by Regina Scott
“He can’t,” Calantha said, rubbing out a problem and starting over. “He’s very busy.”
“That’s the way with fathers sometimes,” Jane said. “Mothers too. That’s why you have me.”
Larissa frowned down at the numbers on the slate. “How much arithmetic did you know when you came out?”
“I never came out officially,” Jane said, pointing at the slate. “I fell in love, married, and went off to adventures with my husband.”
Calantha grinned.
Larissa looked appalled. “You never came out?”
“No,” Jane told her. “Very good, Abelona. All the way to ten.”
Abelona beamed.
Larissa pushed back her slate and rose. “I won’t learn arithmetic from someone who never came out. I’m going to tell Grandmother.”
Jane straightened. “Lady Larissa, sit down.”
Calantha and Abelona exchanged glances. Betsy and Maud shut the door between the schoolroom and Abelona’s bedchamber as if distancing themselves from the coming storm.
“No,” Larissa said, backing for the door as if afraid to take her eyes off Jane. “I won’t. You can’t make me. You’re a servant. You have to do what I say. I’m going to see Grandmother.”
“No need,” the duchess said, sweeping through the door. “I’m here.”
Larissa ran to her. “Oh, Grandmother, you must stop her. She’s forcing us to study things we don’t need to know. Make her go away like you did the others!”
~~~
“But why must it go on my land?”
Alaric bit back a sigh. Every Tuesday morning, he made himself available to hear the concerns of his tenants. He knew other landowners delegated the task to their stewards or land agents, but the House of Wey had been treating the act as a sacred duty since before the Conquest. Still, he thought his ancestors might have had a more important litany of concerns to deal with—invaders from the north, perhaps, river pirates. His tenants had less to worry about.
Sometimes it was cows straying from one side of the island to the other. Sometimes it was a suggestion of a needed improvement, a new well to be dug, hedges to be planted. At least once a month, Mr. Harden brought him a complaint. A middle-aged man with a craggy face and attitude to match, he always sidled in, hat in hand, and whined. Someone was fishing in his accustomed spot along the shore. Could His Grace forbid them? His roof looked thin—shouldn’t it be replaced before the next rains? Why had his annual gift box been smaller than his neighbor’s?
Today it had been the lock.
“A good quarter acre of my land,” Harden insisted, yellowed teeth biting off the words. “Seems like I should be compensated.”
“Preventing your fields from flooding isn’t compensation enough?” Alaric asked.
Anyone else might have heard the danger in the tone. Harden merely worried his hands around the brim of his battered hat. “My fields always flood. Your father never minded. I was still fed.”
Because Alaric’s family saw to it. That had been the way of things. The spring floods were nearly as predictable as the river flowing along. The only question was who would be harmed and who passed over each year. His grandfather, his father had weathered each storm, rebuilt afterward, donated a plaque to the church in honor of those who had died.
He didn’t want anyone to die. He’d been asking questions, reading engineering treatises for years, seeking a solution. Now Mr. Harden didn’t want to be inconvenienced.
His father had dealt with such petty complaints with a gruff rejoinder, a stern command. Alaric had never quite mastered the art. At the moment, he was very tempted to tell Harden to find another duke to pester. But the last time a tenant had been evicted from the island, there had been months of unrest. He still remembered the fearful faces of the remaining tenants, the recriminations leveled against his father. A man, no matter his place in Society, should have confidence in his own home, his ability to contribute. He refused to evict anyone else without good cause.
“Pardon me, Your Grace.”
He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his butler in the doorway. “Yes, Parsons?”
The fellow’s back was straighter than usual. “It’s Mrs. Kimball, Your Grace. She and the duchess are having words.”
Another problem to solve. It was almost welcome. “Excuse me, Mr. Harden. I will think about how to resolve your complaint.”
“All I ask is a fair accounting,” his tenant said, though his worn look said he didn’t expect one.
With a nod of dismissal, Alaric rose and followed Parsons up the stairs.
“What set it in motion?” he asked his butler as they headed down the corridor for the schoolroom stairs.
Parson’s nose was particularly high, as if even the memory smelled distasteful. “A matter of curriculum, I believe, Your Grace. You should also know that Cook found the cellar plug open this morning when she went to select some cheese. We managed to close it before much damage was done to the other food stored there.”
He almost made it sound as if that was somehow Mrs. Kimball’s fault as well, but Alaric couldn’t see how the governess could reach the old dungeon-turned-storeroom below the castle without being noticed or how she could have known that opening the heavy wooden plug would allow groundwater to seep in. She certainly didn’t look like the sort to wish harm on her employer.
She was, however, the only person in the schoolroom as he and Parsons entered. She was standing by the worktable, wiping a slate with a cloth.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
As if Parsons expected a confrontation, he faded into the background.
Mrs. Kimball glanced up at Alaric. “Lessons have been cancelled by a fit of pique. I had the effrontery to introduce arithmetic. Her Grace is consoling them with tea and cakes.”
She didn’t seem angry, though she certainly had a right to be. In fact, she seemed a bit downcast. Her dark eyes were shadowed, and her usually upright frame slumped. He moved farther into the room.
“I approved of the introduction of that subject,” he reminded her.
“You did. And I said I’d deal with Her Grace. I failed, at least for now.” A smile crept into view. “Don’t worry, Your Grace. This is no more than a skirmish. I refuse to surrender so soon in the engagement.”
She could not know the armament arrayed against her. No one bested his mother. His father had chosen his bride well. His mother wore the dignity and grace of a duchess like a coronation robe and exerted her power as a scepter.
“Focus on the girls,” he advised. “They are your calling.”
She stacked the slate with two others. “If only I could convince Lady Larissa that there is more to life than her come out.”
He pressed a hand to his chest in mock dismay. “No! How can you possibly say so?”
Her mouth twitched. “Perhaps because I’ve lived so much longer than she has.”
“Yes, I can see that you are ancient.”
She gave it up and grinned. “Takes one to know one, Your Grace.”
No one talked to him the way she did. He liked it. But as he grinned back, she sobered.
“Truly, if she has the idea that the only thing of any importance in her life is her come out, what has she to look forward to beyond it? If that is the best she has to experience, I feel very sad for her future.”
Put that way, so did he. “A come out is an important event, but I wouldn’t want her to focus on it to the exclusion of all else.”
“Too late,” she said. “But we may be able to get through to her.”
We? How surprising to meet someone who assumed he had a part in his daughter’s lives. Evangeline had held them close, convinced him it was in their best interests. His mother had stepped smoothly into the void his wife had left. With his father held up as the very essence of a duke, he had attempted to fill the same role. He had never questioned his duty.
Perhaps I should.
Dangerous thought. The House of Wey was bui
lt on centuries of tradition. Every role, every action was codified in the hearts and minds of his family, his staff, his tenants. He had been proud to step into his father’s shoes, for all he wondered about his ability to fill them. Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t argued against his arranged marriage to Evangeline. A duke’s daughter herself, she’d known exactly how to fit into his world. At times, her rigid adherence to tradition had eclipsed his own.
But she was gone now. And nothing he’d tried so far has helped his daughters.
He offered Mrs. Kimball his arm. “What say we make the first attempt at persuasion now?”
She stared at him. “It was fairly clear I wasn’t invited to tea.”
“Neither was I,” he said. “But they are my daughters, and they are your responsibility. It’s time we made that clear.”
She regarded him a moment more, then came to lay her hand on his arm. “Right beside you, Your Grace.”
Why did he have the feeling that was right where she belonged?
Chapter Five
They found the girls, sitting once more like little dolls, with the duchess. Only Larissa seemed to be in her element, smiling beatifically and commenting on the weather. Calantha was frozen, as if fearing to make the least mistake in word or deed, and Abelona’s fingers trembled on the cup that dwarfed her tiny hands.
“Wey,” Her Grace greeted her son with a welcoming smile. “What an unexpected pleasure. We have no need of you at present, Mrs. Kimball. You may go.”
Jane looked to the duke. He detached his arm from hers, and her heart sank. He was going to run away again, despite his brave words. She couldn’t blame him. Anyone should fear a tyrant.
“I asked Mrs. Kimball to join us, Mother,” he said. “I understand there’s some confusion about the girls’ course of study.”
Her Grace sniffed. “There certainly is. I see no need to force them to do complicated calculations. They aren’t studying to become accountants.”
Larissa’s smile was venomous. Calantha and Abelona shifted on their seats as if they wanted to escape.
“Perhaps I have a different definition of complicated, Your Grace,” Jane said. “And a higher estimation of your granddaughters’ abilities.”
The duchess drew herself up, to deliver a scold, no doubt, but the duke stepped between them. “Mrs. Kimball recommended a course of study, and I approved it. If you have an issue with the matter, address it to me.”
My, but he was magnificent. His head was high, his carriage erect, and she half expected to see a flaming sword appear in his hand.
His mother regarded him with a frown. “Very well. I believe your daughters would be better served preparing for the most important day of their lives.”
Larissa nodded emphatically. Calantha and Abelona fixed their gazes on their tea.
He cocked his head. “And what day would that be?”
“Why the day they come out, of course.” Her Grace shook her head as if astonished he would have to ask. “You can have no idea of the pressure. The need to do every little thing with perfection, from appearing before the queen to executing the first dance at your ball. Everything depends on it.”
Larissa drew in a breath, as if ready to take on the task now. Calantha had hunched in on herself as if fearing she would never measure up. Abelona had shut them out entirely, her gaze going to the window and the grey sky beyond. Jane wanted to reach out and gather them all close. Life was so much more!
“Everything,” the duke drawled. “So, in all your…years, Mother, you have never done anything more important than your come out.”
She smoothed her rose-colored skirts. “Nonsense. The come out was merely the beginning.”
“Precisely. There are many more days of equal or greater importance.”
“The day you wed,” Jane suggested.
He shot her a glance and a nod. “The days your children are born.”
All three of his daughters were watching him now.
“The day you learn you’ll be alone,” his mother murmured.
Jane’s heart cracked. She moved to the duchess’ side and lay a hand on her arm. “We are only alone if we choose to be, Your Grace.”
The duke joined her, setting his hand on his mother’s shoulder. “You are not alone, Mother. But I’d rather Mrs. Kimball prepare the girls for all those days. I hope you can respect that.”
She sniffed again, and this time the gesture held none of its usual disdain. “Certainly. When you explain it like that, it makes perfect sense.”
Calantha nudged Abelona, smile popping into place.
Larissa’s lower lip stuck out. “Then we have to learn arithmetic?”
“Arithmetic, science, history,” the duke said. “Art and riding as well.”
“I’m going to ride a unicorn,” Abelona piped up.
Her Grace frowned, but the duke grinned at Jane. “So I heard.”
Something fluttered in her stomach, as if Abelona’s unicorn was prancing inside her. She had felt that way only once before.
The day she’d met Jimmy.
She stomped the feeling down. She was a widow. Jimmy had only been gone thirteen months. And His Grace was a duke. She was the governess of his children. Any feelings she had would only end badly.
“Very well,” the duchess said. “The girls may return to their lessons. But I expect you to take an active role, Wey. No one sits a horse better than you do.”
And a horseman too? One of the reasons she’d fallen in love with Jimmy, she was sure, was the way he rode neck for leather. She found it hard to imagine her controlled, purposeful duke pounding across the fields.
And when had she started thinking of him as hers?
He smiled at his mother, the familiar pleasant look that made no promises. “I haven’t had the opportunity to ride for pleasure in some time, Mother. There are matters that must be attended to. Speaking of which, I should return to my duty.”
As one, the girls slumped.
Jane hurt for them. He’d cracked open the door, and they longed to push their way through but had no idea how. But she had a thought. As usual, it found its way out of her mouth.
“Perhaps you could spare us some time this afternoon,” she suggested. “We’ve exhausted our search for the unicorn near the castle. I understand your farm down the island has other steeds available.”
He quirked a brow. “Horses, yes, but unicorns…”
Jane jerked her head toward his daughters. “When it comes to unicorns, it’s the quest that counts.”
He looked to the girls. Could he see how they’d all perked up under his notice? The yearning on Larissa’s face cut Jane to the quick.
Abelona climbed off the sofa and hurried to his side. “Please, Father? You could find me a unicorn. I know you could. You can do anything.”
Calantha nodded.
He took a deep breath. “Not anything, Abelona. But if it matters so much to the three of you, I’d be delighted to join you on your search.”
Abelona gave a little skip as she returned to her seat.
“Thank you, Father,” Larissa said. Her nod was all polish, but Jane could see the glimmer of tears in her eyes.
“I’ll meet you in the courtyard at two,” he said. With a nod to the room in general, he turned and left.
Her Grace rose. “Go back to the schoolroom, girls. You should have time for a lesson or two before you change to go out. I’d like a word with Mrs. Kimball.”
Jane’s stomach tightened. Larissa gave her a sharp-edged smile, as if she knew Jane was about to receive an overdue lecture. Jane promised herself to be as pleasant as possible. The duke had won the battle for her. No sense losing the war over her pride.
“I do not approve of some of your behavior,” Her Grace began, eyes narrowing. “Nor do I appreciate the impertinence that so often comes from your mouth.”
“I am a sad trial,” Jane acknowledged.
“That I am beginning to believe. The girls will require discipline. Do you h
ave what it takes to be stern with them?”
Jane kept her face respectful. “Absolutely. Daily beatings and bread and water until they improve on their studies.”
The duchess blinked. “No, no. You misunderstand me.”
Jane frowned. “Did I? Well, perhaps a regimen of studies and exercise, opportunities to use their God-given talents and imagination, and a great dollop of love and kindness will suffice.”
“Yes,” the duchess said, looking a bit as if she’d come through a windstorm. “I suspect they might.” She shook herself and raised her chin. “Let me be clear, Mrs. Kimball. I love my granddaughters, and I want the best for them, but I have high expectations of you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jane said.
The duchess’s lips tightened, and she took a step closer. Jane had to force herself not to retreat. She’d thought she might have a moments’ reprieve before the next battle, but it seemed Her Grace had rallied her troops.
She pointed a finger at Jane’s chest. “You and I may never resolve our differences. But if you continue to advocate for my granddaughters, I will stand by you.”
Jane stood straighter. “Thank you, Your Grace. May I go?”
The duchess narrowed her eyes. “One thing more.”
Jane steeled herself. Would she spout more nonsense about deportment? Order Jane to dress more fashionably? Criticize her demeanor, her opinions?
The duchess’s gaze was firm and implacable. “If you can make my son smile like that more often, I will support anything you do.”
~~~
A quest for a unicorn. Alaric shook his head as he stepped out into the courtyard that afternoon. He had a dozen things that called for his attention—studying reports from his various agents on the state of his investments, inspecting the new chain for the lock, reviewing the local militia, sending suggestions of different wording for the bill the prime minister had provided—and here he was, preparing to spend the afternoon on a fool’s errand.
All because a pair of speaking brown eyes had gazed in his direction.
Of course, he could not have ignored Abelona’s plea, the looks from her sisters. Who would have guessed they sincerely wished for his company? Their eagerness was motivation enough to join them. But he knew the true reason for his choice had been the importunate look from Mrs. Kimball. Why did life seem sweeter when she smiled?