The Duke's Governess in Disguise

by Claudia Stone

  Ava gave them both a smile at their concern, but she listlessly pushed her plate away.

  "Perhaps we'll take a trip into town?" Emily suggested brightly, ready to abandon her plan to call on Kilbride if it meant that Ava might eat something. "We can take a look at the prints in Ackerman's, then go to Gunter's for a pastry."

  Her stomach grumbled at the thought of one of the delicious, flaky pastries from Gunter's, though how she was hungry when she had just eaten, she did not know. Perhaps it was seeing her own heartbreak reflected back at her from her twin's eyes, which caused it. Determined to not let any thoughts of Hemsworth enter her mind, Emily picked up a slice of toast and stuffed it into her mouth.

  There, she thought with satisfaction as she chewed, that was better.

  "I think," Ava said quietly, interrupting Emily's happy mastication. "That I might go lie down for an hour instead."

  "You've only just got up," Emily protested, quickly swallowing the toast in her mouth.

  "Perhaps a nap would be a good idea," Lord Fairfax interjected nervously, laying his paper down on the table, before giving Ava a strange look. "If you are to be married this afternoon, you'll need to have a good rest beforehand."

  "What?"

  Emily and Ava spoke in unison, though Emily was quicker than her twin and scrambled from her chair to her father's side. She peered over Lord Fairfax's shoulder to read the paper and let out a squeak of surprise as she saw what it was that her father had read. The Duke of Kilbride, in the most public of ways, had announced his intentions to marry Ava! His declaration of love was there, in black and white, for the whole world to see, and the romance of it all brought a tear to Emily's eye.

  "Gemini," she whistled, giving Ava a secretive smile, "I didn't think Kilbride had it in him."

  "Had what in him?" Ava questioned, completely confused by it all for she still had not read it.

  "A romantic declaration," Emily replied with delight, mock swooning behind her father's back.

  At her words, Ava sprung forth from her seat to Lord Fairfax's side, and snatched the paper from under him. Emily watched as her sister's pale face bloomed as she read the words on the page before her. It was rather like seeing, close up, a flower unfurl under the sun's rays.

  "Lud," Ava breathed, as she set the paper down. She cast Emily and her father a disbelievingly look, as though she still could not quite believe it.

  "Er, congratulations?" Emily offered, bemused by her sister's glazed eyes—she looked rather like she'd received a blow to the head, not a marriage proposal. "Are we to take it that you are pleased?"

  "He could have asked," Ava retorted, though Emily could see that her sister was merely posturing and she was about to burst with joy."I should go to him."

  "I rather think," Lord Fairfax said, with a nod to the window, "That he's coming to you."

  Emily rushed forward to the bow window, to peer out through the drapes. She gave a shriek of excitement when she saw the duke emerge from his carriage, before turning to her sister with glee. "It's him!"

  A few moments later, Kilbride was ushered into the room, his eyes gaze seeking out Ava. It was clear that the duke had eyes for no one else but her sister, and whilst Lord Fairfax momentarily blustered with parental indignation at not having been asked permission to propose to his newly adopted daughter, Emily managed to cajole him from the room.

  "She won't get a chance to say yes, if we don't leave them alone," Emily chided, as she took her father's elbow and led him a little way down the corridor, away from the door so he would not feel the urge to eavesdrop.

  Emily and her father, as well as half of the household staff—though heaven knew how the news had spread so fast—waited anxiously in the hallway for a quarter of an hour, before Ava emerged from the dining room.

  "Well?" Mary asked, apparently the only person capable of speaking.

  "I must make haste and dress," Ava replied, with a soft smile, "For the vicar will arrive at noon."

  It was as though someone had let off fireworks; the whole hallway erupted with shouts and cheers of joy, which was accompanied by the loud blubbering of Mary and Lord Fairfax, who had both burst into tears.

  "My heart can't take it," Mary cried, as she clutched a handkerchief to her tear-stained cheeks.

  "Nor mine," Lord Fairfax added, with a watery smile to his new-found daughter, "What a wonderful end to this tale."

  It was a rather wonderful end to Ava and Kilbride's love story, Emily thought later that afternoon, as she watched the newlyweds share a secret smile. That her own love story had only left her with a bitter taste in her mouth, did not matter one jot to Emily, for she was filled with joy at seeing her twin sister so blissfully happy.

  The wedding had been a small affair, officiated by the vicar in the bright, sunlit morning room of Fairfax House. The wedding breakfast was served in the dining room, the guests an odd mixture of aristocracy, thespians, and Mary, whom Ava had insisted could not be left out of the feast.

  Emily happily gorged on the smoked salmon, eggs, and soft, white rolls which the servants had miraculously produced, and followed it down with lashings of sparkling wine. Perhaps it was all the wine, but a thought popped into Emily's head, so ridiculous that it sent her into fits of giggles.

  "Excuse me," she whispered, as Ava cast her a concerned glance, "I was just thinking of Hemsworth reading today's papers and imagining his face when he reads that his old governess is now a duchess."

  Her sister smiled in confusion at Emily's obvious mirth, but Emily did not have the heart to tell her why she found it so funny. This was her sister's day, her sister's love story—Emily's own comedic farce of a romance could be explained some other time.

  Soon it was time to cut the cake, after which the newlyweds got ready to make their departure. Her sister would be gone for a few weeks, touring Kilbride's many estates, but would return to town after that.

  "I will miss her awfully," Lord Fairfax said to his daughter, as they stood on the front steps of the house, watching the Duke and Duchess of Kilbride drive away in their carriage.

  "Oh, Papa," Emily threw her arms around her father in a warm embrace, "She will be back soon and then, perhaps, you might be able to look forward to even more grandchildren."

  Emily's brother and his wife had announced, whilst she was away, that they were expecting a child. Lord Fairfax's excitement at this news had touched Emily's heart, for with each new family member he acquired, his grief at his wife's death eased. His all consuming desire to have Emily wed had all but disappeared and she suspected that the sorrow he felt, at losing Ava to Kilbride, would put a dampener on his matchmaking for some time yet.

  Lucky me, she thought, as she followed her father back into the house, though the thought was a rather hollow one.

  The next day, Emily's uncle and his wife called to take her for a ride in Hyde Park. Their presence was a merciful distraction, for since Ava had left, Emily had found there was nothing to divert her from her thoughts of Hemsworth and had already eaten two whole boxes of macaroons from Bisset's.

  Douglas McCasey and his wife were wonderful companions and kept her regaled with tales of the theatre, life in Paris, and their work to help the poor climbing boys of London.

  Emily and Ava had already asked Douglas many questions about their mother, his younger sister, but as they neared the gates of the park, to drive out onto Piccadilly, she realised that she had not asked one single question about who their father might be.

  The words were on the tip of her tongue, when a call from another carriage distracted her. It was her dear friend, Lady Eunice, in the company of a tremendously handsome chap, whose name Emily could not recall.

  Lady Eunice's face broke into a wide smile at the sight of Emily, which lit up her face beautifully. The other ladies of the ton had always shared mean whispers about Lady Eunice behind her back—deriding her spectacles, her ample figure, and her decidedly Roman nose—but Emily had always believed the young woman to be a striking l
ady.

  Quick introductions were made, as the carriages drew up side by side. Lady Eunice's companion was revealed to be Mr Theodore Belhurst, the third son of Lord Belhurst and the ton's latest darling. Emily did not quite take to the young man, though his clothes were fine and his features decidedly handsome. It was his eyes, she thought, they held none of the sparkle and warmth when one compared them to Eunice's.

  Her uncle, Emily noted with a jolt of alarm, seemed to have taken to Belhurst even less. His jaw was clenched and his usual, easy charm was now hidden beneath a chilly demeanour.

  "Mustn't hold up traffic," Emily called cheerfully to the pair, before McCasey's bad mood was noted, "Do call on me soon, Lady Eunice."

  "Do you know Mr Belhurst?" Emily ventured, once they had moved on, casting a confused glance at Annalise.

  "I know his father," McCasey replied grimly.

  His grip on the reins was so tight, that his knuckles had turned white, and McCasey's posture exuded pent-up anger. Gracious, Ava turned her eyes back to Annalise, whose warning look confirmed her suspicions. So, Lord Belhurst was the dastardly man who had ruined and discarded her mother. Emily hoped, for her friend's sake, that when it came to his youngest son, that the apple had not fallen too close to the tree. Luckily, the sight of the Duke of Belmont, galloping past them toward the park, with a look of fury upon his face, provided them with some distraction, and McCasey's anger soon subsided.

  A half hour later, her Uncle and Aunt dropped her back to the front steps of Fairfax House, but refused her offer of tea, as they had a performance at nine. A little deflated at finding herself alone again, Emily quickly changed into a day dress—ignoring Mary's grumbles about how difficult tying her stays was becoming—before wandering down to the drawing room, where she had hidden another box of macaroons.

  This will have to stop soon, Emily thought with a sigh, as she wolfed down one of wonderful sweets. Her clothes had become far too tight and her bosom was threatening to burst out of her bodice.

  Running to fat won't make Hemsworth regret losing me, she thought, though she doubted the duke would ever regret the way that he had acted. Hemsworth did not have the conscience to even consider that he had acted improperly—he was a rake through and through. Disheartened, Emily ate another of the pastel macaroons to comfort herself, swearing that tomorrow would be the day she stopped trying to eat away her sadness.

  A knock upon the drawing room door diverted her from her from indulging in any more sweets. Hastily, she hid the box of macaroons under a plump cushion, before calling whoever it was to enter.

  "The Duke of Hemsworth is here, my lady," Graves said, nodding down at the silver tray in his hand, upon which lay the duke's card.

  Lud. Emily looked down at her dress, which was covered in crumbs, and gave a sigh. Of course Hemsworth would choose to call at the most inconvenient of times. She hastily brushed away any traces of macaroons from her skirt and ran a hand over her hair to smooth it, before instructing Graves to let him in.

  "Lady Emily."

  It gave Emily rather a shock to see Hemsworth outside of the confines of Hemsworth House; standing in the doorway of her drawing room, he appeared much larger than she remembered. Had he always been so tall, she wondered, as she arranged her features into a glacial expression.

  "Your Grace," she nodded her head in greeting, though made no effort to welcome him further. The duke did not notice her ill-mannered behaviour, however, because he was staring at Emily in open-mouthed shock.

  "Lud," he said, taking her in from top to toe, "I read that you and Miss Smith were long lost sisters, but I did not realise that you were twins. It's uncanny how like your sister you are, Lady Emily."

  "I—" Emily began, bracing herself to explain that she was the Miss Smith he had known, but the duke cut her off.

  "I beg your pardon, my lady," Hemsworth said, striding into the room with an anxious expression upon his handsome face, "But there is something that I must get off my chest and I am afraid that if I get distracted by social niceties, I will lose my nerve and never say it."

  "Um," Emily tried to interject again, but Hemsworth barrelled on.

  "I did your sister a great disservice whilst she was employed as my governess and I would like you to pass my apologies on to her," the duke said, casting Emily a look filled with grief. "It took me a few days to fully understand what a wretch I had been to her, but once I had understood the error of my ways I set forth for London immediately."

  "Oh?"

  Despite knowing that she should confess to Hemsworth that it was she who he had wronged, Emily could not help but want to hear what the duke said next.

  "Yes," Hemsworth shook his head ruefully, "I arrived in London, hoping to track down Miss Smith; to tell her that I had made the biggest mistake of my life, to humbly beg her forgiveness, and then to ask her to be my wife."

  "Your wife?" Emily echoed stupidly, over the erratic pounding of her heart.

  "My wife," Hemsworth's eyes were filled with sorrow, "For I have never loved anyone as much as I love your sister and I was a fool not to see the jewel which was before me."

  "So, you think yourself in love with Miss Smith?" Emily asked, still unable to believe the confession of love that she had just heard.

  "I know myself to be," Hemsworth gave her a stricken glance, "I will spend the rest of my life regretting that I did not ask her to marry me sooner, but I hope that she finds happiness with Kilbride, for she truly deserves it. Please, tell her that from me."

  Oh; despite the look of anguish on Hemsworth's face, Emily could not help the bubble of laughter which burst forth from her lips. Her reaction must have seemed most callous to the poor duke, who blinked in surprise as he watched her laugh.

  "Oh," Emily said, stepping forward to take his hand, "Forgive me, your Grace, I did not mean to laugh. It's just that the situation is rather funny."

  "I'm glad someone can find some amusement in my heartbreak," Hemsworth replied, with dignity.

  "No," Emily shook her head, a smile tugging upon her lips at his hurt expression. "There is no heartbreak to laugh at; I am Miss Smith. I mean, I was Miss Smith when I was in Kent, my sister and I swapped places, and—and—I love you too, your Grace."

  Her confession was rather less elegant than she had hoped, but the duke seemed to understand her ramblings, for his face turned pale in shock and he was forced to sit down upon the settee. Unfortunately, his posterior made contact with the very cushion that Emily had hidden her macaroons under, and the loud crunching sound made the duke jump straight back up in fright.

  "You crushed my macaroons," Emily said, feeling rather stupid.

  "That's not something I have ever been accused of before," Hemsworth managed a droll retort, despite his obvious confusion.

  "And you crushed my heart, when you offered to 'set me up' in a house down the country," Emily continued, finally able to vent some of the hurt she had felt. "I left London to escape a marriage to a man who only wanted me because of my title, only to find myself in love with a man who could not love me because he thought I had none."

  "Ava," Hemsworth began, before correcting himself, "I mean, Emily. I do love you, I have always loved you—just you, and not your title or lineage. I cannot begin to explain the heartbreak that I felt when I woke to find you gone last week. I can only apologise for the unsavoury proposition that I made to you and hope that you know that I came to London intent on asking the woman I love to marry me, for no other reason than for the fact that I love her."

  "Really?" Emily scarcely dared to breath.

  "Truly," Hemsworth replied, before closing the distance between them in three long strides and taking her into his arms.

  His kiss was hungry and he held her so close and so tight, that Emily was almost afraid he would crush her. Hemsworth's lips were possessive, and demanded her surrender, which Emily happily gave, drifting away on a cloud of bliss. As their embrace came to an end, Hemsworth gave a rather satisfied groan, pulling his head
back so that he could look her in the eye.

  "You taste just like sugar," he said with disbelief.

  "It's the macaroons," Emily gave a nervous laugh, "I've been trying to fill the hole you left in my heart with sweets, cakes and biscuits, and I'm afraid that you'll find me much plumper than before."

  She stepped away from him slightly, to wave a vague hand across her stomach, to demonstrate her new roundness, but Hemsworth's eyes did not travel an inch past her bodice.

  "No complaints here, my dear," he said with a mischievous look in his eye.

  Emily refrained from laughing at his rakish reaction; it seemed that Hemsworth had not changed too much.

  "So, you don't mind that I lied to you about my true identity?" she asked nervously.

  "Not one jot," Hemsworth took her hand, "I'm just a little bit confused by it all—but we'll have a lifetime together for you to explain it all, if you'll have me?"

  For a moment, the cool and confident Duke of Hemsworth looked like a vulnerable little boy, as he waited for Emily's answer.

  "I have never wanted anything more," she replied, turning her face up to his, so that he would kiss her again.

  And kiss her he did; within moments, Emily was lost in a dizzy haze of pleasure, as the man that she loved held her in his arms.

  How lucky she was, she thought, as she gave a sigh of pleasure, to have expanded her family by a sister, a husband, and two wards, all in less than a month.

  "Habetis cor meum," Hemsworth whispered softly in her ear, startling Emily from her love-filled daze.

  "I beg your pardon?" she asked, wondering if she had misheard him, for his words had made no sense.

  "It means, you have my heart," Hemsworth replied with a smile, before he continued dryly, "Am I to take it then, that you are not fluent in Latin, Lady Emily?"

  "Is being fluent in the classical languages a prerequisite for being your wife? For I must confess, your Grace, that I haven't a word of it." she said, rather mischievously.

  "The only thing that I require of my next duchess, is that she is you," Hemsworth replied, his eyes so dark with desire that it made Emily shiver.