by Heather Boyd
He saw Mrs. Thorpe’s refusal even before she began to shake her head.
He would not be denied today. “Fanny mentioned you were a governess and a good one I suspect. Before that a wife with an undoubtedly happy husband. My youngest daughter is expected to come out next year and I’d like to help avoid those unwise choices you mentioned.”
Her lips parted but no sound came out.
Despite the silence, he was pleased she hadn’t said no immediately because he was about to be somewhat indelicate. “A woman like you, so confident, so sure of yourself could only have had a happy and satisfying marriage.”
“Father!” Fanny protested.
“No, this is too important not to say upfront. Mrs. Thorpe, your husband was undoubtedly fortunate in his choice of bride. There are many things I cannot speak to my youngest daughter about concerning marriage, my other daughters live elsewhere, and I am certain Jessica will have bold questions to ask of another lady who has been through the experience of matrimony and the marriage bed. She cannot wait upon the mail from her sisters for her answers.”
Mrs. Thorpe grew pale. “I see.”
“It is none of my business what you talk about, and we will never need to speak of this again but I will expect you to answer Jessica’s questions honestly, no matter how scandalous they might be.”
She licked her lips, eyes downcast. “I could do that,” she whispered.
Mrs. Thorpe kept her eyes lowered and he sighed at she’d turned shy. Undoubtedly, he was in the wrong, but he was asking the exact same questions he’d planned to ask other governesses in interviews tomorrow.
Given the last governess’ pathetic advice to Jessica—repeatedly asking her to keep her knees firmly pressed together around any male she met—Nicolas felt he had no choice but to conduct interviews personally. “Having once had a wife and daughters to raise without her, I know women talk about things I shouldn’t ever be privy to. Excellent. I’m glad that is settled.”
“Nothing is settled, your grace,” Mrs. Thorpe said suddenly, looking up at him with unexpected anger. “I have not said I wanted the governess position you offer.”
Fanny laughed heartily. “Do you see what I mean about her making me laugh?”
Fanny assumed Mrs. Thorpe was joking, but Nicolas knew better. He had uncovered a very strong-minded woman, which made him all the more determined to employ her. “I do not offer you a governess position. I want you for Jessica’s companion.”
“Companion?”
He nodded, enjoying her surprise and the interest in her eyes. “I think you are just the sort of woman my daughter needs to consort with if she’s to make the right choices in her life. Jessica is already strong-willed and determined. All my children are, unfortunately. I need someone who is not afraid to stand up to them and make them listen. I think you and I could manage Jessica very well together.”
Mrs. Thorpe regarded him a long moment, clearly tempted. “Only time will tell if we can get along, your grace.”
He beamed at her. He liked that she didn’t leap in to agree with him. Too many women did that already. “I do like your attitude, madam. Please, won’t you join us for luncheon so we might become better acquainted.”
She returned his smile and nodded. “All right, but only if you promise to let Lady Jessica decide if she wants me for her companion.”
“Deal. We will leave London as soon as you are packed and then you can meet Jessica.” He held out his hand again. “Do you have any tips for a poor father so he may steal a few minutes peace each day?”
Mrs. Thorpe took a step toward him, gripped his hand firmly and said in all seriousness. “You could always lock the doors as I’ve had to do around Lady Rivers.”
He laughed even as Fanny complained that was unfair. Damn, but Fanny had been right—Mrs. Thorpe made him laugh too.
Chapter 1
Nine months later,
Stapleton Manor
Nicolas loathed the excesses of the festive season. His estate, his very home, was awash in lively chatter and the ever-present threat of standing beneath a maliciously placed clump of mistletoe.
Nicolas was far too old for such nonsense at four and forty years, and if he did kiss anyone, he certainly wouldn’t advertise the fact in a public display of affection.
That was why he suppressed an oath as Miss Natalia Hawthorne’s eyes flashed as she moved closer. Sensing danger, he glanced up, noted he was near another clump, and hastily took a pace back. His neighbor’s daughter was far too young to be chasing after him. She was only eighteen, a year older than his youngest daughter, for God’s sake.
Miss Hawthorne pouted. “La, your grace. You are a tease.”
He was not. What he was feeling was entirely murderous toward the woman who’d formed the guest list and included such a flirt in their number. He should never have opened his home to guests for this farce, a weeklong Christmas party to prepare his youngest child, Jessica, for her coming out during the upcoming summer. Nicolas had felt this a bad idea from the very beginning and discovered so at every turn. However, his daughter had pushed, and even Jessica’s companion had agreed a party that included family would be beneficial.
Since the companion and this particular daughter rarely agreed on anything concerning Jessica, he’d put up a weak protest then crumbled.
What he had not expected was to be hunted as if he were a prize on the marriage mart, too.
He retreated to the library, his private refuge, for protection. A haven for gentlemen—greenery and female free—the library was already occupied by a neighbor with the same idea as he. He scowled at Gideon Whitfield, a longtime friend and confidant. “I wondered where you’d disappeared to.”
“Do they have you on the defensive again, too?” Whitfield queried from where he sat, making himself at home with his feet stretched out toward the crackling fire. Whitfield, a gentleman in his prime, was a confirmed bachelor of retiring habits, fortunate enough to still have a full head of dark wavy hair that the ladies so often admired.
“Indeed.” Nicolas took a peek outside toward the snowy drive. The dark of night was not far off, but he was expecting carolers to arrive at any moment. “Why did I agree to this?”
“Because you would do anything for your daughter’s happiness.” The man leaned forward. “You know, if you chose your own wife, you might be spared the worst of female machinations during the coming season. Like wolves, women only chase if you run. Let one catch you and your cares will be over.”
He grunted. That was another reason he was dreading the upcoming season. As much as he’d enjoy the idea of taking a wife again, to have sex and companionship and even more sex, he could not consider it until his daughter had found a suitable husband. Only one of them needed to be on the marriage mart, and at his age, he had trouble imagining starting over.
It had been just he and Jessica for a number of years, except for a string of governesses who had come and gone for various reasons. Earlier this year, he’d employed a companion for Jessica instead of a governess and been very pleased with the results.
Mrs. Gillian Thorpe had from the start been the exception to an otherwise unexceptional string of females he’d hired to keep Jessica in line. Mrs. Thorpe made no attempt to manage anyone but Jessica, and ensured he was always informed about disturbances to his daughter’s routine. He currently had the perfect arrangement and was in dread of the next large change in his life—losing Jessica to a husband who had better deserve her or else.
“That is why you are here,” he told Whitfield, pushing aside his unease. “Since my sons are otherwise engaged, you alone must distract females in want of a husband with your prettier face and deep pockets.”
Nicolas was indeed no prize to look at, with his broken nose and hair showing more gray than the black he’d been born with. There were times Nicolas felt positively ancient beside Whitfield, who was nearly a decade his junior. But for all the years between them, they had a great deal in common.
; Besides, of all his friends, Whitfield was entirely to be trusted around his innocent youngest daughter.
Whitfield waggled his eyebrows. “Oh, but you’re the duke every woman wants to catch, or so your daughter’s claim, even with your annual sour Christmas disposition on full display.”
“Please don’t remind me of the season.”
“I am cruelly used as your shield,” Whitfield complained, but amusement colored his tone, leaving Nicolas in no doubt that he was happy with his role in this particular house party. Whitfield leaned his head back. “Promise you’ve placed me next to someone other than the companion for dinner?” Whitfield begged.
Whitfield’s hopeful expression brought a laugh bubbling out of Nicolas’ chest. The younger man’s pretense of being a put-upon bachelor amused him. The fool relished his current popularity among the fairer sex. “I had a word with the housekeeper, and she assures me the place settings will not change again. You are placed next to Jessica this evening.”
“Good,” Whitfield said, smiling broadly. “No offense intended to your charming companion, but all she ever does is talk about her charge. I may as well sit beside Jessica at least one night and hear of her adventures firsthand. Tell me though, do all of your servants have no other information to share other than what Jessica did last?”
“Mrs. Thorpe is devoted to my daughter,” he said with satisfaction. “They are always together, so it is not surprising she speaks of Jessica a great deal. I couldn’t have asked for a better woman to guide her at this age.”
“Jessica seems to have slowed down very little since I last saw her,” Whitfield mused. “Two months ago, she was still the cheeky hoyden who almost took my head off playing cricket and then laughed about the near miss I had.”
“You do play exceptionally badly. You’re supposed to catch the ball with your hands, not your head,” Nicolas joked, remembering that sunny day fondly. Even Mrs. Thorpe had been laughing so hard she’d complained of a stitch in her side. Nicolas had had to chase after the furious Whitfield to make sure his daughter wasn’t strangled or dumped in the nearby pond.
He took another peek outside and was pleased to see approaching carriages. “Here they come. We should gather my guests and go out to meet them.”
Unfortunately, the fast clip of footsteps warned Nicolas his sanctuary had been invaded by a woman, and greeting the carolers might have to wait a little longer.
“I must speak to you about Jessica, Father,” Nicolas’ daughter, Mrs. Rebecca Warner, exclaimed abruptly.
He turned slowly, doomed to yet another inevitable lecture about the right way to raise a female child. Rebecca was forever telling Nicolas what to do, as if he’d not managed to turn out two satisfactory female children before. Rebecca took her role as an elder sister to extremes.
She turned her attention on Whitfield and smiled at the man. “Do excuse us.”
“No, stay exactly where you are.” Nicolas wasn’t about to have his evening spoiled by having his friend shooed away by the family’s feminine major general. “Whatever you have to say can wait until tomorrow, Rebecca.”
Whitfield fled anyway.
Wretched coward.
“You cannot put me off forever,” Rebecca insisted, as she looked about the space with a critical eye. “This room could do with a good airing. Some flowers, perhaps, too.”
Nicolas shuddered. Flowers and women were unwanted in this room, and his oldest daughter knew his wishes but still persisted in trying to change things. Perhaps there was merit in considering taking a wife who might just do things his way once in a while.
He smiled, wishing he could forbid his daughter from bothering him about a matter he had well in hand, but however opinionated Rebecca might have become, she was still family. Family mattered to Nicolas very much. “The carolers are coming up from the village. We must greet them.”
“Wait just a moment,” she cried out.
Nicolas strode away, called his guests to order, and announced the impending arrival of the carol singers.
Jessica rushed toward him, already rugged up against the cold and clearly excited. “Oh, I love Christmas, Papa.”
“I know, Little Mouse.” He threw his arm around Jessica’s shoulders, hugged her to his side, and then looked for Mrs. Thorpe.
The raven-haired companion was still some distance away but already smothered in coat, gloves, woolen scarf and knitted cap until only a little of her face could be seen. “Shall we?”
He earned a tiny smile from Thorpe, who remained at his side as they strode out into the cold along with his family and guests. The steps soon filled to overflowing.
As they waited for the carolers to begin, he felt an absence and glanced around. Mrs. Thorpe had stopped a few paces behind him. He gestured her forward to stand beside Jessica. “You won’t see a thing loitering there.”
“I would be happy just to listen, your grace,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Nonsense.” He placed his hand on her back and positioned her to his right, just before him. “There now. You can see everything with Jessica far better from here.”
She shivered, glancing over her shoulder to where his hand remained on her coat.
“My apologies.” Nicolas quickly put his hands behind his back, slightly embarrassed. He did not ordinarily manhandle his female staff.
Mrs. Thorpe exchanged a quick smile with Jessica, and the pair huddled closer.
Nicolas let out a sigh of contentment. Mrs. Thorpe might just be the perfect companion. He’d felt it from he start. Quiet and kind, indulgent but not easily swayed by Jessica’s impetuous habits. She was always ready to laugh at his poor jokes, too, and never put herself forward. In all the time he’d known her, before and after her employment in his household, she’d never once given him any encouragement. He had become curious about her past recently, though. After having her under his roof for so many months without incident, he’d grown comfortable around her as he was with few women.
Nicolas leaned forward. “How are you enjoying the evening?”
“This has been the perfect Christmas,” Jessica promised, full of her usual enthusiasm for everything that had to do with making merry.
Mrs. Thorpe held her tongue. Nicolas softly nudged her with his elbow, in case she’d not realized the question was meant for her too. It was important to him that the woman in charge of his daughter was happy. “Mrs. Thorpe?”
“I… Oh, yes.” Her eyes darted away, and a frown turned down her lips in a brief but telling moment as she looked toward Rebecca. She smiled brightly. “I am having a wonderful time.”
Now, what was this? A lie? Never in all the time she had been working for him had Mrs. Thorpe been anything less than forthright with her opinions. But the last time Rebecca had come to stay, he’d been aware of a little tension between the two women. He’d hoped the reason for that had passed. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” she assured him as the carolers began to sing.
Jessica leaned against him, and by dint of proximity, Mrs. Thorpe did too, to some degree. He held his daughter close to his chest, full of love for his last child, but was acutely aware that Mrs. Thorpe stood close and wasn’t fully enjoying herself. He would talk to her about it after dinner and find out if his children had been meddling in their arrangement regarding Jessica’s care again.
He shivered as a chilling breeze sprung up and snow swirled about them all. Nicolas could not afford to lose Mrs. Thorpe. Not when he needed her loyalty most.
Chapter 2
“Why do I have to sit in a stuffy room full of old people?” Lady Jessica exclaimed as she brushed aside the helping hands of her maid and flopped into a fireside chair.
Long used to such outbursts, Gillian Thorpe, the girl’s companion of nearly nine months, hurried across the room to slip her finger under Jessica’s chin and lift her gaze. “My dear, we discussed this. His grace agreed to host a house party so you might have more opportunities for making polite conversation
before your season begins. Be reasonable. You know how much he dislikes Christmas. We must go back downstairs, even if it’s only to wish everyone pleasant dreams.”
The girl scoffed. “You mean I must exchange dull pleasantries that make my sister happy, too.”
“Well, yes.” Gillian winced. Mrs. Warner, Lord Stapleton’s daughter, was extremely hard to please. For all that she was an infrequent visitor at the Stapleton estate, she behaved as if this was still her home and issued orders left and right. Often going against the dukes wishes, which was where trouble always sprung from between them. “She is your sister.”
“You can have her,” Jessica grumbled.
“I would have liked a sister, but I got a brother instead,” Gillian told her.
“I didn’t know that.” Jessica’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “What is he like? Where does he live?”
“I don’t know, unfortunately. I lost touch with him when I married.”
Her brother Lincoln and late husband Wallace Thorpe hadn’t gotten along well, and she had always regretted that her letters had gone unanswered by her brother.
“But that’s terrible,” Jessica exclaimed. “We must find him.”
“One day perhaps.” Gillian sighed and then focused on the present—getting Jessica out of this room and in a happy mood. “But first, we must rejoin your family below.”
The guest list for this rare Christmas weeklong party at Stapleton Manor had not hinted at an older generation when Gillian had been shown the names of those invited. She’d been hoping, as had Jessica, for a much younger crowd to engage with, along with the duke’s family. Anyone below the age of their nearest neighbor, Mr. Gideon Whitfield, would have done.