by Lenora Bell
What must it be like to have all your desires fulfilled before you even knew what they were?
Yet another footman positioned a silver platter heaped with glistening fruit and sweetmeats on a table between their chairs. Taking up a pair of silver tongs and a small plate, the footman waited expectantly.
“Would you care for some fruit, Miss Perkins?” asked the duke.
Mari recognized a cluster of dark purple grapes and some strawberries, but the rest of it was a mystery. What were those yellow triangles with pockmarks in them? They looked rather stringy.
“I’ll have some grapes, Your Grace,” she said, making a safe choice.
The footman served her a cluster of grapes.
She’d never eaten grapes before. She mustn’t betray her lack of gustatory experience with a telltale ooh of astonishment.
The dark purple fruit burst under the assault of her teeth, flooding her mouth with sweetness. There was almost a hint of violet. The way violets smelled. Something musky and perfumed.
The seeds were slightly bitter, but easily swallowed. She ate another. And then another.
She could become accustomed to being served grapes like the ancient Romans.
Only, if they were ancient Romans, she and the duke would be lounging about on the carpet, half naked.
Good gracious. What manner of thought was that to have?
A forbidden thought, that’s what.
She glanced at him from under her lashes. His lips were perfectly shaped for . . . grape eating. Firm and well defined on top, and flared below.
The duke cleared his throat.
She hauled her attention back to modern-day England, where she was a superior governess and he was a duke and they would never, ever roll on the carpet together.
“You said you had a long and disappointing day, Your Grace?” she asked.
“I had an interview with an old friend of mine, the Duke of Westbury, who doesn’t want to allow the proposed railway to pass through his estate. Many noblemen oppose the railway. I’m to give a speech at my club on the subject.”
“Have you written the speech?”
He drew a sheet of crumpled paper from inside his coat and threw it onto the table. “I’ve attempted to.”
Mari wiped her fingers on a serviette and lifted the ball of his speech, smoothing it out on her lap. “May I?”
“By all means. I’ve rewritten it three or four times but there’s something lacking. Are you an author, Miss Perkins?”
“I, Your Grace? No. I’m a teacher. More skilled at editing others’ compositions than writing my own. Everyone can use a good editor.”
He waved a hand at the speech. “Be my guest.”
His penmanship was bold, commanding and it marched full tilt across the page.
She was aware of him watching her read. Watching intently, as if her opinion of his words mattered greatly.
Again, she was struck by how little he matched the picture she’d painted of him in her mind, before she met him.
An arrogant duke wouldn’t care what the governess thought.
She folded the speech and set it back on the table. “It’s a very eloquent speech, Your Grace. I can feel how deeply you care for your subject.”
“But . . .” he prompted.
“If I offered a friendly criticism, I’d say it lacks a certain . . . passion. Instead of dwelling so heavily upon figures and profits, and the interchange of commerce and manufacturing supplies, you might mention some of the more altruistic and noble benefits of such a system of travel.”
“The Whigs won’t want to hear about the benefits to commoners. There’s always fierce objection to any tidal shift in power.” He separated two of the yellow slices to one side of the platter. “The stagecoaches opposed the canal boats.” He moved the yellow slices close to what looked like a large slice of melon, though she couldn’t be sure because she’d never seen one of such a vibrant red hue.
“They both oppose the railway.” He arranged grapes in a row on either side of the melon slice. “And my fellow landowners with pleasure estates don’t want their lands carved by the rails or commoners to travel their hallowed ground.” He added more grapes. “And the parish fire brigades are mired in the past, married to their old, inadequate methods.”
She studied his culinary map, placing several strawberries atop the melon. “Yes, but the railways will provide inexpensive and expeditious travel for people of all classes. And your fire engines will save countless lives.”
“And the railway I help finance will provide much needed access to more inexpensive coal and medicines for people living in hard-to-reach areas. Children, especially.”
“Couldn’t you explain this to the gentlemen, Your Grace? Wouldn’t they listen?”
“They don’t care about the plight of the common man. They fear the railway as a threat to their way of life. A blow against tradition.”
She ate a strawberry, ruminating on his words. She liked that he appeared to be one of the rare noblemen who cared about the plight of the common man. He certainly cared about his illegitimate children.
“I’ve found that telling a story can sometimes be more effective than more pontificating, didactic methods of communication,” she said.
“My pride will be quite deflated by the end of this day, Miss Perkins. First Michel accuses me of being a boring milksop and now I’m a didactic pontificator?”
She nearly choked on the strawberry. “How do you know what Michel said?”
He gave her a guilty look. “Ah . . . I may have been listening at the door this evening, as you put the children to bed.”
He’d been watching? She tried to recall the details of her conversation with the children. Had she said anything incriminating about her childhood? She couldn’t risk him learning she’d been raised in a charity school and was unfit by society’s standards to be his governess. “It seems you’re the spy in the household, Your Grace. Lurking about doorways.”
He made a slight bow from the waist. “Touché, Miss Perkins. It’s true, the gentlemen at my club take pontification to a whole new level,” he said. “It’s difficult to squeeze a word in edgewise.”
“But they still have hearts. And children. What you need to do is hit them square in the chest. Tell them the story of an actual child living in the countryside who died from lack of medicine. I knew such a girl.” She blinked her eyes, staving off the sudden tears that always threatened to spill over when she thought of how easily Helena could have been saved.
“Was she your sister?”
“Bosom friend.”
“And she could have been saved?”
“She had typhoid fever. The medicine from London didn’t reach her in time.”
“It’s a shame they don’t allow females at my club, Miss Perkins. If you gave the speech, their hearts would be moved.”
When he smiled, the ice in his gaze cracked and spread into appealing crinkles at the edges of his eyes.
“I can tell that after only one brief day, the children are beginning to thaw toward you as well,” he continued. “It was very clever of you to give them that elixir. I had no idea they are so very homesick for France.”
“And for their nurse, a woman named Amina. We wrote a letter to her today. I think it would mean so much to them to receive a reply.”
He nodded. “Another excellent idea.”
Now there was definitely approval in his eyes. It made her feel warm inside, as if she’d gulped down an entire cupful of hot tea.
“If you were there, outside the door, why didn’t you make yourself known?” she asked.
His gray eyes filled with the same hesitation and mistrust she’d seen in Michel and Adele’s eyes earlier.
He crossed his ankles and stretched his long legs toward the fire. “I would have ruined the moment. I’m afraid I’m no good with the children.” He rubbed his left knee. “They don’t want a half-lame giant of a father. I frighten them.”
Half-lame giant?
That’s hardly how she would describe him. Didn’t he know how he muddled a girl’s thoughts and made her heart race?
“That’s funny,” she said gently, “because they seem to think that you don’t want them.”
“Of course I want them.” He made an impatient gesture. “I even wrote them into my will.”
“If you were listening then you know that the twins don’t want to be separated. They have a very strong bond.”
He shook his head. “You’ll not convince me that Michel shouldn’t attend Eton. Every male child in this family, legitimate or otherwise, attends Eton. It’s a mark of distinction and acknowledgement.”
“I understand, Your Grace, but they need to be prepared for the separation. Perhaps you could talk to them. Tell Michel some stories from your years at Eton. Give them time to come to terms with the idea.”
He chuckled, his shoulders shaking with laughter.
She ducked her chin. “Did I say something humorous, Your Grace?”
“Are you assigning me a task to complete?” He grinned. “Because it seems like maybe you’re planting notions in my head.”
“The idea.” She sniffed. “I would never do such a thing.”
“Oh yes you would.”
She couldn’t help smiling back. “Well perhaps just a few gentle nudges, Your Grace.”
“As I surmised.”
“It’s just that children absorb and reflect their surroundings,” Mari said. “We teach them with every expression of our face, every word we speak . . . and don’t speak.”
He sobered. “I wasn’t the recipient of many kind words from my own parents. I’ve tried, Miss Perkins, truly I have. But everything I say comes out all wrong. Adele, in particular, has such a look of panic when I speak to her.”
She didn’t want to lecture him, but there was a clear question in his words. He wanted to know how to communicate with the children.
“Well,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Many people think that when they speak to children they should use a different voice, but children don’t respond favorably to that. They don’t like to be talked down to.”
“So I should speak to them as I’m speaking to you.”
“Exactly. They are people in their own right.”
“I’ve hardly had time to speak to them at all,” he said. “I thought outfitting the nursery with toys from Lumley’s shop would be enough. You said you’d never been to London, Miss Perkins, but that wooden rabbit you showed the children is from Lumley’s. It’s such a magical place.”
“My rabbit is from Lumley’s Toy Shop? It was given to me as a child and I had no idea of its origin.”
Excitement buzzed in her mind. This could be a clue. Now she knew where the rabbit had been purchased. She added Lumley’s shop to her list of destinations in London.
“Mr. Lumley is known for his wooden toys. I had a nutcracker with a jaw that moved up and down.”
“Perhaps you could bring the children to a toy shop someday. Show them the toys and games you used to love when you were their age.”
“Perhaps I will. After my new steam engine design is complete.”
“And you could try simply sitting and listening to the twins. They have a lot to say, I’ve found. I believe that we can learn as much from children, as they learn from us.”
“An interesting philosophy.”
“I’ve read widely on the subject of children’s education. I support the learned philosophers who argue that children’s natural inclinations and interests should guide their studies. Though most of the philosophers are not keen on the education of females, which I think should be a right and not a privilege.”
“Bit of a bluestocking, are you?” He regarded her with interest.
“Not particularly. I form my opinions from what I observe. Michel and Adele are equally intelligent and resourceful . . . and resilient.”
He didn’t deny it, which was more endearing than she was willing to admit.
“What do they miss most about France, do you think? Besides their nurse,” he asked.
“They spoke at great lengths about the inferiority of English bread. Apparently it’s doughy, crustless, and lacks any kind of flavor at all.”
He laughed. “Noted.”
“And they miss the seashore.”
“I’m learning more about the children from you, than you’ll ever learn from me, Miss Perkins.”
She shrugged modestly. “It’s my job to make these observations. Any governess would do the same.”
“No, I don’t believe so.” When had his eyes lost their shadows? “You’re not like other governesses, as far as I can tell. You’re witty, confident, highly intelligent . . .” His gaze searched her face. “Why are you a governess? A gentleman’s daughter with such winning attributes could have her pick of suitors.”
Had she told him she was a gentleman’s daughter? She didn’t think she’d told him such a lie. He must be making assumptions because she’d come from Mrs. Trilby’s agency.
This was an extremely dangerous line of questioning.
Say something off-putting.
Leave immediately.
“Marriage is hardly the solution to every female’s problems, Your Grace,” she said tartly.
“It would surely be preferable to this.”
“Caring for other people’s children instead of my own, you mean? Perhaps.”
“What of your parents? Don’t they wish you to marry?”
Stay as close to the truth as possible and leave swiftly.
“I never knew my mother,” she said carefully. “And my father was a distant figure. Being a governess is my lot in life.” She rose from her chair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s growing late and I must be going.”
He rose as well. “I didn’t mean to anger you.”
“You’re just being you.”
He stepped closer. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“No, please tell me. I want to know why you have such a bad opinion of me on such short acquaintance.”
“It’s not you, in particular. It’s dukes, in general.”
“I see. It’s my rank that bothers you.”
“Dukes breathe such rarified air. You’ve lost the ability to think as a commoner. The eagle never catches flies, as they say.”
“It’s not every governess who would make such an observation. I daresay you’re unique among your tribe, Miss Perkins.”
“And you’re not at all unique, as far as dukes go.”
It was far better to argue with him than field questions about her past.
Mari plunged ahead. “Oh Great Duke. King of your castle. Flinging governesses over your shoulder at will. Mutare vel timere sperno. Everyone else must change, not you.”
“Careful, Perkins,” he said, his gaze gathering storm clouds.
“Life ebbs and flows by your whims. ‘And how is the duke feeling today? Will he thunder and scorch us with lightning or will it be a tranquil day?’”
She expected him to lash out then, to tell her she was wrong and didn’t know her place.
That’s why his deep, rich laughter startled her. “Not one governess in one thousand would lecture me as you do.”
“As a governess I have a duty to point out misbehavior.”
“Impudent minx.”
Why was he grinning at her as if he liked impudent minxes more than anything?
“Perhaps I deserve a thorough tongue-lashing,” he mused.
Which sounded quite wicked when spoken in such a low, husky voice.
His gaze shifted back to her lips. “Are you planning to give me another?”
“Only if you’re bad, Your Grace.”
He must have taken a step nearer to her.
Or had she been the one to move closer?
So close.
What had come over her? She felt nearly weightless, as if she might float away if he didn’t touch her, anchor her to the ground. Of all the r
idiculous things to long for . . . a kiss from the finely molded lips of a devilish duke. Lady India would surely disapprove if she were the duke’s paramour.
How many ways could she deflect his questions about her past before he became suspicious? Maybe, instead of arguing with him, she should try distracting him by other means.
A reckless desire formed in her mind.
A desire to misbehave. Just this once. To actually experience life, instead of reading about it in books.
He awakened these hidden desires in her. She had no idea where they were coming from. She only knew they made her want to do things like . . . this.
She rose to her tiptoes, placing her palms against his rock-solid chest. “Or . . . I could be the bad one.”
Her palm rested on his chest, over his heart.
Edgar could see each individual golden freckle sprinkled across her nose. The freckles continued over her cheeks, lighter there, and even kissed the edges of her lips.
Pale pink lips, slightly parted.
The flare of heat in her eyes. An invitation.
An invitation innocently given. One he could never accept.
Her hair was braided and wound round her head so forcefully it drew her eyebrows up slightly. Her actions didn’t match those tightly wound braids.
Braid away the brazen.
Batten up the bold.
It would never work. The true fire of her nature would always flare to life.
He wanted to kiss her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his entire blighted existence.
You can have this, a seductive voice whispered in his mind.
All of this sweetness and exploration. This sensual awakening.
Give the lady her very first kiss. Kiss her so well she’ll spend the rest of her life dreaming of you.
Lose yourself in her eyes. No need to think of past guilt, past pain. Live for today. Live through her eyes.
He cupped her cheek with his palm, brushing his thumb over the slender bones of her jaw. “You’re not intimidated by me.”
She dropped back onto her heels. Her hand stayed on his chest, a slight pressure, a small patch of warmth.
“Should I be?” she asked.