“So was my father,” Carlotta spoke before thinking.
“Then why—” Bethanny’s expression was confused.
“It’s not important. You are now the wards of a very powerful and influential duke. You’ll need to be properly trained in the ways of the London elite.”
“Will we go to balls?” Beatrix asked, her eyes alight.
“I’m sure you will.”
“And drink champagne?” Berty said enthusiastically.
“When you’re much older. So you see, you have so many wonderful things to look forward to.”
“I suppose.” Bethanny nodded with a thoughtful expression.
A knock sounded at the door. “Yes?” Carlotta answered.
Murray entered. “Dinner is served.”
“Lovely. Thank you.” Carlotta stood, her charges mimicking her movements.
“Let’s follow Mr. Murray while he escorts us to dinner.”
They went down the hall and soon the heavenly fragrance of roasted duck with some sort of rich sauce assaulted Carlotta’s senses. It had been an age, it seemed, since she had enjoyed a proper meal. At least since the fretful day Mr. Burrows had come to call. She’d found her appetite had quite disappeared, and then when it returned, she was already on her way to London and the fare she procured wasn’t of the tempting variety.
They entered a gilded dining room with gleaming picture frames and polished sconces that reflected the candlelight in a deep glow. Velvet-covered chairs of deep crimson offered soft and luxurious respite as they all sat down to the table. While the room was large enough to accommodate at least fifty, the extra leaves had been removed from the table, which made it much smaller, though still far too large for the small party about to dine.
Dinner was served with a grand flourish, each dish as beautifully displayed as it was delicious. Carlotta kept her eye on the girls, watching their table manners and tucking little observances into the back of her mind for later instruction. A voice boomed in the hall, startling her.
“I don’t care if it’s the bloody Noah’s flood! They can’t be here tomorrow! I’m… entertaining,” the dominant male voice shouted, clearly the duke and therefore not accustomed to other people in hearing distance within his own home.
Carlotta heard Murray’s voice but was unable to distinguish his words. It was quiet then, too quiet. Carlotta glanced at the girls. They were all staring at their plates, their eating long ceased as they clearly understood the meaning behind the loud shouts.
They weren’t wanted.
And nothing could have angered Carlotta more. Right then she decided, regardless of what Mrs. Pott said about the duke caring about his servants, all the gossip concerning him had to be truth. He was arrogant and thought only of himself. Truly, it was maddening for someone with so much power, wealth and influence to be so concerned with just himself. However, she didn’t need the girls sharing her opinion, though she rather thought they’d figure it out soon enough. As their guardian, they needed to respect the duke, regardless.
“Girls, in spite of what you heard, remember that the duke is taking very good care of you. You’re fed, you have a warm place to sleep, and now you have me. I imagine it is quite a difficult adjustment for him as well. Let us have grace for, well, his grace. Shall we?”
****
Charles wiped his face with his white-gloved hand at the gentle and unaccountably forgiving tone of the woman just on the other side of the door. Thoroughly shamed, not only by his butler, who had calmly reminded him that his guests were nearby and therefore privy to his loud declaration, but now by the lowly governess also. There was only so much humbling a duke could survive without taking to an evening of fine brandy.
A copious amount of fine brandy.
Her words were gentle, but it was primarily what she said. In all of this, no one had even considered his feelings. As he thought of it, it did sound rather selfish. The poor girls had lost their parents and now were forced to deal with the likes of him. But still, it was a miserable adjustment for him, regardless of the fact that they’d be in Bath shortly. Before, all he had to worry about was his land, his title, and his person. Now, he had the lives—the destinies—of three young women, and as much as he truly was the monster the ton gossiped about, he wasn’t completely heartless. He took his job seriously, and those girls wouldn’t go without a single necessity or want. He’d make sure of it.
He listened closely, waiting to see if she’d speak again.
“Yes, Miss Lottie. I suppose your right. Truly, we’ve not even met him yet. So it wouldn’t be fair to judge him.”
“At least yet,” chimed in another voice.
Charles grimaced. He’d been avoiding them for a few days now, conveniently leaving before they were about and returning when he knew they wouldn’t be awake. He truly had no idea what to say to them.
So he said nothing at all.
“I’m sure his grace is quite busy.” The governess spoke again.
Was it his imagination or did her voice sound beautiful? Like it belonged to a beautiful woman, that was. He would know, he’d heard the voices of a great many women, most of them beautiful.
Curiosity captured his fancy and he decided that there was no time like the present, so he straightened his stature, tugged his gloves into place and took a deep breath. Pushing the door open, he was greeted by four gasps of surprise.
The young girls all looked remarkably alike, and strangely enough, reminded him of his mother’s portrait of when she was younger. His eyes then moved to the governess.
And his mouth went dry.
He would have to have a very serious word with Mrs. Pott.
Mentally, he ran over his requirements for a governess for the girls. Appearance had never been spoken about, but in his head, he’d been thinking along the line of someone like…well, like Mrs. Pott.
Not the tempting beauty regarding him calmly. Calmly? Shouldn’t she be at least mildly afraid? He was a duke after all, and his reputation did precede him. Surely, she knew, unless she was foreign?
“Hello, ladies.” He bowed crisply then strode over to the head of the table.
Murray appeared in short order, filling his wine glass and setting a place for him.
“Your grace,” the beauty replied, the girls echoing her voice in quick succession.
“I trust you are the new governess?” he asked.
“Yes, I was hired by your housekeeper just this morning,” she replied, clearly not foreign but proper English.
“Very good, and you lovely ladies, must be the misses Lamonts.”
“Yes, your grace,” they murmured in unison.
“I’m pleased to make the acquaintance of such lovely ladies.” He nodded, but his gaze slid over to the governess.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as if seeing through him.
Perhaps she did know his reputation then. No matter, in a few day’s time, at the most, she would be gone to Bath with the girls, removing the temptation.
****
As his bloody luck would have it, it rained. Not the typical English spring shower, but a monsoon-like torrential downpour.
And after the first day, he had tried to escape the confines of his house and ended up soaked before he made it to the second step, even with an umbrella. No longer feeling adventurous, he decided he needed to catch up on his business.
By mid-afternoon, his eyes blurry and fully ready to direct themselves somewhere other than fine print, he strode out to the library.
And found it already occupied. Before he was noticed, he began to close the door then paused.
“Miss Lottie? How do I waltz?” one of the girls asked, he assumed the oldest.
“Waltz? Well, first you should learn the cotillion, quadrille—”
“Oh! I know those! I just never… well we were going to learn the waltz next but…” Her voice trailed off, distinctly hesitant and… sad?
Belatedly he remembered the ward’s loss of their parents. He knew the em
pty ache of loss that accompanied the death of one’s mother and father, but he suspected that his wards had been far more attached to their parents than he had been to his.
“We shall remedy that, then.” The governess spoke again her tone overly bright, as if she had heard the sorrow as well. Carlotta. He practiced the name in his mind, letting its cadence float to his lips in a whisper. It was a beautiful name, a passionate name. The sound of it evoked the idea of color and desire.
It was not the name for a governess, he decided, but a temptress.
Which was all too accurate.
A governess masquerading as a temptress. Heaven help him.
“Now, Beatrix? Can you play the pianoforte for us? Slowly, if you please.”
“Yes, Miss Lottie.”
“Bethanny, I’m going to lead. But first, you must know that before you waltz, you must have permission from a patroness of Almack’s. Understood?”
“Yes, Miss Lottie.”
“Now, then. My hand will hold your waist, and your hand will rest on my shoulder. Very good. Beatrix? If you will?”
The music began, painfully slow and all other instruction given was unclear. Charles stood to leave, took a full step away from the door and then—
She laughed.
It was a glorious sound, deep and rich, unabashed and unapologetic with a joy that came from deep within. It was artless, it was full, it was perfect.
Turning back around, he stared at the door, willing for the beautiful laughter to ring again.
He wasn’t disappointed, and to his amazement, he felt himself grinning, then chuckling as he heard the other girls join in with the governess’ amusement.
Unable to resist, he knocked.
Then entered, because well, it was his house.
“It seems that you are having entirely too joyful of a time in here,” he said as he entered.
The music stopped.
The girls stood up straight.
The laughter…ended.
And his grin left at the same time.
“Is there a problem, your grace?” the governess, Carlotta, asked.
“No, no problem. I seem to be needed, however.” He felt a roguish grin take the earlier one’s place as a wicked thought entered his mind. “It seems that you are attempting to teach a waltz, am I correct?” he asked, walking forward.
“Yes, your grace,” Carlotta responded, her clear green eyes alight with curiosity.
“It is very difficult to learn unless observed first. Er…” He turned to the oldest girl, furrowing his brow as he tried to remember her name.
“Bethanny,” Carlotta helped.
“Yes, Bethanny, have you ever seen a waltz?”
“Once, my parents showed me but it’s been quite a while, your grace,” she stammered, her cheeks high in color.
“Then allow me to assist.” He turned towards Carlotta, took three steps and held out his hands. “May I have the honor?” He bowed.
“Of—of, course, your grace.”
Her cheeks were blooming with a delicate shade of rose, her eyes widening in surprise as she caught her lower lip in her teeth in what appeared to be a show of anxiety.
Glancing over to the piano player, he lifted his chin and then lowered it, signaling for her to begin.
He placed his hand at Carlotta’s waist, squeezing it slightly as he drew her in so that their bodies were separated by a respectable distance. A moment later, her hand rested on his shoulder, even as her gaze was firmly set on the location of his cravat. After grasping her hand and arching it out, he began to lead.
And all semblance this waltz had to a million others he had danced in his past ended in a breath. He had danced with a great many women in his day, but none of them compared with her.
His hand burned where it touched hers, causing the heat to crawl up his arm, burst through his chest and ignite a passion he would rather have remained hidden. The scent of lemon and lilac rose from her skin, inviting and fragrant and intoxicatingly alluring. Her steps were light, her body the perfect size and shape, the shape being all too close to the forefront of his mind as his hand rested on her waist.
He guided her through the steps, using the subtlest of cues for his direction and finding her flawlessly attentive. Her steps were graceful, and though her gaze hadn’t lifted to his, he was shamelessly memorizing the heightened color of her cheeks, the delighted curve of her smile and her enjoyment made his complete.
Till she glanced up.
And he was reminded just how dangerous this dance could truly be. The music continued, reaching a crescendo that pulled him into the melody, and without forethought, he pulled her in tighter till he could feel her warmth.
Only when she stiffened and her gaze shifted back to his cravat did he realize what he was doing.
Only then did he remember that they had an audience.
A very young audience.
“That, Miss Bethanny, is how you waltz.” He slowly released Carlotta as the music ended, his gaze never leaving her face. Then he lost himself in her green depths as her gaze rose to meet his.
“Oh,” came Bethanny’s breathless reply.
“Thank you, your grace.” Carlotta curtseyed and, if he wasn’t mistaken, her tone was deeper, husky… affected.
“The pleasure was mine.” He bowed and then glanced away and into the faces of his three wards, all wearing very different expressions.
Bethanny’s lips were split into an excited grin. The one on the piano, Beatrix? She was blushing as she averted her gaze while she stacked her music and the youngest… Robert-something, started twirling with an invisible partner.
With a bow to the governess, he quit the room, his lips curving into a grin as he relived the sensation of her in his arms. But as soon as the delightful thoughts tumbled through his mind, he remembered her station.
And his.
And how foolish it was to entertain even the slightest attachment.
But bloody hell, if she wasn’t perfection in his arms, then he didn’t know what was.
****
“Let’s have some tea, shall we girls?” Carlotta said as soon as the door closed behind the duke. She needed something, anything to distract her from the spell he had expertly woven around them while they danced.
If she’d ever doubted the rumors of his nature before, she believed them now. The man had practically turned the waltz into a ruining experience.
It was delicious.
And wrong. Very, very wrong.
He was her employer, and a duke, for heaven’s sake! She could not let herself be affected by him.
She would not let him affect her.
“Miss Lottie! Do you think his grace will dance with me when I’m older?” Berty asked, her eyes wide with hope. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful!” She sighed happily as she danced around the room, mimicking the waltz.
“Perhaps,” Carlotta answered, her composure returning as she watched Berty twirl.
“He’s a very good dancer,” Beatrix commented as she stood from the piano. “You both are. I hope I’m as graceful as you, Miss Lottie,” the girl added with a shy smile.
“I’m sure you’ll be much more graceful than I, Beatrix,” Carlotta answered with an answering grin.
“Is…I don’t mean to question, Miss Lottie, but was that how close the waltz is?” Bethanny asked, her brow pinched.
Carlotta felt her face flush. “Not exactly, when you dance you’ll want to maintain a bit more distance.”
“Why?” Berty asked, pausing in her dance.
“For propriety’s sake. The waltz is a very controversial dance, you see.”
“Why?” she asked, again. Carlotta was discovering it was the child’s favorite question.
“For many reasons, first, you are only with one partner not moving about like in a reel. Second, you are holding hands with the gentleman you are dancing with.”
“Oh. That was my favorite part.” Berty’s shoulders slumped.
; “If it’s not proper though, why did you and the duke dance so close?” Beatrix asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion.
Carlotta opened her mouth to give some sort of reply, one she hadn’t quite thought up yet, and was interrupted.
“Because… he’s the duke and he may dance how he wants,” Berty answered with a decisive nod.
“And there you have it.” Carlotta nodded as well, thankful for the little girl’s statement.
“Now, I believe I mentioned tea?” She spoke with a smile. Anything to get their little minds off the most beautiful waltz she’d ever experienced.
****
It was day four of the horrific rain. And Charles was feeling all the good will of a spring stag. He had finished all his paperwork, his estate business and anything else he could find. There was one final piece of business to which he had to attend.
He fingered the thick envelope then called for Murray.
“Yes, your grace?” Murray asked, his lean face emotionless.
“Please have this delivered to the address specified. Immediately.”
“Very good, your grace.” With a bow, he left.
It’s done. Charles thought to himself, feeling a weight lifting off his shoulders.
He couldn’t determine if it was the influence of having those wards in his home, or the allure of his pretty governess, but the thought of a mistress had turned decidedly sour.
It was an impulsive action, but one he didn’t regret. Céline had been very gracious, but… the idea left him empty, hungering for something more, something deeper. Something he didn’t quite understand or know how to attain but needed nonetheless. Taking the first step, he wrote the letter releasing her from his protection. No doubt she had quite a few gentlemen waiting for her availability. There was no worry about her welfare.
He felt lighter, somewhat confused at his rare inclination at emotion, but pleased nonetheless and so, with a somewhat sunnier disposition than the one with which he had begun the morning, he left his study and wandered down the hall.
And was immediately bored.
Blasted rain.
And, because he was curious and, indeed, he found it far too entertaining of a prospect, he wandered towards the nursery. He told himself it was not to see Carlotta, as he had taken to calling her in his mind, but to check on the wards. They were his responsibility, after all.
A Hoyden and an Heiress (Greenford Waters Book 4) Page 13