“So you’re saying that we should all unstuffy ourselves for there to be progress?” She shook her head in mock disapproval. “Your Grace, then we would have no need of people like you.”
People like you. The words rang in his head, causing a buzzing in his head. “And people like me are . . . ?” he said, stretching the sentence out.
She frowned, as though annoyed. At herself? At him? “Not like you precisely, since you are you, but people in your position.”
“You’re saying I am different from my position? And yet I would imagine few people can distinguish the person from the position.”
“I can,” she announced, making that feeling in his chest blossom so it felt as though he’d taken an almost too full breath.
Now he definitely needed to change the course of the conversation. Before he said or more accurately did something he should not. It wouldn’t be fair, to either of them. There was no possibility of anything more between them; she was his employee, not even remotely of his class. Even though he felt they were alike in the important ways.
He shoved those thoughts away entirely. Something he was very good at doing.
“Your daughter, should she have a governess?”
He was genuinely interested, he was surprised to find. Not that he would have asked if he weren’t interested—he didn’t waste time on questions when he didn’t care to hear the answer. It resulted in a lot of silence between him and the people he encountered on a daily basis. Except for her.
“She should,” Mrs. Cheltam replied, her expression slightly rueful. “We were about to hire one before my husband passed away.”
Silence, again, as Michael didn’t bother offering condolences. He had to admit that on the whole he was glad the man had died; without that, she wouldn’t be here.
“You’ll hire one for her. I’ll pay the salary, of course.” Michael was as startled as she seemed to be as the words left his mouth. What had he told himself about impetuous decisions? That they never worked out? And yet here he was deciding to bring yet another stranger into his household.
“That wouldn’t be appropriate, Your Grace,” she said, her mouth pressed into a prim line.
“Hadlow,” he corrected. Which she knew damn well. “And I don’t care if it’s not appropriate. Have I given you the impression I care about any of that at all?”
He found he’d walked toward her in a nearly predatory way, as though he were going to pounce. The thought was immensely appealing.
Thankfully, the door opened to admit Hawkins before he could decide one way or the other. At which point he knew he couldn’t do it, no matter how tempting it was to get her to unbend, to lean against the sofa back as he kissed her.
“I’ll take those,” Michael said instead, walking to Hawkins, who was bearing two brandy glasses on a tray. He picked them up, then nodded to his butler. “You can leave us.”
Hawkins bowed and left the room.
Michael walked to the small round table where the brandy was kept, placing the glasses down and lifting up one of the heavy decanters. He unstoppered it, poured a healthy amount in both glasses, and picked them up, the sharp smoky aroma of the brandy tickling his nostrils.
He returned to where she sat and handed her the glass. She looked skeptical, but took it from him. Their fingers touched, and he felt a pleasurable spark of something sizzle from the contact.
“To Gertrude’s governess,” he said, raising his glass. He waited until she brought the glass to her mouth to take a sip, then he drank.
The brandy burned going down, a painful pleasure that warmed him from the inside. He sat down on the sofa as well, making certain to keep to the farther side so she wouldn’t get skittish about his intentions.
Not that he had intentions toward her—he certainly had desire, but no intention of acting on them. But she needed to know she was safe with him, even though they were alone in the evening drinking brandy.
“Will you need assistance hiring someone?” he asked, taking another sip. He was more prepared for the burn of the brandy on the second taste, and he rolled the fiery liquid on his tongue. He didn’t care much about food, to his cook’s chagrin, but he did enjoy excellent brandy.
“If you approve, I can find someone through the Quality Employment Agency. The ones who submitted me for your position.”
Your position. He would have to start thinking about other things because he was finding he could discern the innuendo in nearly anything she said. Damn distracting.
“That will be fine. The governess will reside here as well.”
“Thank you.” She spoke in a low, honest tone, and he felt his chest swell at the sincerity of her words. No wonder people did nice things for other people, if this was how it felt when they got thanked. He’d never done anything out of the goodness of his heart, but perhaps he should think about it. Or maybe it was only her thanks that warmed him as thoroughly as the brandy did. He’d have to test it out, perhaps do something nice for someone who wasn’t she.
Although he wouldn’t want to be so hasty, would he?
“Can you answer a question for me?”
Michael shrugged. “If I want to, of course.”
Did she roll her eyes at him? He thought so. He liked it.
“Why are you working so hard?” she gestured to the room. “You already have all this, you have more than sufficient funds, and you could just do the minimum of management to keep it all going. Why do you push yourself?”
He inhaled sharply, wondering why it felt as though she had gotten to the heart of him, somehow. Again. And with just a simple question. He took another sip of brandy, considering whether or not to answer, or to just shut her down with one of his usual rude comments.
And surprised himself when he did answer. Even more surprising was how it felt to have her ask one of those insightful questions he’d thought about. Like sharing something of himself, and he wanted to do more of it. But only with her, and because it was she. “I suppose it is because I wish to strive to be the best I can be, whether it is the best duke, or the best manager of my holdings, or the best representative in the House of Lords. Anybody can do what is necessary, and even perhaps do a little more, to congratulate themselves on making a bit more effort.” His lip curled. “Those people don’t know what it is to try, to run the risk of failure.” He shrugged, meeting her gaze. “I do.”
She regarded him with those dark liquid eyes, and it felt as though she were staring through into his soul. Fanciful though that sounded.
“I can understand that,” she replied slowly. She looked away, toward the shelf filled with books, then out the window. Not that there was anything to see out there, nothing but darkness and a few trees brushing the window. “There aren’t many men in your position who would continue to strive, to value the importance of trying to be something more.”
“I am not most men.” He stated it plainly, aware it was absolutely true and also that it could be seen as arrogant. Which he definitely was.
She looked back at him, a wry smile on her lips. “I admitted that before. Are you asking for a compliment?” It sounded as though she was . . . teasing him? He’d never been teased before. That he knew of. “You are definitely not most men,” she repeated, this time in a voice that sounded as though it were redolent with meaning more than the few words she’d said. It made something quicken inside him, but also made him feel the stab of poignant emotion he hadn’t had in thirty years. Of the potential for loss, but the equal potential for gain.
Edwina knew she couldn’t blame her shaky feeling on the brandy. She wished it were as simple as that. But she’d had only a few sips, and she had to admit that she’d been all fluttery inside for nearly the entire evening, as soon as it was clear he was going out of his way to be pleasant to Gertrude. That surprised her, given how abrupt he was normally, and how he seemed almost proud of his brusqueness.
“Why were you so nice to my daughter?” She might as well ask him; it wasn’t as though he were b
ound to take offense. He hadn’t taken offense at anything she’d said thus far, from when she thought his plans were too ambitious, or that he had dealt with a tradesman poorly, or when she’d been short with him in the morning, before she’d had her coffee. In fact, at times it had seemed he had pondered what she had said, as though he were sifting the information through his hardworking brain. As though her opinion mattered.
“Why wouldn’t I be? It seemed as though it would be a better expenditure of energy to be nice and have her relatively appeased through dinner than to antagonize her and have to deal with that.” His mouth curved into a smile. “Besides which, I do like her. That was surprising to me, I don’t have much experience with children. None, actually.” He looked thoughtful. “I’d always heard they were beastly creatures, always wanting things and attention. Your daughter is not like that.”
Edwina uttered a snort. “She can be, if there is something she wants. She found it expedient to be on her best behavior this evening. She likes living here very much, she doesn’t want to leave, and so she understands in order to stay, she has to make sure I retain my position. Which means she will do what she has to.” She tilted her head and looked at him. “Very similar to you, it seems.”
He looked discomfited at being compared to a six-year-old girl, and Edwina wanted to laugh, only that would be entirely inappropriate. Not that he minded inappropriate things, of course, but if she had to guess she would imagine he would get a little tetchy about her amusement.
“What was your husband like?”
Oh. Of course he would ask. And ask so abruptly, without a hint of sympathy. That made it easier to respond, actually.
“He was—he was not particularly intelligent. He was stubborn, and loud. He adored Gertrude, even though he didn’t understand her.”
“Or you.” He said it as though it were a fact, not a question.
She smiled in acknowledgment. He was so logical, so reasoned, and yet he could also see past the facts to discern the woman within. To see her. That was unexpected. That he could be so insightful while also being so seemingly emotionless. But he wasn’t; it was just that his emotion was an expression of his honesty. “True. He did not understand me, either. I suppose I didn’t understand him as well.” She shrugged, as though it didn’t matter. It did; she couldn’t lie to herself. Or to him. “We married when I was only seventeen. He was twice my age, and set in his ways. We never really settled well together.”
“And then he died, leaving you with nothing.” Again, not an iota of sympathy or commiseration. Why did that make her feel better about talking to him about it?
“No, barely a penny.” She spread her hands wide. “Which is how I come to be in your employ, Your Grace.”
“Hadlow,” he corrected in a near growl. She truly did wish she could laugh then; she’d only said the honorific to nettle him. And it had worked.
She looked at the clock in the corner of the room. She’d noticed she tended to lose track of time when she was with him—she was too busy assessing him, and the work he wanted done, to worry about seconds and minutes. It had been nearly half an hour since they’d come into this room. She placed the brandy glass down on the table beside her. “I should retire for the evening. I want to check on Gertrude, and my employer is quite adamant that I appear at my desk on time and ready to work.” She smiled as she spoke, to let him know she was joking. Even though she was also partially serious—he was a hard worker, which meant that he expected his employees to work hard as well.
He didn’t stand when she got up, and as usual, that both startled and piqued her. She didn’t want him to consider her as a woman, he couldn’t or he wouldn’t have hired her, but she did wish she could discern any kind of appreciation for who she was and what she was doing. And that she was a woman doing a job that only men usually did.
But she couldn’t have it both ways, could she? And she would far prefer that he think of her as a steady, hardworking employee than as a female.
“Good evening, Hadlow,” she said as she walked out of the room. Sighing as she realized it would be another ten hours before she was in his company again.
“Good evening, Cheltam,” he replied.
Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?
7. Because falling in hate is so much less pleasant.
Chapter 6
“Good morning, Mrs. Cheltam.” The girl looked anxious, but Edwina didn’t blame her—she was inside a duke’s home after having been in a small school out in the country. It had to be a significant change.
“Good morning, Miss Clark. Thank you for coming to speak with me.” Edwina had contacted Carolyn as soon as the duke had given her the authority to hire a governess, and it had been a few days before Carolyn had located a suitable candidate. Gertrude had initially been averse to the idea of having a governess, but had taken to it once Edwina had told her about some of the books she was currently unable to read.
“Can you tell me why you believe you would be a good fit for this position?” Edwina smiled at Miss Clark, who offered a tentative smile back. “That is, I have reviewed your qualifications, but I would like to hear them in your own words.” Just as the duke had done to her—it was a good tactic to ask the applicant to speak for herself and not just rely on what was on the paper.
“I spent ten years at the Woodson School, the first six as a student, the rest of the time as an instructor. I taught composition, drawing, and French.”
“That is a wide array of subjects,” Edwina replied. “Which is your favorite?”
The girl’s expression eased. “It is difficult to choose just one. The students—or most of them—were all so eager to learn, and it made teaching a joy. I found myself the happiest while teaching French, I think, since it was introducing the students to a whole other world of language.” She looked embarrassed. “Although that sounds rather presumptuous, doesn’t it.”
Edwina chuckled softly. “Not at all. You sound enthusiastic, and that is the kind of person I wish to teach my daughter.”
“Are you the lady of the house then?” Miss Clark looked confused, as she should—Edwina’s gown, a simple but flattering dress in dark blue, was suitable to her position as a secretary, and not nearly as grand as a duchess would wear.
“No, I am not. I am the Duke of Hadlow’s secretary, and my daughter resides here with me.”
“His . . . secretary?” The girl looked askance, and Edwina felt herself bristle in response.
“Yes, his secretary. And only his secretary,” she added sharply, and then felt terrible when the girl’s expression fell.
“I didn’t mean—that is, I apologize,” Miss Clark said, looking down at the floor.
Edwina sighed. “I suppose it is an inevitable thought, given how unusual it is for a woman to be employed thusly.” And even more reason she absolutely should not be thinking about the duke in any way other than as her employer—not how tall he was, or how his presence made her stomach get all fluttery, or how his voice seemed to resonate through her entire body. Or how she found herself just looking at his face, noting the strong features, the long, sharp nose, the wickedly intelligent eyes.
None of that, Edwina, she reminded herself.
“If I were to be your daughter’s instructor, I would provide instruction both in and outside the classroom.” It seemed Miss Clark was determined to continue, not obsessing about her possible rudeness. Edwina liked that. “We would go for walks in the park to identify insect species, we would take on some of the shopping to practice her maths skills, and I would ask her to find our way home, so to practice her navigational skills. This in addition to the usual schoolroom activities.”
“That sounds quite progressive. And exactly the type of thing Gertrude would find interesting.” Her daughter, Edwina knew, liked to be challenged, to try new things just because they were new. Not unlike Edwina’s employer. “I want to thank you for your time, and I would be pleased to offer you the position.”
Miss Clark gasped aloud,
and then a wide smile crossed her face. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Cheltam. I promise you will not regret the decision.”
“We will set up your room, so if it isn’t too soon, perhaps you could join us and start work on the day after next?” She wouldn’t follow her employer’s lead and just give the poor girl two hours to return.
“That would be wonderful, thank you. I have to tell Miss Carolyn about it.”
“Yes, please thank Miss Carolyn for sending you over.” Edwina held her hand and Miss Clark took it, shaking it vigorously. “I look forward to seeing you on Thursday, and I will speak with Gertrude and tell her of some of your plans for your time together. I am certain she will be as enthusiastic as I am.”
“Excellent,” Miss Clark replied. “Good day, Mrs. Cheltam.”
“Good day.” Edwina watched as the girl left the room, nearly bouncing in excitement. She couldn’t be much more than eighteen—had Edwina ever been that young? By the time she was eighteen, she’d been married for nearly a year, and had come to realize just how wrong she and George were for each other. And that they were stuck together until death.
She stood in the room a few moments longer, thinking about how her life had changed so dramatically. And knowing she had only one chance, this chance, to make things right for her and Gertrude for the rest of her life. Or until Gertrude married, hopefully someone who loved her and understood her, not just someone who wished to possess her.
“You’ve hired someone then?”
She walked to her chair and sat, reaching for her notebook and trying to avoid rolling her eyes.
How did he know already? Oh, of course, he probably had the keenest of hearing to accompany his height, good looks, wealth, and intelligence.
About the only thing he seemed to lack was any kind of charm and finesse. Although that bluntness was, in its own way, quite charming.
Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novel Page 6