by Deborah Hale
Once Kit’s lessons were concluded for the day, Leah took a long walk in the gardens then wrote a reply to her friend Grace’s recent letter. Having already given an account of her arrival at Renforth Abbey and a description of the estate and family, there was little news to report in this one.
When the clock struck eight, she started and threw down her pen. “Oh dear! I haven’t time to dress for dinner or I’ll be late.”
What was the point of dressing up to dine all alone? Leah asked herself as she dashed through the echoing corridor then flew down the stairs. She had come to rather dread her solitary meals in the vast dining room, which seemed to highlight her isolation at Renforth Abbey. She would have much preferred to dine on a tray in her room, but Mr. Gibson insisted his staff welcomed the opportunity to prepare and serve a proper meal.
The butler stood waiting just outside the dining room when she arrived, flushed and breathless.
“I’m sorry... to be late,” she gasped. “I was trying... to think of... something interesting... to say in my letter.”
Before Mr. Gibson could reply, a familiar voice issued from the dining room. “I find it difficult to imagine you at a loss for something diverting to say, Miss Shaw.”
As he spoke, Lord Northam stepped into the wide hallway to stand beside his butler. He was dressed in finer attire than Leah had seen him wear since her arrival at Renforth Abbey. His well-cut blue coat emphasized his lean build and the rich frets of chestnut in his dark brown hair. His linen was crisp and spotless. His boots were polished to a dark sheen. Was he going away somewhere or perhaps expecting company?
“Good evening, Your Grace.” Suddenly conscious of his rank, she curtsied to the duke for the first time in over a fortnight. “You give me too much credit. It is not easy to generate interesting news when my life is so quiet compared to those of my friends.”
“Begging your pardon, Miss Shaw,” said the butler, “but the post was late arriving. There are letters for you.”
He gestured toward a small silver tray that rested on a narrow table just outside the entry hall.
“Letters!” Leah flew toward the table. “More than one?”
“Is that not usually what the use of the plural indicates?” Lord Northam inquired, in what Leah could only conclude was meant to be a jest. “Perhaps you ought to brush up on your grammar by presenting a lesson on the subject to Kit and me.”
Leah laughed, more from delight at receiving letters addressed in the familiar handwriting of her friends than because she found His Grace’s quip very amusing. Even with their busy lives and exalted ranks, Rebecca and Hannah had not forgotten her.
As she turned the letters over, fairly caressing the thick paper, the duke spoke again. “My son fell asleep early tonight. Dispensing with his nap and undertaking additional lessons seems to have made it easier for him to settle at bedtime.”
“I am pleased to hear it, Your Grace.” Leah bit her tongue to keep from reminding him that she had told him such changes might have that result.
Now that they were getting along better, she did not want to spoil it by vexing him. Besides, the arrival of her friends’ letters made her feel kindly disposed toward the whole world.
“I thought I might join you for a proper dinner,” he suggested, “if you do not object.”
The duke had dressed up just for... her? Flattering as the notion was, Lord Northam’s offer took her aback nonetheless. The letters in her hand called to her the way rich cake might tempt someone faint with hunger. Leah would have liked to bolt her dinner and retire to her room as quickly as possible to read them. Or perhaps she might have taken advantage of her solitude to look them over while she ate. Either act would be inexcusably rude if she were to dine with her employer.
Besides, she would feel so out of place, still in the same plain dress she had worn all day, while he looked so splendid.
But how could she refuse?
As she opened her mouth to reply, it occurred to Leah that cultivating the duke’s acquaintance might make it easier to persuade him to loosen his protective grip upon his son. Surely that would be worth a little delay in reading her letters.
What had made him suppose his son’s vivacious governess would want to spend her private time in his company? Hayden could not mistake her hesitation when he asked. The lady had made it clear she considered him little better than a jailer who kept his young son imprisoned in a stifling cocoon.
Lately, he’d begun to question whether she might be right.
The extra hours of study which he had feared might tax Kit’s strength appeared to be having the opposite effect. His son was sleeping better, eating better and seemed in altogether brighter spirits since he’d been permitted longer lessons with his governess. Could there be other activities Hayden had assumed would harm Kit that might instead prove beneficial?
Perhaps so. But could he afford to take that risk with his child’s well-being at stake?
He had taken a different kind of risk coming here this evening in search of pleasant diversion. After a fortnight of uninterrupted sleeps, Hayden felt like a new man—less anxious and irritable, more energetic. But with that energy came a sense of restlessness and a disturbing awareness of how restricted his world had become. He’d hoped the novelty of a proper meal in the dining room and a spell of Miss Shaw’s lively conversation might take his mind off such troublesome thoughts. But one look at the lady’s face told him she found the prospect as appealing as a dose of brimstone and treacle.
“If you prefer to dine in private, I quite understand.” He tried to conceal his disappointment, not least from himself. “I can have my dinner later, after you finish.”
“You should do nothing of the kind,” she cried, much to his surprise. “What objection could I possibly have to you eating in your own dining room? If one of us ought to withdraw, it is I. But since you have kindly invited me to join you, I should be honored to accept.”
“Capital!” Her unexpected agreement acted as a tonic upon Hayden’s spirits. “It is settled, then.”
He turned to the butler, who had remained passive and still during their exchange, almost as if he had not heard a word of it. “You are quite certain, Gibson, that this change in our arrangements will not inconvenience the staff?”
“Not in the least, Your Grace,” the butler assured him. “I shall be more than happy to set a place for you at the head of the table again. If you and Miss Shaw will excuse me, I shall attend to it at once.”
“The head of the table?” Hayden shook his head. “With Miss Shaw clear down at the other end, we might as well each be dining on our own. We would have to shout ourselves hoarse to carry on a conversation. Set our places across from one another, if you please.”
“Very well, Your Grace.” Gibson bowed and retreated into the dining room to carry out his master’s orders.
Once the butler had left them alone, Hayden found himself suddenly overcome with awkwardness.
“You are certain it will not be an imposition to dine with me?” he asked Kit’s governess. “Truly?”
“Truly, Your Grace,” she insisted with a persuasive ring of sincerity. “If I gave you cause to think otherwise, I must apologize. Your invitation took me by surprise. I am not attired to dine with a dustman, much less a duke.”
She gave a sweeping gesture to indicate her dress, accompanied by a comical grimace that made Hayden smile.
“I see nothing wrong with how you look,” he assured her. Privately, he thought the simple style of the garment most becoming on her. “Besides, this is hardly a formal occasion. Are you certain there is no other difficulty?”
Leah Shaw ducked her head, like a child ashamed of some mischief she’d committed. “I must confess, I was anxious to read my letters. It is odd. Only two months ago, I saw most of my dear school friends for the first time in years. Yet I now find myself pining for their company more than I did before.”
Was that all? It surprised Hayden to find himself overcome wit
h relief. “I do not think it is odd in the least. You must have enjoyed seeing your friends again and now you are more acutely aware of what you’ve been missing.”
Could that be his problem as well? Had a taste of Miss Shaw’s company made him realize how much he missed having a woman in the house?
Hayden roughly dismissed the thought. But another one occurred to him and refused any attempt to put it from his mind. “Besides that, I suppose you have more time on your hands at Renforth Abbey than in your previous positions, and fewer diversions.”
Did those disadvantages lead her to view this position as an arduous one, in spite of the generous salary? That possibility troubled Hayden.
“That is true, Your Grace,” she admitted with a wistful half-smile.
“Then, by all means, go read your post,” he urged her. “I will not be offended, I promise you.”
Miss Shaw held up her letters. “These are not like milk that will go sour if they sit too long. They will say all the same things if I read them this minute or three hours from now. Dinner with you, on the other hand, is an opportunity that might not come again soon. I should avail myself of it while I have the chance.”
Letters going sour like milk? Miss Shaw did have an amusing way of putting things, Hayden had to admit.
As he strove without success to produce an equally witty reply, the butler came to his rescue, appearing in the dining room doorway. “The table has been set as you requested, Your Grace. Shall I inform the kitchen staff that you and Miss Shaw are ready to dine?”
“Please do.” He offered his arm to Kit’s governess. “Shall we go through, Miss Shaw?”
She might have preferred to read her letters immediately, but the lady had to eat sometime. The pair of them dining together would make less work for the kitchen staff. Yet it was not those practical considerations that made his spirits soar when Leah Shaw smiled at him and took his arm.
As they made their way to the table he said, “This will give us an opportunity to discuss my son’s studies without him overhearing.”
“An excellent suggestion, Your Grace!” In her eagerness, Miss Shaw gave his arm a little squeeze.
The sensation seemed to travel up his arm and communicate itself to his heart, which began to beat faster and warmer than it had in a great while.
Chapter Six
NOT MANY WEEKS ago, at her friend Hannah’s wedding breakfast, Leah had dined in the company of a baron, a viscount and an earl without the slightest awkwardness. Why did this unexpected invitation to share a meal with the Duke of Northam discompose her so?
When they reached the table, she found herself strangely reluctant to let go of His Grace’s arm. And when he held her chair, as if she were a titled lady, her knees grew weak. Rather than sinking onto her seat with elegant grace befitting her surroundings, she dropped like a sack of potatoes.
Might it be because he looked so splendid compared to her—every inch the nobleman? Of course, that must be the reason.
Yet knowing the cause of her strange agitation did not stop Leah’s tongue from turning stubbornly mute as she faced Lord Northam across the comparatively narrow width of the long dining table. She hoped he did not expect her to entertain him with amusing conversation. At the moment, she could not think of a word to say, except perhaps to remark on his handsome appearance. Even her lenient sense of discretion warned her that would not be appropriate.
His Grace seemed rather ill at ease as well, which only made matters worse. Did he regret his impulsive invitation? Had he hoped she would accept his offer to reconsider her decision?
As self-conscious silence stretched between them, Leah silently pleaded for the food to arrive, so they would have something to talk about, however commonplace.
As if to fulfill her wish, Mr. Gibson appeared just then, bearing two bowls. With excessive care, he placed one before Leah. Fine wisps of steam rose from the soup, bearing a savory aroma that made her mouth water.
After Mr. Gibson served Lord Northam, the duke picked up his spoon and cleared his throat. Leah awaited some conventional remark that might thaw the stilted atmosphere between them. “Tell me about these friends of yours, Miss Shaw. How many are there? Do you write to one another often?”
His question took her by surprise and loosened her tongue. “There are five of us who have remained especially close over the years. How often we write depends upon how busy we are and whether we have much news to report. In the past, we sometimes wrote serial letters, each adding to the others before sending it on. It saved us time, paper and postage.”
Could a man in his position understand the necessity to economize on such trifles? If he thought such a thing, the duke gave no indication of it.
“But you no longer write that way?” He cast his gaze toward the letters that lay on the table beside Leah’s place. “Why?”
“There is not the need for economy there once was.” Leah paused to take a sip of her soup, a toothsome blend of shredded vegetables in a thick stock. “Three of my friends have wed peers. Lady Steadwell lives in Berkshire and Lady Benedict in the Cotswolds. Before coming to Renforth Abbey, I attended the wedding of my friend Hannah Fletcher to the Earl of Hawkehurst.”
“Indeed?” The duke seemed surprised by this information, perhaps even disapproving. “I know some of those gentlemen by reputation. But that accounts for only three of your friends. What of the fourth? Was she too plain to attract a husband?”
The notion of Evangeline Fairfax being described as plain was almost enough to make Leah choke on her soup.
“Nothing of the kind!” Her tongue thoroughly loosened now, she launched into an admiring description of her friend. “Evangeline could have any man she set her cap for, no matter what his rank, if she had any wish to marry.”
“But she prefers to remain a spinster? Why?” The duke sounded offended on behalf of men everywhere.
That amusing notion restored the composure Leah had earlier misplaced. “If you knew her, you would not have to ask. Evangeline has a very strong will and definite ideas of what should be done and how. I cannot picture her standing at an altar, vowing to obey any man.”
“And you, Miss Shaw?” inquired the duke. “What is your reason for remaining single while so many of your friends are making brilliant marriages?”
From across the table he cast her a searching look that made her squirm. Not wanting him to guess how much his question flustered her, Leah used humor to parry it.
“For the most obvious of reasons, Your Grace, because no gentleman has ever asked me.” There was more to it than that, of course, but Leah had no intention of making it a topic of dinner conversation. She had already told Lord Northam far more about herself than she had disclosed to any of her previous employers.
Anxious to change the subject, she thought of one that would surely divert the duke. “I thought we were to discuss Kit’s studies, not the matrimonial misadventures of my friends and me. Are you satisfied with your son’s progress so far? Since he is not present, you may speak candidly.”
To Leah’s relief, her diversion succeeded. “I would tell you the same thing, whether my son were here or not, Miss Shaw. I am quite astonished at how quickly he is learning to read and do sums. I had no idea Kit was so clever.”
By now they had both finished their soup. Mr. Gibson whisked their bowls away then served the fish course, Dover sole in a white sauce seasoned with capers.
With her fork poised over the appetizing dish, Leah paused to ask Lord Northam another question. “Do you find his studies are putting a strain on his health?”
The duke took a bite of fish and chewed on it intently for several seconds. That was hardly necessary, as Leah discovered when her first bite fairly melted on her tongue.
At last His Grace spoke. “You know perfectly well his studies have done my son no harm. I have never seen him so well in... longer than I can recall. Now I suppose I must admit I was wrong so you may have the satisfaction of gloating.”
; Was that what he thought of her? Leah shook her head in vigorous denial. “The only satisfaction I take is in seeing Kit do so well and seeing you have a little opportunity to rest after all the time you have spent caring for him.”
There was still a great deal to be done to give the boy and his father the kind of freedom they both deserved, but they had made a good beginning. Leah hoped the success they’d experienced might make it easier for the cautious duke to take the next step down that long road.
“I never begrudged a single moment,” His Grace mused aloud. “Now that I have more time to myself, I scarcely know what to do with it.”
Leah consumed the last of her fish and barely resisted the temptation to lick her plate clean of the tasty sauce. “You must not spend it all on estate business. Take up some pursuits you enjoy. What sort of things did you like to do before you had a child to care for?”
His Grace considered her question as Mr. Gibson removed their plates and served a chine of beef. “I used to enjoy the company of my wife.”
Leah winced at the note of longing in his voice. Could that be part of the reason he had devoted all his time and energy to his son’s care—as a distraction from his loss? Now that she had freed him from some of his burden, was he feeling his old grief as if it were fresh and raw? He deserved better.
“What sort of things did you and the duchess enjoy doing together?” She tried not to dwell on the duke’s loss, the same way she refused to get caught up in pity for Kit. “Reading? Playing cards? Riding?”
“We did sometimes read together, though Celia found it tiresome if it went on too long. She liked to play the pianoforte and she loved to dance when we attended assemblies in London. She enjoyed playing cards, especially for wagers, though that was not a pastime in which I cared to indulge.”