He frowned and set his glass on the table. “Look, could you dispense with the ‘Your Grace’ thing entirely when we are alone together, just us? I am reminded enough of my position, my difference from the rest of the world, I would like to be with one person who doesn’t have to mention it every sentence.”
“Yes, Your— Yes.”
“Good. If you need to call me, you can always say ‘Hey, you,’ or ‘You there,’ or something similar. If only the two of us are in the room, I can likely figure out who you’re talking to.”
“To whom you’re talking,” Lily replied automatically, as though it were Rose speaking.
He laughed. “Of course. That. Thank you,” he said, lifting his glass to her in a salute. He took a deeper drink then, and Lily watched the muscles of his throat as he drank.
“Rose and I are visiting the Porters tomorrow,” she reminded him. “You did not wish to join us, did you? Miss Blake will be there,” she added in a teasing tone of voice.
“I cannot decide what would be prefera—” he began in a clear imitation of the lady in question, then continued in his regular voice, “no, of course I won’t be coming. Please do give my regards to the family. I hope Rose enjoys meeting other young children.”
“I’m sure she will. She’s been pretending that Mr. Snuffles is actually her brother.”
That crooked smile creased his face. “Mr. Snuffles would make a better brother than most, I would imagine. He takes regular baths, doesn’t speak much, and doesn’t take up a lot of room.”
“Do you have a brother, Your . . . ?” She gave him an awkward smile.
He shook his head and drained the liquid from his glass. “Not anymore. My elder brother died before he could inherit. Inheriting at all was such an unlikely event, neither of us had been prepared for it. But he had prepared for inheriting our father’s responsibilities. Until he died.” He sounded so distant, as though the misfortune had happened to another person. “And my parents did only so much for our family line, they were too busy with other things to sire more than just the two of us,” he added.
“I did not have much company growing up, either,” Lily replied, “but I preferred reading to playing anyway.” She’d had a sister, too, who had died too soon, but she didn’t want to share that, and he hadn’t asked.
“That would explain why you are so good at your position, then. Reading would be a requirement for being an excellent governess.” He got up to pour another splash of brandy in his glass, then returned for hers and did the same. “What else do you like doing?”
He doesn’t mean it that way, Lily chided herself, even as she felt the color rise in her cheeks. “I suppose what most ladies like to do.”
“That is the thing,” he said in that impatient tone again, “I don’t know what most ladies like to do. I should figure it out if I am to both marry a lady and raise one, shouldn’t I? And don’t tell me,” he added, holding his glass out to her accusingly, “that I can just go through life without knowing because of who I am. That isn’t fair to either me or the young ladies.” A pause. “I am more—or less, depending on your viewpoint—than my title. I have only recently become the duke, as I mentioned.” He shook his head, as though clearing away a memory.
His title might have been recent, but she couldn’t help but guess that his commanding demeanor had come before he became a duke. It seemed like something he’d worn forever, not that he’d recently acquired.
“I like to read, as I said,” she began in a quiet voice. “I like looking at people, at them having conversations, at their interaction. I like solving puzzles. I don’t particularly like playing the piano, although I do love music. I think I would like to travel, if I ever got the chance.” She looked up at him as she finished.
“Thank you.” His voice was equally quiet, serious, and sincere.
A pause. A beat. A moment where she wondered just what would happen next, what she would do if he approached her for another kiss. Well, she knew what she would do, she just couldn’t believe it of herself.
Thankfully—or not—that seemed not to have been on his mind. “I would ask you what authors you would recommend, but I think my reading time will be taken up with tomes that deal with things like proper business practices and crop fertilization.”
“Sounds interesting.” She took another tiny sip of the brandy. At this rate she’d be finished with it by midday tomorrow. And you could spend more time with him. The thought occurred even as she was trying to ignore it.
He grinned at her, shaking his head. “No, it doesn’t. But if I am to understand what my employees are talking about, I need to read such books. And be able to comprehend the account ledgers. And all sorts of mind-numbingly boring things. And,” he continued, holding his glass out toward her again, “when I’m not doing that, I have to learn how to spend time with a lady without offending her, or perhaps even persuade her that I have an inclination toward her.”
Yes, the practice he’d spoken of. She would be giving lessons in the evening as well, it seemed. And even though she was the presumed teacher, look at how much she had learned: He was so much more than his title.
Even more than his bearing, his looks, his way of speaking. He was a Dangerous Duke in so many more ways than she’d originally thought—and she was in danger if she forgot why she was here and what she was doing.
A Duke must never:
Drink overly much, nor should he encourage young ladies to drink alcohol with him
Interact on less than a professional level with his employees
Appear in less than absolutely correct clothing
Seem bored or annoyed by his company
Kiss young ladies whom he has no intention of marrying.
—THE DUKE’S GUIDE TO CORRECT BEHAVIOR
Chapter 16
“Welcome, come in, Miss Rose, Miss Lily.” Mrs. Porter pushed past the butler to greet them, an enormous smile on her face. “My girls have been in such a tizzy since I told them about you, Miss Rose. Would you like to go right on up to the nursery, or are you in need of refreshment first?” She addressed Rose, but she glanced at Lily as though she would answer.
Lily knew better than to try to answer for Rose. Decided opinions seemed to run in the family, judging by both the duke and Rose. “Want to go up,” Rose said with a determined nod.
Mrs. Porter turned to the butler, who looked less daunting than Mr. Thompson. Still impressive, but not quite as supercilious. Perhaps there was Butler Training, and these men learned just the right degree of haughtiness to show, depending on their owner’s position?
And if there was, then the agency ought to start training its prospective ladies’ maids the same way. She would bring it to the attention of her partners the next time she went by.
“Take Miss Rose up, then, and Miss Lily and I will want tea in the drawing room.”
“Oh, goodness, there is no need for that, Mrs. Porter.” Lily was well-aware that a governess would not expect to have tea with the lady of the house. That the lady of the house seemed so eager for it meant something, something she suspected had to do with the duke. Knew it had to do with the duke. Because of Miss Blake, of course, but it could also be that Mrs. Porter was on a general information quest to help all the eligible young ladies in London.
Which Lily knew she was not, of course.
“I insist!” Mrs. Porter said, insisting. Lily had no choice but to follow her hostess into a drawing room off the main foyer (which was much less impressive than the duke’s, but she did not think the foyer went to Foyer Training).
“So tell me,” Mrs. Porter said almost as soon as they sat down, “all about the duke.”
She definitely wasn’t Machiavelli now.
“He is my employer.” Which was the subtle way of telling her it was not appropriate for her to discuss him.
Mrs. Porter leaned forward and touched her on the arm. “But you can tell me something about him, can’t you?” Apparently Mrs. Porter didn’t understand subtle
ty, or at least chose to ignore it. “Is he courting a young lady?”
Not yet. “Not that I am aware of, but I would hardly be his confidante.” Even though she was. Maybe she was secretly a very good liar, she just had to practice more. Now wasn’t that a cheery thought.
“Then Miss Blake might have a chance.” Mrs. Porter’s face was smug, as though she had already secured the duke for her charge. Lily wanted to point out that Miss Blake was nowhere near the duke’s social equal, that the two of them had met precisely once in a group gathering, and that the duke had promised he would never love the woman he would marry. But she doubted that Mrs. Porter would care about any of that. Just that Miss Blake would be Your Grace and take precedence over most other people. Oh, and she might have the power to express an opinion.
Or not. “Goodness, here you are, I was wondering where you had gone,” Miss Blake said as she entered the room. “Or not wondered, exactly, but was thinking that you might have gone to the garden, but then again, you might just as well have come here. So I came here.”
Miss Blake sat in one of the other chairs and began to remove her bonnet. “And I thought you might have gone to the garden, only I popped my head in there, and you weren’t there.”
The girl was brilliant.
At least Mrs. Porter seemed to think so. “Yes, here we are,” she said with no trace of irony. “Miss Lily and I are about to have tea, would you care to join us?”
A pause. She would have to make a decision. Lily felt herself hold her breath, waiting for the outcome.
“I am not sure.” Lily exhaled. “I had been thinking I might like some lemonade, only it is rather cold for that now, and tea would be nice, only if I have tea I will want biscuits.”
And she didn’t want biscuits?
“And I adore biscuits, only there are so many different types, and I can never choose just one to have.”
Of course not. Even if the duke offered for her, how could she possibly accept? She would have to decide on one man for the rest of her life.
“Listen to this,” Mrs. Porter said, her eyes sparkling. “Miss Lily says the duke is not currently courting any young lady.”
Miss Blake sighed. “He probably has his choice of all of the young ladies in London, it would be so hard for him to pick just one.”
Lily felt herself about to giggle, but stifled it so it just sounded as though she’d snorted. She wished the duke were here so he could share the joke—but then again, if he were here, it would be the answer to Mrs. Porter’s—if not Miss Blake’s—dreams.
Thankfully the tea arrived before Miss Blake could question Lily about whether she thought she’d had a cough or a sneeze.
Lily sipped her tea, wishing she had some brandy to put in it, listening to Mrs. Porter and Miss Blake discuss the party they were to attend that evening. The duke was to go, too, and Lily felt a pang at who he might meet there—some young lady who could express an opinion, who was pretty, cultured, of the right status, and who said she liked children.
She would never attend such an event in her lifetime, and she wished she could go, just to see the people, the clothing, hear the music.
To see him in his evening wear. Maybe even to dance with him. To—
The door opened again before Lily could even think about escaping to the terrace for a stolen kiss.
“Mr. Haughton,” Mrs. Porter said, getting to her feet. “Clarissa isn’t here yet, but we’re having tea. You know Miss Blake, of course, and this is Miss Lily.”
Lily stood, giving a slight curtsey. Mr. Haughton was a middle-aged gentleman who looked much like Mr. Porter, except he was blond. And was looking at her with a puzzled expression on his face. “Miss Lily is the Duke of Rutherford’s charge’s governess,” Mrs. Porter explained. “And Miss Rose is upstairs with the children, so we are all having tea here.”
“I’m not,” Miss Blake chirped.
Mr. Haughton kept his gaze on Lily. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said, drawing his eyebrows together in a near frown, almost as though it was not at all a pleasure to meet her.
“Thank you, sir,” Lily replied. This was awkward. She had no idea why her appearance caused him such consternation.
“The governess?” he said, still with that frown. “You are the governess for the Duke of Rutherford?”
“Not his governess,” Lily replied, even though she was sort of governessing him, but he didn’t need to know that, “but the governess to his charge, Miss Rose. She is upstairs with the other children, and Mrs. Porter was kind enough to send for tea.”
“Hm,” he said, giving her one last, searching look before taking a seat. He took the cup Mrs. Porter had prepared for him and seemed to dismiss Lily from his mind.
That was just as well. It made her feel very uncomfortable to be so intensely scrutinized. Except for when the duke did it; then she only felt intensely something, but she didn’t know what that something was.
“Did you have fun?” Lily asked Rose as they left the Porters’. She’d only had to endure another hour of inquisition from Mrs. Porter and an hour of indecision from Miss Blake.
She wanted never to answer another question again. Nor hear anyone debate the possible answer to a seemingly innocuous question.
Because really, how hard was it to decide if one wanted to sit in one chair or another?
Apparently very, very hard.
Lily had decided she wished Miss Blake would develop laryngitis.
“They had lots of toys,” Rose answered.
“Mrs. Porter said you could return next week. Would you like that?”
Rose nodded. Thank goodness she did not suffer from Miss Blake’s particular affliction.
In the midst of all the interrogation, Mrs. Porter had said—several times, in fact—that the duke was to attend the ball that evening, and it seemed he had been very little in Society thus far. So not only was he unaccustomed to speaking with young ladies, it seemed he was unaccustomed to being polite at all. Interesting. No wonder he needed her help.
Needed her help to secure a young lady as his bride, a woman whom he’d want to be a mother to Rose. A woman he’d kiss. A woman he’d take to his bed and . . . do things to.
A woman who wouldn’t be her.
Dukes should not fraternize with anyone who is not their social equal (with the exception of earls, but no lower than that). Which means, unfortunately, that the only people to whom they can be friendly is other dukes—of which there are very few—and royalty, of which there are fewer. Dukes need to recall their positions at all times, and not get distracted by a clever wit, a friendly gesture, or a kissable mouth.
—THE DUKE’S GUIDE TO CORRECT BEHAVIOR
Chapter 17
“If you’ll just allow me, Your Grace,” Miller began. He took another cravat from the stack and put it around Marcus’s neck.
Like a noose.
The previous attempts were in a pile on a chair, their wrinkles and creases practically mocking Marcus for his determination to look proper, for one evening at least. Or so it seemed.
He waited, shifting impatiently, as Miller tied the fabric, smoothing it with a practiced gesture. Marcus resisted the urge to slide his finger between the fabric and his skin to give himself more breathing room. It would mean another attempt would have to be made, not to mention that he was about to go breathless, as it were, with no breathing room at all in his life.
He was about to take his rightful place, his dukely place, in society, which he had heretofore ignored, beyond taking advantage of his position for personal enjoyment.
He hadn’t cared before, but now, with Rose’s future happiness at stake, not to mention his own, he had to. And what was likely worse, he would have to do it with a smile on his face and pleasantries on his lips.
He wished he’d had more practice. With her. If he could get his lemony governess to smile, to regard him with approval, he could do anything. Of course he doubted that most young ladies were of the lemony persuasion, but neith
er did he think they would be as tempting to kiss.
“I believe this is the one, Your Grace.” Miller stepped aside so Marcus could see himself in the glass.
His cravat was, indeed, correct. As was everything else he had on. He looked absolutely presentable, not like the sort of man who would lure young ladies in his employ to his study to drink brandy, nor the kind of man who even have thoughts about said action.
Excellent. Now he just had to persuade every member of Society—not to mention himself—that he was truly that kind of gentleman.
Thankfully there was a knock on his bedroom door before he could tear the cravat off and haul Lily to his study for some much-needed—by him—kissing.
“Your Grace, the carriage is ready.” Thompson’s eyes widened slightly and then he nodded, as though in approval.
Poor Thompson. The previous duke, according to all reports, had been one of the stuffiest men, his only oddness being his fondness for cats. Likely he even wore a cravat to sleep in, so it must pain Thompson to see him now holding the title.
“I’ll be down shortly.”
He allowed Miller to brush off some nonexistent lint, gave himself one last look in the glass, and headed downstairs to his doom. That is, the carriage.
“Glad you made it.” Smithfield cast a glance at Marcus. “And you look so presentable.”
Marcus grinned. “Don’t look so surprised, I can clean up if I have to.”
“If you have to, of course. That you wanted to is what is surprising,” Smithfield replied, a dry tone in his voice.
The two men stood at the edge of the ballroom, couples whirling and dancing in front of them, a row of chaperones on the opposite wall, while servants passed nimbly throughout the crowd, handing out glasses of wine to the guests.
“I must have been an arrogant ass the night we met.” Marcus plucked a glass of wine from one of the servants’ trays.
The room was filled with people, none of whom Marcus recognized. Not surprising, since he’d made it a point not to be in polite company. Present company excepted, of course.
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