by Patty Bryant
One of the many guests watching covered her mouth with her fan, but Alexander knew she was laughing behind it. His resolve hardened. This was why he had forbidden his nieces to attend: they were too young and too new to British society. They would be laughed at.
Now his attempt to protect them had come to nothing.
Anger stiffened his voice and his back. “Sixteen is not an adult. Now come with me. You’ve caused enough trouble already.”
Penelope’s lower lip protruded, and he could see tears glisten in her eyes. She glanced to the right and the left, her agitation growing as she realized the number of people watching. She drew a shaky breath and her hands trembled.
Goddamnit, Alexander cursed. Some sixteen-year-olds were out, of course; there were probably even some currently at the ball, though Alexander privately considered it a bit uncouth to have girls begin hunting for husbands at such an age. But Penelope was not ready to be one of them. She was new to England, as yet unschooled in the complex network of traps and pitfalls that London society placed for the unwary. He had full intentions of bringing her out in the proper manner, no expense spared – but next year, when she’d had time to learn what awaited her. She wasn’t ready yet. She would make mistakes that would follow her for years.
Alexander knew how easily innocence could be taken advantage of. He had been pushed unprepared into adulthood himself, and had found it a messy confusing world where the rules where unspoken and confusing but breaking them was harshly punished. Why was Penelope so eager to expose herself to those chains and bars? He would have been grateful for the chance to remain a child a little longer.
It had been a long road, but Alexander had finally managed to turn himself into the mature, well-mannered duke everyone expected him to be, and here came Penelope to undo his hard work. A story like this would overshadow everything else about the ball; he already suspected what sort of jokes the satirical cartoonists would make about Clermont the Cold and his rebellious niece. Penelope had no idea of the consequences she was risking by her innocent action. It wasn’t her fault. She was ignorant, like he had been long ago. But no one broke the rules of behavior and got away without punishment.
Alexander clenched his hands into fists at his sides, feeling trapped. He could, of course, simply grab Penelope and drag her from the hall, but that would only give the gossips more to talk about. He could shout at her, but that would be no different. His attempt at speaking reasonably to her had left her on the verge of tears.
He could see tomorrow’s newspapers already: Clarence the Cold Freezes Penelope the Petulant! Or worse: Icy Uncle No Friend to New Niece.
Before he could solve the problem, a solution presented itself.
Miss Booth stepped out from behind Penelope. Though moments earlier her brow had been furrowed in frustration, she now presented an entirely calm facade, as though this was all as it should be. From her expression, one would have thought the gawking onlookers had disappeared.
“Thank you for your offer of an escort, Your Grace.” She bobbed into an elegant curtsey. Penelope might have done her best to dress for a ball, but Miss Booth had not made similar preparations. She wore a plain dress of gray wool with only a little bit of lace at the neck and wrists for relief from the otherwise unrelenting plainness. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight bun and she wore no jewelry.
She was beautiful nonetheless. Alexander felt his worry ebbing away as he looked at her; nothing seemed to matter except for the sweet line of her cheekbone, her dark eyes with their beguilingly long lashes, and the hint of curves at breast and hip beneath her dress. She rose out of her curtsey, met his gaze for one heart-stopping moment, and then turned to Penelope, who had gulped back her tears when the concentrated attention of too many strangers had lifted off her.
“It was so nice to be able to see the ball,” Miss Booth continued. “I am very grateful that you allowed Lady Penelope and I to glimpse such a splendid evening. It has been beyond my greatest imaginings, and I must thank you once more for that.”
It was just polite nothings, but Alexander realized that it didn’t matter what she said, not really. Not as long as it was correct and, more importantly, boring. Her words were the exact same meaningless thanks that every guest at every party in every Season recited when leaving; no one would want to gossip about them. By treating the moment as though nothing remarkable had happened, she had actually made it that way in people’s minds. Some of the nearest guests were already turning away, expressions of ennui on their faces.
Such a small solution. So small he had overlooked it, in fact, and he was grateful for Miss Booth’s cleverness. Not only was she beautiful, she could think quickly and wasn’t afraid of stepping forward to take charge of a difficult situation. Alexander wanted her even more than he already had.
Miss Booth continued to speak calmly. “Unfortunately the hour has grown quite late, and all the traveling I have done recently has left me quite tired. I would prefer to retire now, if that meets your approval, Your Grace?”
He bowed, murmuring, “Of course.” He was still too in awe of how deftly she handled the situation to say anything more. He himself always seemed to be putting people on edge, offending them even when he didn’t meant to. He was certain he would have made a dreadful scene if she hadn’t been here.
“Lady Penelope?” Miss Booth held out her hand to the girl.
Penelope placed her hand firmly in Miss Booth’s, though she spared a fierce glance for her uncle before turning her back on him. “Of course, dear Miss Booth. Allow me to come with you.”
The two swept grandly from the room, their heads up just as though they had always been meant to leave immediately. The last few onlookers departed, already talking to one another of something else.
Alexander knew that he should stay and play host, that he had duties to attend to, but he couldn’t deny the draw he felt to this enchanting woman who had come into his life in such an unexpected way. He stepped into the hallway after his niece – and, more importantly, his niece’s governess.
CHAPTER THREE
Savitri stepped into the cool dimness of the hallway, an oasis of safety after the blaze of light and heat that had been the party. She couldn’t entirely appreciate that though, and had to fight to maintain her calm. She heard the duke’s footsteps behind her and knew, knew, that he was looking at her. She couldn’t let her chin drop, couldn’t let her hands tremble. She didn’t want him to know how he affected her.
Facing him down in front of all those people had taken every bit of courage she possessed. He had seemed so arrogant, his bright blue eyes flat with fury, his lips flattened and his fists clenched at his sides. She’d heard the note of rage in his voice, how close he was to snapping. She’d been tempted to keep quiet and let that storm of anger blow past for, after all, it hadn’t been aimed at her. All the duke’s focus had been on Lady Penelope. He’d barely even noticed Savitri’s existence; she was nothing but a shadow beside his wealthy, high-ranking niece.
But Savitri wasn’t the type of woman to hide away in a crisis, even if it would have been safer. Penelope might be a foolish child – to sneak off into the ball! Surely the girl had to know she’d never get away with such behavior – and she had certainly earned a scolding, but not more than that. Savitri wouldn’t, couldn’t leave one of her charges to face a man as powerful and short-tempered as the Duke of Clermont.
And yet. Somehow, when she had stepped forward to confront him, it hadn’t been fear that made her heart beat hard. It was like the two of them had played a private game, one that was exciting and wonderful and challenging, but secret from everyone else who saw. She hadn’t been in danger. She had been desired. She would face him a hundred times if he’d always make her feel such a way.
It sounded preposterous – a duke desiring a mixed-race governess? – but Savitri knew the truth just as surely as she knew the ground beneath her feet. His gaze had swept over her and turned her veins not to i
ce but to a burning heat. He’d seen her, just like he had before in the drawing room. None of the people around them had mattered. Even her clothes…. She’d had the sense that he could see beneath her wool and petticoats to her skin, to the places she had never shown another person. He had seen her, and he had approved.
Still, desire was one thing and action was another thing entirely. She shoved aside her thoughts and turned to Penelope. Out of the crowd the poor girl had given in to her trembling, and a tear or two had spilled over her cheeks. Nerves, likely, and the aftereffects of the courage it must have taken to burst unexpected and unwanted into the ball. She was old enough to know better, but Savitri still felt sympathy for her. She too had wanted something so much the practicality of the matter was forgotten.
“Lady Penelope, my dear, what were you thinking?” Savitri asked, her voice soft.
Penelope sniffed and dragged the back of her hand over her nose – an entirely unladylike habit that she never would have indulged in before strangers. “I wanted to go. It’s not fair!” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she sucked in a deep breath and held it for several seconds before continuing. “I don’t know anyone here. All of my friends are back in Calcutta.” She glanced at her uncle, who had his arms crossed as he listened to her rant.
Savitri’s heart clenched. She’d tried to push away her own loneliness and focus on the new discoveries that lay ahead of her instead of the well-loved city she’d left behind, but hearing Penelope’s homesickness brought it all rushing to the surface. She patted Penelope’s arm, but the girl suddenly turned and embraced Savitri wholeheartedly, burying her face against Savitri’s shoulder.
Penelope was not normally so physically affectionate, and for a moment Savitri was too shocked to react. She stood awkwardly, stiffly, with her hands hovering in the air behind the girl’s back. Then Penelope turned her face just enough to speak, and she whispered, “I want to go home!”
Her voice was thick with withheld tears, and Savitri’s control broke. She wrapped the girl in her arms, holding her tight, and laid her head down over Penelope’s hair, which had by now entirely collapsed from its complicated style. “Oh, darling,” she said, her own voice also rough. “I understand.” Savitri squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry.
The duke cleared his throat, and Savitri’s eyes sprang back open. She’d forgotten he was there.
He was watching the two of them with a frown, but he did not seem perturbed at the intimate embrace, nor at his niece behaving so emotionally. Instead he seemed like a man contemplating a difficult equation.
“I had not considered that,” he said musingly.
Penelope quickly turned toward her face toward him, moving out of Savitri’s embrace. “I wasn’t speaking to you!”
He ignored her outburst – wisely, in Savitri’s opinion. “Just because it is not appropriate for you to attend balls at your age does not mean that I have no sympathy for you. Low spirits are only to be expected in your position, and I should not have caused you further distress by holding a celebration within the same house.” He bowed to Penelope, who continued to stare at him with an open mouth. The duke’s bow was shallow but extremely correct. “Please do forgive me.”
Penelope transferred her boggled gaze to Savitri, who could only shrug in response, and then returned it to the duke. “I... do you mean it? I’m not in trouble?”
“I say nothing that I don’t mean.”
Penelope nodded and scrubbed at her face again. She seemed to have gained control over her emotions, perhaps partly due to discovering she was not about to be punished. “Of course I forgive you.” Savitri nudged her with an elbow. “Oh, and I – I apologize too. For coming uninvited to your party.” Penelope’s fair skin flushed red, but to Savitri’s pride, she continued without any sign of discomfort showing in her tone. “It was very rude of me, and I pray you forget it.” She dipped down in an adequately executed curtesy.
Savitri glanced toward the duke. To her surprise one corner of his mouth twitched, but he managed to suppress whatever amusement he felt. His expression was entirely smooth as he responded, “Forget? Perhaps not. But it is certainly forgiven.”
“Are you going to tell my parents?”
Now Savitri was certain he was trying not to laugh. Perhaps she had misread him all along, and what she had taken for anger was only concern for his niece’s well-being. Once more she remembered his eyes on her, blue as the sea on a cloudless day.
“As they seem not to have witnessed it themselves, I won’t be the one to mention it to them.”
“Thank you. Truly.” Penelope’s hands fisted in her skirts. “Thank you more than I can say.”
The duke inclined his head in acknowledgement. “You’re welcome. And now, perhaps, you will return to your rooms? I do have a ball to host.”
“Oh! Oh, yes. Of course.” Penelope flashed a bright grin at Savitri, then walked sedately down the hallway toward the staircase at the other end. Her excitement took over before she was entirely out of hearing range and her slow footsteps transformed into excitied skipping.
Savitri glanced at the duke. He was already watching her, his gaze steady as though he expected her to do something. Did he blame her for letting Penelope escape from under her watch? “I apologize for the intrusion,” she said, casting her eyes somewhere down around his knees. She’d never spoken to a duke before and all the etiquette manuals she’d memorized hadn’t prepared her for the actual experience. Her heart fluttered in her chest and her voice was breathier than she would have liked. “I won’t let it happen again.”
He waved a hand, chasing away her apology like an irritating fly. “Come with me. I want to speak to you.”
Savitri’s stomach tightened uncertainly. She risked a glance up toward his face, but could read nothing in it. His dark brows were lowered over those stunningly brilliant eyes, and the lines on either side of his mouth seemed deeply carved, but what emotions had shaped them she couldn’t guess.
“Of course,” she said. This was the Duke of Clermont: the man who, ultimately, controlled her future. What else could she say?
He turned on his heel and strode off down the hallway in the direction neither of the stairs nor the entrance back to the ball. Savitri spared a glance for that door as they passed; the noise of music, dancers, and laughter grew momentarily louder, then faded away again as they left it behind. What could he want of her? Was she wrong about him, and he had been angrier than she’d realized? Could it be that she was being dismissed already, a mere month into her time in England?
And if he did dismiss her, what would she do? Where would she go?
Her palms began to sweat and she pressed them nervously together. She had only been here in the London townhouse for two days, and that time had mostly been confined to the girls’ bedrooms and the parlor they’d been given to use as a schoolroom. This part of the house, grander and more suited for visitors, was still unfamiliar to her.
The duke opened a door and ushered her inside. Savitri had thought she was prepared for anything, but the sight that greeted her still took her breath away.
It was a library. She had seen libraries before of course, in the houses of some of her richer employers as well as the excellent classical library in the college of Fort William she had once been escorted to by a British officer, but she had never seen one as large nor diverse as this.
Floor to ceiling bookcases were built into three walls of the room, and other books were scattered about on side tables or lying in piles beside the massive desk that dominated one corner. There were books of every size and every color: massive leather-bound volumes with gilt lettering on their spines, slim ones with cheap cloth covers, even mere pamphlets. It would take years to read all of them – maybe even a lifetime. It would take a week just to catalogue what he owned.
Savitri’s hands fell loosely to her sides and she moved toward the nearest bookcase, the duke entirely forgotten behind her. She wasn
’t sure where to look first; she felt like a child in a candy shop, greedy to fill her hands with as much as they could hold. Her eyes were drawn to a book of poetry by Lord Bryon that she recognized from her own belongings. It was next to a catalogue of maps on the right, while to the left was a German dictionary. She scanned the rest of the shelf, finding science, history, novels, economics, sheets of music; it seemed that every imaginable topic could be found in this library, if only one knew where to look.
More and more amazed, Savitri stepped from one bookcase to the next, but couldn’t discern any pattern or order. Even the language of the books was a veritable Tower of Babel. English dominated, but she saw Latin, French, Greek, Italian – even one book, she realized with a start, that was written in Sanskrit. She carefully reached up to trace that book’s spine. She almost expected it to vanish beneath her fingertips, as though the whole room were nothing more than a dream, but it was real and solid to the touch, if a little dusty.
She heard a snort of laughter and abruptly remembered that she wasn’t alone.
She spun around, her hands once more clasped in front of her. “Your Grace! I am so sorry – I just – please forgive my momentary distraction – ”
He was smiling. It was the first time she had seen him smile, and the sight silenced her. He looked younger when he smiled, less intimidating. It even brightened his eyes, and gave them a more human color, something less like the cold, distant sky.
“I’ve never seen anyone so astonished by a library before.”
Savitri felt her cheeks heat and hoped that the light in the room was dim enough to hide her blush. She knew she should explain her strange behavior, but she couldn’t find the words. How did one explain that sense of hunger, that devouring need to learn more, discover more, know more? It could only be understood by someone else who felt the same.
The duke tore his intense gaze from her and glanced about the room, as though he too were seeing it for the first time. “It reminds me of myself, the first time I was allowed in here.”