nonetheless looked utterly dashing. His eyebrows were straight black slashes over his eyes, dark brown, which were intently gazing at her as though he could see to her soul.
And if he could, he knew what she was thinking about him, so that could be problematic.
The sharp planes of his chiseled face were further accentuated by the stubble on his cheeks, giving him an even more dangerous look. The Dangerous Duke sounded like a character from a gothic novel. And he looked like just the sort of man who would lure women to do Dangerous Things.
One of his slashing eyebrows had risen, and she realized she’d been staring at him. Didn’t that happen to him frequently enough for it not to cause comment? Perhaps not in the sanctity of his own home. Or maybe there was a room made for staring, and she was not in it.
“The governess,” he stated, as though it was in question. He did not sound as though he truly believed she was one. Which made two of them, despite her having had experience with children, namely her sister, which was why she didn’t have experience with any children past five years old. The familiar pain reminded her just what circumstances had brought her here. It’s a worthwhile risk, a whispered voice in her brain said. Be strong.
“Your references.” He held his hand out as he spoke.
“References,” she repeated, knowing the pink in her cheeks was increasing. Perhaps this was the Room for Blushing, but if it were, she was doing all the work. He looked absolutely confident, that one eyebrow still lifted as though it had noticed her blushes but he himself had not.
There was a silence as they continued to look at each other in what felt like a facial standoff.
His other eyebrow joined its mate. “I presume a reputable governess from a reputable agency—I saw the advertisement in the papers, and my butler knew of the agency’s reputation—would come supplied with references?” He lifted his head and crossed his arms on his chest. “Are you saying my butler is misinformed? Are you saying I have made the wrong decision?” His tone was nearly incredulous.
She still did not speak. She knew what to say—she’d coached enough of the unfortunate women to be able to recite it in her sleep—but she just couldn’t, not with him, and those eyebrows, and all that . . . virility just a few feet away.
She was very far from reputable at this moment, she had to admit.
His lips—the fullness of which she’d just been admiring—thinned. “I need a governess. Not for me, mind you,” he added, those lips tilting up in a crooked smirk, as though this duke had a sense of humor, “but for my . . . my charge. A young lady of approximately four years.” A frown. “Or more or less, I’m not precisely certain.”
This was for the agency, she couldn’t falter now. Or open and close her mouth like a hungry fish. Either action would not be useful.
“Yes, of course, Your Grace.” She made a slight curtsey, just as she instructed the women to do. To reinforce the client’s importance so he or she would be beguiled into forgetting all about needing . . . “References. I regret to say I hastened to assist you without pausing to collect them.” She had been too busy yelping to remember anything she might actually require. “I will certainly rectify that at a later date. Please know, for now, that I am skilled in the charge of girls, and if I could just meet the young lady in question, I would be able to prove my mettle.”
His eyebrows lowered as he seemed to consider her words. “Prove your mettle in some sort of governess competition?”
She replied before she thought. “It is not as though the teaching of girls is something one can be competitive about. Either they learn or they do not. I assure you, I am quite competent.”
Oh, stupid, stupid Lily. Wasn’t it an absolute rule that one did not talk back to a duke? Particularly when said duke had your future employment in his hands? Plus the future of the agency, the one she and her partners had worked so very hard to make a success?
She clamped her mouth shut before she could say anything else.
But he hadn’t yet thrown her out, so . . . She held her breath, seeing how the corner of his mouth had lifted into what might nearly be a smile, how one eyebrow had arched up—honestly, his eyebrows were miraculously nimble—as though he were amused.
And exhaled as he nodded. “You will suit,” he
said.
Hearing that, she had much more admiration for the unfortunate women who came to the agency.
Without saying anything more, he leaned over the surface of the escritoire and lifted a tiny pink bell from the far corner. He glared at it—and really, who could blame him?—and shook it.
Not unexpectedly, it had a tiny, light tinkling sound, and Lily held her breath, wondering if anyone could possibly have heard it. Moments later, however, the butler opened the door.
“Escort Miss Rose here now.” No please, no softening of his voice, but to Lily it was as though an angel had burst from the heavens and was promising her cream cakes and chocolate sauce.
Which reminded her, she hadn’t eaten for a while. What would she do if her stomach growled? Was stomach-growling a cause for not hiring a person?
She hoped she wouldn’t have to find out.
The duke did not ask her to sit, of course; she was a servant being interviewed for a position, not a guest visiting for tea. Once he’d sent the butler off to fetch Rose, he barely even glanced in her direction. Although she couldn’t stop looking at him. It was really unfair that he was a duke, and lived in the Mansion with Many Rooms, and looked as he did.
Now, for example, he was examining some papers on the execrable escritoire, his long, elegant, yet still ridiculously virile fingers shuffling them while his other hand raked through his hair, making it both more disheveled and more dangerously attractive.
His nose—and really, when had she ever noticed the shape of a person’s nose before?—was straight and sharp, and nearly too big, but was, again, dangerously attractive.
An attractive nose. She was engrossed by the study of his nose.
At least he didn’t have a wart or anything. That would be no less engrossing, but definitely less handsome.
At last she heard the door swing open behind her, and she turned around to see a small, slight child wearing a shabby gown and clutching the remnants of some sort of pastry, crumbs of which were falling to the floor.
And her expression—she looked as anxious and terrified as Lily felt, and Lily immediately felt a bond to this little girl who probably couldn’t even count as high as all the rooms in the duke’s house. Perhaps that would be one of their first lessons. If she got the job.
“Miss Rose, this lady has come to discuss taking a position as your governess.” His voice as he addressed the little girl was gentle, as though he knew just how intimidating he likely appeared to this tiny, pastry-eating waif. To females of all ages, she had to admit. Never mind that she wished she had a pastry herself. But that he knew enough to use a softer tone surprised her. She wasn’t accustomed to gentlemen being anything but demanding. Especially at her last unfortunate position.
He could never know of that particular item on her list of prior positions. Not if she wished to keep her current one.
“Her name is,” he continued, still in that soft tone, “. . . what is your name?” he muttered, sounding impatient.
Lily swallowed. “Lily Russell, Your Grace, but you can just call me Miss Lily.”
“Miss Rose, this is Miss Lily.” He chuckled, an entirely unexpected sound. “Perhaps I should be called the Duke of Gardening instead of Rutherford.” The joke was even more unexpected than the chuckle, but Lily couldn’t spare a moment to think about how Dangerous a witty duke might be.
“Hello, Miss Rose.” Lily spoke softly, as he had, already aware she had to be gentle toward this obviously frightened girl. She could definitely sympathize—she was frightened as well, frightened she wouldn’t suit, frightened she would end up like so many of the unfortunate women the agency hadn’t helped.
Frightened she couldn’t help this girl as she wished someone had helped her.
“It is a pleasure to meet you.” She knelt down and extended her hand toward the girl. “I would like to stay here and teach you. Would you like that?”
Rose looked at Lily’s hand, then nodded as she took a few steps, reached out and held it. “Yes,” she said in a whisper.
Lily heard the duke exhale behind her. “She’s just barely arrived,” he said, “and hasn’t spoken a word yet.” He was not at all the commanding duke who’d demanded her references, not now. Now he seemed almost . . . anxious. “Not even once, during our tea. I was worried that she was mute.”
Interesting. So he’d just met his charge? Not that it was any of her business, of course, prim, methodical Lily reminded that other curious, yelping part of her. But still. Interesting.
She smiled at Rose, who returned the smile, albeit shakily. “I believe Miss Rose and I will have plenty to discuss.” She turned her head to look at the duke. “May I assume I have the position, then?” she asked.
He glanced quickly at her, and the heat of his gaze seemed to penetrate to the fraud within, the woman who’d never really been a governess, just a young lady with a sister. Her stomach tightened in both hunger and anxiety.
“Yes,” he said at last. He barked out an order, and both Rose and Lily jumped. “Thompson, take Miss Rose and Miss Lily to one of the guest bedrooms, it doesn’t matter which one. That will be the schoolroom.”
The girl’s fingers were trembling, and Lily wished she could tell her that it was all right, that trembling in the presence of such a pink room and an arrogant duke was a perfectly normal reaction, only she didn’t think it would be good for the child to know her new governess was a ninny who yelped and pondered noses and wan begonias and a vast number of rooms rather than concerning herself with proper conduct.
She would save all that for a lesson sometime in the future, when the topic was Foolish Things Your Governess Thinks of and Does when Panicking.
If a duke does happen to do something that might fall outside the bounds of what most people in Society would consider proper behavior, it is incumbent upon the duke to behave as though not doing that thing would be scandalous. People in Society will then assume the behavior is faultlessly correct.
—THE DUKE’S GUIDE TO CORRECT BEHAVIOR
Chapter 3
The door shut behind them, all of them, and he was alone, wondering just what in God’s name had he just done—although he could answer that, couldn’t he? He’d taken in his illegitimate daughter after her mother died, had established this was to be her home, for the time, at least, and even hired a governess for her.
Not really what he thought most men in his position were accustomed to doing. Especially if they had spent most of the night drinking with their now boon companions.
First of all, if there was a daughter, she was usually legitimate, and therefore came with a mother, who would handle the hiring of the governess.
Illegitimate offspring didn’t require recognition, let alone a governess.
The governess. He was now even more glad he was unencumbered in the wife area. Something about her made him prickle nearly as much as he had when first seeing Rose.
Or perhaps he was just tired.
Twenty-four hours earlier, his primary concern had been whether to anoint Collins or Smithfield his new best friend. He still hadn’t decided, but he was leaning toward Smithfield, since Collins ate the last bit of roast beef and had the temerity to ask a question of a duke.
Smithfield had just snored.
But now he had a child in his possession. A child for whom he was responsible. When he wasn’t altogether certain he was responsible.
But he wasn’t going to let that deter him from doing what was right. For now. For once. He hadn’t done anything about his new title except resent it, but if being a duke meant he could change this girl’s life for the better? But he knew damned well he couldn’t do it alone.
And so he had found her a governess. A governess who snapped back a retort, which no one had dared to since even before he’d become a duke. A governess who had turned into stone when he asked about her references, whose cheeks had flushed when he spoke to her. A governess who wore a gown that the nicest thing one could say about it was that it was made of fa
bric.
A governess who had intrigued him right away. Made him ignore the missing references, the flush, the worn gown; made him want, instead, to see what color her cheeks would turn if he kissed her, if he discovered what curves lurked underneath her clothing. What she would say if he could get her to speak her mind all the time.
It was clear she had the goal of presenting herself as plainly as possible, but like an archeologist searching for a lost treasure in a pile of dirt, he could discern the beauty underneath. And that intrigued him as well. Luxuriant hair, the color of the most delicious chocolate, was pulled back into a severe bun, but several strands had fallen out, giving her a seductively disheveled appearance. Her eyes were hazel, but changed color as her emotions changed. In the height of the pink-cheeked moment, for instance, her eyes had gotten darker, while when she saw her new charge, he would have sworn they turned almost golden.
And her figure—her waist was small and trim, and as for her breasts—
No, stop, he reprimanded himself. What was he doing, waxing rhapsodic about his newest employee? She was here to instruct his charge. His daughter.
He was setting on a course of respectability, at least until he figured out what to do with his daughter. She deserved that care, at least.
Not to mention, the newest employee’s demeanor was hardly that of a seductress, regardless of her disheveled hair or lush figure. More like when his prim-mouthed aunts had tried to temper his wild habits.
Clearly, he thought as he recalled what he’d done the night before, they hadn’t succeeded very well.
Perhaps now that he was going to try to be a responsible parent, if just for a little while—not to mention a responsible employer, one who did not notice that the governess’s eyes were the green of moss, the kind a woodland fairy might rest on—he might want to actually do something about his residence. He hadn’t really cared that much before. Just as long as there were adequate rooms for himself and whichever boon companions he’d found, that was sufficient. That it be warm and have seating seemed reasonable. But anything else? He hadn’t bothered. He assumed there would be time enough for all of that when he was settled. If he settled.
The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior Page 2
