Never Doubt a Duke Page 4

  Something hot and wet dripped on her hands. Tears? Not now. Now she had a chance for a future, a home again. She might never find a love like she and Jimmy had shared, but she could still make a difference for someone.

  The scoundrel who had dared to search her trunk would learn that it took more than that to scare Jane Kimball.

  ~~~

  “A word, Your Grace?”

  In the library, Alaric looked up the next morning from his pressed copy of the Times into his butler’s implacable face. “Yes, Parsons?”

  His butler allowed a sigh to escape. “It’s about Mrs. Kimball, Your Grace. I’m not certain she should stay.”

  Alaric leaned back, foreboding dropping like a raincloud. “What’s happened? Salt in her tea? Snake in her bed?”

  Parsons went so far as to shudder. “Ladies Larissa, Calantha, and Abelona are far too refined to ever touch a creature like a snake. No, I fear she has countermanded Her Grace’s instructions.”

  Interesting. He had only known one person who could get around his mother’s edicts easily, and that had been his father. “Which instructions, precisely?” he asked, folding the paper and setting it aside.

  Parsons drew himself up. “She comforted Lady Calantha over a spider.”

  “A spider.” Alaric rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me, Parsons, but I seem to require another cup of tea this morning. Why is comforting a child over a spider a heinous crime?”

  Parsons hurried to refill the china cup on the desk. “Lady Calantha is perhaps a bit unreasonable in her fears. Her Grace advised us all to ignore her. Naturally, when Simmons heard her scream, he waited some time before responding. Mrs. Kimball had the effrontery to scold him for it.”

  Alaric set down his cup and rose. “Let me make sure I understand you. My daughter, the image of my dear, departed wife, screamed for help, and none of you responded?”

  Parsons wilted. “Her Grace said…”

  “Hang what my mother said.” Alaric leaned closer. “If one of my daughters screams, I want every able-bodied man and woman who hears it to run to her aid. Run, do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Of course, Your Grace.” Parsons’s hand was shaking, and he hurried to mop up the tea he’d dripped on the wood of the desk. “Then, Mrs. Kimball…”

  “Was entirely right in scolding Simmons. You can tell him that if I had been there, he would have received more than a scold. Are the girls up yet?”

  Parsons had recovered some of his usual dignity, for he straightened and looked down his nose. “They were up, dressed, and breakfasted before eight. She then took them for a walk.”

  By the sound of it, he considered that a heinous crime as well.

  “Excellent,” Alaric said, coming around the desk. “I feel the need to stroll as well. Send for me when Willard arrives.”

  He bowed. “Of course, Your Grace.”

  Alaric found Mrs. Kimball and the girls in his mother’s garden behind the house. Sheltered on all sides by a stone wall, the space featured crossing paths among precisely sculptured shrubs. Now it was barren from winter’s chill, but soon red and purple tulips would poke up their heads here and there, and the entire back wall would be braced by a bed of golden daffodils.

  Mrs. Kimball had her navy cloak about her again, bonnet hiding the shine of her dark hair. Each of the girls wore a blue redingote, quilted and tucked. Funny—he had never noticed their outfits matching before. He knew a lack of funds wasn’t to blame. Lack of imagination, perhaps?

  Abelona sighted him first. “Father!” Breath puffing white in the cold air, she ran down the graveled path. Afraid she might trip, he scooped her up and held her close a moment. She smelled like warm, buttered toast.

  “Your Grace,” Mrs. Kimball greeted as he drew abreast of them. Calantha was staring at him, and Larissa was frowning. He set Abelona down.

  “Your first constitutional, I see,” he ventured.

  Larissa sniffed. “Mrs. Kimball thinks it’s good for us.” She seemed to share Parsons’s opinion of the matter.

  “I quite agree,” he told her. “I never realized you were shut up indoors so often. You should see the sunshine.”

  Calantha glanced up at the overcast sky. “Grandmother says sunshine ruins a lady’s complexion.”

  Larissa nodded. “We’ll get spots, like Mrs. Kimball.”

  Mrs. Kimball’s fingers flew to her nose, but not before Alaric saw that Larissa was right. Delicate freckles arched over her nose, like cinnamon sprinkled on cream.

  Another lady might have berated Larissa for her comment, but Mrs. Kimball laughed as she lowered her hand. “Just remember to wear your bonnet. That was my failing. Too eager to ride to fetch a hat.”

  He knew that feeling. There was nothing like being in the saddle, flying down the lane. A shame he had no time for such luxuries anymore.

  “Mrs. Kimball says we’re to go riding,” Calantha informed him.

  “As soon as we find a unicorn,” Abelona reminded her.

  “Ah, yes, the unicorn.” He shared a smile with Mrs. Kimball, savoring the sparkle in her dark eyes. “How goes the search?”

  “I found three,” Abelona bragged.

  “Three?” He couldn’t help his frown.

  “On the carriage, over the garden gate, and on the pavement in the center of the garden.”

  “Our crest,” he realized. “Very good, Abelona.”

  She raised her chin and twisted from side to side as if thoroughly pleased with herself.

  “But you can’t ride those unicorns,” Larissa protested. “They’re just pictures.”

  “Which is why we must continue our quest,” Mrs. Kimball said. “The knights of old considered it noble to seek a unicorn.”

  “A magical beast,” he agreed. “Just the sort to prance among the daffodils. Perhaps Mr. Reynolds, our head gardener, noticed a suitable mount hereabouts. I see him through the bushes. Would you ask, Larissa?”

  Larissa stood taller, as if pleased he’d singled her out. “Of course, Father.” She started away, and Calantha trailed behind her.

  “I better go too,” Abelona said. “She might not ask the right questions.” She toddled after her sisters.

  Alaric took a step closer. He hadn’t realized Mrs. Kimball was so short. She came just under his chin. A neat handful, his friend Julian Mayes would have said.

  What was he thinking?

  He focused on his purpose. “Thank you for seeing to Calantha’s needs last night,” he murmured. “I had no idea my mother had given the order to stand down, but I have made it clear my daughters’ needs come first.”

  “Thank you.” Her gaze remained on the girls as they approached the elderly gardener, who stopped his work to listen intently. “I wouldn’t be harsh with the staff. They were only doing what was requested of them. As for Her Grace, I’m sure it takes a little practice to deal with a child in situations like that.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I was never a child.”

  He’d meant it as a joke, but she shot him such as assessing look that he was forced to take a step back.

  “I should go,” she said. “We still have to find that unicorn. Until this evening, Your Grace.”

  He inclined his head, and she strode off to catch up with the girls.

  Hands clasped behind his back, he returned to the house. Of course he’d been a child, raised in this very house until his mother had convinced his father he should spend a few years at Eton in the company of boys his own age. He remembered his time at the school fondly. Rowing competitions, fencing matches, races across the fields, the air damp against his cheeks. But over it all lay his duty. Never was he to forget he was the heir to lands that supported his family, his relatives, his staff, dozens of tenants, and their families. They were his responsibility. Every decision, every action, must reflect their best interests, not his.

  Perhaps he truly had never been a child.

  But that didn’t mean his children were bound to the same fate. As daugh
ters, unable by patent to take on the title, they could follow their hearts. He would make sure of it.

  His steward, Michael Willard, had just arrived when he returned to the library. The sight of the big, fuzzy-headed man, tweed cap turning in his capable hands, brought Alaric’s responsibilities crashing down upon his shoulders once more.

  “Status?” he asked, taking his place at the desk.

  Willard remained standing. “The lock has been installed on the western end of the canal, Your Grace, but the mechanism to open the gates is still sticking. We’ll keep working on it.”

  “We must.” Willard knew as well as he did what was at stake. His steward’s house lay well below the rise of the castle. It would be one of the first to flood.

  Alaric opened the center drawer of the desk and pulled out the plans, spreading them with his hands. “Show me the problem.”

  Shoving his cap into the pocket of his plaid trousers, Willard bent over the diagrams, thick finger pointing. “We think it’s in this area here. The chain may not be long enough to wind around the capstan and completely open the gates to the river. We may get overtopping, which could bend down the gates and make them useless.”

  Alaric nodded. “Unwind the chain completely. See if the blacksmith in the village can add another link or two. I’ll pay double for quick work.”

  Willard nodded as he straightened. “Yes, Your Grace. And I have lads stationed upstream. If the river starts to rise, we’ll have a little notice to open the gates.”

  A little notice. It was more than they’d had before. But if they couldn’t get the new lock system working in the next few weeks, he very much feared even a great deal of notice would not be enough.

  Chapter Four

  Jane felt rather pleased with herself as she approached the library door that evening. An entire day in the girls’ company, and she was still standing. The duchess had made two surprise inspections but left each time with an elegant nod and a “carry on.” They hadn’t found a unicorn to ride among the horses kept close to the castle, but she still had hope. The one fly in the ointment was that she hadn’t been able to identify who had searched her trunk and why.

  It wasn’t as if she didn’t have suspects. Mr. Parsons glowered at her every time he saw her, as if expecting her to slide down the bannisters or howl at the crystal chandelier. Betsy and Maud cast her covert glances as they bustled about the schoolroom cleaning and tidying after the girls, as if wondering how much attention to pay her when she might not be in the position long. Simmons’ lip had a decided curl. It seemed he remembered their talk last night with rancor. And one of her charges might have slipped in and looked through her things out of nothing more than curiosity.

  Still, she could not be disheartened. She’d faced far worse along the way. Her mother and father might have thought Jimmy had hung the moon until he’d run off to join the cavalry, and Jimmy’s father had considered Jane rousing good fun, but her husband’s stepmother had made it clear how little she admired Jane. She had complained to Jane’s parents about her lack of discipline. When she’d lost her earbob at the assembly, she’d intimated that Jane had taken it. She’d been certain the gate to the pasture had been left open by Jane in the middle of a ride, allowing their cows to escape. Simply put, in Mrs. Kimball’s eyes, Jane was a disobedient, willful girl who would never be good enough for her Jimmy.

  “And look at me now,” Jane murmured to herself as she passed the Wey ancestors. She thought at least one looked impressed.

  Mr. Parsons, however, gave her the evil eye as he let her into the library. She put on her best smile. Everyone knew that though you obeyed the colonel’s orders, you’d better keep on speaking terms with his aide-de-camp, however snippy and full of himself he might be. She moved into the room, refusing to heed the beckoning call of the books, and came to a stop a respectful distance from the desk.

  Which had become much more crowded since last evening. She raised her chin just the slightest, tried to make out the plans spread across the surface. Some sort of building, perhaps? Where was he intending to put it? The castle filled up every inch of the knob on which it was built, and the steep sides prohibited siting anything nearby.

  Whatever his plans, he didn’t seem too pleased with them. His muscular form was stiffer than usual, and that frown made him look rather forbidding. But he glanced up and nodded in recognition of her. “Mrs. Kimball. How did things go today?”

  “Well, Your Grace,” she reported, mindful of Mr. Parsons standing among the bookcases and glaring at her as if daring her to misbehave. “We are settling on a routine. Their ladyships are becoming accustomed to me.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “And how did they take to the introduction of new subjects?”

  Jane grimaced. “The constitutional met with consternation. I haven’t broached the more difficult changes yet. One thing at a time.”

  He nodded again as if he thought that wise. “Did you have to do this sort of thing in your previous position?”

  She tried not to flinch at the memory. “Not really, Your Grace. Colonel and Mrs. Travers had an established routine that made sense for their situation. I merely followed it.” And she could only hope he’d leave it at that. “But I also worked with children at my father’s church in Berkshire. We were always rearranging things to ensure everyone had a chance.”

  He leaned away from the desk. “Your father must be pleased to have you closer to home than the Peninsula.”

  “He passed on five years ago. My mother a year later.” Her throat was tight again, and she swallowed.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I lost my father some years ago as well. His absence is still felt.”

  So, Her Grace wasn’t the only one in mourning. “I like to think we keep a little of them with us.”

  His smile was tight. He glanced down at his plans again. Was he dismissing her? Why was that thought so depressing?

  Jane took a step forward. “Have I offended you, Your Grace? Is that why you have so many questions for me tonight?”

  He raised his brows as he straightened. “Not at all. I simply thought I should know more about the woman caring for my daughters.”

  “Probably should have asked before you hired me then,” Jane said. “I could have made off with the silver and half the plate by now.”

  Mr. Parsons coughed, gaze on her in warning, but Jane couldn’t regret her words. Now the duke thought to question her? Had he no more thought to his daughters? From what she’d gathered talking with the girls and the nursery staff, he hadn’t ventured into the schoolroom very often.

  “Parsons,” the duke said, “inventory the plate. I could stand to lose some of the silver, but Her Grace is inordinately fond of the Crown Derby. Word of warning, Mrs. Kimball.”

  Her frustration faded at the gleam in those green eyes. “What about the little fat porcelain pug dogs in the corridor?” Jane asked, fighting a grin. “I could get a quid or two for each.”

  A smile hovered around his mouth. “Well, you could safely take them. Never could stand the ugly things as a child. Parsons, kindly see that they are delivered to the schoolroom. I’m sure Mrs. Kimball could send them via the mail coach to London for sale. It stops at Walton-on-Thames.”

  Parsons glanced between the two of them as if he didn’t understand what was happening. Jane had pity on the poor fellow.

  “That’s very kind of you, Your Grace, but I wouldn’t want to deprive the rest of the household. Will there be anything else?”

  He waved a hand, reminding her of his mother. “Not this evening, Mrs. Kimball. Good night.”

  Mr. Parsons showed her to the door, face settling into a scowl that was no doubt meant to put her in her place.

  “I would cultivate a more professional demeanor, if I were you,” he advised as she passed him for the stairs.

  Jane glanced back at him. “I’d try, but I fear I haven’t your experience or polished presence.”

  He thawed slightly. “Few do. Just mind your ton
e when addressing the duke and duchess. They aren’t used to originality.”

  Neither was he, and she was beginning to think that was entirely the problem.

  Lady Larissa certainly found it difficult. She continued to protest their constitutional the next morning.

  “We have carriages if we need to leave the house,” she complained as Jane led them down the stairs for the garden. “Besides, walking on gravel hurts my slippers.” She stopped and raised a dainty foot for Jane’s inspection.

  “I see,” Jane said, noting the scuffs on the kid leather. “Well, we can’t have that. I’ll ask your father for sturdy boots. You’ll need them for riding in any event.”

  “I can ride a unicorn in slippers,” Abelona insisted. “Unicorns don’t mind.”

  Larissa merely rolled her eyes, but her laments resumed when they returned to the schoolroom.

  “Why must we practice arithmetic? We have a steward to keep all the books.”

  “How will you know he’s honest?” Jane countered, laying a slate before each of them at the worktable while the maids began cleaning the girls’ rooms and Simmons went for more coal for the fire. “For that matter, how will you calculate the price of yardage for a new dress?”

  Larissa wrinkled her nose. “I don’t have to calculate yardage. I pick the dress, and Father pays for it.”

  Jane shook her head. “Someday you’ll have pin money of your own. You’ll want to know how far it can go. Lady Abelona, you can start by writing your numbers. Lady Calantha, show me the largest addition problem you can solve. Lady Larissa, perhaps you’re ready for multiplication.”

  “Did your governess make you learn multiplication?” Larissa demanded as Calantha and Abelona bent to their tasks.

  “I didn’t have a governess,” Jane told her, writing a problem on the slate for Larissa to solve. “My father was a vicar. I learned from him.”

  Abelona sighed, chalk squeaking on the number three. “I wish Father would teach us.”