The Duke's Governess in Disguise

by Claudia Stone

  Rob did not know which was more nauseating; Fabrizio's conceited belief in his own attractiveness, or his unflinching refusal to even acknowledge that he had been caught out.

  "Alright," Rob nodded, letting loose his grip on Fabrizio's coat, "Follow me."

  He led the way to the kitchens, keeping pace with Fabrizio lest he thought to bolt. He was still simmering with rage, his fists clenched as he walked. The letter from Bellmont was now a crumpled ball in his fist, and Rob wondered if it would even be legible by the time this was all over.

  Inside the cool, dark kitchen, the scullery maids were idly chatting—though they leapt into frantic action at the sight of Robert in their midst.

  "Mrs Ilford has not returned from church yet, your Grace," one of them called nervously.

  "It is not she whom I wish to speak with," Rob replied, "I wish to talk to the girl who said that she witnessed Miss Gretchen arguing with this man."

  He waved a hand at Fabrizio, who smirked at the bevy of maids before him. One or two of the girls blushed and smiled prettily at him and a few giggles filled the room. Lud, Rob thought dourly, did they truly find the preening, pompous Fabrizio attractive?

  "T'was I, your Grace."

  A girl stepped forward, her eyes cast down at her feet. She could not have been more than sixteen or seventeen, Rob guessed, and she spoke with a broad country accent.

  "You see," Rob turned to Fabrizio in triumph, "This is the girl who saw you."

  "I have never seen this girl in my life," Fabrizio gave the scullery maid a contemptuous glance. "How can she have claimed to have seen me, when I have never once laid eyes on her?"

  "I didn't say I saw him, your Grace," the scullery maid quickly replied, shooting a nervous look at Fabrizio. "I said I overheard Miss Gretchen arguing with him—I mean, with Mr Piraino—when I was the pantry fetching something."

  "So you did not actually see who Miss Gretchen was with?" Rob clarified, his stomach sinking with despair.

  "No, your Grace," the scullery maid shook her head, "I heard Miss Gretchen and a man arguing—though he was speaking too quietly to make out what he was saying. I just assumed it was Mr Piraino, given that Miss Gretchen had been seen with him and owing to the fact that their meeting seemed to be a secret one, like a lover's tryst."

  "See," Fabrizio crowed to Rob, a gloating smile upon his face, "I told you it was not me."

  Then who else could it have been? Rob was reluctant to admit to Fabrizio's innocence aloud, for he was still not sure of it, but the scullery maid's account had put a dampener on his certainty of Fabrizio's guilt.

  "Did the man that you heard sound English or foreign?" Rob pressed, but the scullery maid shook her head.

  "That I could not say, your Grace," she apologised, her cheeks pink, "I just knew that she was speaking to a man, for the voice—though it was not clear—was deep and low."

  Lud. Frustrated beyond words, Rob flung the balled up letter in his fist across the room, where it hit the wall, before landing at Fabrizio's feet.

  "Is there anything else that you can think of?" Rob asked the poor scullery maid, who at this stage looked close to tears, "Anything at all that might identify just who it was that Miss Gretchen was arguing with?"

  "No, your Grace," the scullery maid shook her head, "I'm sorry."

  "No matter," Rob sighed, turning his attention back to Fabrizio.

  The young man had picked the balled-up letter from the floor and smoothed it out. His dark eyes were trained on Bellmont's missive, so intently that he did not register Rob's scowl of anger.

  "Are you quite done reading my private correspondence?"

  "Nearly," Fabrizio replied, his eyes scanning the last few lines of the letter, before he silently handed it to Rob.

  "It's a rather interesting read, your Grace," Fabrizio's voice was dripping with sarcasm, "Perhaps if you had read it before you so rudely accosted me, you would have found that there is another gentleman with greater motivation than I to harm James."

  Startled by this proclamation, Robert quickly scanned the letter from Bellmont. It was a short note, which began with the obligatory enquiries after Rob's health, before it delved into the crux of the matter.

  I am afraid that I have a rather delicate subject to discuss, Bellmont wrote. A few months ago, I met young Dunstable at the gaming tables; the lad was playing loose and fast at hazard, and by the end of the night I had pocketed most of his fortune and the deeds to his estate, Highfield. It is not my usual style to return what I have won at the tables to those foolish enough to play against me, but out of respect to the late Lord Dunstable, I would like to gift his brother back his estate. If you could facilitate a meeting betwixt us—

  Rob was unable to read the last few lines, for his heart was hammering too loudly in his chest to allow him to concentrate. David had lost Highfield at a game of cards? That was impossible—he had visited there twice since Rob had returned to Kent.

  "That stuffed-up poopinjay," Fabrizio complained, interrupting Rob's panicked thoughts. "The last time that I saw him, he as good as accused me of stealing silverware from Blakefield. Now, I see it was him—he was trying to frame me for theft!"

  "It's much worse than that, Fabrizio," Rob replied grimly, "I'll wager that he was trying to frame you for murder."

  The scullery maids, who had all been agog at the dramatic scenes before them, gasped and shrieked at Rob's announcement. Blast, he had quite forgotten they were there. He was about to dismiss them, when Mrs Ilford bustled into the room, still dressed in her Sunday best.

  "Now, girls, I won't tolerate idleness in this kitchen," she called, before she spotted Robert and Fabrizio. "Oh, your Grace. I didn't see you there. Are you needing something? I'm afraid dinner won't be ready for another hour or two—I had something very important to discuss with the vicar about his sermon. Oh, he does do a lovely sermon of a Sunday. There's some that don't appreciate his words, and they try and slink out the back door because they think no one's watching, but I—"

  "How long ago did it finish?" Rob growled, interrupting Mrs Ilford's monologue.

  "Why," she looked affronted at the rudeness of his tone, "About a half hour ago, your Grace."

  "And the children? Do you know if they have returned?"

  A wild panic had seized Rob; the villain of this dreadful tale had been standing in his library not an hour ago and Rob had sent him on his way with a smile. Worse, he had sent the dastardly man straight to the children!

  "I doubt it," Mrs Ilford clucked disapprovingly at his brusqueness, "They went off with their Uncle for a walk."

  Lud. Rob swore violently at this news; how could he have been so stupid to not even consider David as a suspect? Was he so shallow that he had been taken in by the lad's charming manners and good looks? It had been all too easy to cast Fabrizio as the villain and now the children might be harmed because of his stupid mistake. Rob turned to Fabrizio, whose sallow skin had turned ghostly pale, and gestured for him to follow him out into the gardens.

  "In time I will make you a proper apology," he said shortly, once they were away from prying ears, "But right now, we must move quickly. I shall ride out at once, to see if I can see any sign of them. You gather the footmen and the grooms and organise for them to start the search. Inform Mr Brown that the men will need to be armed as best as we can manage. Can you do that for me?"

  "Si," Fabrizio nodded solemnly. He seemed to have transformed before Rob's eyes, from a sullen, conceited young lad, into a grown and competent man. Fabrizio's mouth was set in a grim, determined line and his dark eyes glinted with anger. Rob rather pitied David in that moment, for there was no telling what Fabrizio would do to the man once he was found.

  "Good lad," he said, turning on the heel of his Hessian and sprinting across the gardens toward the stables. Time was not on his side and he could not even contemplate what might happen if they did not find the children and Miss Smith soon. Fear overwhelmed him at the thought of any harm coming to the small, make-
shift family that fate had trust upon him. He needed them, he realised, as panic pierced his soul—he needed all of them in his life, forever.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  13

  Church had been a rather tiring affair; the vicar, Mr Collier, had delivered a dull sermon, which had lasted for what felt like hours. The ladies of Dottington had not shown the same restlessness that Emily had felt, as his voice droned on and on, quite the opposite in fact. They—including Mrs Ilford, who was seated in the front pew—hung on to Mr Collier's every utterance, seemingly transfixed as he delved into a deep, meandering interpretation of the gospel he had read.

  The men-folk, Emily noted with relief, showed just as much impatience as she with the vicar's endless monologue. The farmers gathered at the back of the church began, discreetly, slipping out the door one by one, and the men who had taken a seat in the pews began to shift restlessly. Finally the vicar flashed a bright smile at his congregation and dismissed them into the world.

  "He's so dedicated."

  "He's so insightful."

  "He's so much more handsome since he had his hair cut."

  Emily tried not to snort as she heard the ladies discuss the vicar in loud whispers. True, the man was very easy on the eye, but one could not say the same about the ear. She gently prodded Cressida and James, who were half-asleep beside her, and the trio filed out of the small church.

  "That was interesting," Emily said brightly, as they stepped outside into the bright morning.

  "Was it?" James looked genuinely perplexed, "I didn't think it was, and old Hennessey the gardener fell asleep half-way through."

  "Hush," Emily whispered, as a few of the town matrons turned to glare at young James for his honesty.

  "But it's true," he complained, "His wife elbowed him so hard that his cap fell off. It was the best bit of the whole mass."

  Lud. Were she alone, Emily would have dropped her head into her hands in despair. She too had seen Hennessey's rude awakening, though she could not admit that to James. Luckily, a familiar figure waved at them from the gate, distracting James from arguing his point any further.

  "Uncle David!"

  Cressida broke into a run at the sight of her uncle, followed in hot pursuit by James. When Emily caught up with them, they were chattering loudly, completely overwhelming their poor uncle.

  "Miss Smith." Mr Dunstable gave a relieved smile at the sight of her, cutting James off mid-sentence to address Emily. "How lovely to see you again."

  If Emily's head was not so filled with thoughts of the duke, she might have been a little overcome by Mr Dunstable's charms, which were considerable. She could not help but compare his solicitousness with Fabrizio's brazen rudeness; both men were as different as chalk and cheese.

  "Good afternoon," Emily replied, her smile warm, "What a surprise to find you here."

  "It is no coincidence," Mr Dunstable smiled down at his niece and nephew, "I called at Hemsworth House and his Grace informed me that I would find you all here. I wished to spend some time with the children, before I leave for my estate, and thought that a walk in this glorious sunshine would be a treat for us all."

  "What a wonderful idea," Emily replied, to which Cressida and James chimed in their own approval for the outing. "Just let me tell Mrs Ilford that we shall be late for dinner."

  She ran over to the housekeeper, who was standing in the midst of a crowd of ladies waiting by the door for Mr Collier, to inform her of their walk.

  "Wonderful, yes. A walk, lovely," Mrs Ilford responded vaguely, her attention taken up by the vicar, who had just emerged from the church.

  Emily rolled her eyes and made her way back to the children and Mr Dunstable.

  "I fear we won't be missed at all by Mrs Ilford," she joked.

  "Yes, Mr Collier has been bewitching the ladies of Dottington since his arrival," Mr Dunstable smiled, "He's most popular with the wives, but not so popular with their husbands who complain that dinner is often late on a Sunday."

  Emily grinned at this titbit of local gossip; Mr Dunstable had grown up just outside the village, and so would know everyone and everything there was to know about the place. Indeed, as they meandered through the village, he pointed out places of interest and filled them in on the local lore.

  "You must be very fond of Dottington, Mr Dunstable," Emily observed gently, as he finished telling the tale of how the village was completely buried in the snow of 1801.

  "The Dunstable family have been here for seven generations," he replied, his voice thick with emotion, "All proud Englishmen, who gladly gave service to king and country."

  Mr Dunstable's patriotic sentiments seemed a little off-key, given that the tone of their conversation had thusly been light. Still, Emily thought, young men were often fevered in their beliefs.

  They reached the small square, where Emily had disembarked the stage-coach upon her arrival in Dottington. It felt like eons ago, given that so much had happened since then. Her hand unconsciously touched her lips, as she recalled the passionate kiss that she had shared with the duke. How foolish she had been, to think that swapping places with her sister would be little more than a temporary lark.

  "I would be happy to take the children to the river alone, if you would like an hour or two to yourself," Mr Dunstable whispered, in a sympathetic tone to Emily.

  "Oh, I could not leave them," she said, touched that he had even considered that she might like an afternoon to herself.

  "I insist," his reply was firm, "I know from my conversations with Miss Gretchen that they can be trying enough."

  "Oh, no," Emily shook her head, "It's not that. It's just that his Grace has asked me to keep a particular eye on them..."

  "Oh?" Dunstable raised an eyebrow.

  "It's a rather delicate matter," Emily stammered,keeping her voice low so that the children would not hear her. "But their brother—they're not allowed to be alone with him for the time being."

  "Is that so?"

  Dunstable did not look as shocked as Emily would have expected. In fact, his handsome face was creased in a thoughtful frown. She waited for him to enquire as to why Fabrizio was suddenly classed as a persona non grata, but he did not seem inclined to question her.

  "I can promise you that I will not let them out of my sight," he said, after a moment's silence.

  "Oh, but—"

  "Tut-tut, Miss Smith," Dunstable held up a hand to silence her, "I won't hear another word of argument. You take a few hours to yourself and I shall take the children down to the river. Hemsworth knows of my plans, so do not fear that anyone at the house will be upset with you."

  "I really don't think—" Emily began to argue, but the young man cut her off once again.

  "I insist," he said, the tone of his voice letting her know that he would broker no more arguments. His charming manners might mean that when it suited him he would speak to her as though she were an equal, but when it did not suit he was as capable as Fabrizio at letting her know her place.

  Recognising that she was defeated, Emily reluctantly acquiesced to his wishes. She bid the children goodbye, noting that they did not seem too perturbed by her departure, and set off on her way toward Hemsworth House.

  A nagging feeling of doubt followed her every step, her suspicions heightening as she recalled Mr Dunstable's innocuous comment about Miss Gretchen and the many conversations they had shared. It had been a perfectly innocent statement to make, but it had sowed the seeds of something in Emily's mind.

  She paused, as she tried to think what it was that was that had discomfited her so, and then she remembered; the first time that she had talked with Dunstable, he had told her that he had never even met Miss Gretchen. Now he was claiming to have had many conversations with her, but why had he lied in the first place? Not only that, but Cressida herself had said that it was her uncle who had insisted that she needed a governess and had brought Miss Gretchen into their home.

  Fear and panic crept over Emily, as she recalled Dunstable's
ease in Hemsworth House; he knew it so well, that he had even skipped over the creaking step on the staircase on the way to the nursery. Was it possible that he knew to avoid it because he had been creeping around when he should not have been?

  You're being ridiculous, it's Fabrizio who has a motive to harm the children, Emily told herself, not their uncle. Still, her feet would not carry her forward to Hemsworth House, instead, she turned back toward the village, walking so quickly that she was near running.

  When she arrived at the square she found it deserted, save a stray tabby-cat. She hurriedly crossed it and made for the road which led toward Blakefield Hall. The country lane was empty, though as Emily walked farther along, she spotted a farmer driving a cart in the distance.

  "Have you seen a fair-haired gentleman with two children?" she called, as the farmer neared.

  "Aye," the elderly man nodded, flashing her a toothless grin, "Young Mr David Dunstable and his niece and nephew."

  "Did you happen to see which way they went?"

  "They had just hopped over the style by the orchard and were heading down toward the river bend," the farmer replied, "I called out to Mr Dunstable to be careful, for the waters are high after the rain last week, but he wouldn't listen. What more could I do, it's not my place to question the gentry, is it lass?"

  Lud; Emily went cold at his words. How had she been so stupid to fall for the man's manners and easy charm? She had not even considered that he might be responsible for such treachery, for she had been happy to tar the unlikable Fabrizio as the villain.

  "You must go at once to Hemsworth House," she said, her urgency startling the poor farmer, "And tell his Grace what you have just told me. Tell him Miss Smith sent you. Please—hurry!"

  Emily lifted the hem of her skirts and took off at a sprint. It took her a few minutes to reach the orchard, and she was gasping for breath as she clambered clumsily over the style.