Never Doubt a Duke Page 7

  Besides, he clearly knew the importance of having an heir. Except in rare cases, dukedoms could not pass to a daughter. He’d have to marry eventually if he had any hope of begetting a son who would care for the girls’ future. A woman who’d been married ten years without conceiving didn’t sound like such a good choice.

  Darkness settled over her as she climbed the narrower stairs to the schoolroom suite. She’d never understood why she and Jimmy had never managed children. They’d certainly given it a good try. Perhaps it was all the movement, the travel, the harsh climates, rough living conditions. Perhaps it would have been different if they’d stayed in England. It didn’t matter now. He was gone, and so were her chances of holding his baby in her arms.

  She’d told the duchess no widow had to be alone except by choice, but she certainly felt alone as she snuggled into bed that night.

  That is, until the moaning started.

  She hadn’t even fallen asleep when the low, painful sound rolled through her room. Gooseflesh pimpled her arms. The castle was certainly old enough to have attracted a few ghosts over the centuries, and the late duchess might have something to say about how Jane was treating her daughters and admiring her husband. There was only one problem. She didn’t believe in ghosts.

  “Who’s there?” she demanded, sitting up in bed.

  The sound came again, slow and mournful, but rather high-pitched for any sort of manly ghost. She tried to pinpoint the source. The door?

  “That’s quite enough,” she said. “Some people need their sleep so they can work for a living, you know.”

  “Goooo,” the ethereal voice called. “You are not wanted heeeeree.”

  The wardrobe, then. Little minx must have sneaked in while Jane was with her father.

  “You’re not wanted here either,” she informed her so-called phantom. “Now hush up and let me get some sleep.” She plumped her pillow and lay back down.

  The ghost was silent a moment, as if weighing her options. Then the wardrobe rattled. “Go, I say! You are in terrible danger.”

  Jane threw the pillow at the wardrobe. “Hush it, you! I’ll tell St. Peter you escaped your bounds. Or worse, I’ll tell the duke!”

  ~~~

  Alaric tried not to sigh as Parsons approached him in the withdrawing room. He’d devised a strategy for beating Julian, thanks to the moves Jane had made. He’d listened to his mother lament the fact that she’d misplaced the cameo pin his father had given her and ordered Parsons to tell the staff to keep an eye out for it. He’d finished and franked his comments on the bill. He’d just stretched his feet to the fire for a few moments of quiet before retiring to bed.

  “Yes?” he asked from the wingback chair.

  “It’s Mrs. Kimball, Your Grace.”

  Not again. Alaric straightened. “Mrs. Kimball and I have an understanding. I don’t care what my mother says.”

  Parsons’ face was tight. “Yes, of course, Your Grace. That’s not the issue. She’s causing a commotion.”

  Alaric frowned. “My mother? She’s never made a commotion in her life.”

  “Certainly not, Your Grace. It’s Mrs. Kimball. She’s shouting.”

  “At whom?” he demanded.

  “That’s just it, Your Grace. She’s in her room, alone, and shouting.” He lowered his voice. “I fear she is unwell.”

  He rose and passed the butler for the door. “If a woman of Mrs. Kimball’s character is shouting, man, there’s clearly something wrong, and I wouldn’t assume it was with her.”

  He could hear his butler puffing behind him as Alaric took the stairs two at a time. But very quickly other noises eclipsed the sound—thumps and wails and cries. He quickened his stride.

  A crowd huddled around the door to the governess’s bedchamber—the two nursery maids, the schoolroom footman, Calantha, and Abelona. The adults were mumbling among themselves, his daughters fairly hopping. He could understand why. The rattling coming from the room would have made the stoutest heart quail.

  “It won’t open,” Jane was shouting. “You must have wedged something in the door. Push!”

  “No! Go away!” Though muffled and drawn out, that was clearly Larissa’s voice.

  “Mrs. Kimball,” he called through the door. “What’s happened?”

  There was a flurry of movement, then the door opened. Jane stood in the doorway, dark hair streaming about her shoulders, curves nestled in a flowing white nightgown. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. All he could do was stare.

  “Your Grace,” she said. “Just the fellow we need. Stand back, you lot.” She held open the door, clearly inviting him in where no gentleman was ever allowed.

  Chapter Seven

  He hesitated. Jane could understand why. A gentleman did not enter the bedchamber of a lady not related to him by blood or marriage. A duke certainly didn’t enter the chamber of his children’s governess without good cause. She’d have completely agreed with the sentiment but for two things. They had an audience, and his daughter was trapped in the wardrobe.

  She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the tall walnut door. “If you please, Your Grace. Larissa is inside, and I can’t get her out. I was about to demand Simmons’s help when you arrived.”

  He pulled up short of the carved door. “You locked my daughter in a wardrobe?”

  Gasps of shock echoed from their onlookers.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Jane said. “That would be cruel, not to mention ineffective. Now, please. She’s quite distraught. I’ve tried to pull the door open, but it won’t budge.”

  He eyed the wardrobe so cautiously she might have thought it held an enraged lion rather than a frightened girl. “Larissa?” he called.

  No answer.

  “She’s suffocated,” Betsy predicted, and Maud let out a wail and covered her face with her hands. Calantha and Abelona clutched each other, eyes wide.

  That galvanized him. “Larissa!” His tone could have ordered a regiment against the entire French army. “If you are in there, answer me.”

  “Yes, Father,” said a wavering voice.

  He frowned at Jane, then turned to the wardrobe again. “Can you push the door open?”

  “I’ve tried. It’s stuck.”

  His frown deepened, even as he backed away, cocking his head as if studying the wardrobe from all angles. “I know it must be dark inside, but can you tell me why it’s stuck?”

  Jane thought she heard a hiccough. “Mrs. Kimball’s boot is in the way.”

  She made it sound as if Jane had put the thing there on purpose. Jane managed to keep her mouth as tightly shut as the door, even though Mr. Parsons showed up just then and added his glare to the situation.

  “Can you move it?” His Grace asked.

  The wardrobe trembled as she must have tried. “No,” Larissa reported. “I wedged it in when she was trying to open the door.”

  The duke glanced her way again, as if completely perplexed by the turn of events. For once, she felt compelled to let the circumstances speak for themselves. As if he understood, he began peeling off his coat. Under the tailored wool lay a physique any footman might envy. Clearly His Grace had not spent all his time at his desk.

  “Simmons,” he called to the nursery footman, who shouldered his way past the maids to hasten into the room. “Position yourself there, at the side of the wardrobe. Don’t let it fall over.”

  With a nod, Simmons braced himself against the wood frame.

  The duke grabbed the handle. “Larissa, press yourself against the back of the wardrobe.”

  “Yes, Father.” Something thumped as she must have obeyed.

  “Ready?” he asked the footman.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Simmons said, watching him.

  Muscles bunched under the lawn shirt as he lifted the door up and yanked it free. Jane’s boot tumbled out onto the floor.

  Larissa followed right behind. She threw herself into her father’s arms. “Oh, Father, you saved me!”

 
; “Huzzah!” Calantha cheered. Abelona echoed her, and Betsy applauded while Maud lowered her hands at last. Only Mr. Parsons looked less than pleased, and his gaze was on Jane. She swallowed the desire to stick out her tongue at him.

  His Grace nodded to Simmons to stand down as he held his daughter out. “All safe, then?”

  The tremor in her lower lip belied the brave nod.

  “Good.” He straightened. “Betsy, see Lady Calantha and Lady Abelona back to bed. I’m sure the rest of you have duties to attend to.”

  Amazing how quickly they moved when a duke spoke. In short order, it was only Jane, Larissa, and the duke, though likely Parsons was hovering not too far away. One arm around Larissa’s shoulder, His Grace gazed down at his daughter. “Care to tell me why you were stuck in Mrs. Kimball’s wardrobe?”

  Jane waited for the answer. Would the girl make up a story? Lay the blame at Jane’s feet?

  Larissa searched her father’s face, then dropped her gaze. “I was pretending to be a ghost.”

  “A ghost.” He looked to Jane as if for confirmation. She nodded.

  “Playing a prank,” he surmised. “I’m not sure anyone appreciated it.”

  “Oh, I found it highly diverting,” Jane assured him. “Until we couldn’t get her out of the wardrobe.”

  Larissa cuddled closer to the duke. “I’m sorry, Father. I won’t do it again.”

  “I imagine not. But I’m not the one you owe an apology.”

  She glanced up, first at him, then at Jane. She squared her shoulders. “I won’t apologize to her. She’s nothing but an old humbug.”

  Jane shook her head, but the duke straightened, dropping his arm from around his daughter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Larissa put her hands on her hips, puckering the white of her flannel nightgown. “She’s not a proper governess. She doesn’t know anything about deportment. She’s probably never even been presented to the queen.”

  “Guilty,” Jane said. “I never got myself locked in a wardrobe either.”

  Larissa tossed her head. “I don’t care. I’m a lady. You’re nothing.”

  “Larissa Mary Elizabeth Augustina,” the duke said, tone ringing once more. “You will apologize. Now.”

  Larissa shrank in on herself. “I won’t. I want her to leave. We don’t need a governess. We need a mother.”

  A direct hit. The duke blanched. “Go to your room,” he said. “We’ll talk about your punishment tomorrow.”

  She ran from the bedchamber.

  Jane lay a hand on his shoulder, finding it tensed, hard. “I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

  His smile was wry. “You have no need to apologize, Mrs. Kimball. We disturbed your well-earned rest, invaded your privacy, and called you names. You’d have every right to tender your resignation.”

  Jane returned his smile. “Oh, I don’t give up so easily. Besides, where else would I have the opportunity to see a unicorn?”

  “There is that.” His smile faded. “I’ll speak to her in the morning. I begin to see why the other governesses left.”

  “Cowards,” Jane told him. “I’ve seen too much to be frightened of a voice in the wardrobe.”

  “I’m glad, Mrs. Kimball.” Suddenly he made a face, making him much more human. “I wonder, would you mind if I used your first name?”

  That fluttering feeling was building again. She ought to refuse, keep her distance. Her mouth opened before she could stop it. “Not at all, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you, Jane.”

  Why was it she felt as if he’d caressed her cheek? Her first name was only one syllable while her last name was two. He was probably just being efficient.

  “And on behalf of my entire family, I apologize.” He swept her a bow as if to prove it. “You have been like a summer breeze through this place, clearing out the cobwebs and chasing away the dark.”

  How beautiful. Once again, she clamped her mouth shut against the words building behind it.

  “And perhaps we can dispense with the ‘Your Grace’ business,” he suggested.

  Jane fidgeted. This was dangerous ground. The maids and footman were just down the corridor. Parsons had to be waiting. But still she felt as if the world had come down to the duke and her.

  “I don’t know your first name,” she pointed out. “And I imagine Mr. Parsons would have apoplexy if I used it. Perhaps Wey? And only in private.”

  “I will settle for Wey. I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening. Thank you, Jane, for not giving up on us.”

  She saw him to the door, closed it behind him, and leaned her back against it. She had never been the type to give up. She was more likely to ride the extra mile, take the high hill. She had fought against Jimmy’s stepmother to marry him, fought for her place at his side in the field. She had never let anything stop her from achieving her dream.

  But when it came to her growing feelings for Wey, she knew an impossible dream when she saw one.

  ~~~

  “Then Larissa demanded a mother,” he concluded when the duchess requested an explanation for the disturbance of the previous night. She had joined him in the breakfast room on the south side of the ground floor for the first time in years. Never one to lounge in dishabille, she was wearing a lavender-striped walking dress well flounced and bedecked with lace, her hair elaborately curled.

  She took a sip of the tea Parsons had poured for her. “Are you surprised? It is high time you started looking again.”

  He buried himself behind the newspaper. It was his duty to sire an heir, a son who would carry on the proud traditions of the House of Wey. But his first marriage had been a sham. Evangeline had had no interest in the estate, preferring the hectic pace of London Society, which he loathed. She’d feared his horses, found it distasteful that he would concern himself directly with his tenants rather than delegate the tasks to others. If Larissa had been born a son, very likely he and his wife would have gone their separate ways, nodded to each other from across the room at the few social events he felt compelled to attend. When Evangeline had died along with their son, he’d felt sorrow, guilt.

  And a curious sense of freedom.

  Could he put all that aside now for the good of the family?

  He was ashamed how badly he wanted to deny it. He had never shirked his duty in any other area of his life.

  The matter was still on his mind as he made his way to the schoolroom after breakfast. The maids were just clearing away the last of the dishes there as well, and he took a moment in the doorway to appreciate the sight of his three daughters, happily engaged in listening to Jane read. Abelona had climbed into her lap, her golden curls brushing the shoulder of Jane’s dark gown. Calantha crowded in on one side, as if memorizing the pictures on the page. Even Larissa was leaning forward, eyes bright and curious. And Jane, Jane’s look was equally bright, as if the old story about the first queen of Britain was the most inspiring she’d read.

  Too bad he couldn’t find a wife like Jane.

  He shut off the thought. If Larissa could not accept Jane as a governess, she would never become accustomed to her as a mother. And, much as he disliked the fact, his daughter was right. Jane had never lived in his world. She couldn’t know the duties imposed upon a duchess. She’d face criticism, disdain. He wouldn’t dim that bright spirit for the world.

  Pasting on a smile, he moved into the room.

  Simmons sighted him first, stiffening against the wall as if expecting to be found wanting. Abelona spotted him next. She scrambled to her feet and ran to meet him, white skirts fluttering. “Father!”

  Calantha and Larissa rose as well. Of the two, only Calantha looked pleased to see him. Jane’s smile said she felt for him.

  He led Abelona back to the group. “Good morning, girls, Jane.”

  Larissa’s eyes widened. Apparently, a previous governess or his mother had covered the proper use of a lady’s first name. He continued undaunted. “We had some trouble last night. It will not be repeated.�
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  Larissa hung her head. Abelona nodded.

  “Betsy says you won’t beat Larissa,” Calantha reported. “Even though she deserves it.”

  He’d have to have a word with Parsons about the staff speaking in front of his daughter.

  “There will be no beatings in this house,” he agreed. “Nor can I condone disrespect for those in authority. Betsy, Maud, Simmons, and Mrs. Kimball are here to care for you. You owe them your obedience.”

  “What if they tell us to do something horrid?” Calantha asked. “Miss Carruthers once ordered me to eat paste.”

  “Because you put it in Abelona’s hair,” Larissa reminded her.

  Calantha shrugged. “I thought it would smooth out her curls.”

  “Girls.” Jane’s voice hinted of laughter. “I promise never to order you to eat paste or anything else so unworthy.”

  “What about Brussels sprouts?” Abelona asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “Brussels sprouts are entirely wholesome,” Jane insisted, “despite their disgusting sliminess.”

  All three girls shuddered.

  “Be that as it may,” Alaric said, unsure how the conversation had gotten away from him, “I expect you to treat those who care for you with respect. If anyone gives you an order you feel you cannot obey, bring the matter to me for a decision. Is that clear?”

  They nodded solemnly.

  “Larissa, I believe you have something to say to Jane.”

  Larissa looked to Jane, then to him. He crossed his arms over his chest. She swallowed and returned her gaze to Jane. “Please forgive me for trying to frighten you, Mrs. Kimball. I won’t do it again.”

  Jane inclined her head. “I forgive you, Lady Larissa. But I’m not sure the wardrobe feels the same. It’s a mess.”