Bridget removed her travel dress and stood in her petticoats before the mirror. With tender motions, she scrubbed her arms and neck and armpits and flung a brush through her blonde curls, finally creating an appropriate shape. She felt time dripping away all too quickly.
When dinner approaching, she buttoned herself into her dinner gown—light pink, with a large flowing skirt, and much of her neck and chest bare, then opened the door and inhaled sharply. In only a few moments, she would meet her employer, the children, the rest of the family. Everything hinged on these next moments. She was terrified.
Chapter 3
It had been a long journey. Graham leapt out of the carriage on a chilly late-April afternoon, hungry and aching, admittedly in a bit of a bad mood. He grunted his hello to the stableman, Colin, who blabbed on a bit about the new governess he’d picked up at the coach station.
“Came in from far away,” Colin said, who was always apt to spew whatever gossip he felt appropriate. “Almost pretty, the young thing, and certainly frightened of being so far from home. I tried my darnedest to speak with her, but she closed up.”
“That so?” Graham ensured that his voice was flat, so as to alert Colin that he wasn’t prepared for a full-flung conversation. He’d been on a trip south of London the previous week, visiting an old friend, and he hadn’t a care in the world for any new governess, anything to do with his half-siblings, Kitty and Andrew. He’d never fully bonded with them, never truly considered them much of anything beyond distant relatives. In his mind, Huntington Estate would be his one day, and he had to ensure he kept a healthy relationship with his father. But his father’s second marriage, after the death of his mother, had always made him feel on-edge in his own home.
Colin chortled and gave Graham a funny look. Graham baulked and said, “What is it, Colin? Do you have some sort of secret?”
“Of course not, My Lord,” Colin returned. “It’s only that it strikes me you become more serious with each passing year. Even your father finds the capacity for laughter.”
Graham resented these sorts of comments, although he did hear them from time-to-time. He yearned to bite back, state that he took his affairs and his life incredibly seriously, that he hadn’t the time for any such silly banter. But he swung his eyes back towards the mansion and said, “Thank you for tending to the horses, Colin. Good evening.”
He strode towards the mansion’s back door. As he went, he caught sight of both Kitty and Andrew, playing with the gamekeeper’s son near the back of the rose garden. Kitty leaped up and waved wildly, her little white palm flashing. Graham paused, watching as Kitty sprung forward, her face blotchy with excitement. When she reached him, she nearly leaped up to hug him but held back. Perhaps she, even at six years old, sensed the distance Graham required between himself and others.
“Brother! You’ve returned!” she cried. The girl was deliriously cute, with black curls that bounced around her wide cheeks and eyes that sparkled with seemingly endless laughter. “Where have you been? I asked Mother when you’d arrive back …”
“Good evening, Kitty,” Graham returned, his voice sterile. “I trust you’ve spent the afternoon playing.”
Kitty nodded vehemently. “Father says that we’re to begin our studies tomorrow, and we didn’t wish to lose our very last day of freedom.”
She turned quickly and waved to Andrew to join her. But by the time she returned her gaze to Graham, he’d sped himself up to the back door. He hollered back, “I’ll see you at dinner, Kitty. I don’t wish to interrupt your play.”
Lately, upon his entrance into the Huntington Estate, Graham had felt something ominous, strange, as though he’d become a stranger in his own home. Near the back door, he inhaled the simmering smell of dinner cooking. Roasted duck, potatoes, stuffing.
As he strode past the kitchen, the 30-something cook, Margery, gave him a light smile. Her apron was blotched with dinner stains. Unlike Colin, she recognized that he hadn’t the wish to speak, and she turned back to the spitting vat of potatoes, humming to herself.
Graham knew that his father, the Duke of Buckinghamshire, Randall Huntington himself, would be seated at his desk, organizing his affairs for the last hours of the day, prior to dinner. Graham reached the door and rapped at it. His father’s voice barrelled back. “Come in.”
Graham did. He shot through the door, feeling himself a storm of energy, and then perched at the edge of the chair in front of his father’s desk, watching as his father made the last few notches in his ledger.
“Son,” the Duke said, without glancing up from his ledger. “I trust that your journey was without a hitch.”
“Yes,” Graham returned. He clamped his hands together, hating that his father’s lack of looking at him made him feel strangely alien, as though he was unworthy of his father’s attention. This had always been so, since he’d been a child.
Especially, it brought up memories of after his mother’s death, when his father hadn’t found it in him to give his only son, Graham, the time of day. That had slowly drifted away, once the Duke had remarried, and she’d given birth to two more precious children. However, Graham had never been able to shake off the feeling that he drudged up horrendous memories in his father’s mind. This wasn’t his fault.
His father dotted a final i and crossed a t on the ledger and then dropped his quill back in its container, crossed his hands beneath his chin and said, “The new governess has arrived.”
“Yes,” Graham returned. “Colin informed me of this fact.”
“I do hope that she’s appropriate for the children,” his father continued. “It’s been such a horrendous time finding appropriate educators for them, as you know.”
Graham had hardly paid attention, but he nodded anyway.
“Regardless, we’re meeting her at dinner. Perhaps you could join us? It would be good to have your opinion of her. During these first weeks, she’s on a bit of a trial. I dare say, if she isn’t up to snuff, we can easily send her back home.”
“Of course,” Graham said. “Happy to be of help.”
There was a strange silence. Graham inhaled slowly and rose to his feet, grabbing his travel bag along with him. “I will see you at dinner, then,” he said. Then, he marched out into the hallway and walked toward his quarters, the rooms he’d had to himself since the age of 16. Once there, he splayed his travel bag next to his desk and eyed himself in the mirror.
With every passing day, he seemed to grow into someone he didn’t recognize: a dark and brooding man, black curly hair and dark eyes, his shoulders broad and his stature tall, even taller than his father’s. Outside, an April rain began to patter.
Chapter 4
How jittery Bridget felt as she crept down from her new bedroom. Only minutes later, she would meet her employer, his children, the great Huntington family of Buckinghamshire. How outrageous it felt, to be an outsider in this immaculate, enormous, history-laden mansion. If only these humans could see the place she called her home. How ridiculous and tiny they’d find it.
When she reached the bottom floor, she heard the chipper voices of the children. She recited their names in her head, as though she even had the capacity to forget them. Kitty and Andrew, Andrew and Kitty. Midway through the hallway, William stepped out from another parlour room and bowed once more. “Shall I introduce you to your employer?” he asked, his voice sombre yet polite.
“You’re really too kind,” Bridget said, her voice wavering once more.
They stepped down the hallway, with William slightly ahead of Bridget. A cook bustled out of the kitchen, her apron stained and beamed at the two of them. Her eyes sparkled as she said, “You must be the new governess! Goodness, it’s wonderful that you’re here.”
Bridget gave a half-smile and was so distracted that she nearly toppled into William as he stopped before the dining room. Sure enough, the voices of the children bubbled from within, speaking in conversation with a much older man and a woman. William stepped into the doorway
and bowed once more.
“Good evening, My Lord. My Lady. Kitty. Andrew,” William said.
“Good evening, William,” the Duke returned.
“I would like to introduce you to your newest employee,” William continued. “She’s arrived from a great distance and, I’m sure, is really quite hungry. Presenting, Bridget Cottrill, your new governess.”
William gestured, and Bridget played his game, stepping into view. She gave a shy smile to the older Duke, the much younger Duchess who sat across from him, and the two children, who sat on either side of the two parents. The young girl was adorable, with curly black hair, and the boy’s eyes glittered with interest, even as he struggled to deliver a smile of greeting.
“Good evening, Miss Cottrill,” the Duke said. He lifted himself from his chair and bowed his head. In return, Bridget curtsied. She’d never felt so entirely on display, so analyzed from all angles. “I trust your journey went well.”
“Yes. Quite,” Bridget returned. She lifted from her curtsy, feeling significantly clumsy, and drew her curls behind her ears.
“Please. Sit with us,” the Duke said, gesturing towards another chair at the table. Two empty ones remained.
Bridget swept towards it, eyeing Kitty and Andrew, who seemed as though they couldn’t possibly look at anything or anyone else.
“How long was the journey?” the Duchess asked. Her red hair glowed with the light from the sunset, which swept in from the western window.
“Two days,” Bridget said. “An adventure, really. I’d hardly been away from my family.”
“Just you and your parents, then?” the Duchess asked.
“No. I have four younger siblings, in fact,” Bridget said.
The Duchess’ eyes broadened. “Wow. Four younger! I can’t imagine the strength of your mother, raising five children. Especially without help.”
The Duchess gave a funny expression, one that seemed to translate how difficult it was for her with only two children. Bridget tried a good-natured laugh, yet felt that it sounded fake.
“We’re quite spaced out,” she added. “My youngest sibling is only six years old.”
“Like me!” Kitty piped up.
“That’s exactly right.”
The cook arrived back, along with several maids, who splayed out a roasted duck, roasted potatoes seasoned with little green flecks of herbs and butter, along with freshly-baked bread. The Duke and Duchess both received berry wine, which looked frankly delicious, but none was offered to Bridget. These were her employers, nothing more.
Suddenly, a figure appeared in the doorway. Bridget turned her head to discover a broad-shouldered, dark figure, a man with black curly hair and dominant eyes, an expression that seemed unable to draw up a smile. His eyes scanned her face, seemingly without question, and then he stepped into the room, a brooding force.
“Good evening, son,” the Duke said.
Son? Bridget eyed the two younger children with confusion. Neither of them looked at their older brother. Was it due to fear? Apprehension? His overall serious manner?
“Good evening,” the man returned. He seemed maybe 25 years old, only a few years older than Bridget. He slipped easily into the only other open chair and flipped his napkin across his lap.
“I’d like to introduce you to our new governess,” the Duke said. “She’s just arrived today.”
“Good evening,” the man said, his voice gritty. “My name is Graham. Graham Huntington. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
What was it, the way he looked at her? He seemed to dive fully through her, see directly through the fabric of her gown, peer all the way through her eyes. She shivered and cast her eyes towards her untouched roasted duck, willing him to look anywhere else. When she flashed her eyes back towards his, he still hadn’t looked anywhere else. She realized it was her turn to speak.
“Thank you. I’m Bridget. Bridget Cottrill. You—you have a lovely home,” she said. Her voice wavered yet again, and she felt flustered, as though her cheeks now burned with the misery of being analyzed so severely.
“It’s really a coincidence that I’m here tonight at all,” Graham said. “I just arrived back from a journey of my own. Quite fatigued, truly.”
“Always a pleasure to have you back,” the Duke stated. “My son takes his duties quite seriously. It’s a rare thing to get him to sit at the table for dinner with the rest of the family. Perhaps you’ll spot him from time to time at the estate, but he makes it a mission to keep as far from the rest of us as he can.”
The Duke winked, and Bridget gave an anxious smile. Still, Graham didn’t seem able to deliver anything but this stern, furrowed brow. He dove into his roasted duck, and Bridget poked through her meat with little tongs of her fork, willing herself to think of anything interesting to say. Finally, she flashed a lively smile, which forced Graham’s eyes up once more.
“Was it a secret mission you were on?” she asked. She was grateful to find her bright personality within herself once more.
There was a slight twinkle in Graham’s eyes. “Secret. Yes. That’s right. Top secret.”
“The sort of thing you really can’t divulge at the dinner table,” Bridget said, arching her brow.
“If I did reveal it, then I wouldn’t know what to do with all of you—the newfound keepers of my secrets,” Graham said.
Bridget’s smile grew wider. She was suddenly mesmerized with his sudden reveal of this other side of him. But just as quickly, it seemed to dip back, fade into the evening.
The Duchess sprung forth, asking Bridget about her planned lessons for the following day, the children’s first hours of lessons. Bridget had, in fact, spent a good deal of the previous weeks plotting how to teach the children.
“I thought we’d begin with everyone’s favorite …” Bridget said. “Mathematics, of course.”
Andrew groaned. Kitty batted her long eyelashes and said, “No, please! Not that.”
“Followed by French, of course,” Bridget said, stifling a laugh. “And Geography and Literature and a healthy bout of playing in the afternoon, of course. As much playing as we can muster.”
“I think you might find that my children are necessarily very good at that subject,” the Duchess said, grinning.
“Soon, we’ll do all our playtime in French,” she said. “They’ll forget English in no time.”
“Mes cheries,” the Duchess said, chuckling at their panicked expressions. “It all won’t be so wretched. I promise you.”
“It’s always a devastating thing, isn’t it?” Graham remarked. “The fact that one ever has to grow up and learn anything at all.”
“Absolutely,” Bridget said. “And yet the alternative—learning nothing at all—is much, much worse.”
“Very true,” Graham said. Slowly, he lent her another wry smile, which he seemed to abandon midway through.
As his smile fell, Bridget felt her heart thud with wonder, with apprehension. It had been ages since she’d spoken so openly with a man of her approximate age, since she’d always known Aaron to be within reach, analyzing her every move. There, at the dinner table of the Duke of Buckinghamshire, she suddenly felt free, easy. Alive.
She dug deeper into her duck and allowed herself to fall into the whoosh of the evening conversation. The only thing she knew for sure was that she couldn’t anticipate what happened next. That, and the fact that Graham thrilled her to the bone. Her heart had started a little, funny dance in her chest.
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A Wicked Duke's Prize: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 32