The Duke's Governess Bride

by Miranda Jarrett

  ‘Beggin’ pardon, your Grace, but Mrs Battista’s the housekeeper,’ Wilson insisted, ‘and housekeepers always have a rare way for knowing everything worth knowing.’

  ‘Please do not speak so in the signora’s hearing, Mr Wilson,’ Jane said. ‘She is the owner of this venerable house, not its housekeeper, and her family is one of the most honourable of this region.’

  At once Richard wheeled around. ‘Miss Wood!’

  ‘Yes, your Grace.’ She bowed her head and curtsied, as calmly as if she’d just appeared in his drawing room at home and not from God only knew where here in Venice.

  ‘You’re safe?’ he demanded. ‘Unharmed?’

  She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, without raising her chin. ‘Yes, your Grace.’

  ‘You are certain? No misadventures?’ He was persisting beyond reason, but he couldn’t help himself, not when he thought again of how much he’d feared for her. ‘You understand that as long as you remain in my household, your welfare is my responsibility.’

  ‘Yes, your Grace,’ she said, slowly rising. ‘I understand, and I am most grateful for it.’

  ‘Yes.’ Richard cleared his throat, now feeling vaguely foolish.

  ‘Indeed, your Grace.’ She nodded solemnly. ‘Signora della Battista told me you wished to see me directly upon my return.’

  ‘I did.’ He waved his hand brusquely to send Wilson on his way, and cleared this throat again. ‘Yes, I did.’

  He wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to say to Miss Wood, but he did know he’d no wish to say it before gossipy Wilson. Her composure wasn’t helping him, either. The dark wool of her cloak was dotted with spray from the canal, and the tiny dots of water caught the firelight like dozens of tiny jewels. Wispy ringlets of her dark hair had worked their way free of her cap, and they, too, sparkled with droplets around her face—she even had them, he realised, in her lashes. Her cheeks were rosy from the damp cold, her lips slightly parted and her breathing quick from the exertion of doubtless running up the stairs to join him.

  She was, in short, dazzling.

  When in blazes did she begin to look like this?

  He knew he was staring at her—no, gaping at her like some sort of mooncalf boy, and like a mooncalf boy, the words he’d planned to say had fled completely from his head.

  He wanted to tell her how she’d no right running off like she had, with neither warning nor leave from him. He didn’t mean to scold her exactly, but rather to let her know how much he’d feared for her safety, the way he would for anyone in his employ. Yes, that was it. He’d always prided himself on being a responsible master to his staff, hadn’t he?

  Yet where Miss Wood was concerned, it might not be quite so simple. In her company this morning, he’d enjoyed himself more than he had in years, there in that gliding gondola. He’d lost himself in listening to the pleasing timbre of her voice, and seeing how brightly her eyes shone in the pale winter sunlight. She’d put him so at his ease that he’d spoken to her of his wife, of things he’d never spoken of to anyone else, and he’d enjoyed that, too, though in a bitter-sweet way. He’d even listened with fascination to her own tale of lost love, realising how she’d trusted him enough to tell it. Women didn’t make confidences like that easily, especially women like Miss Wood. He wanted to hear more, which was part of the reason he’d been so stunned when she’d abandoned him in the boat. He’d tried to follow, but because she had had a head start, she’d soon disappeared, and he’d hadn’t a prayer of finding her in this rabbit warren of a city.

  He intended to tell her that, of course, and to explain how he’d never wished to offend or to wound her as he apparently had. He meant to apologise, too. He probably shouldn’t confess that he’d no idea of how he’d misspoken, but he was still willing to take all the blame on himself. How could he do otherwise, considering her expression before she’d leaped from the gondola? For once, it seemed more important to make things right than to be right.

  That was what he wished to tell Miss Wood now, and a great deal more besides. All this afternoon he’d planned his speech, rehearsing it a score of different ways in his head until he’d got it exactly right. Yet now, with her standing before him twinkling in the firelight, he couldn’t remember one blasted word.

  Fortunately, however, Miss Wood didn’t seem to notice. Instead she was too intent on delivering a rehearsed speech of her own.

  ‘Your Grace,’ she began with a small, resolute shake of her head, ‘pray forgive me for speaking first, but I wish to apologise for what I did earlier today.’

  Mystified, Richard nodded and motioned for her to sit, an offer she either ignored or failed to notice. Ordinarily he would have sat regardless of whether she had or not, a prerogative of his rank. He was a duke, and dukes generally sat where and when they pleased.

  Yet because he’d no wish to put any further distance between them, he, too, ignored the chair and remained standing, where he was certain not to miss every last emotion flicker through her blue eyes.

  Yet there was also another reason, if he were honest with himself. By standing so evenly before her, he felt more her equal, less a duke and governess than simply a man and a woman—a man who was finding this particular woman more intriguingly attractive by the minute.

  She took another breath to settle herself before she began, her breasts rising beneath the unadorned woollen gown.

  ‘I must beg your forgiveness, your Grace,’ she said, her words now coming in a rush. ‘This morning you chose to confide in me, and I misunderstood the nature of your confidences. I fear that in that state of—of misunderstanding, I grew distraught, and acted on impulse and in haste, and fled the gondola without your leave.’

  ‘You fled me, which is much more to the point,’ he said gruffly. ‘It didn’t matter one way or the other to the gondola.’

  She flushed, yet did not look away from him, a rare and enchanting mixture of vulnerability and resolve.

  ‘Yes, your Grace,’ she said. ‘It did not matter to the gondola, but it did to me, which is no excuse for—’

  ‘It did?’ he asked, surprised beyond measure. And here he’d been thinking his attraction to her was a one-sided affair! ‘It, ah, mattered to you?’

  ‘Of course it did, your Grace,’ she said, her voice shaking with a small wounded tremor that could have humbled a man twice the duke’s size. ‘You honoured me by telling me of her Grace, and I responded most inappropriately by speaking of a gentleman who was once dear to me. It was most grievously improper of me, I know, and I beg—’

  ‘But it wasn’t improper, or inappropriate,’ he said. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Forgive me, your Grace, but it most certainly was!’ she exclaimed, her eyes widening with indignation. ‘As you yourself have said, your Grace, I am a member of your household. It is my place, my duty, to put aside my own wishes and instead to obey yours, and I—’

  ‘Dine with me,’ he said. ‘Now. I’ve kept the cook waiting long enough.’

  ‘Yes, your Grace,’ Jane said, already sinking into another curtsy of acquiescence. ‘As you—’

  ‘No, not because it pleases me, but because it pleases you.’ Now the words came, though they certainly weren’t the same ones he’d originally planned. ‘I’d be honoured if you agree.’

  She frowned. ‘As we dined this morning, your Grace?’

  ‘Not like that, no,’ he said. ‘That is, yes, to dine together at the same table as we did this morning, but in a different fashion, a different—oh, blast, I’m babbling like an idiot.’

  ‘No, your Grace,’ she said, a hint of amusement flickering through her eyes. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I am,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘and that’s what I’m trying to explain. My daughters don’t require a governess, and I don’t require a guide or other contrivance meant to educate me further. At my age, I’ve likely learned as much as I ever will, and no amount of further lecturing from you, however informative and well meant, will change that, or
me, either.’

  She did not move, yet in some indecipherable way she seemed to wilt before his eyes. The tiny drops of water scattered over her had dissipated, too, and with it her fairy-like sparkle.

  ‘I understand fully, your Grace,’ she said softly. ‘With my services no longer required, I will make arrangements to leave in the morning.’

  Resigned to dismissal, she began to curtsy once again, until Richard seized her arm to stop her.

  ‘Damnation, that’s not what I intended at all!’ he exclaimed. ‘I meant that I don’t need a nurserymaid. I’m not so old as that. I need company, feminine company.’

  Her eyes widened, now sharp with outrage where they’d been soft, and she looked pointedly at his hand around her arm. ‘This is Venice, your Grace. You’ll find a courtesan eager to oblige you waiting in nearly every doorway.’

  ‘Surely you know me better than that, Miss Wood,’ he said, his words clipped and his outrage now a match for hers. ‘I wish company, not an amorous plaything who’ll try to rob me blind. I want the company of an Englishwoman who’ll accept me for what I am, and amuse me with her conversation.’

  ‘You are still a duke, while I am a governess without a place.’

  ‘Here I will be your host, and you my guest. We can put aside the rest.’

  ‘You ask a great deal, your Grace,’ she said warily.

  ‘Not so much,’ he said, all blunt honesty. ‘I’m lonely, lass. I miss my girls.’

  ‘So do I,’ she said wistfully. ‘But is that enough?’

  ‘In Venice, it is,’ he said. ‘Mind you, here they put ham and chocolate together.’

  She smiled, a wondrous, unexpected sight that pleased him no end. He released her arm, sliding his hand lightly down its length.

  ‘I need someone I can talk to,’ he said. ‘Someone who’ll listen to me, but who isn’t afraid to speak her own thoughts in turn, or tell me when I’m being an ass. You’ll do that, Miss Wood. I’ve no doubt of it.’

  She looked up at his face. ‘Your Grace, I have never in my life called anyone an “ass.”’

  ‘Then you have never been sufficiently provoked,’ he said, teasing her. ‘I must try my best, yes?’

  He laughed and she laughed with him, shyly, but laughing still. It felt good, that shared laughter, something he’d been missing from his life for years and years. All that time, he’d believed he’d honoured his Anne by keeping to himself, with only her memory for company. He’d believed his heart had wanted nothing more. He’d been strong before everyone else, solitary in his grief and suffering, and admired by the world for his fortitude and courage.

  But now, because of the laughter of a single small woman far from home, everything he’d believed in was changing. Though he’d never have expected it last night, this was what he wanted, what he needed. It was startling, even bewildering, and yet he couldn’t deny that it somehow felt right, clear to his once-wounded heart.

  He needed his daughters’ governess. No, not quite—he needed Miss Jane Wood.

  He let their mingled laughter fade, his expression turning solemn. ‘You will join me, then?’ he said, his voice more serious than he’d intended. ‘We’ll go below and dine together?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled shyly, just enough for him to realise how great a step this was for her. ‘Because this is Venice, not Aston, and everything here is magic.’

  Chapter Ten

  Magic.

  When Jane thought back to that first dinner alone with the duke, she couldn’t recall exactly what Signora della Battista’s excellent cook sent up to their table, or how much of it she actually ate. She couldn’t have said if the signora herself stood by to explain the various dishes, as had been her habit on other nights, or whether she’d left them alone to discover the delicacies on their own.

  What Jane did remember was entering the dining room with the table long enough to have seated a score of elegant Venetians. Tall gilded candelabras stood along the length, lighting the early dusk of the winter evening with long tapers in each dolphin-shaped branch. Fine linen, embroidered with gold and scarlet on the hems, dressed the table, and the silver and crystal gleamed by the candles’ glow. The duke’s place was laid at one end, and Jane’s far down beyond the candelabras at the other, as was proper.

  But the duke would have none of it.

  ‘Here now, ma’am, this isn’t what I ordered,’ he said before they’d even entered the room. ‘I don’t want Miss Wood banished off to China like that. Put her chair next to mine, so we can be sociable, and dowse that blaze of candles. The ones before us are more than enough.’

  In an instant the signora’s servants had done as the duke had bid, and Jane found herself being seated on the corner of the table at the duke’s elbow as a long-faced footman guided her chair.

  ‘That’s more to my liking.’ The duke sighed with contentment as he settled in the tall-backed armchair. ‘Now some wine, and we’ll be happy as sheep in clover.’

  At once another footman appeared to fill Jane’s glass, or he would have, if she hadn’t put her palm flat over the top of her glass to stop him.

  ‘What is this, Miss Wood?’ asked the duke, making a great show of his incredulity. ‘You will not drink with me?’

  ‘I’d shame myself for certain if I tried to keep pace with you, your Grace,’ Jane said, still keeping her hand firmly in place. ‘I’ve no gift for tippling.’

  ‘No?’ He worked his dark brows dramatically. ‘Be truthful, now. I know I give leave for drinking in the servants’ hall. I’ve seen the accounting.’

  ‘Beer and ale, your Grace,’ she said primly. ‘None of the women drank it.’

  ‘Then what of this long journey with my girls? Surely somewhere in all that wandering about France you acquired a taste for the grape?’

  ‘What I acquired, your Grace, is an unshakeable knowledge of my own weakness where drink is concerned,’ she said. ‘I am a small woman. One glass is my limit, and no more.’

  ‘Well, then, one glass it shall be.’ Cheerfully he waved away her hand, and the dark red wine flowed into her glass. ‘I’ve no wish to see you in your cups, Miss Wood, but it would seem that if we’ve this splendid vintage, then we should drink it.’

  She smiled at him over the rim of the glass, recognising the challenge in his words. ‘I vow I’ll make this last until we rise from the table.’

  He chuckled. ‘I don’t doubt that you will. Regardless of your size, you are a formidable woman, not to be crossed.’

  That made her grin. ‘Your daughters would agree.’

  ‘Oh, I’m certain they would, just as I’m certain they tested you more times than we could count, the little devils.’ He raised his own glass, holding it out towards hers. ‘A toast. To Venice, and friendship.’

  ‘To friends,’ she echoed softly, and sipped from her glass. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she’d agreed to dine with him, but so far the experience was most pleasant indeed.

  ‘That’s a good wine,’ the duke said appreciatively. ‘No wonder you’ve enjoyed yourself here, Miss Wood, with the signora’s cellar for company each night.’

  ‘The wine here is well regarded, your Grace,’ Jane said promptly, always ready to supply such information. ‘Not exactly from Venice itself, to be sure, but from the region around us, called the Veneto. I believe we are drinking a Valpolicella ripasso, “robust and vigorous”, as they say, and the Caesars—’

  ‘Hush, hush, no more lectures,’ the duke said. ‘Not tonight, eh?’

  ‘Oh, your Grace, forgive me,’ she said ruefully. ‘It’s so much my habit, I can’t help myself.’

  ‘You should,’ he said gently, his gaze so intent on her that she felt her cheeks warm. ‘I’d much rather hear of you than a thousand dry old Caesars.’

  She’d never had any man smile at her like that. She was most definitely flustered, yet it wasn’t an unpleasant kind of fluster. She felt heated, and a little off balance, as if she might topple if she tried to stand. But wh
at was strangest of all was how, when the duke looked at her, she almost felt…pretty.

  ‘But gentlemen love the Caesars, your Grace,’ she said, her voice sounding curiously breathy. ‘Conquests, chariots, centurions! It’s all a great deal more exciting than I am, your Grace.’

  ‘Not to me.’ The way he said it made her believe him, too. ‘Tell me more of yourself.’

  ‘But there’s not much more to tell, your Grace,’ she protested. ‘Truly, there isn’t.’

  ‘Oh, come, come, come,’ he said, coaxing her. He linked his fingers together on the table and leaned closer to her, lowering his voice as if they were conspirators. ‘You’ve had your swallow of wine. Hasn’t that loosened your tongue sufficiently?’

  She smiled, and shrugged from embarrassment. ‘I assure you, your Grace, I’ve nothing to tell. My life has been most ordinary, or rather, it was until I came to Aston Hall.’

  ‘Hah, now that’s a fair start.’ Impatiently he sat back in his chair to let the footman place a plate before him. With no regard for the cook’s labours, he took up his fork and began to eat. ‘Tell me all. What made you accept the place? What were your first impressions of us wicked old Farrens?’

  ‘Not so wicked, your Grace, not by half,’ she said. ‘At least not the young ladies. They were a bit unruly when first I arrived, but that was soon corrected. They were the reason I took the post, too. Two small motherless girls! How could I have resisted?’

  ‘I’d wager that their having a duke for a father didn’t dissuade you,’ he said, cutting the roasted pheasant on his plate with hearty enthusiasm. ‘When I made it known it was time for the girls to shift from a nursemaid to a governess, why, I’d hoards of grim-faced women thumping at the gates.’

  ‘Yet you chose me.’ She smiled. ‘I’d always wondered at that. I’d only had one other place in my references, and I was so young myself—’

  ‘You’re not exactly doddering now.’

  ‘I’m twenty-nine,’ she said evenly, not flinching from the horrible truth. Besides, he knew it already, so there wasn’t much point in dissembling now. ‘Which is doddering for a spinster governess.’