The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior

by Megan Frampton

  Besides which, he kept hoping he could someday just return to roaming, not having to worry about what people thought about him or what responsibilities he had.

  It was momentarily terrifying, then, that Rose’s arrival meant he might have to lose those vagabond dreams forever.

  And who would he be if he were just the duke?

  At least his current excesses—those antithetical to a responsible parent—were limited to drinking and gambling and not nearly as much fornicating as before. He had occasional dalliances, but he’d found, in general, it was too much effort for too little reward to embark on affairs with society ladies. Two minutes and it was over, and then he’d have to make conversation. Not worth it.

  The thought had crossed his mind that if it only lasted two minutes, perhaps he was doing it wrong, but he hadn’t been intrigued enough by anyone to conduct any scientific experiments. Besides which, how embarrassing would it be if he was doing it wrong? When he got married—if he got married—it would be too late for his wife to complain. Plus he assumed she wouldn’t know, either.

  Although if he could practice, perhaps with someone he’d just met . . .

  No. Absolutely not. Drinking and gambling suited him just fine.

  With that thought in mind, he strode over to the cart where this room’s brandy was kept. No glasses; he vaguely recalled coming in here the night before to retrieve more for him and his guests. He shrugged, and raised the bottle to his mouth.

  At which point the door was flung open and his new rigidly proper governess walked in, her expression reserved.

  She was not here to help him refine his amatory activities, then. Pity.

  “Your Grace,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her, and then her expression changed to one of exasperation. “I was just—oh, for heaven’s sake, just drink!”

  Because he had frozen in mid-swallow, the bottle still tilted up, but his mouth had closed over the opening so no more liquid could travel down his throat.

  At her words, he opened his mouth and the welcome burn of the spirit—unlike the unwelcome burn of his new employee’s tone of voice—traveled down his gullet to nestle comfortably in his stomach.

  He thought too late that drinking brandy straight from the bottle was probably not the habit of a respectable gentleman and father. Given that he’d only had a few hours being either, however, he thought he was doing rather well. Bottle-drinking notwithstanding.

  He placed the now empty bottle down and looked more closely at her.

  The severe hairstyle, the frown, the worn, ill-colored gown. No wonder she looked so glum.

  He wondered what it would take to make her laugh. Or smile, even. A child needed laughter, did she not? He would just have to command her to laugh.

  Which would probably go as well as when his aunts attempted to sober him up. Not in the way he needed it lately.

  “Miss . . .” Damn, he’d forgotten her name.

  “Lily,” she supplied. Lily, of course, his garden of girls. Although this one was most definitely a woman, he corrected himself.

  “Lily,” he repeated. “What do you want?” He didn’t mean to slip into his most arrogant tone of voice; if he were honest, he would have to admit that it just produced the quickest, easiest results. He wanted something, he announced his wants in that tone of voice, and usually within minutes he received it. That was true even before receiving his title. And being a duke meant never having to soften your tone.

  Until now, at least.

  “I am here, Your Grace,” she said tightly, “to speak with you about the child. About Rose.” When she said the girl’s name, her voice softened. It seemed, actually, that her whole expression softened. He’d have thought about that more, about how she seemed to glow from the inside, just with saying the girl’s name, but then he got distracted by—by her.

  She was absolutely stunning when she wasn’t looking as though she had just sucked on a lemon. And her figure really was lovely—shapely, but not excessive. As though there were secrets to discover underneath that drab gown, hidden curves and soft skin and unknown territory to explore.

  But he had no business exploring his child’s governess.

  “What about Rose? You need to tell me if there is a problem with the—with my daughter.” As he spoke, he felt his chest tighten. My daughter. He’d only just met his child, had spent barely an hour with her, but he already knew how it felt not to be wanted, and no matter what, he didn’t want that for her.

  Miss Lily shook her head, her lips curling into a slight smile. “No, there is no problem with her, as you say. She is a lovely girl. I merely wished to discuss how you wished me to proceed.” A pause, then a more hesitant tone. “You said she has just arrived?”

  They were both still standing. If they were to engage in any kind of lengthy conversation, he’d be damned if he’d conduct it standing up. With a servant, no less.

  Although from what he knew about them, governesses inhabited an odd purgatory-like existence within a household—not lowly enough to be comfortable among the other servants, but certainly not part of the family.

  Ah. No wonder Thompson had been even more rigid than usual. He needed to ensure the new governess knew her place. Thompson was likely irked that his employer didn’t seem to know—or even care about—his place. Both in terms of his physical living quarters and his position.

  He really would have to get around to redecorating one of these days.

  “Do sit down,” he said, gesturing to one of the chairs. He grabbed one that had fallen sideways and righted it, then straddled it backward. He’d found that was the most comfortable way to sit, the chairs being as uncomfortable as they were ugly.

  The governess had no such option regarding the way she sat, of course, and lowered herself into the chair he’d indicated, smoothing her skirts and clasping her hands in her lap. At last, when it seemed she was settled to her liking, she looked up at him.

  The directness with which she regarded him felt like she knew things about him, knew things he didn’t even know. It felt prickly, like wearing a rough shirt, or attending church when one had no right to be there.

  He hadn’t done either thing in years, but he still recalled how it felt.

  There was a long silence, until at last he realized it was his place to speak. In purgatory or not, no servant would begin a conversation when not specifically invited to. That road would lead straight to hell. Or unemployment.

  “Have you had a chance to review what might be needed for her?” He made his tone as confident as he could, even though he was entirely unaccustomed to not knowing the answers. Or even to asking questions. This event, this arrival of a child who was shorter than the top of the execrable escritoire, was going to irrevocably change him. For better or for worse remained to be seen.

  “I assume, Your Grace, that since this is the first child you’ve had living here—it is, correct?” she asked, the slight promise of a frown flitting across her face, as though she worried he was in the habit of collecting stray children. “I assume that we will need everything. Will you need an itemized list?” She tilted her head and her eyes narrowed in thought. “There will be papers, and pens, and chalk, and—”

  “Fine, fine,” Marcus said, interrupting. “Whatever you deem necessary. I don’t need to hear the details. Just have the bills sent here.”

  “You will wish to hear how she is progressing in her studies.” It was not a question, and he felt suddenly defensive. Because, of course, he hadn’t thought about tracking her progress at all; if he were honest, he’d have to admit he hadn’t thought about what would happen at all, beyond wanting to keep her there for the moment. To keep her safe, until he decided what was to be done with her.

  And with him.

  But keeping the child safe wasn’t the same as keeping her well, a voice reminded him. His parents had kept him safe, but not well.

  The governess was still gazing steadily at his face, and he realized she was waiting for a reply
. Not that she had asked a question.

  “A weekly report will be adequate.”

  “I will report to you, and not to your wife?” That was a question, one thankfully he could answer.

  “I am not married.”

  “Oh.”

  Was he imagining it, or did her expression relax a fraction? Did she think he would— No, of course not. Dukes did not marry governesses, and vice versa. Definitely not this governess and this duke.

  Not that he wouldn’t mind pretending they were married. For two minutes, at least.

  But she was not looking at him in any kind of pretend married way at all, or even in the way he’d grown used to—as though he was a rare breed, or some sort of fascinating bizarre species. He understood those looks. There weren’t very many dukes, after all, and many fewer of them weren’t gray-haired and married and gouty.

  She was just . . . looking. It was refreshing, but also disconcerting. He felt as though he should be explaining how a man such as he had been able to remain a bachelor. He wanted to tell her how it felt to see Rose arrive in his house, how he saw himself in her face. How he knew how it felt not to be wanted.

  But she was his newest employee, not someone he needed to confide in, or impress, or do anything except pay and expect to do her job.

  He took refuge in his most obnoxious tone of voice. “Since you neglected to bring references, Miss Lily, perhaps you could instead tell me of your last position.”

  Had her expression been relaxed before? Now it was all tightened up again, as though someone were winding her face up like a clock, to spring it into action.

  He acknowledged that he could be oblivious to other people, but there was no mistaking the tension in her face. In her entire body, in fact; her hands were coiled around each other and her posture made it appear as though she were going to leap out of the chair.

  But she didn’t do anything, just took a deep breath and met his gaze. “I was employed by a vicar’s family in Littlestone. The Turnstones.” The expression in her eyes got distant, as though she were recalling something. “It is a small village, but the vicar’s wife wished her daughters to be able to make their way comfortably in London. I believe they are distantly related to a baron, they had hopes of arriving in town for the Season.” She nodded, as though for emphasis.

  And now what did he do with that information? He’d never actually hired a servant before, he’d left that up to whomever had taken care of it before he inherited. But this couldn’t be entrusted to anyone but him.

  “Hm.” That seemed like an appropriate reply.

  “I can obtain my physical references on my afternoon off.”

  As though they both knew when that was. Was it something that was understood? How had he gone this long—even being as feckless as he was—without knowing when servants had their free afternoons?

  “Yes, of course.” He was feeling more and more out of his depth in dealing with this woman. Perhaps there was a good reason he’d left the hiring to other people.

  “When would you prefer me to take my afternoon?” she asked after a moment.

  Aha! So it was not understood! He felt much better. “Tuesday.” He said it as though there was no other possible day that would be nearly as satisfactory. He hoped it wasn’t part of the unknown servant covenant that one never had Tuesday afternoons off.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Apparently it was not. He wanted to show how proud he was of this moment, but if he admitted his ignorance, his whole triumph would be rendered meaningless.

  “And, if you’ll excuse me, Your Grace,” she said, biting her lip, “what have you said about Miss Rose?”

  “Said about her?” He didn’t think he’d said much about her, except not to throw her out and to escort her to one of the upstairs rooms. Had he already done something wrong?

  “About her being here. With you. So—so unexpectedly,” she said, nodding with a significant look.

  Ah. They were to have the illegitimate child conversation already. He hoped she wasn’t on the verge of leaving when she hadn’t even begun.

  “She’s my daughter.”

  Miss Lily rolled her eyes and exhaled. As his aunts used to do as well. “I understand that, Your Grace, but what will you say about her?”

  “That she is my young daughter?” He wasn’t trying to be difficult, but he didn’t see where it was anyone’s business.

  “Perhaps, if I might suggest, you could tell people that she is the daughter of one of your cousins. One who died in India, or somewhere else far off. Then your—then Miss Rose would not have to suffer as a result.”

  “Ah.” The thought of having to even consider something like that made him furious, made him want to yell at her, but it wasn’t her fault that the world chose to be so narrow-minded. “I see.”

  “Good, then.” Her eyebrows knitted together in thought. “Not that anyone should judge where it is not their concern, but people will talk.” From the way her face tensed, he wondered what people had said about her.

  “Thank you.” At least she wasn’t offering her notice, not immediately, at least. And it seemed as though she might sympathize with Rose’s situation. “Well, then.” He rubbed his hands together the way he’d seen his father do when he was little—signifying the end of a conversation, or a wrapping up of a moment, or something so he didn’t have to come out and say “Get out.” Not that his father, and later Joseph, had ever hesitated to tell him to get out. But they were varied in their rudeness, he had to give them that.

  “If I have your permission to return to Miss Rose, Your Grace?” she asked, rising from her chair.

  That was the way to say one wished to leave another’s company. He’d have to remember that the next time he had an inclination to be polite.

  Marcus inclined his head. Feeling as though he had somehow wrested control of the moment from her, as though it had been at issue.

  She nodded as she made a slight curtsey, then took herself and her prim lemon face out of his sight.

  He gazed at the ceiling—replete with adorably pink cherubs—and thought about what he’d learned: that Tuesdays were acceptable for servants’ days off, that his new governess was definitely a lovely woman, and that he had decided on a new best friend.

  Not to mention he had a child in his possession, a child for whom he was purportedly responsible.

  When confronted with an acquaintance who might become a friend, a duke must always ask himself: Is this person someone who might jeopardize the duke’s standing? (And the duke must always refer to himself in the third person.) If the answer is yes, the duke will then have to decide if the person in question is worth the risk. Most times the answer is no.

  —THE DUKE’S GUIDE TO CORRECT BEHAVIOR

  Chapter 4

  The duke, Lily could tell as she ascended the nearly-as-impressive-as-the-foyer staircase, had no idea what he was doing. Perhaps he was living his life according to The Duke’s Guide to Correct Behavior, but he was definitely not a parent. Not surprising, given that it appeared he had only become one a few hours earlier.

  Since she had never been a governess before, it seemed they had a lot in common. Not necessarily good things, but things in common.

  She would not be sharing that information with him anytime in the near future. Or distant future, for that matter.

  Thank goodness her father’s estate had come equipped with a vicar, and that she could draw on her own memories to recall her mythical employer’s family. She wished she could have pointed it out to him as an indication of just how clever she was, but then that would be counterproductive.

  It would probably be even worse than arriving without a reference.

  She felt herself start to smile, then realized she was still walking. Really? All that thinking and she hadn’t gotten there yet?

  Maybe the duke should have hired a navigator instead of a governess. Should she have packed a snack for the journey? She really had to eat something, she did tend to get a bit
. . . snarly if she was hungry.

  The Snarly Governess and the Dangerous Duke. She stifled a snort of laughter as she reached the room, opening the door to a scene that stifled any laughter altogether. Rose was sobbing on the carpet, looking as though her entire world had just fallen apart.

  “Your Grace, one of the gentlemen from earlier today has returned. Should I tell him you are at home?” Thompson ended his sentence with a disdainful sniff.

  Marcus heard that sniff often, and suspected his butler did not appreciate his master’s less dukelike moments. Which were most of his moments, if he were honest. But since Thompson was his servant, he didn’t care. Much.

  He waved a hand in response. “Certainly, send him in.” Which one would it be? he wondered.

  Within moments his question was answered as Smithfield strode in, an amused look on his face. “Your butler was not pleased to see me, I believe. And here I thought we had a bond, I do believe I gave him a coin when he returned with more brandy.” Smithfield had a dry edge to his voice, an acerbic wit that matched Marcus’s own.

  He’d made a good choice in new best friends, at least. Although— “I don’t have time for brandy today. Besides, aren’t you tired? I know I am, and I got a few hours of sleep in. I was going to go rest, but then the child arrived.”

  Smithfield ignored Marcus’s obvious hint and sat on the chair the governess had so recently vacated. Only instead of settling himself neatly down, he sprawled out in it and leaned back, balancing on two of the spindly pink legs. Hm. He should try that position sometime, he thought. It might be more comfortable.

  “She is still here?” Smithfield sounded surprised.

  “Yes.” He paused as he remembered what she said. “She has just arrived, she’s my cousin’s child, and now my cousin is dead.” He and Smithfield both knew it was a lie, but he had to start practicing. “What else should I have done with her?”