by Diana Quincy
In his own mother’s final days, Sunny had made certain the servants kept the dowager duchess comfortable while he’d maintained his customary weekly twenty-minute audiences with her. He’d certainly never rushed to her bedside. Nor would she have wanted him to.
She’d have viewed any unscheduled visits as indecorous because they might hint at an unseemly show of emotion. Mother had been a stickler for the proprieties right up until the end. Which suited Sunny just fine. And when he’d finally received word of her death, he’d made certain his mother had a funeral worthy of her station before quickly resuming his routine.
He reached for his coffee. “It’s deuced inconvenient for me to have to do without Smith.”
“John, the upper footman, will be filling in while Smith is away,” the butler said soothingly. “You are familiar with the young man, and he in turn is accustomed to your…erm…habits.”
Sunny grunted his ongoing displeasure at Smith’s absence as he sipped his coffee. At least the libation was hot and full of sugar, just as he liked it. Dowding held out the vinegar tonic. “Your Grace?”
Sunny was about to reach for his usual morning-after cure to relieve the headachy nausea he habitually experienced after a night of debauchery. But this morning, his head felt strangely clear. His mouth wasn’t particularly dry, and Dowding’s voice wasn’t grating like nails on a slate board.
He shook his head. “I’ll have no need of the vinegar today.” Seeing Dowding’s puzzled reaction, he added, “Take it away. I didn’t have anything to drink last night.” Well, he’d had a glass or two of brandy, but nothing like his usual indulgences. He’d ended up staying in after his bout with the nanny.
Dowding’s expression brightened. The man obviously still held out hope that Sunny could be reformed. “Very good, Your Grace.”
“Dowding,” Sunny said, his thoughts going back to the termagant, “what do you know about the nanny?”
“Miss Finch, Your Grace?”
“Unless we have another nursemaid.”
“No, Your Grace, we do not. Miss Finch has every appearance of being a gentlewoman.”
“Meaning what? That she isn’t common?”
“Certainly not. Like most governesses serving in the finest homes, Miss Finch is obviously highborn.”
“If she’s wellborn, what’s she doing here?”
“Most governesses of a certain stature have excellent bloodlines but have fallen on hard times,” Dowding explained patiently. “Perhaps the family lost its wealth, or the heir cast her out with no funds.”
“And this is common?” Sunny had never considered the lot of governesses before. “That highborn women must seek employment?”
“Indeed, Your Grace. That is why Miss Finch does not eat in the servants’ hall. She is above those in service below stairs.”
“Hmm.” Sunny thought about Finch’s lot in life as he drank more coffee. “But she is a servant.”
“Not precisely, Your Grace. She is not considered as such. Unlike servants, governesses are often invited to dine with the family and attend family amusements.”
“I see. Does that mean that we should invite Finch to my ball?” Sunny threw one respectable entertainment each season, as the Dukes of Sunderford had done for decades. It was the sole time of the year that society’s most exacting matrons and their virginal daughters crossed his threshold without fear of being sullied by Sunny’s decadence.
“It is as you wish, Your Grace. It would not be inappropriate to include Miss Finch at your annual rout, if you chose to do so.”
Sunny huffed a small laugh, mostly to himself. It might be amusing to require that Miss Finch enjoy herself, as much as she seemed to detest any and all forms of entertainment. She wouldn’t want to attend, but what was the point in being a duke if you couldn’t occasionally order someone to do something they’d rather not.
He swallowed the last of his coffee. “Please inform Finch that I’d like to see her in my…” He paused. It wasn’t precisely appropriate to invite the harridan to his playroom, although that could prove amusing. “Send the nanny to my study in an hour’s time. And inform Finch that I expect her to present her credentials at that time.”
* * *
—
Isabel paused on her way to the study, taking a moment to try to calm her nerves. She checked her pocket again to reassure herself that her letter of recommendation remained in place. Sunderford’s request for her credentials had unnerved her. What did he really want?
There was only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, resolving to maintain a calm demeanor, she approached the study to find the door to the chamber slightly ajar.
The duke’s voice reached her. “Just take it. I consider it money well spent.”
“It’s too much, Adam,” the throaty voice of a woman responded.
“I’ve got plenty.” His tone was dismissive. “You’ve a right to it. God knows, you’ve earned it.”
“If you’re certain.” Isabel peered in just as the woman caressed Sunderford’s cheek with a well-groomed hand. Blond and tall for a woman, she was well dressed and appeared gently bred. A shudder of disgust rippled through Isabel when the duke handed the woman what appeared to be a purse full of coins.
Had they just completed the act? Was this how degenerates such as Sunderford paid for services rendered? The idea of a man bedding a woman and handing her money directly afterward struck Isabel as extraordinarily base. She knew there were a number of peers who made a habit of the practice, but something about actually witnessing the transaction made her nauseous.
The duke’s gaze swept from the woman and landed on Isabel. “Finch,” he said when he spotted her. “Come in.”
“You are busy,” she said stiffly. “I’ll return later.”
“No need.” He showed no sign of discomfiture at having been discovered with one of his light skirts. “Anne was just leaving.”
“Yes, I was.” The woman favored Isabel with a kind smile as she turned to go. “You must be the new governess.”
Isabel struggled to maintain a polite expression. Sunderford discussed her and the girls with his doxies? “Yes. I am Miss Finch.”
“I am Anne. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Don’t just stand there, Finch,” Sunderford interrupted, waving her in. “Did you bring what I asked for?”
The woman gave Isabel a friendly nod as the two passed by each other, Isabel making her way to Sunderford’s desk while Anne saw herself out, closing the door quietly behind her.
The duke settled himself in a tall-backed red leather chair behind an enormous rosewood desk. She pulled the letter from her pocket and handed it to him in a calm, efficient manner that gave no outward indication of the cluster of nerves knotting in her stomach.
“These are your credentials?”
She nodded. He unfolded the letter at a leisurely pace, taking his time to read through it while she stood waiting with her heart thumping loudly in her ears. She surveyed his desk, which was bare except for an ornate ormolu clock that ticked loudly, filling the tense silence.
He finally looked up with those radiant silver eyes. “And who is Mr. Harvey Drummond?”
“My former employer. He is wed to the daughter of Viscount Denbury. Mr. Drummond himself is the third son of the Earl of Winchester.”
Sunderford grimaced. “Denbury and Winchester?”
“Yes, are you acquainted with them?”
“Marginally. Priggish sorts, those two. They don’t approve of my lifestyle.”
“I gather that few do,” she said tartly before remembering to sensor herself.
“Those two are as thick as thieves. So they married their children off to each other, did they? Probably a move to consolidate the considerable power they hold in the House of Lords.”
“I wouldn’t know ab
out that, Your Grace. All I can tell you is that, in my observation, Mr. and Mrs. Drummond appear to be very fond of each other.”
His attention returned to the letter. “This recommendation says you were with the family for six years.”
“Yes, Your Grace. They have four children…all boys.”
“And why did you leave their employ?”
“I left when the youngest, James, turned eight and went to boarding school.”
“I see.” He set down her letter on the massive, gleaming desk. “And after that?”
“Lord Abel retained me to look after Patience and Prudence. I’ve been with them since they were two, more than five years now.”
“And prior to that?”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“What is your background, Miss Finch?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I am your employer. It is my right. Is your family from London?”
“No, Your Grace. They are from”—she tried to come up with the farthest place she could think of—“Plymouth.”
“The coast?” His brows rose. “You are very far from home.”
“I have no home there. My mother and father died when I was very young.”
“And what of a brother to look after you?”
“I have no brother, so I am left to look after myself.”
“Hmmm. Is your status as an orphan the reason you are determined that the girls see the world as a dark and joyless place?”
Her patience broke. “I am not trying to take the joy out of their lives. I’m attempting to keep the girls safe,” she snapped. The man was beyond infuriating. “Patience could have seriously injured herself had she fallen off the garden wall and hit her head. And I shudder to think of what could have happened to the child had she hit her head when she tumbled off the billiards table. She could have been rendered permanently insensible. And you just let her do it without thinking of the child’s safety.”
“What I think,” he retorted, “is that you don’t allow them to have any pleasure in their days because your life is devoid of it.”
“Not at all.” She forced the words out through gritted teeth. “If I am overly protective of the children it is because I know what it is to be left alone in the world. As their governess, I am the only constant the girls have had in their young lives. I try to do my best by them but, of course, there can be no replacement for a mother’s or father’s love.”
He made a skeptical noise in his throat. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” He came to his feet. “Very well. You seem qualified to care for my wards.”
Relief rushed through her as she watched him move to the sideboard to pour himself a drink. “Will that be all, Your Grace?”
“No.” He turned to face her, drink in hand. “One more thing.”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“I’m hosting a rout here in a sennight. I expect you to be in attendance.”
“Me?” Outrage sizzled in her veins. “I most certainly will not attend one of your depraved parties.”
“Calm yourself, Finch.” His eyes twinkled. “It’s not one of those parties. I host one respectable ball each year during the Season. Society’s most upstanding citizens will be in attendance.”
She regarded him suspiciously. Why did he want her to attend? “I cannot.”
“I insist,” he said in an amiable voice.
“I have nothing suitable to wear,” she shot back in an even more amiable tone.
“Then we’ll have to take you to the modiste, won’t we?”
“That’s not possible. I’m a governess and cannot afford such an extravagance.”
“Fortunately, I am a duke with rather too much money, so I will bear the expense.”
She stared at him. “That would not be appropriate. I cannot accept a gift from you.”
He made an amused sound. “I’m hardly courting you, Finch, and it’s not a gift. I’m your employer, and I want you to attend my ball. Since I am requiring your presence, it is incumbent upon me to see that you are properly attired.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because youe not being properly attired for my ball would reflect badly on me.”
“Are you bored? Is that what this is about? Have you decided to toy with your drab and boring governess for your amusement?”
He came closer. “I find you to be many things, Finch. Disagreeable? Yes. Infuriating? Certainly. Drab? I suppose, especially given those god-awful shrouds you encase yourself in. But boring?” He smiled. “You most certainly are not boring.”
The duke was near enough for his scent to reach her. He smelled clean, like soap—he must have bathed recently—mixed with a raw, masculine scent that appealed to her. Something inside Isabel’s belly quickened, prompting shock to ripple through her. She was not an innocent. She recognized sexual attraction for what it was. She stared at him in shock.
“Why do you look so surprised?” he asked. “I may be foxed most of the time, but I’m no fool.”
But she apparently was. Otherwise, how could she feel anything remotely physical for this dolt? Yet, here she was, feeling hot all over and supremely sensitive to his proximity.
She had to get away from him. “Very well,” she said tightly. She would have agreed to just about anything to escape him at the moment. “I will attend if you require it. May I go now?”
“Yes. You are excused.”
She did not meet his gaze. She worried what might happen if she did. Her heart thumping hard in her chest, she curtseyed and left him with all the grace she could muster when what she really wanted to do was scurry from the room like a frightened mouse.
“Oh, Finch,” he called after her. “One more thing. We’ll make certain you won’t be wearing brown or black or any of your other dull colors to my ball. Perhaps less morose colors will brighten your countenance.”
Chapter 7
Her heart racing, Isabel rushed up to the nursery, relief sweeping through her when she found it empty. Fortunately, the servants had already come and gone. And the girls were likely still practicing writing their letters in the schoolroom, where she’d left them before going to meet the duke.
She paced across the plank floor with one hand pressed to her belly as she tried to get ahold of herself. She told herself that she was overreacting and that her physical attraction to the duke was easily explained. Despite his lifestyle taking a toll on his fine looks, Sunderford was still a handsome man. And she hadn’t been at all prepared for this new sense of command he’d demonstrated on the last two occasions they’d met.
It was a side to the duke she hadn’t glimpsed before. He’d dominated the room, as if newly infused with all of the power and consequence of his rank and wealth. God help her, but when the man wasn’t behaving like a drunken buffoon, she actually found him appealing.
Shaking her head, she stomped over to the water basin and splashed the cool water on her hot face. She needed to get ahold of herself. Even if she found Sunderford attractive, it wasn’t as if she would ever dally with the duke. She despised the man. For heaven’s sake, he was a debaucher, a whoremonger, and a profligate. Not the sort of man she was attracted to. And she wasn’t innocent to such things. She knew her tastes. She was drawn to men who flouted ridiculous rules, but not to complete deviates like the duke, who shredded societal norms before also trampling on them.
Patting her face dry with a towel, Isabel felt herself begin to calm. Surely, she was just a bit overwrought with the changed circumstances and helping the children to adjust to their new living situation. That’s why the duke had had such an unexpected effect on her.
Of course. That explained everything perfectly. She straightened and smoothed out her skirts. With one last calming breath, she headed to the schoolroom.
>
She found the girls just as she’d left them, sitting at the long table practicing their letters on their small slate boards. As usual, Pan was with them, sprawled on his back, napping in the warmth of a ray of sunlight streaming through the generous windows.
“Look, Izzy!” Patience held up her board. “My P’s are perfect now.”
Isabel examined the crooked P’s lined up on the slate. “Very good indeed. And what sound does P make?”
“Puh, puh, puh,” both girls answered in unison.
“Yes. That’s correct.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she went over to examine Prudie’s board. The children were working on writing P, Q, R, and S. “Your R is very nice.”
Prudie pursed her mouth, regarding Isabel bashfully. “R makes the ruh, ruh, ruh sound.”
Isabel smiled. “Quite right. What about Q? Can you tell me a word for that?”
“Queen!” Patience called out triumphantly.
“And what about S? Prudie?”
“Sunderford,” she said with a sweet smile. “S is for Sunderford.”
Isabel kept a smile plastered on her face. “Yes, that is correct.”
“A is for Adam,” Patience put in. “C is for cousin, like Cousin Adam.”
“And D is for duke,” Prudie chimed in enthusiastically, obviously warming to the game. “And F is for Fairfax. Adam Fairfax, the—”
“Duke of Sunderford!” both girls cried out happily. Pan, awakened by the girls’ excited chatter, sat up and barked, wagging his tail from side to side.
“Indeed,” Isabel said tightly. “You certainly have learned your sounds very well.”
“I like the duke,” Patience announced. “He lets me tumble.”
“And he pushed me on the swing,” Prudie said earnestly. “He almost pushed me off the first time, but then he did it correctly and pushed me nice and easy like you always say, Izzy.”
“Well, isn’t that lovely?” Isabel forced a pleasant tone.