The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior

by Megan Frampton

  He laughed in response, and she felt that low chuckle resonate through her body. That he was this . . . improper when it came to being a lord—a duke, no less—was dangerous. Truly a Dangerous Duke, in that he was not very dukely at all, unless one counted the power, the money, the position, the air of command, and the many rooms.

  Not that she was counting.

  “Just leave off the ‘Your Grace’ two sentences out of three,” he said, laughter in his voice. “I know you are cognizant of who I am, and I hope I am not so stupid as to be unaware that you are speaking to me, so we can dispense with so much propriety.”

  Now that thought definitely kindled something low in her belly. Dispensing with propriety seemed like a very . . . dangerous thing to do.

  “Yes, Your— That is, fine.”

  “Excellent. Glad to have that settled.” A pause. “Although if you wish to address me as ‘Orange,’ that would be acceptable.” Now he was definitely teasing her. The worst part? She felt like teasing him back.

  But she couldn’t, not without risking things that should not be risked, such as her heart, her position, and oh, yes, her future.

  He didn’t think he’d ever had so much fun, at least not such proper fun. She was, in fact, about as proper as he could wish for, which was why he took such glee in riling her.

  He couldn’t let it go any further, but this—this was delightful, an entirely unexpected benefit to his having an illegitimate child, a need to be proper, and for his child to have a governess.

  The carriage rolled to a stop at the dressmaker’s, and the governess in question practically flew out of the coach, the rigid set of her shoulders indicating her displeasure with him and the situation in general, he presumed.

  He just wanted to laugh again.

  His footman opened the door and they walked in, the proprietor’s face changing within seconds to disapproving—having seen Miss Lily first—to fawning, when he followed.

  “May I be of service, my lord?” The proprietor was a middle-aged, not unattractive woman. She was wearing attractive fashionable clothing, a far cry from what Miss Lily had on.

  “We need clothing for this lady, here,” he said, gesturing to Lily.

  And when had he started thinking of her as Lily, anyway? Oh, somewhere between thinking about what Miss Lily had on and indicating who she was. So right now.

  The woman’s face froze and her mouth pursed. “I am not certain, my lord, that my establishment is appropriate for what you are seeking.”

  “I am the Duke of Rutherford’s governess, and he requires me to be gowned appropriately.” Lily’s voice was low and polite, the complete opposite of how Marcus wished to address the shop owner.

  The woman’s face cleared. “Ah, of course, Your Grace,” she said, her tone changing to one of obsequiousness. “I have the very items. One of my patrons had a change of heart regarding her clothing, so as it happens I have some ready-made that will need only a few adjustments to fit the lady here.”

  “She will have new,” Marcus began with a growl, only to be interrupted by Lily. Again.

  “That will suit admirably, how fortuitous that you have them.”

  The woman glanced between them, clearly caught as to what to do. Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. “As she said, go ahead and fetch the clothing.”

  “Yes, of course, Your Grace.” She went to the back of the shop, casting a quick look of awe behind her.

  He hated those looks of awe. Far better to be regarded with an emotion not inspired by his title. And he knew the difference; until recently he’d been regarded with a much more varied range of looks.

  Like the one with which his governess was now looking at him. “Why aren’t you pleased?” he asked her. “I allowed you to have your way.”

  She uttered the most ladylike snort he’d ever heard. Not that he’d heard that many, honestly—most ladies did not snort. Especially in the presence of dukes.

  He liked it.

  “My way would be for you not to purchase clothing for me at all. It is not proper,” she began, then her eyes widened as she realized what she’d said.

  “Not proper,” he repeated, moving closer to where she stood. “Not proper can encompass many things, Miss Lily. Would you like me to list them all for you?” Now he was within a few feet of her, a few delicious feet of her, but she stood her ground, not edging backward as he’d expected.

  He liked this, too.

  “There is no need, Your Grace,” she replied through clenched teeth.

  He advanced on her, not quite sure what he was about to do, but the shop’s proprietor bustled back in with several items of clothing looped over her arm.

  “These are the things, Your Grace, and of course I have bonnets and gloves and shawls and all the other necessary accessories to dress a young lady properly.”

  “Properly, hm?” Marcus echoed, knowing he was making her squirm.

  “Admit it,” he said when they were finished at the dressmaker’s, “it wasn’t that terrible. And now you are properly outfitted as a governess.”

  Lily smoothed the folds of her new gown. Mrs. Wilson had been able to make the necessary alterations while she and the duke chose clothing for Rose, and then he’d insisted that she change immediately.

  It was nicer than anything she had ever owned. Green, with simple embroidery on the front and a not too wide skirt or sleeves looked like balloons. She hated those.

  Entirely respectable, Mrs. Wilson had assured them, with a nervous glance at the duke, and she had to admit that it looked lovely on her.

  She felt lovely in it as well. No, more than that, she felt beautiful, which she hadn’t ever really felt before. Certainly she knew she wasn’t horrible to look at, but seeing herself in the glass at Mrs. Wilson’s shop made her breath catch. The gown fit well, highlighting her bosom and her small waist, and the color made her eyes seem almost emerald.

  “And now you are a proper companion to Rose,” he continued, startling her out of her self-assessment. “I would not have it said the Duke of Rutherford does not have proper employees.” His tone of voice indicated he was teasing, although his words made Lily’s breath catch again, but this time not in a pleasant way.

  She was not proper, not at all. She had worked at a brothel and she was the owner of a small, struggling business that aided other unfortunate women. Women whose lives would be irreparably damaged if she failed.

  Perhaps she should be worried less about his propriety than her own. She would have to behave as properly as possible, so as not to give anybody reason to talk.

  He held his arm out for her. “I am taking you to Verey’s for lunch, it is a respectable—proper, even—restaurant.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him when he glowered. That would just be rude. Even though she wanted to. “You said every third time, and I have been counting. I will not say it again for a while.”

  He did not respond to that, for which she was grateful. “We will purchase what you need for Rose’s schooling after we eat. I, for one, am famished.”

  The restaurant was entirely respectable, and once the host realized just who was dining, they were served with the utmost in proper service.

  Lily had only ever eaten at pubs before, since arriving in London. In the country, her father had prided himself on serving the best table in fifty miles, but that wasn’t saying very much. In those days, she had been acutely aware of just how much each meal was costing them from their ever dwindling funds. Until there was nothing at all.

  This was the first time, then, that she’d had good food that didn’t make her feel guilty. The duke ordered for both of them, of course, not even deigning to ask her what she liked to eat. And she loved every bite, from the tender roast chicken to the new potatoes to the littlest peas she’d ever seen.

  “This is delicious. Thank you.” She took a sip of wine, another first time for her—she’d only ever had tea at lunch. It felt decadent, and
absolutely right to be here with him as she did it.

  “You are welcome. Thank you.” He leaned back in his chair and gazed at her. “I am grateful to have your expertise in dealing with Rose.” He cleared his throat and glanced somewhere over her head. “My own upbringing is not a useful guide for a young girl.”

  He sounded almost wistful. As though being the heir to a dukedom—provided he wasn’t a duke already—was a hardship.

  “What was your favorite thing to do when you were growing up?” she asked.

  “Besides terrorizing the peasants?” He grinned as he spoke, and she couldn’t help but grin back. “I grew up in the country, a mid-sized country estate,” he continued.

  Like me, Lily thought in surprise.

  “When did you move to London?” She had only been here a few years, and she did miss the country. But there would have been no opportunity to earn her living, nor was anyone there for her anymore—her mother died a little over two years ago, her father earlier than that, leaving his family nothing. Her sister—well, it had been at least fifteen years since she died.

  She would rather be a not starved orphan than a starved one, she’d decided in those weeks after her mother died.

  “I moved here when I inherited the title,” the duke said, and screwed his face up in thought. “It’s been close to six months, I believe. But I haven’t lived in the country for long before that—I was sent to school, and I spent vacations there. Then I traveled in Europe for a few years.”

  She was opening her mouth to ask why, if he had a family in the country, he’d spent his vacations at school, until she realized that was far too intimate a question. And he might respond with questions of his own, which would be too dangerous.

  “I’ve never been to Europe.” Unlike the country. “What did you do there?”

  He chuckled. “The same thing I did when I was growing up. I walked. I like listening to the quiet, if that makes any sense.” He spoke in a soft voice, as though for her ears only, as though for her only.

  She nodded. “It does make sense. London is so loud sometimes, and I wish I could just escape and be where no one is talking.”

  His lips twisted into a wry smile. “If you were a duke, you could just command them to stop talking.”

  She acted before she realized it, poking him in the arm. “Hush, you know you’re all bark and no bite.” She paused, then amended her words. “Or mostly no bite. Speaking of terrorizing, you came close with the dressmaker.” She glanced down at her gown. Yes. It was still nicer than anything she had ever owned. “Thank you for this, by the way.”

  He smiled smugly. “I wanted to make sure that nobody would be able to cast aspersion on you or Rose for anything but your own personalities.”

  “Because we are both so dreadful on our own?” she replied, a teasing tone in her voice.

  He shook his head. “That came out entirely wrong. I mean, I want Rose to feel valued. To feel as though she is being taken care of, and that she is not an afterthought. Even though—”

  A silence. Even though she had been an afterthought, if thought of at all, from what Lily could gauge of the girl’s history.

  “Never mind. I just wanted to do the right thing,” he said, taking another sip from his glass.

  “Perhaps you would want to take Rose on a long walk sometime? To hear the silence?”

  He met her gaze, a nearly hesitant smile on his face. “You think she would like that?”

  Lily nodded, her throat tightening at the thought of her own father never once wanting to take her out for a walk to “hear the silence.”

  “I do,” she replied.

  A duke must never exhibit an unseemly emotion.

  I’ll do what I want.

  —THE DUKE’S GUIDE TO CORRECT BEHAVIOR

  Chapter 9

  “I want to do it.” Rose picked up the pencil from the table, her expression one of intense concentration.

  They were in the schoolroom, Lily having arranged the various supplies she’d gotten on the table. They were reviewing Rose’s education thus far, which was not as meager as Lily had worried. She had been loved, even if she lived in reduced circumstances.

  Lily was grateful for that—she knew what it was like to be unloved, or at least not loved enough. Her mother had loved her, but when it came time to make hard decisions and try, her mother chose to just give up, essentially dying of fatigue.

  It had made Lily even more determined to work as hard as she could. “Start at the top of the letter, it makes it easier to form.” Lily reached out to touch the paper. “An A connects at the top, then goes down like streamers from a maypole.”

  Rose’s eyes lit up. “I know those! We went to the fair last year. Mama looked so pretty.”

  She must have been lovely, Lily thought as she regarded Rose. The child, now that she was cleaned up and sleeping well, was adorable, her huge, dark eyes like her father’s, while it seemed—thankfully—she’d inherited her mother’s upturned nose.

  “What did you and your mama like to do best?”

  Rose kept her face bent over the paper, the emerging letter A needing her attention. “She told me stories. Like you do. I like those stories.”

  “That’s very good, Miss Rose,” Lily said, looking at the finished A. “And what stories are your favorites?”

  Rose looked up. “Fairy stories. With princes, and dragons. I like the dragons.”

  “I like princes and dragons, too.” She tapped the paper. “Do you want to try the next letter in the alphabet? What would that be, I wonder?” she said, tilting her head in thought.

  “B!” Rose shouted, earning a smile from Lily.

  “Yes, B, that’s it. Do you remember what that looks like?”

  Rose looked as though she was going to say of course she did, then she shook her head, as though reluctant to admit she didn’t know after all.

  She had inherited some traits from her father.

  Lily took a pencil and wrote the letter next to the completed letter A. “Like this, a straight line with two equal bumps on the side.”

  Rose took her own pencil and started writing just below Lily’s letter, her tongue sticking out of her mouth as she concentrated.

  “What words begin with the letter B?” Lily asked. “Does ‘cat’ begin with B?”

  Rose’s expression was scornful. “Of course not, ‘cat’ begins with—with . . .” she said, faltering.

  “Does ‘bat’ begin with B?”

  “Yes, it does. And ‘boat,’ and ‘best,’ and ‘biscuit.’”

  “Very good!” Lily said. “And your B looks lovely.”

  Rose smiled at the praise.

  They both turned as they heard footsteps—decisive, long-legged footsteps—in the hallway.

  “Duke!” Rose exclaimed as he entered the room. “We’re working on letters, do you know Miss Lily thought ‘cat’ began with a B?”

  The duke’s eyes glanced at Lily. “Perhaps you should be the one teaching her, then.” His tone was humorous, and Lily saw the glint of laughter in his eyes.

  “She writes letters better than I do,” Rose admitted. “So maybe not.”

  “Ah, I see,” the duke said, looking at the paper. “I was coming to see if you would like to spend a few hours with me, Miss Rose? Miss Lily has her afternoon off, and I have no other plans.”

  The way he spoke, as though he were genuinely asking, not ordering, made Lily’s heart nearly hurt. And that was before she saw the expression on Rose’s face, which was the most joyous thing she might have ever beheld.

  “Yes, can we have something to eat first?”

  “Of course.” The duke held his hand out to Rose, who tucked her smaller hand in his. “If you will excuse us, Miss Lily, my lady and I have an engagement for the afternoon.”

  “Certainly, Your Grace,” Lily replied, trying not to beam too much as she looked at the two of them.

  “Lily, it’s wonderful to see you!” Annabelle bustled over as soon as Lily walked into
the office, her blue eyes sparkling, as they usually did, with some sort of general joy. “We got your note, and Caroline and I have been dying for you to come tell us everything. So what is your employer like? What is the charge like? A girl or a boy? And what—”

  “If you’ll let me speak, I’ll tell you everything,” Lily said, laughing. They made their way to the back office and Lily gestured for Annabelle to sit. She took the other chair, the one that the unfortunate women usually sat in when being interviewed by the agency.

  She hoped it was not a portent.

  She spent the next few minutes with only a few interruptions (“how many rooms?”) telling Annabelle everything she wanted to know, only hesitating when it came to describing the duke.

  Because words that weren’t “impossibly handsome,” “impossible,” and “fascinatingly irritating” would have been inappropriate. And she didn’t want to reveal to Annabelle—or herself, for that matter—just how true all of those words were.

  Eventually, Annabelle’s questions stopped and, at Lily’s request, she enthusiastically began writing up a false reference from the Vicar of Littlestone. Tapping her pen against her mouth, Annabelle asked, “Is it excessive to say you are entirely capable of handling children of all ages, from birth to eighteen years old?”

  “Are you expecting the duke to present more children for me to care for?” Lily asked in a dry tone of voice.

  “Excessive,” Annabelle agreed, crossing out a few words on the paper. “Now I’ll have to copy it over.” She drew another slip of paper from their shared desk but paused before starting to write again. “Oh! You didn’t say anything about your employer.”

  Drat that inquisitive Annabelle.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Annabelle got to work copying the reference. “Is he nice? Have you spoken to him, or were you hired by his wife?”

  “He’s not married.”

  “No?” Annabelle replied, laying the pen down, an arch look on her face.

  Lily glared at her. “As though there would be a chance for me to marry him. In case you have not noticed, he is a duke. And I . . . am not.”