The Perfect Duke

by Ireland, Dawn

  It took all his control to maintain an indifferent expression. “As you wish.”

  He studied the smirk on her face. So, his prim governess wasn’t above gloating. She’d won the first round, but in the long run, he’d win the match.

  The seven council members gazed at Cara, each with their hands folded and resting on top of a scarred wooden table. She’d been seated, with her father and Mr. Russell, on a grouping of chairs normally used for onlookers. The whole affair had the feeling of a trial, except that the smell of beeswax and incense hung in the air from the adjoining chapel.

  She’d known these men all her life. Papa used to laugh at her childhood names for them. Let’s see, Sniffles sat on the far left, then Patches, Blinky, Fidget, Stutter, Dimples, and Bellows. Even Stutter, her favorite, wore a grim expression. She smoothed the folds of her dress, sitting as tall as possible.

  “It’s good to see you back, Miss McClure.” Fidget glanced at the members on either side of him, while his thumb tapped a rhythmic pattern on the back of his other hand. “If you’d returned sooner, we might have had no need for this session. You seem to have caused all manner of havoc by leaving.”

  “It-it-it’s not her fault that children have left the school.” Stutter ran his index finger between his neck and cravat.

  Cara smiled at him, then turned toward Fidget. “I don’t believe the children have left. I believe that something has happened to them.” Various degrees of disbelief showed on the councilmen’s faces. Just because they were street children, people always believed the worst of them. She bit the inside of her mouth, hard, to keep from saying something she shouldn’t.

  “Come now, Miss McClure.” Bellows’ voice seemed to rumble around in his chest before filling the room. “What makes you think foul play is involved? Even your father and Mr. Russell believe they’ve simply run off.”

  She glanced at Papa, who gave her an apologetic smile. Cara couldn’t blame him. He didn’t know the students the way she did. “These may be children of neglect, but that doesn’t mean they don’t aspire to a better way of life. I’ve spent a great deal of time with them, and I’m telling you that something has happened.”

  “That may be.” Sniffles rubbed at his nose with a handkerchief. “But it still appears to our contributors as if the children aren’t interested in school. Now, if you were the gentlemen in question, would you want to continue to pour money into a failing enterprise?”

  “No, but—”

  “I’m afraid we have to look at the problem from our benefactor’s view.” Dimples gazed at her with a sad smile, at least sad for him. His dimples made it difficult to ever believe he was unhappy. “They contribute to more than your school, and if they believe we are squandering their money, we might not be able to fund any of our projects in the future.”

  Mr. Russell stood. “I’m sure, now that Miss McClure is back, there won’t be any more incidents. Couldn’t you give us some time to prove that her influence will keep the students at the school?”

  Cara smiled up at Mr. Russell, hoping her gratitude showed in her expression. He was right. What they needed was time to prove that the children weren’t leaving on their own. “If need be, I’ll speak with the contributors individually.”

  “That wouldn’t do any good and might take weeks.” The tempo of Fidget’s thumb increased. “They’ve instructed us to close the school today. I, for one, don’t wish to anger them.”

  “C-cou-couldn’t we compromise?”

  Fidget rolled his eyes at Stutter’s request. “How?”

  “Gi-give them two weeks to prove the chi-children are being taken.”

  Dimples really smiled this time. “Yes. If they can prove the children didn’t simply leave, that should satisfy everyone. I believe the Good Lord would want us to give them a chance.”

  Blinky’s eyelids batted furiously, an unfortunate result of his becoming excited. “We can tell them we’ve been moved by God to give them an opportunity to prove their claims.”

  Fidget placed both hands flat on the table. Outrage infused his voice. “We don’t use God as an excuse in this council.”

  Patches was the only council member who didn’t get excited and try to talk above everyone else. Instead, he rubbed the repaired fabric on his elbow until the loud debate subsided. Then he spoke in a quiet voice. “No, God is never an excuse, but perhaps we aren’t considering the real question here. If the children are being abducted, isn’t it our responsibility, as Christians, to help them? Let’s tell the contributors that we’ve given the McClures three weeks to substantiate the tales before we close the school.”

  “Two.” Fidget tapped the table with his fingernail.

  “Done, and I’ll tell our patrons.” Stutters sat up straighter and glanced around the room.

  Cara suspected it wasn’t simply because they were going to get two weeks. That was the first time she’d ever heard him speak a sentence without a stutter.

  She turned to Papa, who wrapped his arms around her, then whispered in her ear. “Now, Sheherezade, we’ll find out if the children ran off or if something happened to them.”

  Relief surged through her. Two weeks. Thank God. Even if Papa didn’t believe her, he was always willing to help. Her chest tightened and she pursed her lips. The strain of the day was reflected in the lines around his mouth and the weariness in his eyes. What would she do without him?

  “No need to celebrate yet, Miss McClure.” Cara turned to face Fidget, who rose, followed by the other council members. “You have two weeks to find out what happened to your students. If you can not, the doors to The McClure School For The Betterment Of The Mind will be closed for good.”

  The princess feared to keep her promise, but the King reminded her that what she promised, she must perform.

  The Frog King

  Chapter 8

  Garret paused a moment before opening the door to the classroom. Giggling came from the other side, then silence. Perhaps it wasn’t anything, but instinct told him to be cautious.

  He shoved the door open, yet remained in the hallway. A bucket fell from its perch above the door with a clatter and thudded near his boots, soaking the worn wooden floor with water, then rolled to a stop a few feet away.

  Wide-eyed children of various ages watched him as he entered the room, picked up the bucket, then closed the door. He set the container on the nearest bench, next to the biggest boy in the class. “I believe you dropped something.”

  The student, his blond hair an unruly thatch, gave him a cocky grin. “Yer right, Guv’ner. I wondered where I’d put it.”

  The students around him snickered, but Garret refused to look at anyone but the boy. “I take it you have been informed that Miss McClure will not be instructing today.” He studied the cynical gaze of the wary young man. “What’s your name?”

  “Michael.”

  “Well, Michael, in future you will refer to me as Sir or Mr. Stone. I, on the other hand, shall call you George."

  “Not very sportin’ of you, Guv’ner.” He repeatedly tossed and caught a disk of some sort. The height of the throw never varied, as if he’d spent years at the same exercise.

  Garret straightened and gave the boy a look he’d used often to quell dissent among the servants. “Lesson Number One. If you wish to be a part of any noble household, you had best resign yourself to being called whatever the nobleman wishes.” Garret snatched the disk out of the air.

  “Give that back.” Michael’s expression vacillated between anger and amazement. He stood, his hands clenched at his sides. “You’re nothin’ but a thief. You ‘as no right to me property. Give over, Governor.”

  “Not at this time.” Garret slipped it into his pocket. “Now that I have your attention, George, I want you to show me what you would do if you were to announce the arrival of a visitor.”

  Michael opened his mouth, then closed it again as a petite girl with golden curls and dirty face approached Garret, then yanked on his waistcoat. She smiled up
at him, a dark gap where her front tooth had been. “Does I have to call him George?”

  “No. Only the nobleman would refer to him by whatever designation he chose.”

  “That’s silly. Can’t the nobleman remember his name?”

  “Of course he can. It’s just that . . . Go sit down.”

  She placed her hands on her hips and pursed her mouth. “Mary, me name’s Mary. I don’t think I wants to work fer no nobleman if he can’t remember me name.”

  “He will not forget your name. Now go sit down.” Garret nodded to Michael. “Follow me.” He tried to escape to the front of the classroom, but a pair of grimy hands grasped his coat. The insistent boy’s clothing and skin were so covered in soot, Garret wasn’t sure where one left off and the other began.

  “Me da’s in Newgate fer stealin’ silver an’ the like, but he dinna do it.” The boy’s earnest gaze bored into him, startling due to the whiteness of his eyes. “Would one o’ them noble gents be able to gets ‘im out? He could call me anythin’ he wanted to.”

  “I doubt it.” Garret felt a twinge of guilt as he pried the child’s fingers from his coat, then made his way to the front. A duke did not involve himself with petty thieves. He gazed out over the ill-suited group. How could he possibly instruct these children in proper etiquette?

  A girl, no more than five, her long brown ringlets bouncing around her, slipped between the legs of the taller children. She ran at him as if she expected him to swing her up in his arms. At the last moment, he grasped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length.

  “I’m Emily. Do you have a mother?”

  “I did, but—”

  “What was her name?”

  “I really don’t think it’s—”

  “I had a mother. She’s in heaven.”

  “What happened to—”

  “If your mother’s an angel, maybe she can help Mama and Papa find their way home. Miss McClure said the fever took ‘em, but that don’t mean it can’t give ‘em back.”

  The desire to clamp his hand over her mouth nearly overwhelmed him. Maybe then he’d get to finish a sentence. “It’s not possible to return from heaven.”

  Tears welled up in her innocent blue eyes, making him wish he’d never spoken. Bloody hell, what was he supposed to do now? He’d never had to deal with a crying female.

  Emily’s shoulders started to shake and whimpering sounds emanated from her throat. Sweat broke out on Garret’s brow. He wanted nothing more than to run out of the school.

  At that moment, Michael crossed to the front of the room and stood on a bench. He pointed a finger at Garret. “The Governor here thinks ‘es too high an mighty to be teachin’ the likes o’ us. What say we go home an’ wait fer Miss McClure to come back?”

  The children started jumping up and down, yelling “Go home” over and over. Emily attached herself to his leg and began to wail as though she’d never stop. The dampness from her tears, and heaven only knew what else, permeated his breeches. He tried to pry her loose, but kept getting knocked off balance by some of the students who were running around the benches. Their high-pitched screaming sent shivers up his spine.

  “What’s going on here?”

  Garret was amazed that Vicar McClure’s voice cut through the noise. At the moment, he didn’t appear to be the soft-spoken man Garret knew. His brows were drawn together and the displeasure on his face made even Garret feel culpable. The children stopped where they were. Some appeared guilty, but most looked defiant. “You will leave class this instant and only return in the morning if you can behave in a civilized manner.”

  The children filed out, casting Garret rebellious glances. How did Cara do this day after day? Someone needed to instill a little respect into these hellions.

  Michael was the last to leave. His face promised retribution as he stared at Garret. “I believe you ‘ave somthin’ o’ mine.”

  Garret refused to back down, though he really had no desire to keep the object. He held the boy’s gaze until the young man glanced away.

  Defiance still filled Michael’s voice as he straightened to his full height. “We’ll be finishin’ our business later.” He stuck his hands into his pockets and sauntered out.

  The vicar closed the door and turned to Garret, laughter in his eyes. “Not quite what you were expecting?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t worry, it gets easier.”

  “Does it?” Garret never wanted to spend another hour alone with any of them. “How did it go with the council?”

  “They gave us two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” Garret rubbed his chin with one hand. “How can they expect us to find the kidnapper in that short a time?”

  “I don’t know.” The vicar’s white hair, already in disarray, appeared even wilder when he shook his head. “I’m hoping you happen on something. Sheherezade’s determined her children are missing.” He smiled at Garret. “My daughter’s not always realistic when it comes to her students. For instance, she thinks our Michael’s an angel.”

  Garret raised an eyebrow at the vicar.

  The old man laughed. “I thought you might be thinking of him more as the devil. By the way, what’d you take away to get on his bad side?”

  Garret reached into his pocket and located the disk. He slipped the shiny orb out, surprised at its weight. An eagle with prey in its talons had been etched onto one side. Could it possibly be silver?

  The vicar moved forward. “Tommy Linstrom used to carry that as a good luck piece. Said his father gave it to him. Poor Tommy was born on the wrong side of the sheets.” The vicar took the disk from Garret and held it up to the window. “I suspect this was his noble father’s method of assuaging his guilt. The boy never went anywhere without the coin.”

  He turned toward Garret, concern making him suddenly age. With a sigh, he handed the piece back to him. “If Michael had this, he knows more than he’s saying about Tommy’s disappearance.”

  “I’ve kept my promise.” Garret’s deep voice wrapped around her like the seductive lure of Pan’s pipes.

  Cara jabbed the needle through the fabric of her father’s waistcoat and into her index finger. She yanked it out and shook her hand, then stuck the injured digit in her mouth. Keeping Garret company after the evening meal hadn’t been a good idea. She should have gone to bed when Papa did, but he retired so early these days.

  “I’m sorry. I should not have distracted you.”

  She looked up from her sewing. The Good Lord had outdone himself when he created Garret. The firelight enhanced the strong angles of his features, bringing into focus his high cheekbones and square jaw.

  He appeared fascinated by her actions. His gaze became more intense as she sucked on her injury. Flutters started in her stomach. Mesmerized by his expression, she slid her finger from her mouth.

  He made her feel desirable, but in a possessive way. It almost felt as if he waited to claim her. She couldn’t deny her attraction—his golden hair, gilded by the firelight, took her breath away. She forced her gaze from him. His inexplicable interest could only lead to ruin.

  She gathered the coat, basket, and sewing implements. “You seem to feel you have the right to interfere in my life.” With her arms laden, she stood.. “I don’t know why you accompanied me home. But please refrain from worrying Papa.”

  “That was never my intention.”

  “Perhaps not.” She crossed to the other side of the room, put her mending in the corner cupboard, and turned to face him. “My absence was hard on him. He’s not a well man, and he believes I’m home for good.”

  Garret faced the fire, his body abnormally still in the plain wooden chair. He’d appeared more relaxed as of late, but at this moment he was every bit her surly duke. “And are you . . . home for good?”

  “I’m needed here. Look what’s happened at the school. Besides, the children missed me.”

  He turned to her, one eyebrow raised. “I’d hardly refer to those terrors by that name.
It has always been my understanding that children do as they are told.”

  She couldn’t resist smiling. “Papa told me you met Michael.”

  He ran his hand across his jaw. “He has a wild streak. I don’t know how you manage.”

  “You just don’t understand them. Nor do they trust you—yet.”

  “The tiniest girl, the one with the wild curls—”

  “Emily?”

  “Yes.” Garret’s brows drew together and he gave a slight shrug. “She wanted me to bring her parents back from heaven.”

  Cara sighed. “We’ve tried to convince her they can’t return. She simply won’t believe us. It’s hard for her because she was lucky enough to come from a poor, but loving, family.”

  “What about relatives?”

  “We were unable to locate them. She has an aunt somewhere, but at least for now one of the other instructors has taken her in.”

  Garret frowned. “Not a very stable life for a child.”

  “Perhaps not, but it’s better than the alternative.” Cara crossed to stand in front of the fire, its warmth caressing the front of her body. “None of these children has had an easy time of it, but Michael’s life has been exceptionally hard.” She bit her lower lip, then squared her shoulders. “That is why I’d like you to be kind to him.”

  “Kind.” Garret rose from the chair. “Do you have any idea what he—”

  “I know exactly what he’s capable of.” She rubbed her left arm and continued to study the fire. How could she make him understand? “But if you’d seen your older brother beaten to death by your father, how would you feel?”

  Garret’s gut wrenched. It seemed he and the boy had something in common. However, Michael didn’t live with the knowledge that he’d caused his brother’s death. “Each of us have tragedies we are forced to endure. We must rise above them if we are to succeed in life.”

  Cara turned to face him. “I see.” Her luminous eyes were dark pools of . . . what? Sympathy, pity, sadness?