A FEARLESS GOVERNESS FOR THE

FORSAKEN DUKE
A HISTORICAL REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL

EMMA LINFIELD

Edited by
ROBIN SPENCER
 C O NT E NT S

A Thank You Gift

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Preview: The Breaking Dawn of a Fallen Duke
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3

Also by Emma Linfield

About the Author
 A T H ANK Y OU G I F T

Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is
the best way to show me your love.

As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called The Betrayed
Lady Winters. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books
and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.

Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.

With love and appreciation,

Emma Linfield
 A BO U T T HE BO O K

She was the answer to every prayer he had whispered...

Miss Lucretia Nelson has never felt such despair before.

With the School for Young Ladies she works at closing down,
she is left not only without work but also without a place to
live. Her silver lining comes in the form of a governess
position in the employ of a Duke.
Still traumatised by his wife’s accidental death, Benedict De
Clare, Duke of Tradegrove, has become obsessed with
collecting perfect portraits of women that resemble her. That
is until he finds himself falling in love with the most
disheveled governess he has ever met.
With the Duke slowly mending his relationship with his
estranged son, Lucretia and Benedict’s blossoming love
bridges the social chasm between them.
However, as tensions rise among the sta and Lucretia finds
herself on the receiving end of vicious threats, up-until-then
hidden clues are tied to the late Duchess’ accident. And the
only person who can save Lucretia's life has no tongue to
speak…
 CH APT ER 1

L ucretia watched as her charges put away their

needlework and then formed a proper single-file line
on their way to the dining room.

She packed her belongings and made her way back to the
teachers’ quarters. She had taught her last class for the day,
not that it meant her day was over. By no means. She would
have to spend the afternoon preparing for the following day.

Fortunately, given that the following day was Thursday, her

most favorite day of the week, she did not mind at all. For on
Thursdays, she got the chance to teach the subjects she was
truly passionate about, instead of needlework and music,
subjects she secretly despised.  

Lucretia Nelson had been a tutor at Mrs. Doringcourt’s

School for Young Ladies for almost six years now, having
been taken on as a tutor right after departing from the
nunnery where she had been raised.
She loved the school and its headmistress, the kind, elderly
Mrs. Doringcourt. While smaller than other facilities in Bath
—only thirty girls attended year-round—it was a well-
respected school that taught its charges more than just
needlework and dance. Among the subjects Lucretia was
tasked with teaching the young girls were French,
Geography, and History, as well as basic Arithmetic.

Not that these young ladies would have much use for them
later in life. No, these young girls were destined to become
proper ladies of the ton, their knowledge and education little
more than a leg-up in the competitive quest for suitable
husbands. In their society, skills in dance and music were
valued much higher than the ability to count or know
history.

It is fortunate for all involved that Mrs. Doringcourt realized I

have two left feet right from the start. Now that the other teachers
are tasked with the dance lessons, these young dears might have a
chance to learn the Quadrille properly. If it were left to me, they
would never find a dance partner.

She chuckled at the memory of her first attempt at teaching

dance and the headmistress’ swift decision to use her talents
elsewhere.
“Lucy!” A voice called from behind her. She turned and saw
Mary Hastings running her way. She stopped and waited for
the young woman to catch up to her.

“Are you finished with your lessons for the day?”

Mary, the youngest teacher at the school, had arrived two

years prior and she and Lucretia had shared a room ever
since. Mary was accomplished in all the subjects Lucretia
found herself lacking in. Mary possessed the grace and talent
to teach dance, the delicate hands to create magnificent
needlepoint works, and a love for poetry that was infectious
and inspiring to their young charges. The only subject they
both enjoyed equally was music. While able to play the
pianoforte, Lucretia was not especially talented at it. Not the
way Mary was. She taught the instrument with such joy even
the most tone-deaf students would pick it up posthaste.

“I just finished teaching my needlepoint class. Alas, I must

prepare the French exam for the morning. Why do you ask?”

“Faith! Lucy, can’t it wait? I have rather a mind to take the

air, for it is beautiful outside. Come join me for a walk along
the promenade?”

Lucretia smiled. While a dedicated teacher, Mary did enjoy

time to herself, away from the students. And Lucy knew that
the young woman harbored hopes of finding a dashing
young man to marry her and rescue her from a lifetime of
teaching. Thus, walks along the promenade, where she could
see and be seen, were among Mary’s favorite pastimes.

Lucretia, on the other hand, was quite content with her place
in the world. An orphan since birth, she had been raised by
the Order of Our Sacred Mary, a convent of nuns in the
Derbyshire countryside. She’d rarely had exposure to the
world and given little thought to the idea of marriage. She’d
always assumed that she would end up either a nun or a
teacher, never a wife. Always alone.

In fact, before coming to Mrs. Doringcourt’s school, she

hadn’t had many friends, either. Thus, having Mary had
been a true blessing, even if she sometimes proved a rather
bad influence when it came to preparing her coursework,
such as today.

“I suppose I can always prepare the examination tonight.

Before we go, I must first call on Mrs. Doringcourt, for she
has asked to see me.”

Mary’s cheerful, jolly face took on a dark shadow at the

mention of the headmistress.

“Is she unwell still? Oh Lucy. It has been many weeks since
she last taught any of her classes. What shall we do if she
does not recover?”
Lucy shook her head. “She will be just fine. Indeed, the
physician has been to see her just this morning and he did
not appear alarmed upon his departure. Do not fret, Mary. All
will be well.”

“I wish I were as confident in the matter as you are. And I

shall fret, for you know as well as I that we would be utterly
devastated if the school closed. The other teachers have
families to go back to, you and I do not. This is all we have.”

Lucretia nodded. It was true. She and Mary were the only
ones that did not have a family to support them. An orphan
just like Lucretia, Mary had been raised in an orphanage
until an elderly uncle took her in and gave her an education.
Unfortunately, that uncle had passed away the previous year,
leaving Mary as alone in the world as Lucretia.

Truly, the school was their home and there was nowhere else
for either of them to go. Unlike Mary, Lucretia preferred to
not worry herself over the matter. There was no use in
fretting. In any case, the headmistress would recover soon
enough. Wouldn’t she?

“Why don’t you ask her to train you as her successor?

Perhaps you can take over the school one day.” Mary
suggested this in all sincerity, but Lucretia laughed out loud,
so amused was she at the mention.
“I am not qualified to be a headmistress. Neither is anyone
else at the school. I am far too young, for one. And I have not
the right qualifications, as you well know.”

They had almost reached their chamber, which was located

on the lower floor of the teacher’s building, across the main
building which housed the school. Along with the teacher’s
chambers, it also housed the dining room, kitchen, and
scullery.

“You are far more educated than any of us. You speak Latin
and Greek.”

Lucretia shrugged, “Thanks to the nuns, I do. Alas, it does

me no good at this school nor would it help me become
headmistress, should I so desire. In any case, I shall meet
you shortly and we shall go and take the air. Put on your best
walking costume, my friend. Perhaps we shall find you a
dashing Baron or a Viscount, even.”

The two women laughed at the idea, knowing well that it

would be di cult if not impossible to ever marry into the
nobility, even if, through some miracle, a Baron came
knocking.
She hoped that a kind, comfortably established young man
might take an interest in Mary, for she knew that was what
her friend truly desired.

Lucretia ascended the stairs to the headmistress’s chamber,

which was located upstairs, in what was once the attic of the
house. She’d always envied the headmistress this space, for
while it was burdensome to climb the stairs, it was quite
lovely.

While the teachers’ and students’ chambers were furnished

comfortably, the rooms were sparse with only the most
necessary furnishings. Mrs. Doringcourt’s lodgings were
much more opulent.

In any case, Lucretia loved visiting, for the headmistress had

created such a warm and welcoming space she always felt
her spirits lifted when entering. However, it was not the case
today.

For today, as soon as she entered through the front door, a

terrible smell tickled her nose. It was the scent of disease.
She was familiar with it, for she had often accompanied the
nuns on their visits to the ill. She reached for her
handkerchief and was about to cover her mouth when she
realized that it may hurt the old woman’s feelings.
“Miss Nelson? Is it you? I am in the drawing room.”

The voice that called out her name was not the strong,
demanding voice Lucretia was used to hearing. A feeling of
unease spread in her belly as she approached the drawing
room.

“It is.”

She entered and found the headmistress on her settee,

wrapped in a blanket even though it was September and very
hot outside. She looked terrible, her cheeks were sunken in,
and the bones along her collar were visible. Beside her, on
the end table, was a steaming pot of tea as well as a piece of
bread with butter that had not been touched.

What a sight! Poor Mrs. Doringcourt. She looks like a skeleton. And
it has been only a little more than a week since I last saw her. She
is wasting away and appears much more ill than I had feared.

Mrs. Doringcourt looked pale and her hair was unkempt,

which was most unlike her as she was one of the most proper
ladies Lucretia had ever met.

She indicated toward the chair in front of her and Lucretia

sat down. She found herself pushing the chair a little away
from the old lady, for she coughed in the most alarming
manner.

“Would you like me to pour you a cup of tea, Mrs.

Doringcourt?”

She shook her head and dabbed the corners of her mouth
with a handkerchief.

“I am quite all right, my dear.”

Lucretia gave her a curt nod and cleared her throat.

“I saw the physician this morning. I hope you are well on

your way to recovery.”

The woman shrugged and coughed once more, this time

holding the handkerchief in front of her mouth as she did.
Lucretia caught her glancing at the handkerchief once the
coughing fit subsided and quickly balled it in her hand and
tucked it away.

“I shall not make a cake of you or me, Miss Nelson. I am not

well. The physician seems to believe I am not long for this
world.”
“Faith! Mrs. Doringcourt.” Lucretia found herself gasping,
her mouth open with the shock of it all. She was aware her
voice had been loud and shrill which drew the old woman’s
ire.

“Now, now, Miss Nelson. Get a hold of yourself. We must

maintain decorum even at the most ghastly of news. Have
the nuns not taught you that?”

“Of course, I apologize, Mrs. Doringcourt. I am just so

saddened at the news. I…”

The thoughts swirled through her head at a rapid pace.

“Do not fret quite yet, my dear. I have some time left. Alas,
we must prepare for the eventuality when I am no longer
here. This is why I asked you here, my dear Miss Nelson.”

She attempted to push herself up which resulted in another

coughing spell.

“Please, let me assist you,” Lucretia said as calmly as

possible. To her relief, the older woman sat back and
straightened the blanket over her legs. Lucretia flu ed the
pillow on which she had been leaning and found it drenched
in sweat. The old woman leaned back and looked up at
Lucretia, her eyes tired.

“Very well. In my desk.” She pointed at the old wooden desk

by the window. “You will find a number of letters there. I
would like you to go to the post o ce at your earliest
convenience and post them.”

Lucretia did as she was told and retrieved the bundle. Upon
seeing the question in her eyes, Mrs. Doringcourt cleared her
throat.

“I have sent word to other schools in Bath, letting them

know that we are in need of a headmistress-in-training.
Perhaps one of our fellow educators can point us to someone
suitable. In any case, I have let them know what excellent
educators we have at our little school, should the need arise
for…”

She stopped and broke into another coughing fit. To her

horror, Lucretia saw little droplets of blood stain the white
material. Quickly, she averted her eyes as the reality of the
headmistress’ illness dawned on her.

Neither Lucretia, nor any of the teachers, had been told of

the exact nature of their headmistress’ ailment. Even so, it
had taken Lucretia only a few moments with her to know it,
for she had seen it too many times before. Consumption. The
old woman had all the classic symptoms. Lucretia had seen
the disease ravage so many people, young and old, during
her time with the nuns. She knew there was little chance of
recovery from the illness, especially given the headmistress’
age.

My dear Mrs. Doringcourt. It is a tragedy. The only consolation I

can cling to is that the disease progresses slowly and we may yet
have time to find someone who can take her place as
headmistress, should she not recover.

Suddenly, Lucretia felt herself overtaken by a wave of

sadness as she realized the woman who had been her mentor
for these last few years would likely soon be gone.

Mrs. Doringcourt had taken her under her wing and helped
her adjust to her new life when Lucretia first arrived in the
city. That was not all—seeing how gifted she was, the old
lady had encouraged her to continue her own studies. And
so, for the past five years, Lucretia had spent her days
teaching young souls while at night being taught Geography,
Italian, and European History by the headmistress. The old
woman had done the same for Mary.

Somehow, Lucretia had never considered things might

change. Not for her, at least, for she’d planned to be a
teacher all her life and to remain at the School for Young
Ladies until she was too old to teach. And she had never even
considered what that might be like without the
headmistress.

“Miss Nelson?” The woman’s strained voice drew her out of

her thoughts.

“I am sorry, my mind drifted.”

“It is quite all right. As I was saying, I am confident I will be

able to find someone capable to succeed me before this
wretched disease takes me away. Soon news of my illness
will spread, and certainly once the letters make their way to
their recipient. I did not want you to be taken by surprise, for
I know if the school closed it would be di cult for you, and
Miss Hastings, of course.”

She took a sip of her tea, while Lucretia noticed how much
her hands shook.

“Are you quite certain there is enough time?” Lucretia felt

awful having to discuss the matter of the woman’s
impending death in such a manner.

Without blinking, the headmistress glanced at her over the

rim of her cup.
“Quite confident. I will say that it was rather arrogant of me
not to attend to this matter before now. Unfortunately for us
all, I was under the impression that I was quite
indestructible. I thought I had time.” She paused, “At the
very least I had hoped that I would have enough time to train
the person I thought would be my natural successor.”

Lucretia tilted her head and frowned. “I was not aware you
had somebody in mind.”

“My dear child. Your one great fault has always been that
you do not think highly enough of yourself.”

Lucretia raised her eyebrows.

Me? She means me? When Mary suggested it I dismissed it, for it
is rather ridiculous to think that I could ever be headmistress. Let
alone of an establishment as respected as this school.

“Do not look so surprised, Miss Nelson. You are

extraordinarily gifted and will make a wonderful
headmistress one day. Why else do you think I have
bestowed all this knowledge upon you all these years? I saw
your potential the moment you walked through the door,
fresh from the nunnery. I knew all you needed was to find
your confidence and to gain experience. I was hoping that in
another two or three years you would be ready to uno cially
succeed me. Unfortunately, we are out of time.”
“I did not know that you thought of me in such high regard.”

“That must be what living among the nuns has done to you,
dear child. It is all very well that they teach you to be
humble. It will serve you well in life, but do not ever forget
your worth. Never forget that you are incredibly intelligent
and your mind is sharper than that of any other. You have
limitless potential if you can just believe in yourself.”

“I appreciate your kindness more than you know, Mrs.

Doringcourt.”

Lucretia was touched by the woman’s words, for she had not
known she was valued so. It was true, living among the nuns
had made her humble but also unsure of herself. The world
outside of the convent had been so di erent that sometimes
she still felt she did not have a true place in it. The old
woman yawned and cleared her throat.

“I trust you will comfort Miss Hastings, for you know she is
rather sensitive in nature and will not take this news well.
Reassure her. Please. And be reassured. Everything will be
fine. I will not allow…

Suddenly, she clutched her chest and gasped for air, her body
shaking in a violent manner. Her face lost all its remaining
color and her eyes grew wide, almost bulging out.

“Ma’am? Mrs. Doringcourt!” Lucretia rushed across the

room and knelt before her.

The woman clutched Lucretia’s hand in sheer panic, digging

her nails into her skin. Her face turned an awful color and
she gasped for breath.

“I will fetch the physician. I shall return at once. Please, I

promise.” She removed her hand from the woman’s grasp
and ran out of the drawing room and downstairs. She ripped
open the door that led to Mrs. Doringcourt’s quarters and
screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Help! The headmistress needs help!”

Mary burst from the other room and ran towards Lucretia
who turned around and rushed back upstairs. She burst
through the drawing room door and then froze in place.

Before her, on the settee, the headmistress had grown still

and Lucretia knew. It wasn’t the open eyes that stared at the
ceiling without focus, or the ashen skin. No. It was the smile.
The frozen smile upon the woman’s face, one that spoke of
relief, of release from pain that made Lucretia realize that
her mentor, her teacher, the headmistress of Mrs.
Doringcourt’s School for Young Ladies, had died.
 CH APT ER 2

B enedict stood and studied the portrait before him.

At first glance, the lady in the painting was indeed
beautiful. Her long, golden hair flowed in luscious
waves down her back, her eyes were of a piercing blue as
clear as a cloudless summer sky. Her gown was of the finest
silk and shimmered under the painter’s gifted hand. And yet
…

“No. Take it away,” Benedict waved his hand dismissively in

the direction of the painting. An audible gasp escaped the
painter.

“But, Your Grace, is it not as you had requested? I painted it

with your specifications in mind.”

The painter, Sir Rodolfo Biasi, sounded utterly deflated at

the Duke’s reaction. With a heavy sigh, Benedict turned
around and walked toward the large painting in big steps.
“The eyes, they are too close together. She appears almost
cross-eyed. And the manner in which they stare… It makes
me feel utterly uncomfortable. No. I do not care for it. Take it
away.”

He heard the painter inhale a gulp of air. When Benedict

turned to face him, the painter’s visage was full of dejection.
His shoulders were slumped forward as he glanced at the
painting that Benedict knew had taken him months to
complete.

“Do not take it so hard, Biasi. I shall pay you for the work, of
course. And you will certainly find a buyer. The work is
detailed and beautiful, as always. Alas, it is not to my liking.
She is too…” He glanced at the woman in the painting again.
“She is cold. She is not her.”

Cold. The opposite of his beloved Helena. She had been

warm, giving, and loving. Looking into her eyes had been
like bathing in a warm lake. Light and warmth had followed
Helena everywhere she went. She lit any space she occupied,
most of all Benedict’s heart. The woman in the painting did
none of it. Nor did she resemble his late wife, as he had
requested. And that, truly, was the problem.

He had asked Biasi to paint a portrait that resembled Helena.

He’d let him study the three portraits Benedict possessed of
his late wife, and had described her in great detail to the
man. He’d been quite clear. He had not wanted another
painting of a beautiful woman who resembled Helena. He
had many of those. No. He’d wanted Helena. Given that
Rodolfo Biasi was one of the most respected painters in the
country, a man who had painted the Regent himself,
Benedict had been full of hope. Until today. Until he saw the
final result. It was not Helena. Not in the least. No. The
painting could not remain.

“Take it away, Biasi,” he ordered. At once, the painter called

his two burly assistants into the room and together, they
carried the heavy frame away.

“Your Grace, I could perhaps modify…”

“No!” Benedict shouted. “I do not wish to have it modified. I

simply do not wish to see it again.”

“I apologize that my work proved a disappointment to you.

I…”

Benedict shook his head and leaned against the windowsill.

“Do not let this vex you so, Biasi. It will be simpler to start
over. It is my fault. I should have told you more about her.
You do not know her as I did. Thus, it would be impossible
for you to paint her accurately. It is all about her warmth,
Biasi. Her passion. Her compassion. You shall start over, and
I will ensure you know all you need to in order to capture her
true essence next time. That is not a problem, I am certain.”
Benedict nodded, confident he would be able to assist the
painter in creating the perfect painting of his wife the next
time around.

Biasi’s lips trembled as he shrugged. “No, Your Grace, no

problem at all. We shall get started right away. In the
meantime, I have a lead on a lovely painting I have located in
Edinburgh. Lovely. Exquisite work and it would match
perfectly in Your Grace’s collection. I am traveling to
Scotland next week, and I will be able to bring it back with
me, should Your Grace agree.”

Benedict smiled, his mood somewhat lifted after the

disappointing reveal of his commissioned portrait. “I trust
your judgement, Biasi, and I look forward to your return.”

The painter departed and Benedict left his study, walking

with large, thundering steps toward the drawing room.

There, he stopped before the fireplace, and gazed up at the

painting that hung there. It was one of only three paintings
that showed her true face.

Helena, his beloved, late wife. Painted while she was still
living. He remembered her sitting for this painting, shortly
after the birth of their son, Henry. He’d been in the nurse’s
arms, just to the right of Helena. It was why her gaze was
slightly focused in that direction in the painting. A bystander
would not have noticed the glance at all. Alas, Benedict had
been there and he knew what she’d been looking at while the
painter was working.

Oh, my love. If only we had more time. If only you did not have to
leave me.

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” the deep voice of Swindon, his

butler, sounded from behind him. Benedict turned to face
him.

“What is it, Swindon?”

“Your Grace, Lord Winterton has…”

“Tradegrove!”  A familiar voice boomed from behind the

butler, cutting Swindon o mid-sentence. Benedict smirked
as his good friend, Jordan Foley, the Marquess of Winterton,
rushed past the butler, and made his way into the drawing
room, a grin on his rugged face.

“Winterton! Old chum, how are you? What brings you here?”
He marched toward his friend, a wide grin on his face. The
two men had been friends since their childhood days, and he
much enjoyed spending time with him. It was unfortunate
that, given their busy lives, they often found themselves
apart for long stretches of time. In fact, Benedict had not
seen his friend since the beginning of the month.  

“I am well, Tradegrove. Devastated that you have evidently

forgotten that I am scheduled to beat you at a game of
billiards today.”

Benedict gasped. He had indeed forgotten.

“Forgive me, Winterton. I was preoccupied. I am ready now.

And it shall be I who beats you, not the other way around, I
declare.”

“Zooks, if you so declare.” Winterton laughed but then grew

serious once more. “Was your preoccupation related to Biasi?
The painter? I saw him leave, looking rather sullen with
what appeared to be a canvas made of five hundred oak
trees.”

He chuckled at his own joke, although Benedict did not see

the humor. 
“It was a painting I commissioned, of Helena. It was—
unsatisfactory.” He rumpled his nose at the memory of the
unfortunate result.

The two men walked through the hall, followed by Swindon.

Benedict, in preparation for the billiards match, was
presently relieving himself of his cu inks and cravat, which
he handed to Swindon.

“I do not know why you bother, Tradegrove. You are never

satisfied with any paintings you commission of Helena. Why
not simply collect your paintings of other blonde beauties as
you have been? Why risk the disappointment each time? Or
better yet, stop tearing open your wounds and cease
collecting paintings all together. Or perhaps branch out. How
about a lovely still life? Or a painting of…” Winterton waved
his hand about in a dramatic fashion, “A sunset, perhaps?”

A sunset? A still life? Preposterous!

Benedict felt his irritation grow at a rapid pace but contained

himself. He’d always had a bit of a temper, before meeting
Helena. She had soothed his moods and brought out the
gentle, more mild-mannered side of him. Following her
untimely death, he’d tried hard to hold onto that, to hold on
to the good she’d brought into his life. It was one of the
many ways he chose to honor her memory. And most days,
he succeeded. Unless anyone called into question the manner
in which he chose to remember his wife.
Of all people, Winterton knows the meaning behind my portrait
collection. He was there the day I first laid eyes upon a painting
that so resembled my beloved I simply had to purchase it. He
knows how much finding that very first portrait soothed me after
many months of su ering. I still recall the way my blood froze
upon seeing it, as if confronted with Helena once more. Winterton
even helped me negotiate a fair price for the artwork. For him to
question it now—I cannot comprehend it.

Benedict sighed, remembering the day he’d returned home

with the painting. He found that it comforted him. Even
though it was not Helena, it looked enough like her to where
it helped him conjure up her image in his mind. Soon, a
second painting had joined it and now, at last count, he
owned twenty-five paintings. And yet, it was not enough. No.
It was never enough.

As they walked along the hallway, he glanced up at the

paintings. The women looked down upon him from high up
as he felt his heart grow heavy.

“No, old chum. I have no interest in a still life or sunsets.”

He turned to his friend. “It is one of my greatest regrets to
not have commissioned more paintings of Helena. Thus, I
must attempt to make up for it by finding those that
resemble her. It is my only way to keep her memory alive.”
His friend sighed and shook his head. “By Jove, her memory
lives within you. Indeed, I worry that being surrounded by
these paintings will keep you from finding happiness once
more because they hold you captive. Captive to a memory,
captive to the past. Benedict, it has been four years since you
lost Helena, do you not feel that one day there might be
another who…”

Benedict stopped in his tracks and turned to his friend, one

finger rapidly moving back and forth.

“Do not say it, Winterton. There are no other women out
there. Not for me. Helena was perfection. She was all I ever
wanted and ever dreamt of. No. I shall be content spending
my life surrounded by her likeness. And one day Biasi will
succeed in capturing her beauty in another painting. Then I
will commission more from him. That shall be my goal. That
will sustain me until I am reunited with her.”

He turned and marched on, not waiting for a response from

his friend. He heard the Marquess sigh as he rushed to catch
up with him.

They had reached the billiards room and Benedict picked up

two sticks, handing one to his friend, who looked at him
with a deep crease upon his forehead.

“Tradegrove…”
“Are we going to play, or have you decided to concede before
we even start?”

He shrugged. “Let us play.”

“Very well.” Benedict set up the table and indicated for his
friend to take the first shot. He did, sending the billiard balls
flying wildly across the table, sinking one.

“A good start!” Lord Winterton said and indicated where he

intended to sink the next ball.

He was about to take his shot when the sounds of laughter

sounded from outside. Benedict watched as his friend lifted
his head and looked outside. On the grass, just outside the
window, Benedict saw that his son Henry was running in
circles around his nurse, Miss Babette. The woman appeared
utterly frazzled and, despite her young age, had trouble
keeping up with the boy.

“He is looking more and more like his mother, Lord Henry
is,” his friend commented.
Benedict swallowed hard. It was true. Henry had inherited
his mother’s blue eyes and fair complexion. Even his laugh
reminded him of her. It was one of the reasons he found it so
hard to be around the boy. While the paintings that
resembled his wife comforted him, being near his son who
had so much of the woman he loved in him, was unbearable.

He watched the little boy run and stumble. He shook it o

and began to run once more. The nurse lifted her blue
uniform gown and rushed after him, her hair wild in the
wind. Then, suddenly, she stopped and placed her hands on
her thighs, bent at the waist and gasping for air.

“Indeed, he does. He inherited her endurance and love of the

outdoors, too.”

Winterton straighten up and faced his friend.

“Perhaps he needs to expel some of his energy. We could

take him for a hike or a ride. We could take him for a tour of
the estate.”

Benedict shook his head. “Perhaps when he is older. For

now, he needs to be taught manners and proper decorum.
And he needs an education.”

His friend looked at him from the corner of his eyes.

“Indeed, he does. Perhaps it is time for the boy to have a
governess, rather than a nurse. Horace and Frances have had
a governess for some time now and it has been wonderful for
them.”

Benedict shrugged. He had not been in charge of his son’s

education nor care since the death of Helena. His sister,
Clementine, the Dowager Marchioness of Blinddale, had
taken the responsibility after Helena’s death. She had
arranged for the nurses and overseen Henry’s care. Alas,
she’d been called away, back to her late husband’s estate, in
order to settle a airs with her husband’s heirs. She would
not return for quite some time.

“Perhaps when Clementine returns, I shall discuss the

matter with her.”

Winterton shrugged. “I shall ask Mrs. Lester for a

recommendation in the meantime.”

“Ah, Mrs. Lester. You would not be interested in parting with

her, would you? Given how you like to sing her praises.”

Winterton gasped in mock horror. “Zooks! My darling

governess? How dare you, Tradegrove. She is worth her
weight in gold. Now, before you talk me into giving up my
most treasured employee, how about we resume our game?”

“We shall, my friend. We shall. Now, I was about to beat you,

was I not?”

“In your dreams perhaps, Tradegrove,” his friend laughed

and sunk the next solid colored ball into the left-most
pocket.

After three rounds of billiards, Benedict found himself the

unlikely victor in his game with his friend, which lifted his
spirits. It had been refreshing to spend some time with his
good friend. Unfortunately, both he and Lord Winterton had
business to attend to and so their afternoon was cut short.

Benedict was taking his friend back through the Great Hall
toward the front door, where his carriage would be awaiting
him, when something caught Winterton’s attention.

“That is some interesting tiling, Tradegrove,” he said and

pointed up ahead where splashes of brown were splattered
among the black and white tiling.

Benedict glanced down as they got closer and indeed, the

entire floor was covered in splatters of mud and two
di erent sets of shoe prints were visible. One adult, one
child-sized.

A moment later, his housekeeper, Mrs. Harrison, appeared

with a bucket of water in hand. When she saw him, she
stopped so abruptly that water splashed out over the sides.

“Your Grace. I am sorry about the mess. I’m afraid there has
been a little incident.”

“I can see that, Mrs. Harrison. Now, pray tell, why is my

head housekeeper about to wash the tiles? Where is Maggie?
And Molly?”

Mrs. Harrison swallowed.

“Maggie has taken ill again due to the pregnancy and Molly
is attending to her. I’ve dispatched one of the footmen to
fetch Maggie’s mother from the farm, thus…”

Benedict raised his hand to stop her. “Very well. Have one of
the scullery maids clean the floor. That is not one of your
duties. A few more moments of mud on the floor shan’t
make a di erence. It is not as though we are hosting a house
party. But first, tell me, what has happened here?”
Mrs. Harrison sighed.

“It appears as though young Lord Henry has discovered a

mud hole in the garden, due to the rains we’ve had.
According to Miss Babette, he has grown rather fond of it,
much to her chagrin. She’s been able to draw him away from
it the last couple of days, but today Lord Henry got away
from her and found his way to the mud hole.”

“I can see that.” Benedict took in the mess on the floor while
beside him, his friend chuckled.

“I’m afraid the chase led through the house and back outside
where Miss Babette is presently running after Lord Henry.”

“I am telling you, old chum. Henry is in need of a governess.

Structure. None of this child’s play. Don’t you agree, Mrs.
Harrison?” Winterton crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Mrs. Harrison’s eyes grew wide. She had been in his employ
for so long that Benedict could not remember a time when
she had not been part of the household. She’d been a house
maid when he was a boy, working her way up to serve as his
mother’s lady’s maid and then eventually, she’d been
promoted to be the housekeeper, in charge of the entire
household. She was capable and ruled the household sta
with a kind, but stern and guiding hand.
Benedict was well aware that Mrs. Harrison was not used to
being asked her opinion and she was clearly uncomfortable
at Winterton’s question. To his surprise, however, she
cleared her throat.

“Well, since Lord Winterton has brought it up. I was

wondering if Your Grace may have a moment to speak with
me regarding a…. That is to say I, I have a cousin who is…”

Benedict frowned. It was unlike the old woman to speak in

such a halting manner.

“What is it, Mrs. Harrison?”

“Well, I was going to speak to you about my cousin who…”

She could go no further as they were all startled from the

commotion outside. They heard a loud shriek, followed by
some rather unladylike language being uttered by a woman.

“By Jove! Tradegrove, look at that sight,” Winterton laughed

as he looked out the window. Hesitantly, Benedict joined his
friend, followed in short order by Mrs. Harrison, who gasped.

“That poor woman.”

Benedict had trouble controlling his laughter. Outside, the
nurse, Miss Babette, was walking toward the house, covered
from head to toe in mud. Henry was nowhere to be seen
which, given the nurse’s expression, was perhaps best.

Benedict watched, his eyes wide, as the nurse made her way
across the garden and up the stairs. Her face was like
thunder and when he caught a glimpse of her eyes, the
laughter froze in his throat. Upon seeing the nurse’s face,
Winterton turned to Benedict.

“I believe you have a full plate, old chum. I shall bid you
farewell. And I will ask Mrs. Lester for the recommendations,
as it appears you may need them sooner rather than later.
Mrs. Harrison,” he tilted his head to the housekeeper and
went out the door, just as the nurse entered.

Her pale face was caked in mud, only her amber eyes were
visible and they were positively aflame with anger.

“Your Grace!” She said loudly, stomping one mud covered

foot on the already dirty floor. “This is too much. There are
not enough guineas in the entire realm to make up for this. I
have had enough. I shall resign at once.” She stomped once
more, sending mud flying around the room and then
stormed away the way she had come, leaving Benedict
behind and unsure if he should laugh or cry.
 CH APT ER 3

L ucretia returned from her last lesson of the week and

found Mary already in their chamber. Sitting on her
bed, her friend had her head in her hands and sobbed
quietly. Lucretia sat beside her and wrapped one arm around
her, rubbing the other along her forearm.

“All will be well, believe me.”

Mary looked up, her face and her eyes red from the tears she
shed almost daily over the last two weeks.

“How? The postman has just left and I’ve had another
rejection, this time for Mrs. Marvis’ School for Little Ladies.
Nobody is looking to hire a teacher in the middle of the
school year. What are we to do? We have only a fortnight
before we are homeless. We shall be sleeping in the streets
like beggars. Oh, Lucy. I will end up a lady of easy virtue.”
Mary had spent the past two weeks in an utter state of
despair. First, the death of Mrs. Doringcourt had shaken
teachers and students alike, for she was an immensely
popular lady, and then news that the school was to close by
month’s end had been announced.

It appeared as though the good Mrs. Doringcourt had not

only not secured a successor to her position, but she had
used much of her own fortunes to purchase school supplies,
leaving nothing in reserves to pay for the property.

More than half of the students had already departed, and the
ones who remained would soon be collected by their parents
as well. All of the remaining teachers, Lucretia included, had
sent letters to other schools, looking for employment. But
Mary was right, nobody was looking to take on new teachers
in the middle of the school year.

What shall we do? Certainly, we will not be made homeless.

Certainly, the owners of the building will show mercy and allow
us to stay. Someone will surely need a tutor for their child. I
cannot believe how our lives have been upended in so short a
period of time.

“Mary, have you thought of writing to Almack’s, in London?

It is the London season soon and perhaps they may know of
some young lady in need of a dance teacher? Or a harp
teacher?”
Her friend looked up and wiped her eyes.

“Faith, Lucy. I do not think that is how Almack’s works.

They do not concern themselves with hapless women such as
ourselves. They have their own established tutors for the ton.
No. I shall have to go into the poorhouse. At least you can
return to the nuns, if you must.”

Lucretia swallowed hard. She had considered it, though she

was not certain they would take her back.

“I do not believe I can. Not unless I wish to become a nun.

Sister Agnes, the Mother Superior, passed away some years
ago, and Sister Marie, her successor, does not care for me.
She has held a grudge against me ever since I refused to eat
her dreadful pottage as a child. No, Mary, I am afraid we
shall both be headed for the poorhouse, my dear.” Her friend
shook her head.

“This is a travesty. All of it.” She turned to face Lucretia.

“You have had some letters also. Yolanda placed them on the
desk for you. Perhaps you shall have better luck than me.”

Lucretia got up with a heavy sigh and picked up the letters

from the rickety old desk by the door. She ripped open the
first one and found herself rejected from a girl’s school in
Brighton, after having already been rejected by all the
schools in Bath. She dropped the letter in the garbage can. It
was soon joined by another, this a letter from a family she’d
hoped might take her on due to her having given their
daughter private tutoring lessons in French earlier in the
year.

“I am sorry, Lucy,” Mary said as she shook her head.

Lucretia shrugged and picked up the last letter. Her heart

skipped a beat when she realized it was not a letter from a
school or a private family she’d applied to. No! It was from
Betsy Harrison, her mother’s cousin. Lucretia sat down on
the old wooden chair and opened the letter with shaking
hands. She read the few lines her cousin had written in her
neat, tiny script and clutched her chest.

“What is it Lucy?” Mary jumped up and was by her side in no

time at all, placing a hand on her shoulder as if to comfort
her.

“It is from my mother’s cousin, Betsy.”

“The one who works for the Earl, down in Gloucester?”

“He is a Duke, but yes, she is the one. I wrote to her last
week, utterly desperate and in hopes she might be able to
help me find employment among one of the families in her
area. Faith, I would work as a scullery maid to avoid being
out on the streets.”

Mary bounced up and down beside her. “As would I. Now,

what does the letter say? Is it good news?”

Lucretia nodded. “It is. Let me read it to you.” She raised the
letter up and shook it to straighten the paper.

My dearest Lucretia,

I was overjoyed to receive your letter, as it has been too long since
you last wrote to me. I am ever so sorry to hear of the events at
Mrs. Doringcourt’s School for Young Ladies. I know you were fond
of the headmistress. Alas, you must look forward and secure a
position for yourself. As you know, I would never allow a family
member of mine to fall into a desperate position and would
certainly do all I can to assist you. To that end, I am pleased to
report that His Grace, Benedict De Clare, The Duke of Tradegrove,
has agreed to give you an audience and discuss possible
employment here at Amberley Manor, as governess to his son,
Henry De Clare, The Marquess of Tenwerth, five years of age.
Bring proof of your qualifications and come at once.

“I am to report immediately. Can you believe it?”

Mary clasped her hands in front of her mouth and then went
to hug her friend tightly.

“Faith, Lucy. You must collect your papers at once. And find
a coach. I am so pleased for my dearest friend.”

Lucretia looked at her friend’s bright face and while she was
greatly relieved at the prospect of finding employment, she
felt a sense of sadness. Indeed, she felt guilt. She was
perhaps saved from the poorhouse, but what of Mary? What
would happen to her best friend?

Mary, always seemingly one step ahead of her friend, placed

a hand on Lucretia’s shoulder.

“Do not worry about me, my dear. The worry is written all
over your face. I shall be fine. Any day now I shall receive a
letter myself with a wonderful o er. You’ll see.”

“If you do not, I shall find you a placement, if I am fortunate

enough to receive this position. We shall plan it all when I
return.”

“We shall.”
The two friends embraced, and Lucretia set out in search of a
coach that would take her to the Duke’s manor.

Lucretia rushed to the hackney station and haggled with the

jarvey for a fair price to take her to Gloucester, given that it
was a fair distance and very late notice.

She boarded the coach, dismayed to find that it was dirty

inside. She wiped the seat and found a considerable amount
of dust flying into the air. With a sigh, she sat.

The journey to Amberley Manor, while taking some hours,

was rather adventurous. The jarvey directed the coach along
a side road which proved bumpy, sending even more dust
into the air. In addition, Lucretia discovered that the window
was broken and could not be closed. This, at first, proved to
be enjoyable. The coach was hot and her gown, while of a
light material, had begun to stick to her skin in an
uncomfortable manner. The light breeze that came through
the broken window helped ease the burden of the summer’s
heat on the passengers.

Alas, a half hour into the journey, the weather changed and
the breeze swiftly turned into a strong wind which whipped
into the carriage, causing Lucretia’s mop cap to fly o her
head. Her hair, arranged in an elegant half-up do by Mary,
began to come loose as strands hung in her sweaty face.
Soon enough, rain began to pour and—to the passengers’
great dismay—the roof of the coach proved leaky.

Droplets of water soon turned into a steady drip overhead.

Lucretia found herself pressed against the side of the coach
as her fellow passengers attempted to avoid the water that
now poured from the ceiling.

I shall smell like a wet dog by the time I arrive in the Manor. What
a disaster. I must impress the Duke, for certainly he will not want
to hire a governess who looks as though she was dragged to the
manor by wild horses. Perhaps Betsy can assist me.

By the time the coach stopped on the road outside the

Manor, Lucretia was well and truly frazzled. Her hair had
come undone and while the rain had stopped, the water
dripping inside the carriage had left dirty stains on her pale
blue gown.

She made her way along the driveway, all the while
scrubbing at the stains on her gown. When she realized there
was nothing to be done about it, she decided to fix her hair
as best she could. By the time she arrived at the Manor, she
felt somewhat dejected and hopeless. Certainly, the Duke
expected someone much more sophisticated.

With a heavy heart she knocked on the front door, and to her
delight, was met by Betsy Harrison, her mother’s cousin. She
had not seen her in years, but recognized her at once. She
had brown eyes with a small speck of amber in each eye,
similar to Lucretia’s own. Her old face was wrinkled but
kind, and the smile on her face when she saw Lucretia
warmed her heart.

“Lucretia! My darling! Come here, let me hug you.” Lucretia

bent down, for Betsy was nearly one whole head shorter than
her. “Faith, Lucretia, what has happened to your gown?”
Betsy asked. Lucretia’s smile fell o her face and she cast her
eyes down. “And your hair.”

“It has been a di cult journey. Oh, Cousin, can you help me
clean up before the Duke sees me?”

The old woman’s kind smile returned and she beckoned her
younger cousin inside.

“We haven’t much time for the butler, Mr. Swindon is his
name, has already informed the Duke of your arrival. But
come…” She led Lucretia through the large hall which was
adorned with antique columns and lined with magnificent
marble tiles. They arrived at a small staircase that led
downstairs, to the servant area.

Lucretia followed along a narrow path, past an array of

maids and footmen and past the many servant quarters until
they arrived in Betsy’s o ce.
“Sit, sit,” Betsy motioned for a chair. With quick, steady
hands she pinned Lucretia’s hair up around her head in a
style more often seen on maids than on ladies. Still, it was
much better than the messy state Lucretia’s hair had
previously presented itself in.

“Mrs. Harrison!” A voice bellowed along the hall.

“That’s Mr. Swindon now. The Duke will be ready for you,
my dear. Here.” She pulled a white apron from a hook by the
door and threw it over Lucretia’s neck. She tied it behind her,
covering most of the stains on the gown. She clapped her
hands together.

“Very well. It shall have to do. No matter. His Grace invited

you due to your credentials, not due to your looks. Now,
when you speak to him, address him as Your Grace, never
with My Lord or anything of that nature. Highly
disrespectful. Keep in mind, Dukes are only one step below
the Royal Family itself. Show respect, answer when
questioned, and you shall be fine. You are what he needs, and
we shall convince him of it.”

“Mrs. Harrison! Where are ye? Where is this governess of

yours? His Grace…”
A man stopped outside Betsy’s o ce. “Is this her? Well,
then. Let us go. His Grace is waiting.”

Lucretia followed Mr. Swindon along the narrow staircase

and through the parlor. They walked down the Hall which
was lined on both sides with a collection of portraits. At first
glance, they all appeared to be of the same lady, the Duchess,
presumably.

She was a gorgeous woman with pale skin and luscious, thick
golden hair which was complemented by lovely, rich gowns.
Her eyes were of a deep blue.

The more paintings she saw, the more apparent it became

that the woman in them was not the same at all. No, they
were simply women who resembled one another. 

In some, the woman had a heart-shaped face and in others it

was round. Sometimes, her eyes were very close together and
others far apart. How curious it all was. Lucretia frowned.

The Duke seems rather fond of blondes. Not a painting of a dark-

haired woman anywhere to be found. I hope he is not by nature
opposed to brown hair, for I shall have no hope of getting this job.
I am as far removed from a blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty as
one can be.
The butler walked down a smaller hallway and stopped
outside a large double door. He knocked and then opened the
door after receiving word from within.

“Your Grace, Miss Lucretia Nelson has arrived.”

He nodded his chin for her to enter as she followed. Too

closely as it turned out, for she accidentally kicked him in
the heel with her toe, causing both of them to stumble
forward.

“I am ever so sorry,” she mumbled as Mr. Swindon glared at

her. Ahead of them, she saw a man sitting behind a large,
dark oak desk with his head buried in papers. He casually
waved one arm in their direction, unaware of the small scene
that had just occurred.

“That will be all, Swindon.”

The butler nodded and turned, glaring at her once more

before closing the doors behind him.

Lucretia stood there and waited for the Duke to lift his head.
As she stood, she attempted to smooth her wrinkled gown.
While the apron her cousin had given her covered some of
the stains, the rest of the gown was still wrinkled from the
journey. Giving up on the venture, she instead opened her
reticule and retrieved her papers of reference when at last
the Duke looked up.

She felt startled at once, for he was much younger than she
had expected him to be, given Betsy’s description. His face
was pale, as if untouched by the sun. His eyes were blue, not
unlike those of the ladies in the paintings. However, there
was darkness in them. She recognized it at once, for she’d
seen it many times in the eyes of the nuns who’d spent their
time caring for the sick and dying. It was sorrow. 

“Miss Nelson, I presume?” he said at last. His voice was deep

and smooth, almost soothing.

She nodded at him and their eyes locked for a long moment
before she realized—he was waiting for her to curtsy.

Lucretia found herself utterly discombobulated, for she could

not remember the proper way to curtsy to a Duke. She knew
there were a multitude of di erent curtsies, depending on
who you were curtsying to.

She decided to bend as low as she could go, for as Betsy just
told her a Duke was but a step removed from the Royal
Family. She ended up wobbling and tumbling forward as she
went, earning a smirk from the Duke who motioned to the
chair across from him.
“Are these your papers?” He pointed at the reference letters
in her hand.

“Yes, My Lo…I mean Your Grace.” She leaned forward to

hand them to him, upset with herself for almost using the
wrong form of address.

He did not appear to mind, however, and instead inspected

her letters.

“Your aunt has spoken of you with the highest regards. One
would be led to believe you are fit to tutor the Prince
Regent’s children.” He chuckled a little at his own joke and
Lucretia forced herself to smile. She wanted to correct him,
to let him know that Betsy was her cousin, not her aunt, but
she suddenly felt very aware of just what high a position this
man held within the peerage. Surely one did not correct a
Duke.

By Jove! He likely knows Prinny personally. Perhaps they are even

friends. Could it be? Faith, does the Regent ever come visit? No.
Don’t make a cake of yourself, Lucretia Nelson. Betsy would
certainly have mentioned if he did.

Lucretia shook her head to chase away her rapid train of

thought, for she knew her entire future depended upon this
interview. 
The Duke flipped through her letters of recommendation
with some interest and then glanced up at her, his blue eyes
wide open. 

“You speak Latin and Greek, as well as French and Italian?

That is rather impressive.”

“The nuns taught me all but the Italian. Our dearly departed
headmistress taught me that. Along with history and
needlework.”

The Duke grinned, and for a moment the sadness

disappeared from his eyes.

“Well, my son won’t be needing your assistance in

needlework. As a future Peer of the Realm, I should like him
to learn history. Not just ours, but the continent’s as well.
Arithmetic, too. And I see you are well-versed in all of that.”

“Indeed, I...” Before she could continue, he rang a little bell

and a moment later, Mr. Swindon appeared.

“Swindon, please take our new governess to her chamber.

Miss Babette’s former quarters will do.” He turned to her.
“You will start his lessons in the morning. Let Swindon here
know of anything you require. He can arrange to have your
belongings collected from Mrs. Doringcourt’s School and
brought here.”

Lucretia’s eyes grew wide. She was to start now? He had

hired her? Without returning to Bath? 

Sensing her confusion, he looked up once more. “Is there a

problem, Miss Nelson? I was under the impression you were
in need of immediate employment.”

Lucretia cleared her throat. “Yes, My L… Your Grace, I am.

And I am ever so grateful. Thank you so much.”

“Well then. You are to start Henry’s lessons tomorrow

morning. You may converse with your aunt, as she is aware
of what he has been taught thus far. Once my sister returns,
she will want to sit with you and discuss his lessons and so
forth, but that will not be for another fortnight at least. Until
then, I shall leave my son’s education in your capable
hands.” 

Mr. Swindon, the butler, had arrived while the Duke had
instructed her further and now that he was done, he
indicated for her to follow Mr. Swindon.

She swallowed and rose, giving him another curtsy, this time
an impeccable one, and followed the butler outside.
Lucretia exhaled when the heavy doors closed behind her

“His Grace only appears intimidating, Miss Nelson. Don’t let

him scare you. He’s a kind man at heart.”

Lucretia looked the butler in the eye and was surprised to

find that his formerly stern countenance had been replaced
with a kind expression and a slight smile. She nodded at the
man, grateful for his words. The Duke had indeed
intimidated her.

“Tis my first time speaking to someone so high up in the

peerage. Thus far, the highest-ranking person I ever met
was an Earl. The father of one of my students at Mrs.
Doringcourt’s school.”

The butler indicated the direction in which she should walk

and gave her another nod.

“I see. I find the nobility, in the end, are a lot like us

commoners. They endure their hardships same as us,
especially His Grace. Keep in mind, they’re all just human,
only with a more comfortable way of life.”
Lucretia frowned. She wondered what hardship the Duke had
endured. She had certainly sensed the air of sadness and
su ering around him, but she was not certain what caused it.
Now that the butler had made this ominous comment, she
found herself all the more curious.

Alas, she did not have much time to wonder about the
subject, for up ahead she heard a screeching sound followed
by the sound of two sets of feet running across the marble
floor. The sound echoed and then faded somewhat,
somewhere behind them. Lucretia turned but saw nothing.

“Ah, Lord Henry is excited today. I shall warn you, Miss

Nelson, our little boy has an abundance of energy, and the
nurses have thus far struggled to contain it.”

The footsteps sounded once more behind them as they made

their way back toward the main hallway.

“I trust you are of a more robust nature than those that

preceded you. At least, Mrs. Harrison appeared to think so.”

“I have had my hands rather full with a classroom of

energetic young ladies, Mr. Swindon. I trust I shall be able to
handle one young boy.” She smiled at the tall butler who
tilted his head back and forth.
“You may find one young boy more work than a classroom
full of ladies, Miss Nelson. Particularly this young boy.”

They turned and Lucretia found herself back in the Hall

which connected the various wings of the manor and she was
once again confronted with the portraits of the strange,
golden-haired ladies. She would have to ask Betsy about
them, when she got the chance.

“I assure you, Mr. Swindon, nothing vexes me, not when it

comes to our little…” she did not get any further because she
felt herself pushed forward with some force and lost her
footing.

Her arms grasping at nothing as she tumbled forward, she

saw the great Hall’s magnificent marble floor coming toward
her at great speed and then—suddenly—she found her world
going black.
 CH APT ER 4

B enedict sat behind his desk and studied the

woman’s references once more. They were indeed
impressive, although the woman had been anything
but that. He had to admit, he’d been a little taken aback by
her appearance. While she’d worn a crisp apron, the kind he
was used to seeing on his servants, her gown had been
another matter altogether. The periwinkle-colored round
gown was not only so common he felt he’d seen hundreds of
them in the past year alone, it had also been wrinkled and
stained. Her shoes, covered in dust, had been old and worn,
and her hair looked hastily put together.

It was true, since Helena’s passing, Benedict had been

judging the appearance of others, the ladies’ especially,
rather harshly. He knew it was not fair to compare every
woman he met to his departed wife, for Helena had been
utter perfection and he could not help holding her up as the
standard.
Benedict had to remind himself that when it came to his son,
qualifications mattered, not looks. And qualifications the
young Miss Nelson had in abundance. Not only did she have
a glowing recommendation from the well-respected Mrs.
Doringcourt, she also had recommendations from many
parents of her students, each and every one high in praise.

He had to admit, finding a governess had been a daunting

task. Alas, he had no option after the dramatic manner in
which the last nurse had announced her departure. And she
had followed through at once. Miss Babette had departed the
Manor that very evening, leaving Mrs. Harrison in charge of
Henry.

Benedict counted himself fortunate that Mrs. Harrison’s

niece had been in need of a position. Niece? Or was she a
cousin? Benedict wasn’t quite sure.

The only thing that really worried him was her lack of
experience in teaching boys. Clearly, she was an excellent
tutor for young ladies, but would she be able to teach Henry?
Ensure he received the education he needed? And what of his
boisterous personality? Would she be able to handle it?

I suppose it does not matter. If Miss Nelson turns out to be ill-

suited for the position, I am sure Clem will find a governess. I
wonder if she will be upset with me for having taken it upon
myself to employ someone, without consulting her first. She has,
after all, been in charge of Henry’s care thus far.
He decided to write to his sister at once, so she would not be
surprised to find Miss Babette gone and Miss Nelson in her
stead. Benedict was about to dip his quill into the ink pot
when—

“By Jove! What has happened?” He shouted the words out as

he rushed to the door, for an almighty crash had alerted him
to some calamity or other out in the hallway.

He stepped outside and saw that someone, the new

governess it appeared, was on the ground in the hallway, a
chair overturned, and a vase in pieces on the floor. He was by
her side in a couple of large steps.

Mrs. Harrison was already by her side, examining her head

for injury. Swindon, meanwhile bent down to pick up the
broken shards, lest anyone cut themselves.

“Are you injured, Miss Nelson?” Benedict bent down beside

her as she turned to look at him, her eyes glazed over.

“She has taken a bump on the head. I’m afraid it will leave a
mark for some days,” the housekeeper said, as she indicated
toward the young woman’s forehead. The lady in question,
however, shook her head.
“It is quite all right. I am just a little dizzy, Your Lord.
Otherwise quite undamaged.”

“Your Grace,” he heard Mrs. Harrison whisper, and the

young woman blushed bright red. Benedict smiled, for he
had noticed that the young woman appeared to be flustered
when it came to the proper form of address. Oddly, he found
it rather endearing. Just as long as she did not pass the habit
on to Henry. The young boy would be required to use proper
forms of address if he wanted to be taken seriously in life.

“I am sorry, Your Grace. Of course. Thank you for your

concern. I am…” she attempted to push herself up but
Benedict could see that she was weak on her feet.

“Do not fret. You have taken quite the tumble. I am rather
more concerned about your wellbeing than my proper title.”
He looked her in the eyes and was suddenly struck by the
richness of their color. Embedded in the dark brown were
specks of amber which gave her eyes a warm quality and a
depth he had not seen since… Well, since he’d last looked in
the eyes of his beloved Helena.

Suddenly, the governess averted her eyes and flushed as she

attempted to stand once more, assisted by her elder aunt.

“Let me,” he said and wrapped an arm around her waist as

she lifted herself up. He noticed her sideways glance at him
as they did, but as soon as their eyes met, she flushed and
looked away. He could not help but smile, for it was oddly
charming.

She is a curious one, this new governess of ours. She is by far the
most unkempt creature I have ever laid my eyes upon. Helena
would certainly be mortified by her appearance. But then, she
would do her best to improve upon it, would she not? My darling
Helena. Yes. She would have taken Miss Nelson under her wing
just as she had Maggie, her maid. I shall have a word with her
aunt and see what can be done to improve on her appearance. It
cannot be denied, she is comely and oddly charming. And her eyes
are rather…

Benedict shook his head, now feeling embarrassed at having

allowed himself to view the new governess as anything other
than an employee, for that is what she was. Nothing else.

“Well, it appears everything is still intact. Now, perhaps

someone in this group might care to inform me on what
exactly caused this commotion.”

The governess looked at the ground, clearly still vexed by the

experience, while his housekeeper and butler exchanged
sheepish glances with one another while pressing their lips
together.
“Well?” He picked up on the way Mrs. Harrison surveyed the
Hall and turned that way. Soon enough, he knew exactly
what she was looking at and in turn what, or rather who, had
caused the commotion.

His son, Henry, was standing by the window in the Hall,

chewing his bottom lip, his gaze darting from one adult to
the next.  Benedict noted that his son’s mustard-colored
skeleton suit was covered in mud once more, something that
was becoming a habit, it appeared.

“Am I to understand you were somehow involved in this

commotion?” Benedict asked the boy.

His son nodded, “Yes, Father. I am sorry. I ran and bumped

into the lady and she took a tumble.” His voice was soft but
clear. He pressed his lips together and looked Benedict in the
eyes.

“It was an accident, Your Grace,” the governess chimed in.

He turned to look at her. The red flush had disappeared from
her face and she had regained her pale complexion, which
made her dark eyes stand out even more. He noted once
more how her hair stood wildly about her head. Her gown
was wrinkled even more so than before.

“That is understood, Miss Nelson. And I am sure my son

feels badly about it.” He turned back to his son, feeling
awkward.

He was not sure if he ought to discipline the boy or simply let

the whole situation go. Frankly, he did not know how to act
around him. He’d left his education and virtually all his
needs up to his sister and the series of nurses who had
attended to him since Helena had passed away.

Benedict found that his days were taken up with the running
of the estate and his duties as a Peer of the Realm. When he
had any time to spare, he generally was consumed
expanding his portrait collection. Last week, for instance, he
had traveled to Brighton twice, in order to procure a painting
of a lady who looked remarkably like Helena, from a collector
there. He’d have to travel at least once more, for the owner
was reluctant to part with it. He would, eventually. Benedict
had found that for the right sum, a man would part with near
anything.

His quest to find portraits, along with his other duties, left
little time for the boy. In fact, the last he’d seen the child had
been at dinner some days ago. The boy had been even more
sullen than was usual that evening, and, to be quite frank,
Benedict could not recall why he’d taken dinner with his son
that day. The boy never ate with him unless Clem was also
there, for she insisted upon the occasional family dinner.

He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck audibly,

something he liked to do to relieve tension. He smiled briefly
when he remembered how much Helena had disliked it and
always shuddered. Beside him, he saw that Miss Nelson
shuddered also and glanced at him with disapproval in her
eyes.

“Well, son. Come here.” He waved the little boy over and the
boy complied, walking toward him in small, hesitant steps.
When he reached him, Benedict started to put his arm
around him but then hesitated, and simply crossed his hands
in front of him. He was not accustomed to giving the boy, or
anyone, physical a ection. He never received it himself,
aside from during his courtship and marriage.

“This is Miss Nelson,” he formally introduced her. “Your

new governess. She will be in charge of your education from
now on. No more nurses. I expect you to do as she tells you
and be an attentive and studious young man.”

The boy looked up at him, his eyes wide and as blue as those
of his mother. His rosy cheeks were covered in mud.

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said in a quiet, shy voice.

“Now, Mrs. Harrison, it appears Lord Henry is in need of a

bath. Perhaps you could attend to it.”
The boy sti ened beside him and Mrs. Harrison shook her
head.

“I shall try, Your Grace. Although His Grace should know

that it is what started the whole a air. If only young Lord
Henry was as fond of the bath as he is of the mud hole in the
garden.”

Benedict look at his son. “One would think at age five one is
outgrowing mud holes,” he smiled at the boy in what he
thought was a show of camaraderie, but the child returned
his gaze with one of utter devastation.

“I am six, Your Grace. ‘Twas my birthday this week past,”

the boy said with a quiver in his voice. Benedict felt his heart
sink. It suddenly became clear why the boy had been so
sullen at dinner the last time they dined together. The dinner
was meant as a birthday treat, as with most children.
Benedict had been reminded of it by his sister, who’d written
a letter to ensure the boy was given a proper birthday
celebration.

And he had. One hosted and attended to by the servants, for

Benedict had been held up in Brighton. By the time Benedict
returned, he’d forgotten all about the celebration and simply
dined with the boy, unaware of the special day. He had not
remembered until this very moment. Quick on his feet, he
sought to soften the blow he dealt to his young son.
“Indeed, son. It was. That is why I have the most
magnificent pony being sent here for you from London. It
shall arrive any day now. You will see.”

He hoped with all his might that the boy would accept the lie
as truth, for of course no pony was on the way. Not as yet. 

The boy nodded, his eyes and head downcast, for he was wise
enough to know a lie when he heard it. Just like his mother
had been.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Benedict felt awful and wished for nothing more than the
housekeeper to take the boy away. It was the new governess
who spoke up to lighten the mood.

“Well, no matter what age, one is never too old for a good
mud hole, isn’t that right Lord Henry? I, for one, am rather
fond of them as well. We had some impressive mud holes in
Bath. The best, I declare.”

“Better than mine?” Henry asked, his interest evidently

piqued.
“I venture to say so, yes. Perhaps tomorrow, after our
lessons, you can show me yours and we can make a scientific
comparison, what do you say?”

“Really? Yes, Ma’am. You will love my mud hole, ‘tis the
best.”

Benedict found himself smiling at the boy’s enthusiasm. He

had not seen the boy smile so broadly in some time.

“Splendid,” Benedict said and clapped his hands together.

He turned to the boy and found to his dismay that the broad
smile had once again disappeared from the child’s face. He
swallowed hard. “Well. Now that tomorrow’s plans are set
forth, perhaps a bath, Mrs. Harrison?”

The housekeeper hesitated for a moment, an eye on the

young boy who stood with his legs crossed.

“I take it the request for a bath is what caused the

commotion to begin with?” Benedict asked.

“I am afraid so,” Mrs. Harrison replied. She turned her

attention to Henry once more. “But you’ve heard your father.
Time for a bath it is. Without a fight this time, Lord Henry.”
“Yes, Mrs. Harrison,” the boy glanced at his father as he said
so.

“Very good, Lord Henry. Now say goodnight and we shall

have us a nice bath.”

The boy blinked and looked up at Miss Nelson.

“Are you coming with us, Miss Nelson?”

The governess broke into a wide smile and Benedict saw her
eyes soften.

“Of course, Lord Henry. I will gladly join you. Perhaps we can
think up a name for your new pony.”

She turned toward Benedict who nodded.

“What a wonderful idea. Now, I shall bid you goodnight,

Henry.”

His son stood up straight and then bowed to him, which

Benedict acknowledged with a nod of the head.
“Goodnight, Father.”

“Goodnight, Henry.”

With that, the boy turned from him and slipped one hand
into that of Mrs. Harrison and the other into Miss Nelson’s.

As they departed, the governess turned to him, an

expression of confusion upon her comely face.

Benedict nodded at her with a slight smile. To his surprise,

she did not return it and instead focused her attention on his
son who happily chatted away with her.

“Shall I arrange with the head groom to procure a pony?”

Swindon asked, his voice low so no one else would hear their
conversation. 

“Please, Swindon. I would much appreciate it. Tell him not to

spare the cost. Have him buy the best, most beautiful pony,
and have him make sure it arrives posthaste.”

“Very well.” Swindon departed for the stables, leaving

Benedict to stand alone. He watched as the two women and
the little boy ventured further and further away, increasing
the distance between them and Benedict. The further away
they went, the more his heart ached, for he felt as though he
had failed the boy as a father, and had failed his beloved
Helena.

He is all I have left of Helena and yet I cannot bear to be near him.
Cannot force myself away from my memories of Helena. It is no
wonder the boy treats me as a stranger. All he knows are nurses,
servants, and Clem. Clem is really the only family he knows. Why
can I not be more? Be better? Be what Helena would want me to
be?

He knew in his heart that he should follow his son and

engage him in play, perhaps view his beloved mud hole with
him, but he could not bring himself to. No. He had to get
away. He had to find solace. Respite. He had to escape from
what was now his reality. And there was only one way, only
one place in this vast manor that he could feel safe, feel
happy.

He turned his back to his son and he rushed down the

hallway. He reached the staircase and broke into a run as he
took two steps at once until he reached the top floor of the
manor. With his heart heavy, he made his way to the room at
the end of the hall and unlocked the door. He glanced around
to ensure nobody was watching, and then slipped into the
dark room, closing the door behind him.
 CH APT ER 5

L ucretia sat at her desk which she had moved to the

window, so it overlooked the magnificent garden of
Amberley Manor. It was a beautiful space—much care
had undoubtedly gone into the maintenance of it. The Duke
clearly took great pride in the appearance of his property.
She could see gardeners attend to the various flower beds at
all hours of the day, planting, pruning, and caring for the
array of flowers.

Truly, Amberley Manor was a beautiful home with an even

more beautiful property. In the distance, beyond the edge of
the garden, she saw the waters of the lake glisten in the sun.
She had planned to take a stroll around the lake, but time
had flown so fast she had not had the opportunity to do so.

It was all she could do to make the time to write letters to

Mary. They’d exchanged several and while her friend was
happy for Lucretia, her growing desperation was evident.
She’d been allowed to remain in her chamber at the school
for another two weeks, but then she was out of a place to
stay. She’d begun to seek alternate employment but found
nothing thus far.

The school, Mary told Lucretia, was now deserted, leaving

her friend there alone and lonely. It broke Lucretia’s heart to
know her friend su ered so much. If only she could get
away, if just for a day or two, alas, today was the first time
she had any time for herself. She could simply not make the
journey to Bath and back in time. With a heavy sigh she re-
read the words she had written to her friend.

Then, when she had concluded, she slipped a coin into the
envelope and dipped her quill into the ink once more.

P.S. I hope this token will assist you until you are able to find
employment. I have found myself in the fortunate position of
receiving not only room and board, but in addition I shall be paid
ten pounds a month! Can you believe it? It is almost outrageous. I
know it is improper to discuss financial matters, but I wanted to
assure you that I can well a ord to help you, and I shall, until you
are able to find employment. As I know you would do for me. We
shall see one another soon. With all my love, Lucy.

She wrapped the letter and sealed it with a wax wafer, then
she leaned back, marveling once more at the Duke’s
generous pay. Indeed, the Duke appeared to be generous to
all his servants. From what Lucretia had gathered, he had a
particular soft spot for the servants that had been favorites
of his wife, such as the pregnant house maid, Maggie, and
her sister, the kitchen maid, Molly.

If only he were as generous when it came to the time he

spent with his son. She had yet to see him pay any attention
to the child at all. On the contrary, he was never around the
boy. She, on the other hand, had grown fond of Lord Henry
already, even though she only knew him for a short time. It
was just as well, for she not only spent the day teaching the
boy, they also played games, took their meals together, and
she often helped bathe him and ready him for bed.

As much as she enjoyed caring for the little boy, she had
found herself missing adult conversation. She missed the
strolls with Mary, and her lessons with Mrs. Doringcourt. It
was with all the more joy that she looked forward to this
evening. She would finally be spending time with her
mother’s cousin, Betsy.

Lord Henry was spending the night at Lord Winterton’s

home. She had come to learn that Lord Winterton, one of the
Duke’s best friends, had a son and daughter of similar age
and Henry was often invited to spend the night. As far as she
knew, the Duke had not seen fit to return the favor and invite
his friends’ children for a stay. It was just one of the many
oddities she’d come to learn about the Duke.
Lucretia was on her way to the village in order to post her
letter to Mary, when the sounds of an approaching carriage
made her stop in her tracks. She stepped aside to let it pass
but found herself taken aback when the carriage stopped and
the Duke climbed out of the carriage to stand beside her.

“Good day, Miss Nelson. Taking the air?”

“On my way to the village, Your Grace.” She was pleased

with herself for having remembered the correct form of
address at last. Despite caring for the children of both the
gentry and nobility, she always found it di cult to keep the
various ranks of the aristocracy in order, something that had
vexed Mrs. Doringcourt a great deal.

“Jolly good, jolly good. Is Henry with Mrs. Harrison then?”

the Duke asked. He appeared in a rather good mood today—
most days he appeared fit for the blue devils.

Lucretia frowned. Did the Duke not know where his son was?
Had the child’s visit not been cleared with him? She
hesitated, not wanting to overstep.

“Lord Henry is with your friend, Lord Winterton. Mrs.

Lester, their governess, collected him early this morning.”
The embarrassment on the Duke’s face was apparent, for he
blushed and averted his eyes.

“Of course, how silly of me. Yes, yes. Well, that leaves you
with some much deserved time to yourself, Miss Nelson. In
fact, if you would rather enjoy your day without the burden
of walking into town, perhaps I could deliver your letter for
you.”

Lucretia pressed her lips together, not sure what the proper
etiquette was for having your employer deliver your mail.
Still, he had o ered and she really would much rather
explore the lake then walk into town. She handed the letter
over to him with a wobbly curtsy which made the Duke
smirk.

She always had the most terrible sense of balance and having
to curtsy was a struggle for her. When she steadied herself,
she saw that the Duke was studying the address on the letter.

“Mrs. Doringcourt’s School for Young Ladies? I was under

the impression it had been closed.”

She nodded, “It has closed. The new owners of the building
were so kind as to allow my friend, Miss Hastings, to remain
at the school for a little while longer. Until she can find other
employment.”
He frowned, “She has no family to go to, your friend?”

Lucretia shook her head. “She is an orphan, like myself. The

school was our home. Had Your Grace not seen fit to employ
me, I would have been in the same situation as my friend is
now. Out of house and home, relying on the kindness of
others. Not a good position to be in.”

The Duke’s blue eyes flashed with compassion as he listened.

“It most certainly is not. Is she a governess, such as

yourself?”

Lucretia tilted her head to one side as she pondered the

question. She was surprised that the Duke took such an
interest in her friend’s plight. “She was a teacher, such as
myself. I am certain she would make a fine governess,
especially to a young lady, for Mary excelled at all the fine
arts. Dance, needlework, music—she is a wonderful teacher
in all of these fields.”

The Duke smirked at the mention of needlework. “While you

despise them all, if I remember correctly.”

Lucretia grimaced and shook her head. “Your Grace is quite

right. I have no balance to dance nor the rhythm to teach it.”
“Nor I, Miss Nelson. Nor I. When I was a young man, many a
young lady was keen to dance with me only to instantly
regret it when I stepped upon her feet dozens of times
during the dance.”

He laughed, something that both surprised and delighted

Lucretia for she had not heard him laugh before. She hadn’t
been sure he was capable of it.

“I understand it all too well. Mrs. Doringcourt deemed it

better for the little ladies at the school to not be taught dance
by me, after seeing me demonstrate the Quadrille.” She
grinned at the Duke who flashed a kind smile at her. She had
to admit, he was a handsome man.

“I will say, I am rather keen on music. I enjoy playing the

pianoforte,” the Duke said, taking Lucretia by surprise.

“Indeed, you do? I see where Lord Henry gets his gift from
now.”

“His gift?” The Duke frowned.

“Yes, Your Grace. Every morning, after we complete our

French and Latin lessons, I allow Lord Henry to select a
game or activity, before we start on our globes. Most days, he
asks to play the pianoforte. I believe Lady Blinddale has
taught him.”

She realized at once, by the way his body sti ened, that the
Duke had not been aware of his son’s talent. In fact, she had
suspected for some time that the Duke knew very little of his
son’s likes and dislikes. This had been particularly evident
when, two days’ prior, the horse the Duke had promised
Henry for his birthday had at last arrived.

Lucretia had expected the boy to be eager to view his new

horse, yet he had shown no interest in the animal
whatsoever. When at last Lucretia had convinced him to take
a stroll to the stable, he petted the beautiful white mare
once, gently on the muzzle, told her she was a good girl, and
then requested to return to his studies.

It wasn’t until later on that evening that she learned, by way

of Mr. Swindon, the all-knowing butler, that young Henry
was afraid of horses, had always been afraid, and would not
go near one unless coaxed. It appeared everyone in the
household knew this, with the exception of the Duke.

And now Lucretia was beginning to see a pattern.

How curious it is for him to have such little knowledge of his son’s
wants and needs. The Duke seems a kind and giving man,
generous with his sta and tenants. Everyone seems to like him,
even though he keeps to himself and doesn’t appear to have many
companions. Yet, the servants speak so highly of him, in fact they
appear to be protective of him. And yet, when it comes to his own
son he appears too aloof, so unaware. Why is that, I wonder? Lord
Henry is such a delightful child.

It appeared the Duke did not wish to discuss his son’s

education further, for he tucked the letter into his pocket
and bowed.

“Miss Nelson, I shall bid thee farewell. Rest assured that

your letter will make its way to the post boy posthaste.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She was about to curtsy when the
Duke interrupted her.

“If you like, I will write to my sister, Lady Blinddale. She is

well connected in Dorchester and may know of a position for
your friend.”

Lucretia did not know what to say—she was so taken aback

by the o er. Why would he be so kind to her? Especially after
she had just embarrassed him by drawing attention to his
strained relationship with his son?

“I am… That is so kind of you, Your Grace. Thank you,” she

stammered while curtsying once more as he turned to board
the carriage.

“Consider it done, Miss Nelson. Now, I have to depart. Good

day,” he gave her a curt nod and boarded the carriage. Before
she could say another word, he left, leaving her standing
there utterly confused about his motives.

She spent the afternoon strolling through the garden, alas,

the walk did not ease her mind. No, Lucretia found herself
oddly fascinated by the Duke’s strange behavior and his
strained relationship with his son. She could not work out
why a man who was so well liked, who was kind, and
generous to his servants, was so removed from his only
child.

He is rather peculiar. And what of the Duchess? Betsy never said

what happened to her, other than she died unexpectedly. Is her
death to blame for the Duke’s behavior? And what of these
strange paintings? They vex me each time I walk past them.

She needed to find answers, if not for any other reason than
to help little Henry. Being an orphan herself, she knew well
what it was to grow up without parents. She never had a
family, never had the loving care of a mother, or the firm but
fair hand of a father to guide her.
True, the nuns had nurtured her and educated her. The
letters she received from Betsy provided some link to her
family, but none of it made up for the lack of a loving mother
and father.

The way the Duke acted around Henry, the boy might as well
be an orphan. He was as close as you could be to one while
still having a parent. But to solve the issue, she first needed
to find answers.

And she knew exactly who she had to speak to in order to

find them.

She returned to the Manor as the sun was setting.

Remembering to use the servant’s entrance in the back, she
made her way through the dark hall and down the wooden
staircase to where the kitchen and servant quarters were. She
had only been down here twice, once when she first arrived
and then once more when retrieving a piece of fruit for
Henry.

Still, she found her way to her cousin's o ce without

di culty. To her surprise, Betsy was not alone. Mr. Swindon,
the butler, was in her o ce, the two of them sitting across
from one another, deep in conversation.

Betsy's eyes grew wide when she saw Lucretia and a wide
smile appeared on her face.
“My dear. I was just asking Mr. Swindon here if he'd seen
you this afternoon. I had feared you’d quite forgotten about
our dinner tonight.”

“Faith no! I have been looking forward to it all day, my dear

cousin.” In fact, the dinner with Betsy featured greatly into
Lucretia’s quest to find out the truth about the Duke’s odd
behavior. “I was rather hopeful we may have time to
converse a little while we wait on our food. I am so looking
forward to getting to know you better.”

Her cousin’s eyes widened with surprise. “But of course, my

dear. As do I. Perhaps over a cup of hot chocolate?”

She turned to Mr. Swindon who rose at once.

“I shall have Charlotte attend to your beverages, Mrs.

Harrison. And I will have them serve your dinner here in
your o ce, I presume?”

“That would be lovely, thank you, Mr. Swindon.”

The butler bowed his head to Betsy and then turned, giving
Lucretia a strange once over glance. He appeared out of sorts.
When he had departed and closed the door behind him,
Lucretia took a seat in the still warm chair.

“I did not mean to interrupt your conversation with Mr.

Swindon, Betsy.”

Her cousin shook her head and waved a hand dismissively.

“Do not worry your head over Mr. Swindon. He enjoys a chat
now and then. I believe him to be a little lonely in his old age.
His wife died some years ago and since then he’s been a little
lonesome. So, he comes here for a chat now and then. It is
pleasant enough and doesn’t bother me any.”

Betsy shrugged. Lucretia grinned and wondered if there

might be more to it than Betsy was willing to admit.
Amberley Manor was, it appeared, full of secrets.

Lucretia had hardly made herself comfortable when Maggie

arrived with their beverage.

“Thank you, my dear.” Betsy smiled at the young woman.

“How are you feeling today?”

“A little better. A lot of kicking today, Ma’am.”

Betsy smiled. “Good, that is good. Little Helena is strong.”

“Indeed.” Maggie smiled at the both of them and departed, a

beaming smile on her face.

“Helena? Is that not the late Duchess’ name?” Lucretia

asked as she held on to the steaming hot chocolate.

“It was, yes. Maggie is quite certain the baby will be a girl
and she’s intending to honor the Duchess by naming the
child after her.”

The old woman sighed before continuing. “Maggie was the

Duchess’ lady’s maid. John, her husband, is the Duke’s valet.
Maggie and the Duchess were very close. It is why the Duke
is so forgiving of her frequent illness. The pregnancy has
been hard on her and if she worked anywhere else, she would
be out of a job, given the many times she cannot work. She is
fortunate in that the Duke is a kind man.”

Lucretia blew on the hot liquid which was steaming as she

listened. She could smell the spices so strongly she almost
tasted it before even taking a sip. When she glanced up, she
found Betsy looking at her intently, her face soft and her
eyes glistening with tears.
“You remind me so much of your mother. I remember when
we were children, she would relish her pottage the same way
you just did the hot chocolate.”

Lucretia frowned. The mention of pottage, a dish eaten by

the very poor, suddenly reminded her that her mother, and
Betsy, came from a poor background which was the reason
why Betsy’s parents had not been able to take Lucretia in
when her mother had died.

“Do you remember her well, my mother?”

Betsy shook her head. “I do. She was a lovely young woman,
your mother. I loved her dearly. It always brought me such
pain to know she died so young and then your dear father…”

The tears which had been lingering in Betsy’s eyes spilled

over and ran down her cheeks.

“I am sorry, it is di cult for me to speak of them yet, after

all these years. Just know they both loved you so. They were
looking forward to your arrival so much.”

Lucretia swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the weight of the

conversation between them. She dabbed the corners of her
mouth with a handkerchief.
“I was so happy when you first wrote to me, back at the
nunnery, saying you wanted to get to know me. I had not
expected it.”

Betsy, having dried her tears, picked up her cup and took a
big gulp of chocolate.

“But why? We are family, after all.”

Lucretia shrugged and glanced around the room. It was a

small but well-organized room. The small fireplace sat in the
corner and she was sure in the wintertime it would be
heating the room nicely. Since it was late summer, it was not
currently being used, however, a pile of wood was still
stacked beside it.

She turned her attention back to Betsy, who waited for her to
speak.

“I always feared you would blame me, for my mother’s

death.” Lucretia looked down, fixing her gaze to the hot
chocolate which swirled around in the cup.

“Heavens, no. You were but a wee baby, Lucretia. How could
you ever be blamed? So many unfortunate women die in
childbirth and it is never the child’s fault.”
Lucretia shrugged. “One of the nuns told me that at my
birth, the physician told my father he had to choose, between
my life and my mother’s. And he chose my mother. But then
she died anyway, and I lived.”

Betsy sighed and placed the cup on the desk in front of her.

“By Jove, what a terrible thing to tell a child. I wonder about

these nuns….”

“But it is the truth, is it not?” Lucretia raised her head and

faced her cousin.

“The truth is that your mother could not be saved, and your
father was a young man in love, forced to choose between
the woman he’d known all his life and a baby he had never
met. In the end, as you know, it did not matter.”

Lucretia felt herself falling into a dark hole of sadness. It

used to happen to her many times when she was a young
girl, living with the nuns. She would manage to distract
herself but today she found it impossible. Perhaps it was
being faced with someone who had actually known her
parents.

“I wonder if he could have loved me, my father, had he

lived?”
Her cousin smiled at her kindly. “I think he would. In time,
he would have. It can’t be helped, can it? You love your own
children, no matter what.”

Lucretia looked up at her. “I had supposed so. But it is a

matter of showing it, is it not? Take the Duke and his son.”

Betsy sighed and folded her hands in her lap.

“His Grace loves Lord Henry. He only has trouble showing

it.”

They were briefly interrupted when Maggie knocked once

more and placed an array of dishes on the table between
them. Lucretia almost forgot their conversation, so
distracted was she at the mouthwatering dishes before her.
There was white soup, bread, venison, and an array of
vegetables.

She reached for the soup as soon as Maggie departed and

spooned the content into her mouth with such speed some
dribbled o the spoon and onto her gown.
“Faith! I’ve made a mi of it again.” She dabbed at the stain
with her handkerchief while across from her, Betsy chuckled.

“You are clumsy like your mother, too. Not to worry. I shall
have your gown washed this very afternoon. Now, the Duke.
As you have gathered, he and Lord Henry are not close.”

Lucretia gave up on the stain and faced Betsy. “Not close?

The man does not know anything about his child. He believes
the boy likes horses when he’s terrified of them. He knows
nothing of his talent in music, he did not even know his own
son was on a visit to Lord Winterton, his best friend. He
shows no interest in the child at all.”

Betsy sighed. “I am aware. We all are. And Lord Henry is

such a delightful boy. Troublesome, but delightful.”

“And yet, the Duke appeared crestfallen when he realized he

had forgotten his birthday.”

Betsy nodded. “As I told you, he loves his son. It is his grief
that has a hold of him, so much so that he cannot break out
of it. It’s as though the grief has left no room for anything
else. Or anyone else.” She paused for a moment, looking
Lucretia right in the eyes. “It consumes him, just as it did
your father.”
Lucretia swallowed hard at the mention of her father’s
reaction to her mother’s death.

“Yes, just like it did my father.”

“I pray every night that the Duke will find a way out of his
grief, one of these days.”

Lucretia sighed, “How long has it been since the Duchess

passed away?”

Without hesitation Betsy replied, “Four and a half years. It

was in March. Lord Henry was but a wee boy.”

She sighed, a nostalgic expression upon her face. “You

should have known them then. The two of them. The Duke
was a di erent man, so devoted to her and the little boy.
Spent all of his time with them. He even learned to change
the nappy. Him! A man.”

“He did?” Lucretia could hardly believe her ears.

“Indeed. Terrible job he did. Nappy fell right o every time

and the Duchess would have to go after him to put it back but
he was proud of himself.” The smile faded from her lips.
“But then it all changed when she died. Faith, what a terrible
day ‘twas. Terrible.”

Lucretia was holding a piece of bread in front of her mouth,

but Betsy’s changed countenance made her put it back down.

“What happened to her? How did she die?”

Betsy learned back and crossed her hands in front of her

chest.

“It was tragic, really. The Duke’s sister, Lady Blinddale, had
come to visit. She would take the Duchess out on carriage
rides for they both enjoyed the countryside so much. One
day, the two of them were out on a ride when they were hit
with bad weather. The carriage ran o the road, tumbled
down an embankment and…” she closed her eyes and
clutched her collar.

“Lady Blinddale made it out alive but the Duchess… She was
injured so badly she couldn’t be saved. It utterly crushed the
Duke. I remember when he came to tell us the news, all the
servants cried. The Duke was broken. He was never the same.
Didn’t leave his bedchamber for weeks.”

Lucretia swallowed. She knew that the Duchess had died, but
she hadn’t been aware of the tragic circumstances. What a
shock it must have been to the Duke, and so soon after
having a child.

“It crushed us all. The Duchess was such a lovely lady. A true
diamond of the first water. Beautiful, inside and out. She
brought out the very best in the Duke. Not that he was ever a
rake. No. A bit of a dandy, perhaps. A little hot-headed, a
little unpolished. But with her by his side he became the very
best version of himself. Everything that was good inside him,
she brought to light. And then, when she died, he retreated
back into the dark. Shut himself o . The only solace he
seems to find is in the paintings.”

Lucretia looked up. “The ones in the hallway? I had

wondered about them. I thought they were of the Duchess at
first, but then I realized they cannot be.”

Betsy shook her head. “They are not. They are noble women
that resemble her, some more, some less. But they have
become the Duke’s sole focus. Over the years he has been
spending more and more time on the paintings. He spends
hours writing to art collectors to see if they may possess a
portrait that may interest him. Then he travels to view the
portraits. Often, he is gone days at a time, sometimes weeks,
in order to find a painting.”

Lucretia shook her head. “The paintings are what is causing

him to be so removed from Lord Henry.”
Betsy nodded and tore o a piece of bread. “From Lord
Henry and his friends. The Duke and Duchess used to have a
big circle of friends and acquaintances. The house parties
this Manor has seen. The Duke has removed himself from
most of his friends. Only the Marquess of Winterton has
steadfastly refused to abandon him, no matter how little
time the Duke makes for their friendship.”

Lucretia chewed on a piece of meat, deep in thought.

“The Duke will regret it, all the time he is missing with his
son, his friends. Lord Henry will grow up not knowing his
own father.”

Betsy sighed. “It is already turning out that way. The best we
can do is dote on the little boy.”

Lucretia shook her head. “That is not the best we can do. We
can do more. I can do more. I know what it is to be an orphan
and have nobody. I won’t let that happen to Henry. Not when
he has a father who is here.”

Betsy patted Lucretia’s hand.

“You have a kind heart. If you set your mind to it, perhaps
you can do it. At the very least you can try. Whatever you
need, you just tell me and I will help. I would love nothing
more than to bring back the carefree, smiling Duke we all
once knew.”

Suddenly, the sounds of shouts and rushing footsteps drew

their attention. The door to Betsy’s o ce was torn open and
Mr. Swindon appeared, red-faced, eyes wide in a panic.

“Mrs. Harrison, come quickly! It is Maggie. The baby. It is

coming now!”

Betsy jumped up, her chair falling over with a loud bang.
“No! It can’t. It is much too early.”

Lucretia saw the panic on her cousin’s face.

“What can I do? Tell me how I can help?”

Betsy ran her fingers through her hair.

“Where is John?” she asked, the worry apparent on her face.

“Already attending to her,” Mr. Swindon replied. The butler,

who usually was so calm and collected, was flushed red and
out of breath from having rushed to find them. Betsy,
meanwhile, had begun to collect rags from her o ce.

“I shall need hot water. And more rags. And we must alert
Maggie’s parents. Send a rider to their farm at once and …”

“I have already dispatched the spare carriage to fetch them.

We must call for the physician.” Mr. Swindon interrupted
her. “I’ve sent for Molly as well. She went into town to spend
the evening with their cousin.”

Lucretia rose. She had to do something; she could not simply

sit here.

“The physician’s house is just at the end of the road, near

the hackney station. I saw it when I arrived. Get me a horse
and I shall ride there and alert him. And I can assist him
once he arrives. I’ve attended a fair number of births while at
the nunnery.”

Betsy and Mr. Swindon exchanged a glance, with Mr.

Swindon shrugging.

“I have already dispatched all our most capable riders to

collect the family, if Miss Nelson can handle a horse, then I
shall have the groom saddle up a horse.”
“Yes, Yes, do so. Do so quickly. I shall attend to Maggie.”

Betsy rushed out of the room, brushing past Mr. Swindon

who beckoned Lucretia to follow. She did so at a fast pace,
but found herself frozen in place when they reached the
hallway, for from up ahead, she heard the most agonizing,
heart-wrenching scream.
 CH APT ER 6

B enedict sat in his carriage, exhausted from a long

day of attending to business with his estate
steward, Thomas. He often found himself so
occupied with the procurements for his art collection that
estate business would fall by the wayside. He knew that
without Thomas, his financial situation might be quite
precarious, simply due to his lack of attention to the matter.

Despite all of this, Benedict often found it impossible to tear

himself away from his portraits. They allowed him to
daydream of the days when Helena was still by his side.

He sighed heavily and was about to settle in for the

remainder of the journey when the sounds of a galloping
horse drew his attention. He glanced outside and saw a rider
coming from the direction of Amberley Manor.

He stuck his head out to see who might be racing towards

him at such speed, so late in the day, when he recognized the
rider.

It was Miss Nelson.

The governess? Why is she atop a horse? And racing at such a late
hour? What has happened?

He stepped out of the carriage just as the horse with Miss

Nelson was passing him.

“Miss Nelson! Halt!” He called out and watched as she

slowed the horse and then turned around.

“Whatever is the matter?”

She jumped o the horse and rushed toward him, her hair
flying around in the wind.

“My Lord. It is the maid, Maggie. Her child is coming! Mr.

Swindon dispatched riders to fetch her family and I am on
my way to get the physician.”

Benedict could not believe his ears. The maid’s child was not
due to be born until nearer to Christmastime. He shook his
head.

“It will be of no use to ride to the physician’s. Mr. White is

out of town for another fortnight—he just departed
yesterday.”

Miss Nelson gasped audibly. “But the young woman needs a

physician, and at once. What do you do in the countryside
when the only physician is out of town?”

Benedict was taken aback by the tone and force with which
she spoke to him. He was not used to it. Although she was
right, help had to be found. He thought for one moment and
then snapped his fingers.

“Mrs. Lester! My friend, Lord Winterton’s governess. She

was a midwife before becoming a governess. In fact, she
delivered both of Winterton’s children. Quickly, Miss Nelson,
let me have the horse. I know my way around these parts
better than you. I shall ride and get the midwife. You take the
carriage and return to the Manor. Let Mrs. Harrison and
Swindon know that help is on the way.”

Without waiting for her reply, he took the reins of the

beautiful brown steed from her and swung himself atop the
horse. He urged the horse into a racing gallop and made his
way across the fields as fast as he could, toward the
Winterton Estate.
Maggie had been his wife’s lady’s maid and her closest
confidant. He had vowed to ensure she was always taken care
of, along with her family. He knew that is what Helena would
have wanted. And by Jove, he would make sure of it.

Benedict paced up and down in his library, while Winterton

made himself comfortable on the settee, a cup of ale in hand.

“Tradegrove, sit down. You are making me dizzy with this

incessant pacing. Mrs. Lester will take care of the maid, do
not let it trouble you.”

Benedict hu ed. “It troubles me a great deal, Winterton. The

child was not due for some time and it is much too early for
it to arrive.”

“You’re acting as though it was your very own wife who was
in labor, and not one of your servants.”

“It might as well be. This household has been through so

much these last few years. There have been too many
changes, too much upheaval. I cannot imagine what another
tragedy will do to the morale. And Maggie is well liked, so is
her husband. They were among Helena’s favorites. She
always ensured those serving her were taken care of. ‘Always
take care of those who take care of you, my darling.’ That is
what she always said. And I live by that.”

Winterton sighed. “I see. It leads back to Helena, as do all

things.” He raised his hand to placate Benedict, who had
already turned to his friend, ready for a rebuttal. “Come. Sit
with me, old chum. Have a cup of ale. It will soothe your
nerves.”

“I have already had more ale than I should have.” He sat

down and buried his head in his hands. “Too much tragedy
has occurred within these walls.”

Winterton looked at his friend for a long while and then

patted him on the shoulder.

“My dear Tradegrove, do not let this vex you. Mrs. Lester is
an excellent midwife and she shall ensure the servant and
the child are safe. Now, let us not dwell on things we cannot
change. Instead, let us dwell on that curious new addition to
your household.”

Benedict looked up, momentarily confused. Then it came to

him of whom his friend was speaking.

“The governess. Indeed, she is a rather curious creature. I

could hardly believe my eyes when I saw her atop the horse.
She is rather unique in many ways.”

Winterton puckered his lips and tilted his head. “Is that so?
Care to elaborate?”

“She is quite wonderful with Henry, from what I can gather.

There have been no incidents involving mud holes since her
arrival, and he appears to do well in his studies. Alas, for all
her competence as a governess, she is the most
discombobulated creature I have ever seen. You saw her
when we arrived, her hair in disarray, and her gown stained.
And she has the most terrible sense of decorum, I must say.
She keeps calling me Your Lord and all manner of things.”

Winterton burst into a roaring laugh. “Your Lord! By Jove,

that is quite the title, old chum. I must say, it is endearing.”

“It is indeed. It is infuriating. Yet, oddly charming.”

“Is that so? Charming, you say? I have not heard you refer to
a woman that way in a long time.” Winterton’s expression
was di cult to read, which made Benedict uncomfortable.

“I meant it is charming in an entertaining way. I did not

mean she was… I did not…”
His friend shrugged. “Settle down, settle down. I meant
nothing by it. Except it was nice to hear you talk about the
woman in such a way. A real woman. Not one in a painting.”

How did he arrive at the conclusion that I am looking at the

governess in such a way? Nothing could be further from the truth.
She simply intrigues me. That is all. But why must I defend myself
to Winterton? It is rather…

He was not able to dwell on the matter much further, for

Winterton cleared his throat and interrupted his train of
thought.

“In any case, Tradegrove. You are correct, she appears a

gifted governess, for Henry has not stopped talking about
her the entire time he has been at our house.”

Benedict frowned. “Is that so?”

“Indeed. He speaks at great length about the lessons he’s

learned and the many games she has taught him. I will say,
Horace and Frances are rather envious. Mrs. Lester, gifted as
she is at teaching, is not one to chase them around in a game
of Hide and Seek. No, that falls to me. Of course, Lady
Winterton would not be seen chasing the children around the
estate. The horror.”
He rolled his eyes.

“I take it things have not improved between yourself and the

Marchioness?”

Winterton wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

“Things are as they are. She has provided me with an heir, I

have provided her with a title. As far as society is concerned,
it is the perfect arrangement.” He shrugged and emptied
what remained of his ale in one large gulp.

Benedict averted his eyes, for he did not want to see the
resignation and pain upon his friend’s face. His marriage,
like that of many of the nobility, was not a love match. It had
been arranged to suit both families, regardless of what the
participants thought of one another. Sometimes these
arrangements could work well. His sister, Lady Blinddale,
had been comfortable with her match, for instance, even
though hers was never a match of love. Other times, such as
in Winterton’s case, it was an utter disaster with both parties
despising one another.

He’d been lucky in that his father had not insisted upon a
match of his choosing. He had allowed Benedict to follow his
heart, even though Helena was only the daughter of a baron
and by all rights, Benedict, as the son of a Duke, could have
made a better match. Helena had been the best match for
him. Even though theirs had been a short love a air, it had
been a true one and he would never have traded it for
anything.

A knock on the door distracted the men from their

conversation.

“Enter!” Benedict shouted.

Mrs. Harrison entered, her face flushed and her hair stuck to
her face with sweat.

“The child has arrived. It is a little boy. Tiny, indeed. Mrs.

Lester insists the boy and the mother must be taken at once
to the hospital for further care, given that the physician, Mr.
White, is out of town.”

“Very well. Have the patients and Mrs. Lester taken to my

carriage. I shall drive them to Bath. I have a friend who is a
physician at the hospital who will be able to assist us,”
Winterton said, straightening his jacket as he stood.

Grateful to his friend, Benedict follow him and Mrs. Harrison

outside.
Benedict watched as two of the footmen carried the servant,
wrapped in blankets, into the carriage. Mrs. Lester followed
in short order, the newborn cradled in her arms. Lord
Winterton followed them into the carriage and they set o
toward Bath.

He watched as the carriage drove away and then returned to

the house to find that almost his entire sta had
congregated in the Great Hall, looks of concern upon all their
faces. Benedict felt himself reminded of the day Helena had
died. He’d been faced with the same faces, with the same
looks of concern. They’d heard of the accident but hadn’t
heard of the deadly outcome. It had fallen to Benedict to
inform them of the passing of their much beloved Duchess.

He was only grateful that tonight, there was still hope.

Tonight, the outcome might yet be positive. Indeed,
glimmers of hope were on his servant’s faces as he scanned
them one by one. Miss Nelson stood among them, next to
her aunt, Mrs. Harrison.

He was surprised to see her still in the same stained gown. In

addition to the dirt stains he noted earlier, there were now
dark brown stains on the blue gown. Dried blood, no doubt.
He noted that her hands, too, were stained. Then it came to
him. She assisted in the birth. No doubt she had. He
remembered her references mentioning that she received
some medical training at the nunnery. What a remarkable
woman. What a remarkable woman, indeed.
He cleared his throat and addressed the servants, who all
looked upon him for guidance.

“Now, now, let us not fret. Maggie is in capable hands and

shall arrive at the hospital in short order. Lord Winterton
will ensure she receives the best care. I shall inform you
posthaste if I have any news.” He turned to Swindon.

“Please arrange for Maggie’s husband and parents to be

taken to the hospital at once, as they will want to be with
her, I have no doubt. Now, the rest of you, please return to
your quarters and rest. For tomorrow is a new day.”

He clapped his hands together, which prompted the servants

to make their way down the hallway to the servants’ narrow
staircase.

“Miss Nelson?” he called her out. She stopped at once and

turned around to face him.

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“I know it has been a long night for everyone, but please, in

the morning, come see me in my study.”
She gave him a nod and went to follow the others
downstairs.
 CH APT ER 7

T he following morning, before she'd even taken

breakfast, Lucretia stood in front of the Duke’s
study and inhaled a large gulp of air. What could he possibly
want to see her for? Had she done something wrong? She
knew she had a tendency to speak out of turn, and to
overstep, but she was unaware she’d done anything of the
sort. Well, not in recent days.

Certainly he is not upset because of my assisting Mrs. Lester, is he?

No. He couldn't be. I only did what the nuns taught me. Reach out
to those in need, always act with humility and compassion. And
the Duke is such a kindhearted person, that would ring true for
him as well, would it not?

Lucretia knew well that Mrs. Lester would have been in a

much worse situation when it came to caring for Maggie
during the di cult birth without her help. While no midwife,
Lucretia had attended several births while at the nunnery
and knew enough to be helpful.
Perhaps the Duke wanted to see her about another matter
altogether. He was a di cult man to understand. Even
though he so often removed himself from others, he cared
for his servants more than she would have expected of a man
of his status. Indeed, he’d appeared rather sullen the
previous night, as had the entire household. She understood
well. Maggie and her husband, John, the Duke’s valet, were
very popular among the servants. They’d been at Amberley
Manor since they were both very young and had trained up
many of the other servants that had arrived after them.

While Lucretia didn’t know them well, she liked them both,
for they were kind and always quick to o er her advice. Alas,
she knew how unlikely it was for the little boy to survive,
given that he was born ever so early. She could not fret about
his fate now. Her own was at stake once more. Lucretia
tucked her hair under her mop cap and straightened the
apron she’d taken to wearing over her simple cream-
colored, muslin gown.

She was about to knock on the door when a sound from

inside made her frown.

Is it music? From within the Duke’s study? I must be mistaken.

And yet, yes. It is.

Yes, the sounds of a soft melody traveled through the heavy

wooden doors. Someone was playing the pianoforte. She
leaned in closer so she could hear better and her breath
stopped. She knew the melody. It was Beethoven’s Midnight
Sonata. Lucretia clutched the small necklace she wore
around her neck and wrapped her fingers around the cross
that adorned the simple chain.

During her time at Mrs. Doringcourt’s school for Young

Ladies, Lucretia and Mary had made it a habit of sneaking
into the music room after lessons were completed for the
day.  They would spend the evening in there with Mary
sitting at the pianoforte, playing gorgeous melody after
gorgeous melody, while Lucretia sat in the armchair,
reading.

One evening, they had been caught by Mrs. Doringcourt, on

her way to play the instrument herself. To their relief, the
headmistress had not been cross with them for using the
school’s only pianoforte without permission. Instead, she
joined them. From then on, the headmistress had often
joined them in their activity. They would take their turn at
the instrument while the other two read, or indulged in a
piece of fine marzipan, from the headmistress’s stash.

She remembered that Beethoven had been Mrs.

Doringcourt’s favorite to play and it drove tears into her eyes
to hear it now, for it reminded her of the loss she’d su ered
but had not dared to think about.

She stood quietly, her head leaning against the door, and
listened while memories of her time at the school flooded
back. She closed her eyes and sighed when suddenly, quite to
her surprise, the music stopped and only a moment later the
door was pulled open from inside.

She did not have the time to steady herself and found herself
stumbling inside in a rather ungraceful manner. Directly into
the Duke, who stood with his eyes wide and mouth agape at
the sudden, unexpected encounter.
 
“Miss Nelson!” he exclaimed, while catching her just in time
to keep her from falling.

I must stop making such a cake of myself in front of him. I am

always falling and stumbling, or otherwise acting a fool. He must
think I am quite a bother. It is a wonder that I still have my
position. Alas, perhaps this is why I am here? Perhaps I no longer
have my employment as he has grown weary of my clumsiness.

She looked up at him, their eyes meeting. She was greatly

relieved to find that he looked upon her in a kind manner,
not like someone who was cross with her. She could not help
but notice that he was a handsome man, if you could look
past the eternal crease on his forehead that had been placed
there by years of worry and sorrow. And when you looked
past the sadness that his deep blue eyes so often harbored,
you could tell there was true depth there. His eyes spoke of a
man who had a good soul.
Not one who would let go his governess for merely being clumsy.

“I was not expecting you on the other side of my door, Miss

Nelson. Have you been eavesdropping?” A smirk was
plastered all over his face, clearly amused by her entrance.

She swallowed hard for that was precisely what she’d been
doing.

“The music. It caught me by surprise and reminded me of

happy times. I let myself be drawn into my memories and
forgot myself for a moment. I am sorry, Your Grace.” She
managed a curtsy that she found quite graceful.

The Duke’s smirk transformed into a warm smile and she

realized he was still holding on to her arms with both of his
hands. It filled her with a strange sensation, at once warm
yet worrying. Worrying for she found that she quite enjoyed
being connected to him in such a manner. It made her
feel...safe. When she glanced at his hands, he let go and took
a step back, indicating for her to step inside.

“I understand that quite well, Miss Nelson. I find music

allows me access to some of my most treasured memories.
Memories I am not always able to recall with ease. Time has
robbed me of so much. It is why I play.” He spoke as he
closed the door, motioning for her to sit on the chair across
from his desk, where she had been given an audience not two
weeks prior.

She found herself surprised with his openness. He had not

often allowed her such insight into his inner thoughts. Still,
she had to agree with him. “It does, indeed. Mrs.
Doringcourt used to say music was the key which opens the
doorway into our innermost thoughts.”

When Lucretia sat down, she spotted the pianoforte in the

corner, next to the door. She had not noticed it the last time
she’d been here and thus found herself surprised to hear the
sounds it produced.

“In any case, Your Grace plays quite beautifully,” she said.
He gave her the slightest smile as he walked back to his desk.

“Thank you, Miss Nelson. To tell the truth, nobody has heard
me play for a long time. I …” he paused; his eyes suddenly
glazed over as if overcome with pain. He sighed heavily and
she noticed how his shoulders slumped forward ever so
slightly. “I used to play for Helena, my wife. The music
brings me back to many a happy memory. Alas, it leaves me
feeling melancholy, as well.”

Lucretia bowed her head slightly, not comfortable with

seeing the pain talking about the late Duchess caused him,
even after all these years.
“I understand, Your Grace. When I heard you play, I found
myself thinking of many a happy evening spent with Mary
and Mrs. Doringcourt, yet I cannot help feeling sad for I
know there shall be no more nights such as those.”

“Indeed, Miss Nelson. Indeed.” They looked at each other for

a long moment, their eyes fixed upon one another. In that
moment, Lucretia knew exactly what the Duke was feeling
and it made her uncomfortable, knowing they inadvertently
shared so intimate an emotion. Lucretia was the first to avert
her eyes.

He folded his hands on the desk as they both sat quietly. The
silence between them was heavy and uneasy, so much so
that Lucretia found she had to break it. She cleared her
throat and looked up at him.

“Has there been news of Maggie and the child?” He nodded,

unfolding his hands and refolding them in a rapid motion.

“Lord Winterton sent word this morning. Maggie is much

improved. Alas, the child is unwell and shall require much
care and prayer in order to survive.” He shook his head and
looked out of the large French windows of his study. “A
tragedy if he does not live.”
Lucretia studied his face. He had a strong jawline, giving his
face an angular, hard shape. Yet, despite its hardness,
despite the front, there was a softness there. Tenderness.
Especially now as he glanced outside, his thoughts
undoubtedly with his maid and valet.

“We can only hope that he will. He cried when he was born,
that is a good sign, Your Grace.”

He turned to face her suddenly, surprise upon his

countenance.

“He did? That is good news.” He paused before clearing his

throat and continuing. “And I wanted to thank you, for all
you did for Maggie and John last night. It was clear from
your appearance last night that you assisted in the birth. I
am most grateful, and so is Mrs. Lester and your aunt, I am
certain.”

Lucretia smiled. “I only did what I was taught, Your Grace. I

hope it was enough.” She hesitated for a moment. “Is this
why you asked to speak to me, Your Grace?

For a moment, he appeared confused by her question. She

had the feeling that there were times the Duke was not quite
in this world, that his thoughts pulled him out of this place
and into another realm altogether. She understood the
feeling well. She was prone to daydreaming herself.
“No, Miss Nelson. In fact, I had asked you to see me for I had
a proposition for you. Or rather, for your friend.”

Lucretia tilted her head, unsure of what he was talking

about. A proposition? For whom? Mary? Before she could
ask, he continued to speak.

“As you are aware, Maggie will not be able to return to her
post for some time. My sister, Clem, had been tasked with
finding a maid to help us out until Maggie returns, but of
course she had not expected for there to be a need quite so
soon. In any case, I have spoken to your aunt and we are in
agreement that, given the urgency with which we require
help, your friend may be a good option. She is in need of
employment, we are in need of help. What do you think?”

Lucretia could not believe her ears. Mary? To come to

Amberley Manor to live? It could not be true, could it? She
was at a loss for words which, evidentially, the Duke took to
mean she was displeased at the suggestion.

“I did not mean to insert myself into your private a airs,

Miss Nelson. However, the young woman’s situation
sounded dire when we spoke yesterday.”
“No, Your Grace. It is wonderful news. I shall write to her at
once.”

The Duke shook his head. ‘There is no need. I already spoke

with your aunt. If you like, the two of you can take the
carriage and collect her from Bath yourself. I’m sure she will
be eager to depart the school. This afternoon, if it suits you.”

“But what about Master Henry?” Had he forgotten all about

his son? Surely not. Surely not even he…

“Master Henry shall remain at Lord Winterton’s Estate. I

imagine he’d rather enjoy an extended stay with his friends.
Do not fret. In any case, it will be good for Mrs. Harrison to
take some time away from the estate, even if just for a day. I
believe she quite enjoys shopping in Bath—perhaps you can
ensure there is time for that.”

Lucretia swallowed. He was sending the both of them to not

only collect Mary but to ensure Betsy had some much-
needed time o . She didn't know what to say. She hadn't
known what to expect of a proper noble. The few she met,
parents of her students, hadn't been particularly friendly.
Indeed, many of them looked down upon her and her fellow
teachers. So, to encounter someone who was not only so
high-ranking, but also so generous, took her by surprise.

“Thank you, Your Grace, I shall make sure there is time.”

He rose, letting her know it was time to depart. As he stood,
he added. “She is a good woman, your aunt. Dedicated and
loyal.”

She stood and managed a proper curtsy for the second time
that day.

“She is not my aunt, Your Grace.” She heard the words pop
out of her mouth before she even knew she was speaking.
Horrified at her own forwardness, she clasped a hand in
front of her mouth. Surely it was terrible manners to correct
a member of the peerage. Even she knew this. Mrs.
Doringcourt had already instructed her and the other
teachers not to question the Lords and Ladies of the ton, but
to simply agree with them and then take the matter to the
headmistress to handle.

The Duke appeared taken aback by her words. He raised his

eyebrows and coughed in an uncomfortable manner while
avoiding her eyes.

“Is she not? I cannot imagine why I thought she was your
aunt.”

Lucretia wet her lips and glanced uncomfortably around the

room.
“She is my cousin. Or rather, my mother’s cousin. Your
Grace.” She felt herself blush and made her way backwards
toward the door, reaching for the handle behind her back.
Once she’d found it, she nodded at the Duke who stood there
with a smirk upon his face. She turned and rushed out of the
room, letting the heavy door slam shut behind her.
 CH APT ER 8

B enedict found himself standing in the same spot,

looking at the door that had closed behind the
governess some moments ago. He shook his head.

What a curious creature she is. She does not seem at all vexed by
my position. She says and does whatever appears to come to her
mind. She is unlike anyone I have met. She is… perplexing. Yes.
That is the word. And yet, I feel invigorated whenever she is near.
Almost as though her presence gives me an energy I was missing.

Benedict shook his head and stepped to the window where he

saw the gardeners tending the flower beds. Miss Nelson's
words were on his mind still. Mrs. Harrison was her cousin.
Her second cousin. Not her aunt. He felt embarrassed when
she corrected him. As a Duke, he was among the highest
ranking of his peers, so people did not generally correct him.
No. In fact, aside from his sister Clementine, nobody but
Helena ever dared to correct him. He had to admit, he didn’t
mind being challenged.
In fact, he missed it.

He sighed and returned to his pianoforte, picking up the

melody where he left o , but it felt odd. Before, he would
spend most of the morning sitting at the instrument, playing
it quietly as he always did, while his thoughts traveled to
Helena.

When she was living, he spent many an hour playing for her.
He still remembered her sitting in her chair listening while
working on her needlework. Sometimes, she would dance to
the music; her long, blonde hair swaying gently back and
forth and she moved her body to the melody.

Yet, suddenly, he was unable to conjure up the image, no

matter how long he played. No matter how hard he tried to
recall. Instead, he found himself thinking of that silly
moment when the governess had fallen, quite unexpectedly,
into his arms as he opened the door. He’d been on his way to
find Swindon, to see if the post had arrived, when he came
upon her. He shook his head, chasing the image away.

He began to play once more, this time a piece by Clementi, a

favorite of Helea’s. He closed his eyes. He usually loved these
quiet moments when he was alone with his thoughts and his
memories. He could spend hours playing the music and
remembering. Though today, he could not. He simply could
not bring Helena’s memory back to his mind and—
By Jove! It couldn’t be…

Benedict found with horror that he was unable to remember

her face at all. He found it harder and harder to recall the
details of her visage for some time, but he still had been able
to remember it if he tried hard enough. But now—it was
gone. He envisioned her figure, her hair, but her face was a
blur. He jumped up, knocking down the chair which landed
on the marble floor with a loud bang.

He rushed out of the door and ran along the hall, passing
several servants as he did. He found them looking at him
with some concern but he did not stop. Not until Swindon
made his way around the corner, near the staircase.

“Your Grace, is something the matter?”

Benedict stopped and shook his head. “Nothing is the

matter, Swindon.” He stopped, and reconsidered. “I require
some time to attend to matters of business, thus I’d like to
be undisturbed. Please see to that. Unless it is a dire
emergency, I am unavailable.”

The butler nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Benedict proceeded without further comment and rushed up

the steps towards the attic, taking two steps at once until he
reached the landing which led to a chamber at the end of the
hall. Once at the door, he pushed the heavy iron doorknob
down and opened it. It creaked as he pushed and then he
stepped inside.

It always brings me such peace to be in this room. I know it has

been years, yet I feel as though I can still smell Helena’s sweet
perfume, feel her quiet presence. Every time I step through this
door, I still expect to see her even though I know she will not be
there, and yet, it is there, that moment of anticipation.

The air in the attic room was thick and sticky for it was
warm outside still. It had rained and instead of Helena’s
perfume, there was a faint scent of wet wood in the air. The
floors in this part of the house creaked just as the doors did,
as they were old and hardly ever used. In fact, this chamber
had not been used at all since Helena passed away. Nobody
came here but him.

It had been Helena’s private room. It was a place she created

for just the two of them. It allowed them to escape the world,
even if it was for but a fleeting moment. An old chaise
lounge, covered in the finest pale green silk, stood in the
corner by the open window.

The curtains were of a thin muslin and swayed slightly in the

breeze. A small table sat next to the chaise lounge, with
dusty books stacked up neatly on top of each other. Books his
wife had been reading just before she died. Leather strips
Helena liked to use as bookmarks remained permanent
reminders of the pages she had last laid her eyes upon. He’d
not touched them, had changed almost nothing in the room
since her death.

My dearest love, even on the days you are so far away, I know I
can always find you here. This room will always be our sanctuary,
filled with memories of our lives together. To imagine that your
body once sat on this chaise lounge, that your hands touched these
books, that your face was touched by the breeze from the window,
those thoughts make me happy still.

He sat in her seat and looked up to the wall across from him,
to the only area of the room where something had been
changed.

There, high above the fireplace, hung the third painting he

possessed that showed his wife as she really was. Not a cheap
imitation, not make-believe. Not a woman who had a vague
resemblance to her. No. Her. His Helena.

It showed her as a young woman, her face youthful and filled

with hope and dreams of the future. She was seated in a
field, surrounded by sunflowers. A pale pink round gown
hinted at her figure, her hair partially hidden by a matching
bonnet. She smiled, a smile so bright it could light up the
world.
Benedict sat and looked at the painting, soaking up the view
of her face so that it might fill his head, so he might never
again forget it. He sat and smiled, feeling contentment fill
his body.

Thoughts of the governess, the maid and her child, and of

Henry, fell away as he feasted his eyes on his wife’s beauty.
He sat there as time melted away around him. He was
snapped out of it as the sounds of an arriving carriage
outside startled him and forced him back into the present.

Benedict rose and poked his head out of the window. Down
below, he saw Swindon rushing out of the front door in order
to greet the visitor, none other than his friend Winterton.

“If it isn't the Marquess of Winterton!” Benedict shouted as

loud as he could. Below, his friend looked up, holding one
hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

“Tradegrove! Come on down! I bring news!” He appeared in

rather a jolly mood, which raised Benedict's hopes for the
well-being of Maggie and the child.

He rushed downstairs, leaving the door to the attic unlocked

as he did so. When he reached the hall, Winterton had
already relieved himself of his top hat and coat, having
handed both to the butler.
“You have returned. With good news, I hope.”

“Zooks, have I ever!” Winterton slapped Benedict on the

back as was his custom. “And you look as though you can use
good news, old chum. You look utterly Friday-faced. Fret no
more, as I have just returned from the hospital, and I have
received word that the maid shall recover. She will need
further care, however. The child is improving, as well. I was
forced to leave Mrs. Lester at the hospital, for she simply
refused to depart without ensuring your maid was well taken
care of.”

Benedict nodded. “A good woman, indeed.”

“She is. Alas, Lady Winterton was not pleased. Not pleased at
all, I declare. I had to make my escape, as her wrath at
having to tend to the children, yours included, was ferocious.
I had to put one of the maids in charge of the children. If the
Marchioness was left to fend for herself around them, the
entire Castle might have to go down for renovations, instead
of just the main wing.”

Winterton’s home, Marmoth Castle, was a beautiful home,

although old and in need of repair. Winterton had spent a
fortune on the renovations as it was. Benedict guided his
friend outside where they made their way into the garden.
“Have the children been quite unruly? Would it be better to
have Henry return to Amberley?”
Winterton shook his head. “Henry is the best behaved among
the lot. It’s mine who are running amok without the
guidance of Mrs. Lester. They are quite aware that their
mother is su ering with the nerves and cannot, or rather,
will not, discipline them. If Mrs. Lester is away for much
longer, I may have to request your assistance, and that of
Miss Nelson, to assist me in their care.”

“Jolly good, Winterton. Let us hope for all involved that Mrs.
Lester is able to return sooner rather than later. If she
cannot, however, I have the perfect solution for your
problem. I have just dispatched Miss Nelson to fetch her
friend, a Miss Hastings, from Bath—she is also a teacher.”

“Another governess? You are quite the collector of lovely

young ladies all of a sudden, eh, wot?”

“Winterton, you are a crude fellow when you want to be, and
I do not care for the suggestion.”

“I jest! You are in a sour mood today, despite receiving good

news, are you not? What has vexed you so?”

Benedict shook his head. As much as he trusted Winterton,

he did not wish to divulge his earlier encounter with Miss
Nelson, nor his failure to recall his wife' fair face. He felt a
great deal of shame and would never admit it.
“It has been a di cult few days. Having Maggie in such dire
straits has brought back unpleasant memories.” He shook
his head. “In any case. Should you require assistance, I am
certain Miss Nelson’s friend would be more than happy to
serve as governess until Mrs. Lester returns.”

Winterton stopped in his track.

“A young governess to stay at Marmoth Castle? Have you

quite lost your mind? Lady Winterton would sooner join
Napoleon's forces than allow a young woman into the
castle.”

Benedict couldn’t help but laugh. It was true, Winterton’s

wife was known in the entire county to be an envious
woman. While she did not care for her husband herself, she
also did not want any other woman in his vicinity.

His friend sighed heavily. “I do envy you sometimes,

Tradegrove. Despite all the tragedy that has befallen you,
you've known the love of a woman and true
companionship.”

Benedict glanced at his friend. “And I have su ered for it.

Had I married someone of a higher station, for the
convenience of the match, I would perhaps have been spared
the pain.”
The two friends were silent for a moment before Winterton
spoke up again, his voice quiet now.

“But would you really trade the happy years you had, to save
yourself from the pain?”

Benedict knew the answer before Winterton had finished the

question.

“Never, never for a moment.”

“I thought as much,” his friend replied. “I know it is not an

issue you like to discuss, but perhaps one day you may find
yourself lucky enough to find love again.”

Benedict swallowed hard. He did not want to find love again.

He didn't want to think of another the way he had thought of
Helena. But then again, perhaps it was not up to him but to
his heart. Perhaps it would one day open itself once more to
somebody else. Suddenly, the imagine of Miss Nelson came
to his mind. He shook his head to make it go away, but it
remained. Perhaps, despite his best intentions, the door to
his heart had begun to open once more. Even if just a crack.
 CH APT ER 9

A fter departing from the Duke’s study, Lucretia

rushed to her room and opened the small wardrobe
that held the few clothes that she possessed. She spotted her
peach-colored pelisse and pulled it o the hanger. She only
had two to her name. One made of velvet, in a deep blue
color, and this one. It was her favorite, as it was much lighter
and prettier on her.

For winter, she had one single redingote which had served
her well for several years.  Since arriving here, she hadn’t
found much use for her outer wear, as she did not go out
unless it was with Lord Henry, and then she opted to wear a
simple gown and spencer or a cape.

However, today was a special day and she slipped into the
pelisse, selecting one of her two bonnets to go with it, and
headed downstairs toward the servants’ quarters. As she
went, she saw the Duke’s closed carriage make its way from
the stable, where all of his vehicles were kept, toward the
front of the house.
It is being brought for Betsy and myself, for our trip to Bath, no
doubt. It will be such a pleasure to ride to collect Mary in the
Duke’s carriage instead of the terrible coach. Faith, what a sudden
and wonderful change. To think that my very best friend will join
me here in just a few hours.

Her merry mood at the prospect of seeing Mary again

vanished as soon as she turned the corner onto the servant’s
hallway, below the stairs.
Charlotte, one of the scullery maids, walked past her, her
face glum and eyes red from crying. And she was not the only
one. Every single member of the household who passed her
or lingered in the servant area wore the same expression
upon their faces.

Lucretia knew the expression well for she’d seen the

teachers and students with the same expression at Mrs.
Doringcourt’s school, just after the headmistress’ passing. In
her elation, Lucretia had allowed herself to push away the
events of last night and the unknown fate of Maggie and the
child.

Lucretia cast her eyes down as she passed them on her way
to Betsy’s o ce, as she did not want to share in their pain
any more than was necessary. While she had been at
Amberley Manor for some weeks now, she did not know the
servants well. She did not eat with them or sleep in the same
area, either. As governess, she was oddly removed from
them. As Betsy had explained it to her, the governess was
above the rest of the household. She slept in a chamber near
her young charge, she dined with him in the family’s area of
the house, and she used the front door when with Lord
Henry, unlike the other sta who had to use the servants’
entrance around the back at all times.

Thus, her position in the household made it di cult to truly

connect to anyone, other than Betsy.

It shall be so much more pleasant here when Mary arrives. I shall

have a friend again at last. Someone to walk with, talk with, and
share stories together. Even if she is to be a maid, surely, we will
get to see one another, and spend time together. Yes. It shall be
grand.

“Lucretia?” Betsy called from behind her. She stopped in her

tracks and looked around only to find herself about to enter
the kitchen, at the other end of the hall from Betsy’s o ce.

“Betsy. I must have lost my way. I was distracted.” She

walked back toward her cousin.

“It appears so,” Betsy smiled, although her face was drawn
and tired. “Are you ready to go? The carriage is waiting for
us.”
Lucretia nodded, eager to make the trip.

“Splendid. Let us go.” Betsy was already wearing a pretty,

dark green cape with silver embroidery. As they walked, she
placed a matching bonnet on her head. It occurred to
Lucretia that she had never seen her cousin in anything but
her standard uniform which consisted of a plain black skirt
and white blouse, along with an apron. She had to admit, her
cousin looked fetching.

The two of them made their way upstairs and outside, where
the coachman already waited for them. Lucretia had seen the
young man on occasion, often as the Duke’s carriage passed
her and Lord Henry as they played in the garden. Alas, she
could not recall his name or she would have addressed him.

He stood beside the carriage door and watched them as they

descended the front steps. He was clad in a fine-looking
uniform with a cap that covered some of his face. He
appeared young, perhaps a few years older than herself, but
there was something odd about him. Something that drew
her attention. His face, while young, had a withdrawn
expression, as if his mind was constantly on something else
—something unpleasant. There was a heaviness about him, a
sadness not unlike that of the Duke.

“Good day.” She made sure her voice sounded cheerful. To

her surprise, he did not return the greeting, but instead
simply bowed his head at her and opened the carriage door.
He extended his hand to help her up and once she was
settled into the cushioned seat, did the same for Betsy. Once
her cousin had taken her seat beside her, he closed the
carriage door and Lucretia felt the carriage gently sway as he
climbed up to his station at the front. Moments later, the
carriage was in motion toward Bath.

“What a grumpy fellow our coachman is.” Lucretia said as

they went.

Betsy turned toward her, a frown on her face.

“Whatever makes you say that?”

“I wished him a good morning and he did not reply at all.

Barely even acknowledged me with a nod. It was all quite
rude.”

Betsy placed one hand on Lucretia’s wrist.

“No, no, you have misunderstood. Or rather, I have failed to

inform you properly of William’s condition.”

Lucretia frowned. His condition? He appeared to be a healthy

young man. She could not imagine what condition might
have caused him to be so rude as to not reply to a simple
greeting.
“William cannot speak,” Betsy said, her voice lowered as if
the coachman would be able to hear them through the
carriage walls and over the noise of the horse’s hoofs. “He
hasn’t got a tongue.”

“He hasn’t a tongue?” Lucretia exclaimed, louder than she’d

intended. That earned a shush from Betsy, who evidentially
was very worried for the coachman’s feelings.

Her cousin leaned in closer. “He was the coachman the day
the Duchess had her deadly accident. He was maimed in the
accident as well, losing his tongue in the process.”

Lucretia’s mouth dropped open and she found herself

wondering how such a thing was possible. What a dreadful
accident it had to have been for there to be such a terrifying
result.

“What an awful story.”

“Indeed. William took it hard. He had a terrible time of it,

wracked with guilt he was. He took a long time to recover,
physically, although if you ask me, he has never forgiven
himself for the accident. He has been withdrawn and keeping
to himself ever since. Of course, the accident was not his
fault and he could have done nothing to prevent it.”
“The poor fellow.” Lucretia now felt utterly terrible for
having presumed he was simply rude or displayed poor
manners. The tragedy the poor soul had to endure. She shook
her head. “Dreadful.”

“It was. Losing the Duchess was a terrible burden for all of
us. Especially His Grace, of course. But William bore the
brunt of it all, having been there and having seen it. And of
course, it did not help that he and the woman he loved
parted ways.”

Lucretia’s eyes grew wide. “Parted ways? Because of the

accident?”
Her cousin sighed and shook her head.

“I am afraid so. It was hard on her, poor thing. She is a maid

here at the manor. I’d rather not say who for it has been a
long time and I do not wish to bring up things of the past.
But it is enough to say that they could not make things work
between them after the accident and soon parted ways. To
hear her tell it, he left her, but other say it was she who could
not bear to be with a man who could not speak.”

Lucretia looked out the window, taken aback by the entire

revelation. To think of what the poor coachman had been
through. To survive such a terrible accident only to be
maimed for life and then to lose the person you love… Her
heart went out to the man and she vowed to do her best to be
especially kind to him.

“Does he live at the manor? I don’t believe I’ve seen much of

him.” Betsy, who had taken out some needlework from her
bag, lifted her head.

“He does not. He lives in a small cottage, on the edge of the

property. It is just a small, one-room cottage, in need of
repair. The Duke has allowed him to live there, since William
does not seek out or handle proximity to others well. He
keeps to himself.” She sighed. “You know, His Grace has
never blamed him, not once. I believe William blames
himself more than anyone else.”

I imagine if I were in his position I, too, would blame myself.

Given how popular the Duchess was, and how much the Duke was
still in mourning, even after all this time, I would think I would
not be able to even stay on the Estate. Although, given that he
cannot speak, moving elsewhere is probably not an option for
him. As for the Duke… I know Betsy said William was not to
blame, but I do not know if I would be able to have the man
around who drove the carriage that killed my wife. I must admit, I
am intrigued by his strength.

“The Duke is a forgiving man.” Lucretia continued to look

out the window as she spoke. Outside, the were coming to a
clearing that led them to the main road. They would be in
Bath in another couple of hours or so.

“His Grace is a good man, marred by a fate he could not

control. Trapped in its aftermath. He has never blamed
William. Nor has his sister, Lady Blinddale.” The mention of
the Duke’s sister piqued Lucretia’s interest.

“Did you not say she was in the carriage as well, when it
crashed? If the Duchess was killed and William so gravely
injured, how come she escaped without injury?”

Betsy placed her needlework on her lap. “I believe it was due

to the fact that the Marchioness was seated on the left-hand
side of the carriage, as I am now. The Duchess was on your
side of the vehicle, which took the brunt of the force.” She
paused for a moment, her eyes glazing over with sadness.

“The carriage tumbled down an embankment, topsy-turvy.

The Duchess su ered extensive injury to her head, while the
Marchioness escaped with cuts and scrapes. To tell you the
truth, the Marchioness, while the least injured, carried the
brunt of the emotional burden. She was quite a wreck for a
long time. Blamed herself, the poor dear.”

Lucretia furrowed her eyebrows. “Blamed herself? Whatever

for? The coachman, yes, I can understand his feelings of
responsibility. But Lady Blinddale?”
“’Twas her idea, the journey. And to take the road by the
river. I suppose that is why she has taken such an interest in
Lord Henry.”

Lucretia nodded, “To make up for the guilt she is feeling.”

“Indeed. She all but moved into Amberley Manor after the
accident, leaving only when she was forced to.”

“Forced to?”

The carriage stopped and Lucretia looked outside to see why,

for she knew they could not have made it to Bath already.
She saw that they had arrived at a large intersection and the
coachman was waiting for a curricle to pass by from the
right. She glanced out the window and up to see the man’s
profile. He had a sharp chin and a smooth, strange jawline.
His posture was impeccable and he sat straight as an arrow,
the reigns of the carriage firmly in hand. Suddenly, he turned
and their eyes met briefly. Lucretia gasped with surprise and
retreated inside the carriage.

“Caught you staring at him, did he?” Betsy laughed. “He’s

perceptive, our William. I do wonder what goes on inside his
head sometimes. It is a shame that he cannot communicate
better.”
“Surely he can write his thoughts down, as a manner of
communication.”

To her surprise, her cousin shook her head. “He doesn’t

know how to, nor does he seem to want to learn. He’s quite
comfortable the way it is, I believe. He keeps to himself. Such
a lonely existence it must be.”

Betsy yawned and rubbed her eyes before returning the

needlework to her bag.

“I am fatigued, my dear. Would you mind terribly if I took a

rest before we arrive in Bath?”

Lucretia shook her head.

“Of course not. I must say, I am surprised that the Duke sent
you along in the first place, given the long night you’ve
had.”

Betsy smiled and patted Lucretia’s forearm. “The long night

we’ve both had. Although I imagine one of the reasons His
Grace has asked me to come along was precisely because I
had a long night. I quite fancy a little time to myself. Mr.
Swindon shall have to keep everyone’s spirits up at the
manor.”

“His Grace did say to ensure you have time to do your

personal shopping while in Bath.”

She grinned, “He knows me well. Now, if I am to successfully

complete my personal shopping expedition, I must rest.”

With that, she leaned back and closed her eyes, leaving
Lucretia with nothing to do but contemplate the sudden
changes her life had undergone these past few weeks. To
think that she was returning to the school she spent so much
of her life at felt odd. Though the thought of seeing Mary,
and surprising her with the good news, filled her with joy as
she surveyed the passing landscape. She had quite forgotten
that Betsy never answered her question about the reason
that forced Lady Blinddale to return to her late husband’s
estate.

She found that the ride in the Duke’s carriage was much
more comfortable than what she had endured in the coach
on her way to her first audience with him. She wasn’t sure if
it was due to the comfort or the many thoughts that occupied
her mind, but the journey appeared to be over much sooner,
as well. In no time, they had arrived in Bath.
Lucretia found herself quite mesmerized by the passing
buildings. She spent many years walking these streets and
knew every corner of the city. Yet, coming back as a visitor
was di erent. She found herself fascinated by the people
who roamed the city streets, dressed in their best walking
clothes. They were out and about to see and be seen, just like
she and Mary used to be.

The carriage turned a corner, and in the distance, she could

see the school. Alas, the coachman was presently turning the
wrong way, toward the seaside instead of the city. She leaned
her head out and called out to the coachman.

“Tis over yonder,” she pointed when he turned to her and

directed the horses to where she indicated. They were in
front of the school in no time.
“You may stop here,” she said and then retreated inside the
carriage where Betsy was just coming out of her sleep.

“We have arrived already?” She blinked at Lucretia who was

beginning to feel more and more fidgety.

“We have.”

Betsy shook her head.

“Very well. It is early in the day yet? Why don't you find your
friend and assist her in collecting her belongings, then we
can meet here in two hours’ time. That will be plenty of time
for me to procure my supplies. I believe there is a shop
selling the yarn I like just down the road.”

“Wonderful!” Lucretia jumped out of the carriage and

rushed down the street towards the front door, her heart
beating out of her chest with excitement.

“Mary!” she hollered, her voice echoing along the empty

hallways. The school was utterly deserted. As she passed the
classrooms, she saw that the desks and chairs had already
been removed. It was eerie and she felt a shudder run down
her spine as she made her way toward the teacher’s quarters.

What if Mary is not here? She may have gone into town. Perhaps
it might have been better to send a messenger ahead. What if she
has found other employment? It would…

Lucretia’s thoughts were interrupted by a sound. The flute!

Lucretia grinned, for she knew only one person who played
the flute so beautifully.

“Mary!” She called out once more and headed in the

direction of the music. It was coming from the courtyard.
Suddenly, it stopped and a moment later, she heard her
friend’s soft voice call out in a hesitant manner.
“Lucy?”

She made the corner and stopped, a wide smile upon her
face.

“Mary! I knew it was you.” She rushed toward her friend

who stood there, mouth agape and stared at her as if she
were a ghost. She was dressed in a simple blue round gown,
the same that all the teachers tended to wear, except she
dressed it up with a lovely white spencer which gave the
simple gown a smart look. Her dark blonde hair hung over
her shoulders.

Lucretia hugged her friend who clasped onto her as if she’d

just been saved from drowning. When Lucretia let go, she
saw that Mary was close to tears.

“Lucy! What are you doing here? Faith, I just wrote another
letter to you, telling you how I miss you so and now you are
here? Why? I cannot believe it.” She clasped her arms around
Lucretia once more, hugging her tight as though she were
drowning in the ocean. “I cannot tell you enough how I have
missed you.”

Lucretia felt herself overwhelmed at seeing her friend again

and could only imagine how Mary had to feel, given she had
no idea Lucretia was on her way.

“My dearest Mary, I am so happy to see you.”

“And I, you. You cannot imagine how lonely it has been here.
I have been on my own for a week, since Yolanda left for
Shropshire. I thought I might go mad with the loneliness of
it all. When first I saw you, I thought you were but a figment
of my imagination. Lucy, tell me what has brought you to
Bath? Faith! You have not lost your position, have you?” Her
friend stepped back and held one hand in front of her mouth,
her eyes suddenly full of worry.

“No, no. Do not fret. My position at Amberley Manor is quite

secure. In fact, it is why I am here. To bring you back with
me.”

“Bring me back? I do not understand. Of course, I would like

nothing more than to accompany you, for I have been lonely.
But how? Is the Duke in need of another governess?”

Lucretia broke into a grin which caused her friend to frown.

“Not another governess, my dear. No. It is such a long story,

I should tell you on the journey, as it will help pass the time.
However, in short, there is a position available at the manor
that needs filling at once. The head housemaid has just given
birth early, and will be unable to resume her duties for some
time. My cousin is in dire need of help, and you are in dire
need of employment. Thus, the Duke has decided to o er you
the position.”

Mary stood there with her mouth open, as if struck by

lightning. She broke into a giggle and took a hold of
Lucretia’s hands.

“And he wants me? Indeed? Oh Lucy!” She bopped up and

down in excitement, a wide grin on her face. However,
suddenly, her demeanor changed and she tilted her head to
one side, a quizzical expression on her face.

“But why would the Duke do such a thing? Do not

misunderstand, I am elated at the news, but why? Why me?”

Lucretia’s grin dropped from her face. Why would he? It was
not as if there were no other maids available in the area. And
he did not know her anywhere long enough to do her a favor.
Given that she had no answer, she shook her head.

“I am not certain. He is a curious man. Kind, giving, and

generous to a fault. But he keeps to himself. He is a bit of a
mystery.”
Mary perked up and smiled. “He sounds as though he has
intrigued you. You must tell me all about him. He sounds
quite the puzzle, from what you’ve written to me about
him.”

“Indeed, he is.” Lucretia sighed. She had to admit, the Duke

occupied her thoughts more often that she liked lately, and
not just because of Lord Henry. She found herself thinking of
him at the most inopportune moments, such as when Lord
Henry recited his figures to her. She'd think of how proud
the Duke would be and then, quite unexpectedly, would think
of the Duke's lovely eyes, or his strong hands. She shook her
head, banishing those thoughts for now.

“Let us collect your things. We only have two hours to gather

everything.”

Mary waved her hand. “I have hardly any belongings. It

shan’t take me more than five minutes to collect them all.”

The two women walked back toward their old chamber

where Mary threw what little she owned into a small case
and the two of them made their way back to the road, where
the carriage arrived in short order.

“What a lovely mansion,” Mary gasped as the carriage made

its way toward the house. Lucretia looked at her friend and
recalled her own first arrival. She had been too busy
worrying about her hair and gown which had been in such
disarray, and the beauty of the property had escaped her.

The carriage drove past the front
directed the horses around the
entrance. William climbed down
rocking the carriage slightly as he
the door for them.
door and the coachman
back, to the servant’s
from the driver’s seat,
did so, and then opened

He assisted Betsy and Lucretia out of the vehicle, followed by

Mary, who gazed around the garden with wide eyes.

“Thank you so much,” Mary turned to William. “I’ve quite

forgotten your name, I’m afraid.” She looked at him,
awaiting an answer that Lucretia knew would not come. She
stepped forward.

“William, is his name. William.” She linked her arm under

her friend’s and led her away, her eyes briefly fixed upon
William’s, who nodded with grateful expression on his face.

“Now, Mary. I shall instruct you on your duties in the

morning. I do not expect you to know everything there is to
know, given that you have never worked as maid before—”
Betsey began.
“I have,” Mary interrupted the older woman who glanced at
her, eyes wide.

“You have?”

“When I was young and living with my uncle. The

housekeeper was an elderly woman without anyone to assist
her and thus… To earn my keep, I helped.”

Betsy smiled at this revelation. “Well, that shall make my

life much easier, I suppose. Now, Thomas, one of the
footmen, will take your things to your chamber. I’m sure you
and Lucretia have a lot of catching up to do.”

The old woman turned and headed through the servants’

door.

“Can we take the air and explore the garden? You must tell
me all about the Duke. And the coachman. You pulled me
away so abruptly as I inquired of his name. He is dashing.
Not very talkative, I must say.” Mary winked as the door
closed behind Betsy.

Lucretia cleared her throat. “He can’t speak, I’m afraid.

There was an accident some years ago, the one I told you
about, that killed the Duchess. The coachman lost his tongue
in the accident and has been mute ever since.”
Mary’s eyes widened and she gasped. “How dreadful. That
poor young man. Can you imagine being trapped in your own
head, unable to speak? Your only way to communicate via
ink and paper?” Mary shook her head.

Lucretia decided not to tell her that the coachman could not
even do that, for she did not want to spoil the mood further.
Terrible, indeed. “I shall tell you everything I’ve learned in
due course, my dear. It is so wonderful to have a friend once
more I can share and confide in. Betsy is lovely, but she is
virtually a stranger to me.”

The two young women walked the length of the garden,

chatting and giggling as they caught up with the events of
the past few weeks.
They had almost made a full turn around the property when
the sound of two raised voices caused them to stop.

“I cannot believe you would have the audacity to arrive here

without warning and to bring with you the children. You
embarrassed me in front of the Duke.” Lucretia frowned, for
the voice was familiar.

“You simply left me to care for three children. On my own

with only a stupid milk maid to assist me who knows
nothing of caring for children. One of them is not even ours!
And after taking my governess and sending her on an errand
that will keep her for who knows how long. Who will take
care of the children in her absence? You? I shall think not!”
the woman replied, her voice shrill.

“Certainly not you, that much is evident! And Mrs. Lester is

taking care of a young woman in distress, not that it matters
to you! You know no compassion.”

Lucretia turned to Mary and leaned in. “Tis Lord Winterton.

He is His Grace’s closest friend. Lord Henry is at his home at
present.”

“And his wife, The Marchioness of Winterton, I suppose?”

Mary asked.

From the front of the house, the couple continued to argue

with the woman leading the charge.

“I am a lady in distress! Where is your compassion for me?”

Lucretia tugged on her friend’s elbow and indicated that they

should make their way back around the other side of the
house. She was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the
conversation they were witnessing, and did not want to risk
being seen by Lord Winterton.
The two backtracked and walked around the grand mansion,
making their way through the small courtyard that separated
one wing of the house from another. They were about to
make their way through when—

“Miss Nelson! Miss Nelson!” Lord Henry’s delighted voice

sounded out and a moment later the little boy raced toward
her. She squatted down, utterly delighted at the sight of him.
He rushed into her arms and she gave him a big squeeze
before retreating.

His cheeks were flush and he was slightly out of breath. He

was in a smart skeleton suit, this one without stains or
blemishes. However, she spotted a smudge of dirt on his face
and set about wiping it o gently with her handkerchief. The
little boy closed his eyes and scrunched his face as she did
so, but did not move.

“Where is your maid? Surely you are not in the garden by

yourself.”

Lord Henry shook his head, blonde curls flying about his
face.

“Lady Winterton took us in their carriage.”

This did not answer her question at all. It only raised
another.

“Us?”

He turned and pointed at two small children who were seated

in the pavilion in the center of the courtyard. They were
playing a game of marbles while being attended to by a man.
It took Lucretia a moment to recognize him. Seeing him
around Lord Henry was so out of the ordinary. But indeed, it
was him. The Duke.

He looked up and their eyes met across the courtyard and

Lucretia felt her heart, inexplicably, skip a beat.
 CH APT ER 10

B enedict had been sitting quietly on the stone bench

in the pavilion, watching the three children play
with their glass marbles when the two women had
entered the courtyard. He had not noticed them at all, so
engrossed had he been in his thoughts, so when Henry had
jumped up and rushed toward the governess, Benedict found
himself taken quite by surprise.

He had not recognized Miss Nelson at first, for she looked

nothing like the woman he’d grown accustomed to. The one
who was always in a gown that was slightly too wrinkled,
and with hair that was always just a tad in disarray, no
matter how hard she tried to push it under her mop cap.

No, today she was dressed in a pretty cream-colored gown

that peeked out from under a peach pelisse, and her hair was
covered by a matching bonnet. She looked every bit a lady.
However, though it was her appearance that first drew his
attention, it was her behavior with Henry which held it. The
little boy seemed completely delighted to see her again, even
though they had only been apart for a day. His face lit up and
the joy was evident in his voice when he called her name.

She is so tender with him, the way she embraced him, and the
way she wiped his face. So much like I imagine Helena might have
been, had she lived. And he is as gentle with her as she is with
him. He is so fond of her, it is a pleasure to see.

He felt himself break into a smile that stayed upon his face
even when she looked up and saw him. He nodded at her and
she returned his greeting with one of her wobbly curtsies,
the ones that always made him worry she might topple over.
Benedict had grown fond of them. There was something so
precious about her clumsiness. Something that warmed his
heart.

He rose and walked over to her, only then remembering that

there was someone with her. Another woman. About her age,
but shorter, her skin paler and her hair lighter. It took him a
moment to realize it was Miss Hastings, her friend. He still
did not quite know what had come over him to suggest
bringing her on as a maid. For all he knew, she had no
training and might be a burden to Mrs. Harrison more so
than a help, but it had felt like the right thing to do. Given
that he knew she was about to be on the street, and that
Maggie would not be returning any time soon.
Benedict had never been a man to follow his intuition. He’d
been brought up to think logically and strategically. The way
a Peer of the Realm should think. Feelings and intuition were
for the ladies of the ton, not the lords. And he thought so as
well, until he met Helena. He’d known that theirs was not a
strategic match, and logic dictated that he ought to wed
someone from a higher-ranking family. But the feelings…the
feelings had been stronger. And they had been proven right.

Since then, he trusted his gut more so than his brain.

Judging by the governess’s face, it had been the right call to
bring her friend. A weight appeared to have been lifted o of
her. As he approached them, he could tell just how changed
her attitude was. Lighter and happier.

“Miss Nelson, you have returned. And this, I imagine, is your

friend, Miss Hastings?”

He faced the new arrival who smiled and curtsied so

elegantly she might have been a lady of the ton.

“Your Grace, it is my honor to meet you. I am ever so

grateful for your o er of employment.”

He gave her a curt nod and glanced at Miss Nelson, whose

eyes darted between him, her friend and Henry, who was
standing pressed against her.
“Miss Nelson spoke highly of you and I believe if one can
ease the burden of others, one should. Now, have you been
shown your quarters as of yet?”

She shook her head, “I have not. I desired to see the garden
and Lucy has been so kind as to show me. You have a
magnificent property, Your Grace.”

He shrugged, “I have magnificent gardeners who maintain

it.”

“Indeed, you have.” It was then that the raised voices of

Lord and Lady Winterton drifted toward them. Their
argument had begun almost as soon as the carriage had
arrived, containing the Marchioness and the children.
Winterton had, of course, been utterly mortified and gone at
once to question his wife.

It became evident quickly that the Marchioness would not

tolerate the presence of Henry at Marmoth Castle any longer,
not without the aid of a governess. Nor would she be
subjected to having to care for her own children. Winterton
had been enraged, prompting Benedict to assume the care of
all three children himself for the time being.

He’d taken them to the courtyard, for it was the furthest at

the time from their arguing parents. Now, they had caught
up with them. Benedict felt an awkwardness rush through
his body and glanced at the Winterton’s children, who were
still involved in a game of marbles. He cleared his throat.

“Miss Nelson, I do not wish to impose upon you, given you

have just returned, but would it trouble you to take care of
the children for a brief while? It appears their parents are—
indisposed at the moment.”

To his great relief, the governess agreed with a nod of the

head.

“Of course, Your Grace. Perhaps we could all engage in a

game of Hide and Seek? What do you say, Lord Henry?”

She looked at the boy whose face lit up at once.

“Tis my favorite, Miss Nelson. I shall go fetch Horace and

Frances.” He rushed o and headed toward his playmates,
who soon joined him in the excitement.

Benedict was about to excuse himself, when Miss Nelson did

something unexpected.

“Perhaps His Grace would like to join us?” She asked this
with a sweet tone, as if it were an invitation. He knew it was
not. The way she looked at him, she all but dared him to say
no.

This woman. She oversteps her bounds with such ease and yet in
such a manner that it's quite impossible for me to say no. I should
be enraged, yet I am not. Her boldness is refreshing, I must admit.
In any case, I do not have anywhere to be and by the sounds of it,
Winterton and his wife may be some time.

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“I suppose. Alas, I do not know the rules of the game.”

Her eyes widened with surprise.

“It is quite simple, Your Grace. One player counts to twenty

with their eyes closed, the others hide as best they can. Then
the person who counted seeks them. The last person found is
the next one to be the seeker.”

As she explained the rule, the three children arrived,

jumping up and down with anticipation.

“Can we begin, Miss Nelson?” Henry asked, his eyes wild

and glistening.
“We shall. Who is to be the seeker?”

“Perhaps, as I do not know the grounds well, it would

behoove me to explore my chamber and the servant quarters,
Your Grace, Lucy.” Miss Hasting said, looking for one to the
other.

Benedict nodded, “Of course.” He called out to the footman

who'd been standing in the doorway, in case his services
were required. He moved toward them swiftly. “Please escort
Miss Hastings to her chamber.”

The footman gave a curt nod and beckoned the new arrival to
follow him. As they departed, Benedict felt very aware of the
sudden silence between him and Miss Nelson. The children
chattered amongst themselves, discussing possible hiding
locations, but Benedict found himself looking at Miss
Nelson. He observed the way she watched the children,
tenderness in her eyes. He was reminded of the way Helena
had stood and stared at Henry when he was but an infant.
The care and love that once lit up his wife’s face was now
mirrored in Miss Nelson’s.

He was drawn from his thoughts once more by the sounds of

Lord and Lady Winterton. He spotted them from the corner
of his eye, right at the entrance to the courtyard. His friend’s
face was red with anger and while he could not see the
Marchioness’ face, he saw her posture, which was one of
utter defiance. Her hands were stemmed in her hips, except
for when she raised a hand to wave a finger in her husband’s
face.

Miss Nelson followed his gaze and he saw her swallowing

hard, her eyes darting to the children. She wrapped an arm
protectively around the little girl and gently pushed her
toward the back of the courtyard.

“Why don’t we go into the garden? Much more room to hide.

Isn’t that right, Your Grace?” She looked at him, eyes asking
him to cooperate in her venture to distract the children.

“Let us play in the garden. Henry, you lead the way.”

His son looked up at him, mouth agape. “You will really play
with us, Father?”

Benedict had to admit, it hurt to hear the surprise in his

son’s voice.

Fortunately, Miss Nelson was ever the professional, and

picking up on his discomfort, immediately took charge.
“Now, Lord Henry, why don’t you play the role of the seeker
this time and the rest of us shall hide?”

The little boy swayed his head back and forth in

consideration. Benedict found himself smiling, for it was
something he liked to do himself when considering a
proposition. He often lost himself in the similarities between
his son and his late wife, so much so that he failed to see that
his son was not unlike him, either.

The boy finally turned to his friends.

“Horace, you and Frances hide. Run out into the garden,
there are a great many hiding spots there. Of course, I know
each and every one, and shall find you in no time at all.”

He broke into giggles which caused Miss Nelson to burst out

into laughter as well. Benedict found himself taken aback for
he was not used to a lady allowing herself such an outburst.
If his sister Clem were here, she’d certainly admonish the
woman for her boisterous laughter. And yet, Benedict found
it endearing.

Why is it that things I find irritating in others delight me

when she is the one engaging in them? I would never find a
woman’s loud laughter attractive, and yet, the way it lights
her face, the joy that is evident in the very sound of her
voice… I must stop thinking of these things. She is but an
employee. A good one, but an employee still.

He watched as Henry ran after his friends and then stopped

once he’d reached the edge of the garden. He turned and
waved at Miss Nelson.

“Miss, Miss! Shall I start counting?”

Miss Nelson nodded at him. “From twenty, backwards. Out

loud. Let us practice our numbers while we play, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The little boy nodded and then clasped his
hands in front of his eyes and began counting. Benedict was
impressed at the ease with which the governess incorporated
the lessons into the boy’s game. He stood and watched him
count, proud at the speed with which he counted backwards,
when he felt a slight poke in the elbow.

“Your Grace should hide. Your son is a fast counter,

especially when it comes to his playtime.”

Benedict looked around, unsure where he was supposed to

hide. He’d not played games for many a year and hardly
remembered the occasions when he had. He strode out of the
courtyard, walking past his son quietly so as not to alert him
to his presence, and ducked behind one of the large marble
statues which stood at the entrance to the courtyard.

From behind him, he heard his son’s voice become louder as

he counted down.

“Five, Four, Three….” He paused for a moment as if having

to think of the next number, “Two, one. Here I come!”

Benedict heard his little footsteps rushing across the

graveled walkway and then fade to nothing as he reached the
grass. He peeked around the statue to see if he could spot the
boy when from behind him, someone whispered.

“Psst. Your Grace, Your Grace.” He turned and saw the

governess' head poke out from behind a bush. She motioned
for him to come toward her. Benedict was about to do as
she’d requested and rose when she exclaimed to him, albeit
quietly.

“No, do not stand, Your Grace. Crouch and crawl.”

Crouch? I am to… crouch? If anyone had ever told me that I,

Benedict De Clare, Duke of Tradegrove, Peer of the Realm would
be crouching and crawling across the grass of my own estate, at
the behest of a governess, I would have declared them fit for
Bedlam.
 
And yet, there he was. He was keeping low, his head under
the line of the bushes to keep from being detected. When he
got to where Miss Nelson was, he saw that there was a small
opening between two bushes which was where she was
presently hidden.

“Come join me,” she motioned for him to duck into the
opening with her. When he did, he detected a whi of
something fresh, something floral in the air. It couldn’t be
from the bush, for it bore no flowers. He turned toward Miss
Nelson and then realized the sweet smell was coming from
her. He found himself filled with warmth, for the scent
reminded him of spring, his favorite season.

“I must say, Your Grace is not very skilled at Hide and Seek,”
the governess chuckled under her breath. “A statue is an
unfortunate choice.”

He frowned. “It is? Why so?”

She shook her head, keeping an eye on the children.

“Given your size, you will easily be spotted. To play the game
to perfection you must stay low and find places to hide that
the children would not look for.”
“You are quite the expert at this game.”

She smiled at him, exposing a row of lovely white teeth.

“Many years of experience playing with the little ladies at

the school, Your Grace. No matter if boy or girl, all children
play the same. Watch,” She pointed at Henry, who was
presently crawling through the bushes at the other end of
the garden.

“His suit will be ruined,” Benedict said and then stopped

himself, shaking his head. “I sound so much like my sister, it
is comical.”

The governess adjusted the way she was sitting and crossed
her legs in a comfortable, yet very unladylike manner.

“Your sister? Lady Blinddale?”

She was sitting so close to him that their bare forearms

touched slightly. An odd sensation, and yet he found that he
did not want to break the physical connection between them,
however slight. Momentarily, their eyes met before she
looked away, as if embarrassed. Yet she did not move.
His throat constricted, for the strange feeling which crept up
inside him reminded him of the last time he’d felt this way.
The last time he didn’t want to break a touch. It had been
with his wife. The very first time they’d been alone together.
Their hands had touched ever so slightly while walking, and
he hadn’t wanted to withdraw his hand. Neither had she. He
felt that same feeling now and it terrified him. Quickly he
adjusted how he was sitting, forcing them to move apart.

“Lady Blinddale, yes,” he answered her by way of ending the

strange moment that had occurred between them. “She is
my only sister. Only living sister, in any case. I had three, as
well as two brothers. Tragically, none of them lived through
childhood.”

Miss Nelson tilted her head to one side. “I am sorry to hear

it. It is unfortunately very common for a large family to end
up with only one or two living children. I have seen it during
my time with the nuns again and again. And at the school, as
well. Many a time one of the little girls would return from
school break, excited about the arrival of a new sibling, only
to find that sibling gone before the end of the term.”

He saw the sorrow in her eyes and felt the need to reach out
and comfort her, even though he knew he would not be able
to.

“I spent many an hour comforting a crying child.”

“It must have been di cult for you. I am sorry.”

She turned to face him, her fair face lit by a small smile. “It
was. But grief and sorrow are feelings we are both all too
familiar with, Your Grace.”

“Indeed.”

Silence fell between them, interrupted only by the distant

laughter of the children. Henry, it appeared, had discovered
the hiding spots of Lord Winterton’s children and was now
on a quest to find him and Miss Nelson.
“He speaks very highly of your sister,” she said.

“I am glad to hear it. She has taken great pains to look after
him, as she has after me, in my younger days.”

She narrowed her eyes at the statement, a question upon her

face. He wet his lips before explaining.

“I was the youngest child, she the oldest. There are fifteen
years between us. By the time I was born, my parents were
already old. Thus, Clementine treated me more as a child of
her own than a sibling. And since the loss of my wife, she has
done the same for Henry. I believe it fulfills her need to
mother others.”
“She has no children of her own?”

Benedict shook his head, keeping an eye on Henry who was

swiftly running their way.

“She does not. She and the Marquess were not blessed with
children. Well, that is not true. The Marquess had a son, the
current Marquess of Blinddale. His first wife passed away at
a young age and he wed my sister, in the hopes of producing
another heir. A spare, so to say. Alas, it was not to be. He
passed away eight years ago.”

The governess’s face lit up as if she’d received a long

sought-after revelation. “Is this why she has been able to
take care of Lord Henry?” He was not able to respond, for
out of nowhere, his son’s face appeared in the opening
between the bushes.

“Found you!” He shouted and then danced in a circle, his

hands in the air in celebration. Lord Winterton’s children
soon joined him and together, the three performed a rather
silly victory dance.

Frances then looked at the both of them, a grin on her face.

“Now it is your turn to seek!”

“By Jove, I shan’t think I will be able to. I have business to

attend to and I must…”

Benedict stopped when he saw Henry’s face darken.

Benedict’s heart clenched as if squeezed by a fist. Once
again, it was Miss Nelson who stepped in.

“Surely His Grace can join us for one more round? I can’t
imagine we will have time for much more than one, for it
appears Lord and Lady Winterton shall soon be departing.”

She nodded toward the stables, where the carriage with the
coat of arms of the House of Winterton was presently being
prepared for departure. The horses were being brought
around, having been fed and watered while their owners had
been engaged in their argument. The couple could be seen in
the distance, engaged in conversation which appeared much
calmer now.

“I don’t see the harm in another game, in that case. Let us

play. Are you ready to join me in seeking the children?” He
smiled at her, but it appeared the governess had other ideas.

“I am ready. However, I am much fatigued from the journey.

Perhaps Lord Henry might be able to assist His Grace in
seeking the three of us? Hiding is much less taxing than
seeking, to me. If you do not mind, of course, Lord Henry.”
She looked at the boy and Henry noticed that she was
winking at him, which in turn, made Henry grin.

Benedict patted the boy’s soft blonde hair, something he had

not done in so long he could not even remember it.

“I am grateful for your help, son. Now, shall we count?”

 CH APT ER 11

L ater that week, Lucretia found herself deep in thought

as Lord Henry sat, struggling to focus on his lesson.
The little boy was in a boisterous mood.

“Papa is not very good at Hide and Seek,” he suddenly said,

looking up from his book.

Lucretia smirked. They had engaged in another game the

previous evening, around the stables. It had been Lucretia’s
way of helping Lord Henry get over his fear of horses. The
revelation of his son’s fear of horses had taken the Duke
utterly by surprise. To Lucretia’s relief, it had prompted the
Duke to partake in their game, as eager to ease his son’s
fears as Lucretia.

She had to admit, the boy was right. The Duke was not
skilled at the game and required assistance. Assistance she
gladly gave for it meant they could converse further. Indeed,
the more time Lucretia spent with him, the fonder she grew
of the man. She cast a glance at the boy.

“His Grace has not played games as often as we have. He

may require more of our tutelage, Lord Henry.”

The boy’s eyes lit up.

“Do you think he will come play with us again? Maybe even
today?”

Lucretia felt a rush of joy through her body at the little boy’s
happiness. She could only hope that his father would want to
continue to spend time with him. He appeared eager, if a
little sti . However, Lucretia was certain she could change
this, given the chance.

“I hope so. If you like, we can visit him after you have
completed your studies and see if he would join us in the
garden. That is still your chosen reward for today?”

The boy nodded. He asked to play a game of Follow the

Leader, a game best played with more than one person. She
hoped to convince Mary to take a break from her work but if
the Duke was willing….
I must admit, the thought of spending more time with him is
appealing. And not just because it will make Lord Henry happy.
Despite his sullen nature, the Duke is lovely to talk to. I only wish
we could have conversed further, yesterday at the stables. There is
so much I want to talk to him about. Alas, unlike his father, Lord
Henry is well versed at Hide and Seek and found us much too
soon.

“It is, Ma’am. When can we go and ask him?” Lord Henry
bounced in his chair, wiggling back and forth between
bounces.

“How about we complete another half hour of our lesson?

Then we can seek out your father.”

The child grinned and stopped bouncing, focusing on his

text book with serious attention. “Yes, Miss Nelson.”

“Now, Lord Henry. Why don’t you name the countries that
make up Scandinavia and tell me where they are located in
Europe? And who their Kings are.”

The boy pressed his lips together and consulted his text
book, seeking out the information. She noticed that he
looked so much like his father it was startling. They had the
same angular face, and the same habit of pushing their chins
slightly forward when in concentration.
Lucretia patted his blond curls. She did not understand why
the nurses had such trouble with him. He was easily
motivated, if you understood children, that is. She sat back,
arms crossed, while Lord Henry began to answer her
questions.

“I do not know how to play this game, either. I am afraid I

am rather useless when it comes to knowing what little
children like to play,” the Duke said, leaning in to Lucretia.
He spoke with a quiet voice, not wanting to alert his son to
the fact he did not know the game he had agreed to
participate in.

Lucretia smiled. His cluelessness when it came the things his

son enjoyed was sad, but his sudden willingness to learn
warmed her heart. Indeed, it was quite charming the way he
fretted over playing the games properly.

“It is simple, Your Grace. Lord Henry is the leader and he is

currently setting up an obstacle course. When he is done, you
and I will follow him as he makes his way around the course.
He will dance or hop or crawl and we must copy his
movements. Then at the end, we switch and one of us takes
turn as leader.”

“Crawl? I must… crawl? A lot of games appear to involve

crouching and crawling. Is this normal?” His forehead
wrinkled as he raised his eyebrows. Lucretia could not help
but giggle for he seemed utterly vexed by the idea.

“Quite normal indeed, Your Grace. Am I to understand that

His Grace has not had occasion to play games when he was a
child?”

The Duke’s face darkened and he looked away. “No, I cannot

say that I have. Given the age di erence between my sister
and I, she was not keen on games and my other siblings...
Well… Su ce it to say I did not have occasion to play.”

“I understand well, Your Grace. The nuns were not inclined

to play Tug of War or Hide and Seek, either.”

Up ahead, Lord Henry was busy arranging cans in a zig zag

order. Lucretia and the Duke walked slowly along the already
constructed parts of the obstacle course. His presence
soothed her in a way she rarely experienced with people, and
certainly never with a man.

“Where there no other orphans at the nunnery?”

Lucretia swallowed. She did not like to think of her childhood

for it had been lonely and she often felt melancholy. She
wanted to tell him so, she felt the words on her lips, but she
reminded herself of their di erence in station. He was, after
all, her employer.

“Not many. In any case, the nuns were focused on education

and work, not games.” She shrugged. “I found solace in
other ways. I loved to read. I still do.”

The Duke’s face lit up at the mentioned of books. “I am an

avid reader myself,” he declared. “It always soothed me to
read, to escape into another world.”

“Indeed, it was my way to break free of the sadness I often

felt. Even now, I find myself reaching for a book whenever I
feel melancholy. Especially since the passing of Mrs.
Doringcourt.”

“Reading has been my solace all my life. I spent many an

hour in the garden and by the lake, my head in a book. Say,”
he grinned and leaned in, bumping his elbow against hers as
if they were sharing a secret. “Have you discovered the
wooden pier at the south end of the lake as yet?”

She frowned and shook her head. “I have not had occasion to
explore that far south yet, no.”

He straightened up, his hands crossed behind his back.

“You must. It is a wonderful place to read. Quiet and
peaceful. Perhaps I could…” he cut himself o with a shake
of the head. “Perhaps you should explore it.”

He was about to o er to accompany me to the pier, was he not? Of

course, that would be inappropriate. Alas, I would have enjoyed it
so.

She shook her head to chase the thought out of her head. It
was inappropriate, indeed. She was a commoner, a
governess, which placed her above a servant, but a
commoner nonetheless.

Before she could say anything else on the matter, Lord Henry
was rushing toward them.

“’Tis set up, Miss Nelson.”

He jumped up and down in front of them and clapped his

hands together, then suddenly stopped and looked up at his
father, uncertainty upon his face. Lucretia herself felt the
tension between father and son. The child had evidentially
forgotten himself in his elation and now waited to see how
his father would react to his enthusiasm.

To her great relief, the Duke broke into a wide grin and
surveyed the obstacle course.
“You’ve constructed a fine course, son. Now, shall you be the
leader?”

“Yes!” Lord Henry said, his happiness returning at once. He

rushed to the beginning of the course and motioned for
Lucretia and Benedict to join him.

Benedict lined up behind his son. Lucretia could not help but
grin at the manner in which he stood, his back sti and his
eyes narrowed in concentration. She found herself placing a
hand on his arm before she knew she was even doing it.

“Do not worry, it will be a lot of fun.” It was not until she
noticed his eyes, focused on her hand on his upper arm that
she realized what she’d done. Swiftly, she pulled her hand
away. “I am ever so sorry, Your Grace. I …”

He shook his head, a sparkle in his eyes and a small smile on

his face. “It is quite all right, my dear. Now, let us play.”

They followed Lord Henry as he made his way through his

obstacle course, hopping over cans, running zig-zag through
a course of carefully arranged twigs, and jumping alternately
on one foot and then the other.
The Duke, sporting a large cravat, was not dressed for an
active game such as this and Lucretia had to suppress her
laughter as he hopped along on one leg behind his son. Once
they had completed the course, he turned to her, his face red
but a light in his eyes that she had not seen before.

“I feel utterly ridiculous, Miss Nelson. Yet, elated.” He

paused, dimples appeared on his face as he smiled at her,
their eyes locking. “Thank you for what you have done.
Please know your e orts are duly noted. I am most …” He
got no further, for he was interrupted by Lord Henry who
came running toward them.

“Papa! Now you are the leader. You must change the obstacle
course first.”

The boy’s eyes were wide with excitement.

“I must. Perhaps you can assist me?”

“Yes.” The boy reached out and took his father's hand into
his own. Lucretia saw the way the Duke's face lit up and it
filled her heart with joy. As the boy led his father toward the
obstacle course, the Duke glanced back at Lucretia, his eyes
soft. They held the gaze for a long moment, too long.
She felt a strange pang in her stomach and her entire body
tingled. She had felt this way before, the day they had
crouched in the bushes, but she had ignored it. The feeling
had crept up inside her again when they played the game at
the stables the previous night.

The Duke stirred feelings inside her she had not expected.
Indeed, every time he turned and glimpsed at her, her heart
skipped a beat. She could not tear her gaze away from him.
Could not stop her thoughts from wondering what it would
be like if she were not a mere governess, and if he were not a
man trapped in the grief for a woman long gone. If only...

“Miss Nelson.” The Duke's deep warm voice called out. She
forced herself to abandoned her silly daydreams and focused
her attention onto him. He waved toward her to join them at
the other end of the obstacle course.

“We’re beginning the next round here. Join us.”

With a heavy sigh, Lucretia pushed her thoughts aside and

lifted her skirt so it did not drag on the ground. She headed
toward the Duke, who beamed in her direction as Lord Henry
bounced up and down beside him.

Faith, Lucretia, you are making a cake of yourself with these silly
thoughts. Indeed, you are.
 CH APT ER 12

B enedict sat at the pier, his legs dangling over the

edge. His book, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, sat
beside him on the wooden slats. He abandoned it
for the time being in order to re-read the letter his sister
Clementine had sent him.

My dearest Benedict

It started out in her neat, small, handwriting.

It pains me to inform you that relations with Clarence, my

wretched stepson, have not improved. I shall not be able to
remain here for much longer. I shall set o for Amberley Manor in
due course. I am grateful of your o er to install me at Amberley
full time as I have no desire to visit Haventon ever again. Not after
the way Clarence has treated me. His father, my dearest
Lawrence, is certainly rolling in his grave.
I am sorry to hear of the events which have unfolded at Amberley
since my departure and I sincerely hope Maggie and the child
recover soon. As for your new governess, I remain concerned that
our dear Marquess is too young to begin his studies, but you are
his father and as Duke you know best.

I shall do my best to find a posting for your governess’ friend as

you asked. Of course, all will be much easier once I have returned,
for good, to Amberley Hall. I shall send word of my departure here
soon.

All my love,

Your sister,

Clementine

He folded the letter up and slid it into the pages of his book
with a heavy sigh. He missed his sister, that much was
certain. However, it worried him that she was still so against
the idea of a governess.

Certainly, Henry was old enough to receive an education.

Winterton’s son, Horace, the young Earl of Worster, was a
year older and had been studying with his governess for two
years. Alas, Clem had always enjoyed being in charge.
I only hope she will respect Miss Nelson. I would not want tension
between them. Indeed, I would not want Miss Nelson to feel as if
her position was in any danger.

Benedict cast a glance behind him, to the path which led to

the pier. He came here most days, to read and escape the
world. He couldn’t deny it, since telling the governess about
the spot, more than a week ago, he hoped she would appear
as well, with a book of her own.

Alas, so far, she had not. He doubted she would come today
for he’d seen her reading in the gazebo by the stables, on his
way here. Yet, he found himself looking up every now and
then, to make sure. It was quite silly, really. Why should he
care if she appeared here?

Chiding himself, he picked his book up once more and dove

into another world.

It wasn’t until the sun was about to go down when footsteps

on the sandy path alerted him to someone’s presence. His
heart leaped as he got up and turned around, staring at the
path which was partially hidden by bushes.

He felt himself holding his breath with anticipation for a

second and then, when he saw who emerged from behind the
bush, exhaled, his shoulders slumping forward.
“Tradegrove, old chum. I knew I’d find… Zooks. Look at that
dreary visage.” Winterton stopped short, a smirk on his face.
“Who were you hoping would be joining you? Certainly not
me, judging by the look upon your face.”

Benedict shook his head. “Winterton. What brings you

here?”

Not many people knew of this spot. In fact, only Clem and
Winterton knew this was his refuge from the world. Well, he
was certain Swindon and Mrs. Harrison knew where to find
him, they had been in his employ for long enough. And Miss
Nelson. Of course.

“What brings me here? You are quite removed from the

world, eh, wot? We were supposed to ride into the village to
the club. I am in the mood to place a wager or ten. It appears
you’ve quite forgotten, however.”

Benedict did not even attempt to deny it. He had.

“I apologize, Winterton. Clementine has sent a letter,

announcing her return. It appears things are rather
unpleasant with the Marquess. The letter put me out of sorts
somewhat and I forgot that you were to call on me.”
He chose not to disclose that the real reason he was out of
sorts was quite another.

“Tradegrove, I am wounded. First my wife treats me as

though I were an afterthought and now my dearest friend.
How shall I go on?”

He sighed dramatically and placed the back of his hand

against his forehead as though truly wounded.

Benedict walked past him and boxed him in the arm.

“You are a nincompoop if ever I met one. Now, walk back to

the house with me. I shall fetch my coat and top hat and we
shall place that wager you so desire.”

The two men walked back toward the house, along the path
that led along the lake. They were about to make the last
bend when Benedict saw her.

She was clad in a simple, white muslin gown with a yellow

spencer on top, something she did not usually wear when
minding Henry. He was startled for a moment by how lovely
she looked. The yellow of the spencer complemented her
complexion.
She did not see them, for she walked with her head bend
down, nose in her book.

“Miss Nelson,” he called out so as not to startle her.

She raised her head, a surprised expression on her face.

“Your Grace.” She stopped and curtsied and then turned to

Winterton.

“My Lord,” she curtsied a second time.

“Ah, Miss Nelson, the governess.” Winterton bowed. “I hear

you are doing a wonderful job with Lord Henry. My children
will not stop singing your praises. I’m afraid our governess
will have to engage in much more child’s play from now on,
for the children are rather keen on it, thanks to you.”

Benedict noted that she blushed at the compliment.

“Has Mrs. Lester returned?” The governess’ voice was soft

and soothing. Benedict found that the sound of it sent a
pleasant tingle through his body and he imagined what it
might be like to sit by the fire and listen to her read aloud,
the way he had once read aloud to Helena.
Quickly, Benedict forced the thought from his mind. How
ridiculous to imagine it, even. Beside him, Winterton was
busy answering her question.

“Indeed, she returned yesterday. The maid, Maggie, has

su ciently recovered for Mrs. Lester to depart in good
conscience.”

A smile rushed across her face. “That is wonderful news

indeed.”

“Of course, Maggie will require a lengthy period to recover,

and the child is still in precarious condition. We are
fortunate to have your friend help us in the meantime. I’m
certain Mrs. Harrison is relieved,” the Duke said.

“She is. Thank you, Your Grace.”

A silence passed between them as they observed one another.

The moment was broken by Winterton.

“Well, His Grace and myself have pressing business to attend

to at Grovers in the village. And it appears you are o to the
famed reading spot at the pier?”
Winterton’s eyes darted from one to the other, a smirk on
his face.

Benedict saw Miss Nelson swallow hard, confirming what

he’d suspected. She had been on her way to the pier, just as
he’d hoped.

“I was, yes. Only for a little while. I am waiting until my

friend, Miss Hastings, completes her daily work and Lord
Henry is finished with his evening bath. I find reading passes
the time wonderfully.”

“It does, Miss Nelson. It does.” Once again Benedict found it

near impossible to tear his gaze away from her. It was left to
her to avert her eyes.

With her head slightly bowed she curtsied before them again.

“I hope you have a pleasant evening, Your Grace. Lord

Winterton.”

With that, she passed them, making her way to the pier
where Benedict would still be reading, were it not for
Winterton and his need to wager.
Blasted Winterton.

When he turned to his friend again, he stood with his arms

crossed, a knowing grin on his face.

“Well, well, Tradegrove. Old chum. Keeper of secrets. I see

now who you were waiting for. What a disappointment it
must have been when you saw my ugly visage step out from
behind the bushes, instead of Miss Nelson’s lovely face.”

“By Jove, you jest, Winterton. Surely you are not

suggesting…” He waved a hand. “Never you mind. Now, I
believe it is time to see your windmill dwindled to a
nutshell.”

Winterton broke into laughter. “You have such little faith in

my skills, Tradegrove. Well, it is about time I prove you
wrong.”

With that, the two men made their way down the path and to
the Manor where Winterton’s carriage awaited them.

As he boarded, Benedict found himself looking out the

carriage window and toward the lake. It was much too far to
even see the lake, let alone the pier, but he knew she was
there. And that alone, he found, was reason to stare at the
area until the carriage set into motion and carried him away.
 CH APT ER 13

T hat evening, Lucretia rushed down the stairs

toward the servants’ section of the house. She
was still in turmoil about her meeting with the Duke at the
lake. She had to confess, she went there to seek him out,
having seen him head in that direction, his book under his
arm.

She had to work up the courage for she knew it was a foolish
venture. Indeed, she did not know what she expected to do
once she got there. Yet, she went. If nothing else, she hoped
she could converse with him some, for it filled her with joy
to confide in him.

Alas, Lord Winterton had spirited him away. And yet, their
meeting had stirred feelings within her she did not know
how to comprehend. Foolish feelings. Feelings that might
lead to disaster. For she could tell that there was something
in him that felt what she felt. Those stirrings of a ections
that were inappropriate for two people of their di erent
stations in life to feel.
No. It was lucky, really, that the Duke had been taken away.
What she needed was the company of her closest confidant,
Mary.

I still cannot believe she is here. And just in time. I am in need of

distraction and what better way to find distraction that to spend a
little while with my good friend?

They had not found much time to converse since Mary’s

arrival because with both Maggie and her sister Molly gone,
Betsy had needed her help at once. Her friend had worked
hard these last few days, often working for more than twelve
hours, and then sleeping the rest of the time, exhausted.
Tonight was their first chance to talk, for the Duke was out
for dinner.

She made her way toward the chamber Mary shared with
Charlotte, one of the scullery maids. As she passed the
kitchen, the smell of freshly baked bread made her stomach
rumble. Molly, the kitchen maid, rushed past her with a loaf
on a plate. When she saw her, the young woman stopped, her
green eyes suddenly hardened.

“Miss Nelson. Good evening.”

“Molly. I did not know you had returned. Lord Winterton
told me Maggie was recovered enough so that Mrs. Lester
could return to Marmoth Castle. How is she? And the child?”

The young maid eyed her, her expression one of distrust and
suspicion.

“The child is small and weak. It is up to the good Lord what

will become of him.”

“And Maggie? Is she still in the hospital?”

Molly frowned at her and pursed her lips, scrutinizing her.

Lucretia wasn’t quite sure what was going on. Up until now,
while not friends with any of the sta , she had gotten along
well with everyone. Molly had no reason to look at her the
way she did, especially not after Lucretia had spent most of
that awful night awake and assisting in the birth of Maggie’s
child.

After a long while, Molly finally responded to Lucretia’s

question.
“She is much improved, recovering at my parents’ home.
She is well enough so I could return to work. And just in
time, I see.”
She glared at something behind Lucretia’s head and when
she turned, she found that it was Mary. She was standing
there in her maid’s uniform, holding a duster. Suddenly,
Lucretia felt her stomach turn. This was why Molly acted so
hostile. She did not approve of Mary’s sudden appearance.

“Faith, Molly, do not worry about Mary. Maggie’s position

here is quite safe. Mary is only here to help until your sister
returns, she is in a bit of a precar…”

“Do not fret, Miss Nelson. I understand quite well what is

happening here. After all, we all look out for our own, do we
not? Now, if you will excuse me.”

Molly pushed past Lucretia in a careless manner, bumping

into her with some force. Lucretia swallowed as she turned
and approached her friend who stood in the hallway, an
expression of worry on her face.

As soon as Lucretia was close enough, Mary linked her arm

under hers and pushed her toward the back staircase.

“Lucy, I do not believe they like me much. All appeared well

at first but since this girl you just spoke to appeared,
everyone has been rather hostile. As soon as she saw me, she
glared at me as if she wished me dead. The others have
hardly spoken to me all day, save for your cousin.”
“It is not you, my dear. She is the sister of the maid who’s
taken ill after childbirth. She is vexed by your appearance
here. I dare say, it all came together with such speed that
there was no opportunity to forewarn her, nor the other
servants. Do not fret, I shall speak to Betsy and she will
ensure everyone knows you are no threat to Maggie’s
position.”

The two made their way to Mary’s chamber where her friend
hopped on her bed and laid back, arms spread.

“I am grateful to be here, Lucy, despite the hostility. In any

case, I know I shan’t be here for a long time, for I intend to
keep applying for positions as a governess.”

Lucy sat on the bed beside her friend and leaned back against
the frame.

“I did not tell you as yet, but His Grace has sent a letter to
his sister, Lady Blinddale. He thought she might be of
assistance in finding you a position. She appeared a well-
placed lady.”

Mary sat up with a jolt. “The Duke appears to be such a kind

man. And handsome. You did not tell me in your letters what
a fine-looking man he is. And that you are rather fond of
him. And he you.”
“I do not know what you mean, Mary.” Lucretia protested.
She wanted to talk to her friend about this sudden change in
her feelings toward the Duke, but at the same time she
worried that talking about them would make them all the
more real.

Mary laughed out loud as soon as the words had left

Lucretia’s mouth.

“Lucy, do not make a cake of me. I saw the way you looked at
one another in the courtyard. And I also saw you in the
garden, playing Follow the Leader last week. I waved at you
but you were so deep in conversation with him you did not
even see me at all.”

“Mary. We cannot talk about the Duke in such a manner.

Even if there was truth to your observations, it would be
quite futile. I am but a governess and he a Duke. In any case,
you are quite mistaken. Especially about him. He would
never look at another woman, so enamored is he of his late
wife. Surely you have seen the portraits in the hall by now.”

Mary pursed her lips.

“I may be new here at the manor but I see the manner in

which he looks at you. It is not how an employer looks at his
governess. He may be enamored of the Duchess, but he has a
soft spot in his heart for you, I declare. I suspect he knows it,
too.” She paused and turned around. “Now,” she scooted
forward so she was seated next to Lucretia. She leaned in and
spoke in a low tone. “I’ve come to a decision about the
coachman.”

Lucretia’s eyes widened with surprise, as she had not seen

this question coming at all.

“The coachman?”

Lucretia had told Mary all about William’s sad story, from
the accident, to the end of his betrothal, and his inability to
communicate. She had not expected Mary to bring up the
matter again, although it appeared as though the
assumption had been quite wrong.

Mary nodded. “I have been sent to clean his cottage twice

already and he has been there both times. I cannot fathom
how he lives, in a world surrounded by people he cannot
communicate with. Thus, I’ve made a decision to teach him
reading and writing. I cannot stand to see someone su er as
he must.”

Mary's compassion reminded her once more of just why she

was her dearest friend. She cared about others with such
passion that it warmed Lucretia’s heart. And yet, she was not
sure if Mary’s idea was quite so easily accomplished.
Lucretia shrugged, “Betsy said he liked to keep to himself. I
suppose he is as wrecked with guilt over the accident as the
Duke is wrecked with sorrow over the Duchess’s death.”

“I don’t think cloaking oneself in silence for the rest of one’s

life is the answer to dealing with guilt.”

Mary got up and paced back and forth, then stopped at the
window, one hand on her chin. Lucretia watched as her
friend rubbed her lips together. She could practically see the
wheels in her friend’s head spinning around.

“No. I shall teach him to read and write,” Mary said,

determination in her voice.

“Mary, I do not know if it is a good idea to involve yourself

in the a airs of the manor in such a way.”

Mary grinned widely. “You mean the way you do all you can
not to involve yourself in matters of the manor?”

Lucretia said nothing and simply shook her head. Mary was
right. She had involved herself in the Duke’s business by
encouraging him to engage with his son, when her only duty
had been to teach the boy. She could not tell Mary to keep
her own counsel when she had not done so herself.
Faith, if only I had kept to myself and done nothing but teach Lord
Henry globes and Latin. Then I would not have become entangled
with His Grace for I would hardly have seen him at all. Now,
because of my desire to improve Lord Henry’s relationship with
his father, I am forced to spend time with the Duke which will
only increase my confused feelings for him. No. I cannot allow it
to happen. I shall keep my feelings to myself and hope they will
disappear. Yes. Certainly, I am simply so elated with his renewed
interest in Lord Henry that I am mistaking it for… other feelings.

“Lucy?” Mary called out to her. “You appear miles away. I

can guess where your thoughts are.” She grinned at her and
winked as if she knew a secret Lucretia was not yet willing to
share.

Lucretia grunted in frustration and got up.

“Please Mary, let us not discuss the Duke further. Or

William. I would much rather spend the evening taking the
air with you, or playing music as we used to. What do you
say?”

To her relief, Mary nodded and got up.

“Let us play a game of cards.”

Mary linked her arm under Lucretia’s and together they
climbed the servants’ stairs to Lucretia’s chamber. And
while, on the outside, Lucretia smiled, on the inside she had
to admit that her head, and heart, where all the more heavy
with confusion.
 CH APT ER 14

B enedict found himself looking outside the window

of his study, watching his son run around the
garden, followed by Miss Nelson. He found that the
sight did not fill him with dread as it usually did when he
saw his son chased by his various caregivers. No, it filled him
with joy. Something he had found strange at first, for joy had
not been a part of his vocabulary for so long it had felt alien
to him.

Yet, it was exactly what he felt. He knew that Henry was in

good hands with Miss Nelson.

She did not mind his son’s boisterous personality and zest
for life. It even appeared to invigorate her. She never tired of
playing with the boy, nor did it seem to bother her that
Winterton's children had joined them for playtime
frequently over the past few weeks.
He’d been a little put o at first by her appearance, and
while it hadn’t significantly changed—her hair was still in
disarray most days, and assorted stains and wrinkles seemed
to find their way onto her wardrobe with alarming frequency
—it no longer bothered him. Indeed, he found it charming.

I do not recall why it bothered me so at first, her disheveled

appearance. For, in truth, it is due to her work, dedication, and
admittedly, her clumsy nature. But it is what I now find
endearing. Every blotch of ink that finds its way onto her uniform
is a reminder of the time she takes teaching Henry. Every mud
stain is a piece of evidence of her commitment to Henry’s care.

Presently, the governess and Henry were disappearing from

view, having rushed into the thicket around the lake.

A part of him wanted to abandon his work for the day and
join them. He had made a habit of spending time with his
son, taking him and Miss Nelson on adventures. Although he
did not find reason to be alone with her, he found that
simply being around her caused him to feel a joy he had not
felt in a long time.

They had discovered that they not only both loved to read,
they shared a love of Shakespeare, in particular. They would
discuss the plays at length while taking Henry for walks or
carriage rides. Even with Helena, he’d not been able to talk
about Shakespeare. While an avid reader, Helena enjoyed
lighter fare, written for women, or poetry, which did not
interest him.

Being with Miss Nelson, I have to admit, is energizing and

soothing at the same time. I do not quite know how to describe it
for it has been such a long time since anyone has made me feel
this way. Not since… Well, not since Helena. But of course, Miss
Nelson is a governess and could not hold a candle to my beloved.
And yet, being near her, I feel… safe. I feel understood. The way
any man wishes to feel understood by the woman by his side.

Benedict shook his head. The thought was of course utterly

ridiculous. He rolled his shoulders to relieve tension and
returned to his desk where he picked up his correspondence.
His estate steward had stopped by earlier in the day with
paperwork requiring Benedict's attention. They were things
the steward could not decide on his own, or did not have the
authority to address. Benedict found himself getting lost in
the work and time passed without him noticing. By the time
a knock on the door roused him, an hour had gone by.

“Enter!” He called out and a moment later Swindon

appeared, a letter tray in hand.

“Yes, Swindon? What is it? Another letter from Lady

Blinddale?” The butler shook his head and approached,
carrying a tray with a letter.
“A messenger arrived, with a letter from Biasi, the painter.”

Benedict tilted his head to one side. He had not heard from
the painter for some weeks and, quite frankly, had not even
thought of him. He indicated for Swindon to hand him the
letter, which he did posthaste.

Benedict ripped the seal open and unfolded the notice. After
scanning the letter, he dropped it on the desk.

“Biasi will be here on the morrow, with a painting he

acquired for me from Edinburgh. Please let the cook know to
prepare a small luncheon for us.”

Swindon nodded and turned once Benedict dismissed him.

Benedict leaned back in his chair, suddenly feeling the old

familiar melancholy overtake him. He’d been so distracted
with the changes that had taken place at Amberley Manor,
his art collection had slipped his mind. He found himself
instead either watching Henry and Miss Nelson engage in
play, or he joined them.

He found that spending time with his son eased his pain, his
sadness. A few days prior they had even spent almost an
hour playing the pianoforte together. Henry, it turned out,
was very gifted when it came to music, picking up each
melody Benedict showed him with ease.

This morning, as a reward for completing his morning

lessons, Benedict had taken Henry and Miss Nelson on a
short carriage ride around the lake. As much as he enjoyed
spending time with his son, he had to admit he also enjoyed
being around Miss Nelson, as she was quite the
conversationalist.

All the time he spent with them was, of course, time he did
not spend on his art collection. Now that he was reminded of
the painting Biasi had promised him, there was little else he
could think of. He wondered what it would look like—if it
would have a resemblance to Helena or would just be another
vague doppelganger.

It is foolish of me to expect a perfect replica, for Helena was

unique to the world. By Jove, I wonder sometimes if the paintings
of her I possess even show her true face, as she really was.

He closed his eyes and attempted to conjure up the image of

his departed wife, but found that it would not come.
However, this did not horrify him as it had on the previous
occasion, it merely saddened him. Perhaps it was because he
knew all he needed to do was spend some time alone with
Helena’s portraits in order to be able to see her once more in
his minds’ eye. It had worked the last time he hadn’t been
able to see her face.
He decided to take a stroll into the drawing room where he
would be able to sit by the fire, taking in her image above the
fireplace. Benedict left his correspondence on the desk and
walked along the hall when he heard the butler open the
front door up ahead, followed by rapid footsteps. It did not
take him long to spot Henry, dressed in a blue skeleton suit,
his hair flying behind him as he hurried toward Benedict.

“Papa!” The little boy had begun to call him ‘Papa’ instead
of the more formal form of address. At first, Benedict hadn’t
been certain if he liked it or not, but then he’d thought of
Helena and remembered that she, too, referred to her father
as Papa.

Certainly, had Helena lived, she would have encouraged Henry to

call us Papa and Mama, as she had. It is curious how Henry
honors his mother without even knowing it.

“Papa! Look what we found.” He held up an item into the air.

It wasn’t until they were steps from one another that
Benedict recognized just what Henry was so excited about. It
was an egg. A blue egg.

“’Twas by the lake. Miss Nelson thinks it might have fallen

from a nest. Do you know what kind of bird it belongs to?”
Benedict took the egg from Henry’s hand and inspected it. It
was small and of a pale blue with tiny black flecks on it. He
squinted to examine it closer. Outside, in the distance, the
rumbles of thunder could be heard. He looked out and saw
the sky was darkening quickly. As he turned his attention
back to Henry, he spotted the governess approaching.

Benedict found himself momentarily breathless when he saw

her, for her face was glowing and her eyes were full of
kindness and love for Henry. It reminded him of how he
hoped Helena would look at Henry, had she lived.

There I go again, comparing the governess to Helena. I must

simply stop myself from these inappropriate thoughts. And yet…I
cannot deny that Miss Nelson is indeed a beautiful soul. Inside
and out. Of course, these strange notions will disappear entirely,
once I have the chance to be alone with Helena’s likeness once
more. It is simply my loneliness and longing for my beloved that is
causing these feelings. Yes. I am certain.

“I’m afraid I do not know much about the local wildlife, Your
Grace.” She explained when she was within earshot. As she
spoke, she was busy pushing stray brown hairs back under
her mop cap. She blushed when she saw him looking and
dropped her hands to her sides.

He smiled at her, their focus entirely on one another for one

long moment. Benedict felt as though they were alone,
removed from the world somehow, if just for one split
second. Then she tore her gaze away and they each turned
their attention back to Henry.

“Do you know what it is, Papa?”

“I believe it is a blackbird egg. They usually do not nest

much beyond the end of August. It may have fallen from the
nest some weeks ago.”

“No, Papa! It fell almost on Miss Nelson’s head as we

explored.”

Benedict found himself grinning. It was apparent that Miss

Nelson could not help but fall victim to all manner of
unfortunate events. Whether it be her own poor balance or
an act of nature, she was destined to always encounter some
calamity or other. He saw that she, too, was grinning widely.

“Perhaps a blackbird nesting late,” he said as he handed the

egg back to Henry. “You may keep it.”

The little boys eye grew wide. “Papa, may we find the nest
and return it? Mayhap it will turn into a bird yet.”
Benedict couldn’t help but feel touched at the little boy’s
sentiment. It was unlikely that the egg would ever hatch, if
they could even discover the nest. Yet, the child seemed so
hopeful, so eager, he could not bring himself to deny him.

“Of course, if you like. However, it will have to wait until

morning, for it is about to rain. Miss Nelson can take you
after your lessons.”

Henry took the egg back and cradled it in his hands. “Will
you come with us?” He looked up at his father with wide,
hopeful eyes. Benedict began to agree but then remembered
the letter.

“I am sorry, Henry. I am not able to. I have an appointment

with Biasi, the painter. He is bringing a new painting to add
to the collection. I shall be occupied with him all day.”

This, Benedict knew, was not the truth. Certainly, the

morning would be spent with the painter. The afternoon,
however, would be occupied by the painting itself. Benedict
had a ritual. Whenever a new work of art arrived, he spent
the day in its company. Taking in its energy, its beauty. He
liked to imagine that the woman, who would resemble
Helena in some way, was in fact his late wife. He’d allow the
painting to carry him away into his imagination. Into a world
where Helena was living and their life was still as perfect as
it had ever been.
As much as he loved his son, he would not be able to forgo
his time with Helena for him. No.

“I am certain Miss Nelson can assist you. And Swindon shall

be able to, as well.” He patted the boy on the head, but was
disheartened to see that the light had gone out of his face.
His eyes were downcast and he sucked on his bottom lip, the
egg carefully in hand.

“Do not fret, Lord Henry, we shall find a home for the egg.
But for now, we must keep it warm, yes?” She placed an arm
around Henry’s shoulder and the boy leaned into her, his
head reaching just above her knee. “Now, bid your father
goodnight and see Mrs. Harrison about your bath. You’ll
want to be clean for your dinner with Miss Hastings, won’t
you?”

Henry nodded without looking up and bowed to Benedict.

Then he turned quickly but not quickly enough, for Henry
saw that a tear had fallen from his son’s eye and rolled down
his pale, round cheek. Benedict opened his mouth to speak
but it was too late. His son had turned on his heel and rushed
away, clutching the little blue egg to his chest as he left.

Miss Nelson lingered. He found himself looking at her as if

he expected her to pass judgement upon his parenting, even
though not even she would dare cross that boundary. And
she did not have to, for Benedict already knew that he had
broken the little boy’s heart.
To his surprise, when Miss Nelson did speak up, it was to
comfort him, not to chastise.

“He will be fine, Your Grace. I shall find the nest and return
the egg and it will make him feel better. In any case, he is
having his second music lesson and then dinner with Miss
Hastings tonight and that will put him in a good mood.”

Benedict nodded. He had agreed to allow Miss Nelson’s

friend to spend an evening a week teaching Henry music and
dance. As a Peer of the Realm, he would need to know to
dance as he certainly would be invited to court and expected
to participate. In addition, those evenings allowed Miss
Nelson time to spend with Mrs. Harrison, which he knew
pleased the old lady as much as the young.

“How is Miss Hastings’ teaching endeavor coming along?”

The governess frowned at the question.

“I am certain Hen… I mean Lord Henry, has not yet mastered

the Quadrille. But I believe in time he shall.”
“You misunderstand, or rather, I did not explain it well. I
mean her lessons, teaching William.”

“Oh, I see.” She shrugged and shook her head. “She has tried
to convince him all week. He proves resistant.”

There was a pause during which he was certain she

contemplated the question of whether she should carry on
speaking. Then, as usual, her desire to let her opinion be
known overwhelmed whatever doubt she had.

“I wonder if perhaps it is easier for him to wrap himself in

silence, instead of running the risk of having to talk about
what happened that day. Having to talk about it or be asked
about it may bring back the memories. In silence, he may be
able to forget.”

Benedict sighed, “You may be correct, Miss Nelson. I

suppose William desires to forget, as much as I desire to
remember.”

He was surprised that the words escaped his mouth. He did

not usually feel comfortable letting anyone see beyond the
walls he’d built around himself.

“Perhaps the silence provides safety for him. We find

comfort in many things, do we not? Some in silence, others
in portraits, and some, such as myself, in learning and
teaching others.”

Benedict found himself at once understood and criticized—

an odd sensation he did not know what to do with.

“It can be healing, can it not? To have something that

distracts us from reality.”

She fixed her eyes upon him and he once again noted the
small flecks of amber, deep inside her eyes.

“It can be. Until we allow what once saved us to hold us

captive. Thus causing us to lose sight of all that is important,
of all that could make us happy once more.” She paused
before averting her eyes and speaking again.

“I must go, Your Grace. My cousin is waiting for me.” She

curtsied and departed, leaving Benedict to stand in the hall,
surrounded by the women who pretended to be his beloved
wife. And for the very first time, Benedict found himself
wondering if the portraits were really worth all that he gave
up.
 CH APT ER 15

L ater that evening, Mary was taking dinner with Lord

Henry, and Lucretia found herself in her cousin’s
small o ce, watching her smear butter onto a piece
of fresh bread. Her cousin examined the bread and then
glanced at Lucretia.

“I’m ever so grateful that we are able to have these dinners

now, my dear. Bringing your friend in to help while Maggie
is ill has worked out quite wonderful for us, hasn’t it?” She
nodded to herself and bit into the bread, eyes closed as she
savored the taste.

Lucretia nodded, pushing her own bread around the little

plate it had come on. She did not have much of an appetite,
for the encounter with the Duke had vexed her. They’d made
such progress and he appeared to open up to the possibility
of rebuilding his troubled relationship with his son. Yet, the
moment the painter reappeared, the Duke had retreated into
his shell. Lucretia wasn’t sure if he ever would fully emerge.
“Lucretia?” Betsy called out for her, drawing her out of her
thoughts.

“Yes, Betsy. I am sorry. I was preoccupied.” She paused and

picked up the bread before setting it back down, folding her
hands in front of her. “I’ve had an uncomfortable encounter
with the Duke. Lord Henry invited him to seek out a bird’s
nest in the morning and he rebu ed him in favor of
spending the day gazing at yet another painting.”

Betsy had just picked up a spoon for her soup. Now, she set it
back down with a heavy sigh.

“I had heard from Swindon that the painter will be here on

the morrow.  I wish he would stop procuring these terrible
portraits for His Grace. They do nothing to draw him out of
his grief. And to be quite frank, they do not look like the
Duchess.”

Lucretia exhaled and leaned back. “A man like the Duke

would have no trouble finding another wife, should he
choose to. He is handsome and kind and ever so intelligent
when…” she stopped herself, aware that she’d slipped into a
troublesome pattern of thought regarding the Duke once
more.

She’d been vexed by her feelings, even before her

conversation with Mary, but their conversation had poked
the embers of those feelings further. Lucretia could no
longer deny it. She cared for the Duke, in inappropriate ways.

Blasted Mary and her perceptive nature. Why did she have to go
and stoke the fire in such a way?

“He certainly could, but he has never shown any interest. To

be honest, I had been in the hope that he was turning a
corner these past few weeks. It has been wonderful to see
him spend more time with Lord Henry. You have done
wonderful work, reuniting them in such a manner,” she
reached across the table and clasped her wrist. “Let us hope
His Grace realizes that there is more joy to be found in those
who are still living than in those who have departed. Perhaps
Lady Blinddale will prove an ally to you in your quest to help
the Duke.”

“His sister? I imagine so. He speaks of her very fondly. When

is she due to return?”

Betsy slurped the hot white soup from her spoon and
shrugged. “Any day now, I imagine. Her stepson, the
Marquess of Blinddale, was blessed with the birth of an heir
not long ago and she went to spend time with them.
Although he does not much care for her, nor she for him. It
has been some weeks now, so I imagine we shall see her here
again soon. My, she will be shocked at the changes. Not only
is Maggie not here, both you and Mary are new.”
Lucretia finally took a swallow of soup. “I hope she approves
of Mary and I. The Duke is in hopes she may assist Mary in
finding a governess’ position.”

Betsy waved her hand dismissively. “She shall love you both.
Nothing to worry about, my dear.”

“I shall hope so. Alas, lately I find the servants do not appear
to much care for me, nor for Mary. Especially Molly.”

Despite Betsy’s interference, Molly’s hostility against Mary,

and by extension Lucretia, had not lessened. In fact, she
appeared most sullen and upset at Mary’s presence. While
the other servants had been pleasant to Lucretia at first, this
had also slowly changed.

Betsy sighed, “It is only natural for family to look out for one
another. Truth be told, I may feel the same way if you had
been forced from your position by illness, only be to replace
by someone else. I would fear you would not return or be
allowed to return, no matter what I was told.”

She paused and took a sip from her ale. “It is very fortunate
for the entire family to work in such close proximity, with
the parents owning a farm not far from here. I am sure Molly
fears the family might be split up. But that is not all.”
Lucretia had just taken a big bite out of a piece of buttered
bread which she’d dunked into a steaming bowl of white
soup. She glanced up at her cousin, mouth full, and frowned.
Chewing quickly, she gulped down the bread, feeling it slide
down her throat in too large a chunk.

“What do you mean? That is not all? What more could there
be to it?”

Betsy rose and picked up the carafe of ale that sat on the
sideboard. Refilling both their cups, she returned to her seat.

“You recall me telling you about William, and the

coachman’s paramour?

Lucretia nodded. She did remember the story. It had made

her sad for the coachman who already had to endure so
much, given his part in the Duchess’ untimely death.

“I did not tell you as all involved have moved on, but it was
Molly. The paramour. Faith, she is a lovely girl, but she was
young. They both were and she was not equipped to handle
the maiming and the guilt, and he was not able to break out
of his grief and guilt for her, thus….”

Lucretia’s eyebrows shot up and she sat up straight. This

household was full of unexpected secrets and twists. Molly
and William? She’d never seen the two near one another.
William kept to himself, living in the little cottage provided
by the Duke, while Molly lived in the servants quarters.

“I still do not understand how the past connection between

them a ect the way Molly treats Mary. Certainly it….”

She paused, a realization coming upon her. Across from her,

her cousin spooned soup into her mouth, her eyes still
keenly fixed on Lucretia’s face.

“You understand now?” she said in-between swallows.

Lucretia was beginning to. Ever since Mary had received the
Duke’s permission to teach reading and writing to the mute
coachman, she’d made the trek to the man’s small cottage
on the edge of the property several days a week in attempt to
teach him. He’d resisted thus far, but she had spent a lot of
time with him.

“Is she envious because Mary spends time with him?”

Betsy shrugged, “It appears so. I’ve long suspected that

Molly regretted how their betrothal ended. Alas, he has shut
himself o from the world and no longer wishes to be near
any of his old friends. I am frankly surprised he has allowed
your young friend to call on him as often as she does.”
Lucretia couldn’t help but smile. “Mary is a determined
young woman and she is not easily discouraged once she has
set her mind to something.”

“I can see why you and she are so fond of one another. Birds
of a feather…” Betsy raised her glass of ale and took a sip, a
grin upon her face.

Lucretia found herself pacing the length of her room, unable

to sleep. She could not shake the feeling of disappointment
at the Duke’s refusal to join his son in hunting for the bird’s
nest. She would have understood had he done so out of a
need to attend to business, or a prior engagement. But in
favor of a painting?

Certainly, it would not take him all day to complete his

transaction with the painter. He would be able to join them
later if he wanted to. However, instead, he would be sitting
and gazing at his new acquisition all day.

She had seen him do so many times before. He would sit on

the chaise lounge in the drawing room for hours, looking at
the painting of the Duchess which hung above the fireplace.
She’d see him when taking Lord Henry out for a walk and
then again hours later, upon returning. He’d done so with
several of the paintings in the hall, as well.
The time he spent on his art had lessened significantly in the
past few weeks. She had to admit, it had felt good to see him
remove himself from his paintings, to see the sorrow lift
little by little. Yet, it had all returned with a vengeance when
he informed her of the visit by the painter.

I do not understand. Why hold on to the past with such strength?

Perhaps if he was alone, if there was nobody. But he has a son.
And a sister. And friends who care for him. If only he could move
on from his loss and find happiness again.

Lucretia passed by a window and stopped, her curiosity

drawn by a figure crossing the garden in big strides. She
stepped closer to the window. The daylight was quickly
fading, as it was already early evening. In addition, dark
clouds still hung in the sky, leftover from the earlier rain.

She squinted and recognized the gait as that of none other

than the Duke. Where was he going in such a hurry? She
opened the heavy French window and the evening’s breeze
blew into her room.

She leaned forward and out the window so she could see
where he was going. It appeared he was heading toward the
lake. He stopped for a moment and looked around before
proceeding, his target having shifted somewhat to the left. A
moment later, he disappeared in the thicket.
Is he looking for…No. Certainly he is not looking for the nest? That
would be strange. Not after turning down his son’s request with
such conviction. And yet… He had entered the thicket right
where she and Lord Henry had played Hide and Seek earlier.
Where they'd found the egg.

Lucretia pressed her lips together and crossed her arms

before making up her mind. She would follow him and
investigate.

Lucretia retrieved her light wrap and rushed outside,

following him across the garden toward the lake. She did not
have to search for him long, for unlike her and Lord Henry,
he had not taken great care as to where he was stepping.

There were areas in the thicket that lent themselves to

passing through, so you did not have to stomp upon the high
grass. The Duke, of course, did not know that and had
pushed down and walked over a line of tall grass that led
toward the lake. In the distance, she heard rumbling again.
She looked back and saw the sky darkening in the east, with
flashes of lightning visible. It would storm again shortly.

She shuddered, as she did not like lightning. She’d once seen
it incinerate the hut of a parishioner near the nunnery.
Nobody had been home at the time of the strike, but it had
left the family without a place to live and utterly devastated.

Suddenly, she saw a shadow move up ahead near the water.

The shadow had come from the water’s edge and she could
hear rustling in the grass.

“Your Grace?” she called out, not wanting to startle the man.
“Tis I, Miss Nelson.” She felt silly announcing herself.

The ground was getting soggy where she walked and she
took a large step to place her foot on a small sandbank up
ahead. She pushed herself o from the muddy ground in
order to swing her legs across the soggy patch when her foot
slipped from under her and she felt herself stumbling
forward. She waved her arms in the air but it was too late. At
the last moment, she raised her arms forward and landed on
the ground, the palms of her hands taking the brunt of the
fall.

“Faith!” She cried out, tears springing into her eyes as the
pain spread through her body. She hardly had time to
examine her injured hands when rushing footsteps came
toward her as a figure appeared from the tall grass.

“Miss Nelson,” the Duke’s voice was full of concern as he

squatted down beside her. “What are you doing here at this
hour?”
“The same could be asked of you, Your Grace,” she did not
mean to sound defensive but she found herself humiliated.
He did not appear terribly vexed by the incident itself. He
appeared more concerned with the state of her hands.

The palms of her hands were scraped and, even in the fading
light, blood was visible. Without speaking,  the Duke
retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and took a hold of
her wrist, turning her hand so he could see better.

The moment his skin connected to herself made her gasp in

surprise. He glanced up, a small smile on his handsome face

“It will be all right, although it will sting just for a moment,
Miss Nelson.” He dabbed at the blood, tightening his grasp
on her hand ever so slightly. A multitude of feelings rushed
through her body. She felt at once excited, yet scared and
confused.

Her heart beat faster as she watched him, his eyes focused
on her hands. Even though he did not look at her, did not
even glance up once, she noticed that he had also been taken
aback by the sudden physical connection. She could tell for
his hand shook, ever so faintly, as he held onto her.
Without taking her eyes o of him, she pulled one hand from
his grasp and placed it upon his. She saw his Adams apple
bob as he swallowed and then, at last, looked up at her.
 CH APT ER 16

B enedict did not know how to react or what to do.

This rush of feelings had taken him by surprise.
Yes, he had found himself thinking of the governess
more often in recent weeks. Yes, he had thought of her as
more than his son’s tutor. He thought of the way her laugh
sounded when she played with Henry. He’d dream of the way
her eyes sparkled and the way she smelled, of eternal spring.

Each time such a thought came to his mind, he vowed to

ignore it. It was inappropriate and downright disrespectful to
Helena's memory to even entertain such notions.

Yet, now that they were alone in the rising moonlight, he felt
himself unable to deny it. No, there was no ignoring it. He
was drawn to her. He wanted to be near her the way he once
wanted to be near Helena. He hadn't expected to feel this
way ever again, except in his memories.
I cannot allow myself to feel this way for the governess. Not for
any woman. It has always only been Helena. How could I ever
even consider another? And a governess, of all people. I might as
well have fallen for a scullery maid. By Jove, what am I to do?

What made matters much worse was that he could tell from
the way she looked at him that she felt the same. She
shuddered as he touched her and avoided his gaze, only
glancing at him briefly. Yet when she did, he could see it in
her eyes, the desire to be near him, the same desire he felt
himself.

Benedict knew he had to break the spell, and soon. He tucked

the handkerchief back into his pocket and cleared his throat.

“Miss Nelson, let me help you up,” he rose slowly, pulling

her up with him. They stood, only inches from one another,
neither tearing their eyes away from the other. He knew he
had to avert his first, to set the tone. She would follow his
lead. Still, somehow, he couldn't tear his gaze from her.

“Thank you,” her voice was soft and quiet. At last, Benedict
let go of her hands. To fight the temptation to hold on to her
again he folded his hands behind his back.

“I hope you are not too badly injured. It was a bad fall, by the
looks of it.”
She shook her head. “I am fine. Just very clumsy, as you no
doubt noticed by now.”

He could not help but grin for of course he had noticed. It

was impossible not to. She was easily the clumsiest person
he'd encountered in his entire life. Naturally, he would never
say so.

“It is slippery here. I almost took a tumble myself earlier.”

She tilted her head and pursed her lips, evidentially not
convinced.

“Did you? How fortunate you did not fall.” She paused,
scanning their surroundings. “What brings you here, in any
case?”

He scratched his chin and shrugged. “I came in search of the

bird's nest. I must admit, your words earlier stayed with me
and I regretted not agreeing to assist you and Henry in the
search for it.”

“You are welcome to join us tomorrow, Your Grace. There

was no need to seek it out tonight, in the near dark.” In the
distance, lightning bolts flashed across the sky and Miss
Nelson shuddered with each.
“I must meet with Biasi tomorrow, it cannot be helped. And I
thought if I could find the nest tonight, I may surprise Henry
in the morning and point him in the right direction, so he
may return the egg. In case I am unable to join you.” A boom
of thunder rumbled, followed by another flash. Miss Nelson
swallowed hard and turned her fair face in the direction of
the lightning.

“I can see you are uncomfortable in this weather. It looks as

though it will rain any moment. Why don't I accompany you
back to the house? I've quite given up hope of finding the
nest in any case. The dark caught up to me much faster than
I had anticipated.”

Miss Nelson's expression was one of utter relief. “I would

much appreciate it, Your Grace. I do not care for this
weather. Especially the lightning.”

Benedict reached for her elbow to steady her as they made

their way out of the ticket and back onto the grass. Droplets
of rain landed on his head and he looked up at the darkening
sky. They picked up the pace and were halfway across the
garden when a flash lit up the sky, accompanied by thunder.
A shriek escaped the governess, prompting Benedict to hold
on to her arm with more force.

“Almost at the Manor, Miss Nelson.” He saw the panic in her

eyes as she kept her eyes turned toward the sky. “How about
a race?” He was sure to keep his voice carefree in an e ort to
ease her worries.

She looked at him with a bemused expression.

“A race?”

“To the house. Why not? The winner shall... I know. The
loser shall play a piece of music of the winner's choosing on
the pianoforte, how about it?”

She chuckled, despite the fear she was evidently

experiencing. “If His Grace is certain he'd like to listen to my
terrible playing, yes. Let us race.”

Without waiting for him, she bolted forward and sprinted

across the garden.

“Cheat!” He hollered and followed her. Knowing how much

she did not enjoy playing the instrument, he purposely held
back, only falling into a proper sprint when she was already
almost at the front door.

They made it thought the entrance just in time before the

sky opened and rain poured down upon them.
“Your Grace, I was unaware you were outside in this
weather,” Swindon said upon greeting them at the door.

“Just taking a stroll, Swindon. I fancy a cup of hot chocolate.

Have it brought up to my study, please, will you?”

He wanted to o er Miss Nelson a cup, have her join him and

make good on the promise of music, but he knew it would be
improper. The butler's gaze darted from Benedict to the
governess and back before he clicked his heels together and
bowed.

“Right away, Your Grace.” The butler began to walk away,

but stopped. “It very nearly slipped my mind, Your Grace,
but a messenger arrived while you were gone with a letter
from your sister. I have placed it in your study for you.”

A letter from Clem, sent by messenger?How unusual. She never

sends letters via messenger unless of upmost importance.

“Thank you, Swindon. I shall attend to it in a moment.” At

last, Swindon made his way toward the kitchen, leaving
them alone.
An awkward silence passed between them and Benedict
realized that Miss Nelson did not want to leave, just as he
didn’t want her to. Yet, they both knew there was no other
way.

“Perhaps tomorrow, after Biasi has left, you may bring

Henry to my study and I shall play you the piece of music.”

She smiled, glancing up at him in a coy manner.

“The piece of music I am able to select only because His

Grace has let me win the race?”

He could not help but smirk.

“I have not let you win. You are quite the runner. I must say,
you looked as though you wanted to break into a run before I
ever mentioned a race.”

She averted her eyes and blushed. “I will confess, the

lightning scares me. I once saw a house burnt to the ground
after a strike, when I was with the nuns. The family had to
live at the convent with us for a time as they lost everything.
Ever since then I’ve been frightened.”
“By Jove, I understand well. It must have been sad to see.”
He paused and scratched his chin, unsure if he should ask
what he wanted to ask. At last, he decided to forgo his
reservations. “I never did ask your cousin, why did you grow
up in the convent, instead of with family?”

He could tell from the way her body grew sti that it was a
question better not asked. It was, of course, too late now, he
had asked and he did want to know. She wet her lips and
clenched her hands into fists for a moment.

“My mother died in childbirth. Her family had been wiped

out by an outbreak of influenza, leaving only her uncle,
Betsy’s father. They were poor and could not a ord to look
after another mouth. So, I was placed with the nuns.” She
shrugged, still not looking at him.

Benedict knew he was treating on precarious territory, but

he could not help it. His curiosity about Miss Nelson would
not let him drop the matter for she left out one crucial part
of her story.

“What of your father?”

She sighed heavily, a response he had expected. “My father

passed away shortly after my mother’s death. The manner of
his passing made it so that his family no longer wished to
associate with me.”
Miss Nelson looked up and they locked eyes. Benedict
nodded, now understanding the part of the story which
remained unsaid.

“He took his own life?”

“He did. He could not bear the loss of my mother. Life

without her became unfathomable for him, even though he
had me, an innocent child that relied upon him.”

Benedict swallowed and felt his own hands ball info fists. His
fingernails dug into his palms as he understood the
governess’ desire to reunite him with Henry.

She knows what it does to a child to lose their only parent to grief.
Being here must have hurt her so much every day. And yet, she
chose to remain here, to keep history from repeating itself in that
awful manner which shaped her life. Oh, my dear Miss Nelson…

Benedict wanted to reach out for her, to hold her hand and
comfort her, for the pain of revealing her sad story to him
was written all over her face. Yet, he knew he could not.

“I am so sorry,” he instead said quietly.

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

“It is quite all right, Your Grace. It has been many years.”
She paused and then faced him. “If Your Grace will excuse
me, I must check on Lord Henry and Miss Hastings.” She
curtsied and remained in that position, evidentially waiting
to be dismissed.

He did not want her to leave, but could not force her to
remain. Out of options, he simply nodded his head to her.

“Of course, Miss Nelson.”

She straightened and gave him a brief nod before turning.

She walked only two steps when he found himself calling out
to her. She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him.

“Perhaps after I have played your chosen piece of music for

the both of you tomorrow, the three of us could spend some
time seeking out the blackbird’s nest after all. That is, if the
weather permits.”

The very hint of a smile rushed across her face. “Of course,
Your Grace, of course.”
She departed then, walking down the long hall, the portraits
of the women who were not Helena staring down at her as
she went. Benedict stood and watched her, glancing up at the
women in the paintings and then back at her.

All these years he had been seeking solace in their faces, and
yet he found that the one face that truly provided him with
what he’d been searching for did not belong to a lady who
looked like Helena at all. It belonged to the governess.
 CH APT ER 17

L ucretia rose early the following day after a nearly

sleepless night. She had not been able to put away the
encounter with the Duke the previous evening.
Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see his face before
her. His glorious smile that lit up his face, and his eyes which
were so serious, yet so tender.

Her body shuddered every time she thought of the way he

had touched her. The way he’d held her hand to examine it
for injury and the way he’d held on to it even after attending
to her cuts.

She knew he’d felt what she felt. She closed her eyes and
pictured his hand on hers once more until she forced herself
to come to her senses.

You did not come here to fall in love, Lucy. You came here to work.
To ensure your future. Surely, falling for your employer is not the
way to do that. Even if I am right and he feels what I feel, I am
merely the governess. There is no future for us.  

She rose and walked to the window. The rain had soaked the
garden and the grey clouds still hung heavy in the sky.
Certainly, Lord Henry would not be able to seek out the
blackbird’s nest today, with or without the Duke. 

She was about to turn away to get dressed when she saw two
men pass by underneath her window. She leaned forward
and recognized the Duke and his friend, Lord Winterton.
They were in their hunting clothes. However, they were
walking toward the stables.

She quickly dressed and made her way downstairs. It was too
early for her to take breakfast, for most days she did not take
breakfast until just before her lesson with Lord Henry. 

Given that she had not eaten since last night and it was early
yet, she decided to make her way into the kitchen to retrieve
a piece of fruit to sate herself for the time being.

She made it only one floor down when the sound of two
women arguing drifted towards her. To her dismay, she
recognized Mary’s voice as one of them. The other, it should
not have come as any surprise, was Molly’s. She broke into a
run and rushed down the stairs, finding the two women
standing in the hall in front of one of the unused guest
chambers. Both were in their uniforms, and despite the early
hour, were fully engaged in an argument.

When Molly saw Lucretia coming around the corner, she

sighed dramatically.

“Of course, it is you. For whenever one of you is around, the

other is never far behind. Like a pair of stray dogs you are,
traveling in a pack.”

Lucretia ignored the insult. In recent weeks, Molly had

become more and more overt with her distain for the both of
them. With Mary showing no signs of abandoning her
lessons with William, and Lucretia spending more time with
the Duke, the maid appeared to feel even more threatened by
them. Unfortunately, most of the other servants followed her
lead.

“Whatever is the matter?” Lucretia addressed Mary,

ignoring Molly.

Instead of letting Mary answer, Molly took a step toward

Lucretia, her duster raised as if it were a weapon.

“The matter? The matter is that your friend is useless.

Useless, I say. I do not know why His Grace ever agreed to
employ her.” She turned, her green eyes now on Mary. “You
know nothing of being a maid.”

“Of course I do. I am an excellent maid, if given correct

directions.” Mary defended herself. “It is you who is giving
me false instructions to set me up for failure due to your
unpleasant, envious nature.”

“Envious?! Of what? You?” The young maid’s voice was

shrill.

“Please let us….” Lucretia attempted to end the argument, as

she could not bear to deal with their petty fight. Not today.
Not when she had her own problems to attend to. At that
moment Betsy appeared, hu ng up the steps, a face like
thunder. 

“You will stop this bickering at once, all three of you. I will
not have this sort of behavior here at Amberley Manor.
Certainly not today of all days. Now what is the matter?” 

Today of all days? What is so special about today?

Betsy stemmed her hands into her hips and glared from one
to the next. At last, she settled her eyes on Mary who looked
as though she was near tears. 
“Mrs. Harrison, Molly sent me in to fragrance Lady
Blinddale’s room with lavender perfume, only to then follow
me and reprimand me for doing so.”

“Because you used the wrong perfume. I told you to use lily.
Not lavender. Lady Blinddale is deathly allergic to lavender.
Mrs. Harrison, she is a fool who does not even know the
di erence between lavender and lilies.” 

“That is not true,” Lucretia spoke up, enraged by this slight

to her friend’s character. “Miss Hastings is well aware of the
di erence. In fact, she taught botany at Mrs. Doringcourt’s
School for Young Ladies. So she certainly knows the
di erence. And she would not use lavender over lilies unless
she was explicitly told to do so.” She turned to her cousin,
“Betsy, we all know why Molly is acting as she is.”

“Do we now?” Molly asked, crossing her hands in front of

her chest. “Go on then, tell me.”

“You know very well you are jealous of my spending time

with William,” Mary hissed at her rival. 

“I do not care what you do or don’t do with William!” Molly

said, her voice once more raised. Betsy stood amidst the
three of them and rubbed her temples, eyes closed.
 

“As a matter of fact, I am upset that you took my sister's

position because you are too dumb to find employment
elsewhere. It is only because our Duke has a good heart that
your friend here could persuade him to take you on, useless
as you are. You are a pair of beetle-headed clumps.” 

“That's enough, Molly. I will not have you talk this way
about Mary or myself. We all know your sister’s position is
not and never was in danger. We all know your petty
behavior and your riling up the other servants against us is
all due to jealousy,” Lucretia spat the words at Molly, who
turned red. 

Before more unpleasantries could be exchanged, Betsy

stepped in-between the three of them.

“I have had enough of all of you. Lucretia, Lady Blinddale

has sent a messenger to alert us that she will be arriving this
afternoon. Thus there is much work to do. I do not need this
pettiness and I will not stand for it, from any of you. Molly, I
sent you to attend to Lady Blinddale’s chamber. You, not
Mary. I will hear no more of lavender and lilies. Go and
prepare her chamber. Mary, attend to the parlor, make sure
the fires are roaring and then report back to me. Go now.
Both of you. And Lucretia…”
She sighed and shook her head as the two maids made their
way to their assigned stations, leaving only the two of them
in the hall. 

“Betsy, I am sorry, I did not mean to…”

Her cousin shook her head. “Do not fret. I simply need
everyone to do their part and set aside this silliness at least
for the day. Once Lord Henry rises, his valet will prepare him
for his aunt’s arrival. Please ensure he is available to greet
her today, so no carriage rides or walks. Certainly no visits to
the mud hole. The young Marquess must be on his best
behavior. And be certain to refer to him by his proper title
when talking to Lady Blinddale. Not Lord Henry, unless she
calls him that first.” She paused, then cleared her throat.

“Lucretia, I must tell you, if the situation between Mary and

Molly does not improve, I do not know that we shall be able
to keep her on.”

Lucretia couldn’t believe her ears. 

“But it is not Mary’s fault. It is Molly who has turned

everyone against not just her, but myself as well. You know
well that today is not the first time Molly has attempted to
set Mary up for failure. She has done the same to me. Would
you have me leave, too?”
Betsy sighed heavily and shook her head. “You know very
well His Grace would never have you leave. And Lady
Blinddale won’t stand for this silliness, either. What would
become of Mary I cannot say, nor do I care to today. Now,
why don’t you take the air until Lord Henry is ready?”

She did not wait for Lucretia’s reply as she walked away. She
stopped at the top of the stairs and turned around.

“I nearly forgot. His Grace has asked to see you this

morning.”

Lucretia frowned. “He has? I thought I saw him prepare to

ride out with Lord Winterton.”

Betsy shook her head. “They were scheduled to go for an

early morning hunt, but due to the weather I believe they are
simply taking the air. You may call on His Grace after Lord
Winterton departs. Mr. Swindon will call for you when His
Grace is ready.”

With that, Betsy left Lucretia to her own devices.

She made her way down the stairs and out of the building,
lost in thought.
Why would he want to see me? It will have to be something of
importance, as he has a busy day what with the arrival of his
sister, the visit by the painter, and Lord Winterton’s visit.

Lucretia sighed, with the entanglement with the Duke and

hostility she and Mary were experiencing from the servants,
she felt rather exhausted. Truly, the only time she was at
peace in recent days had been when she was with him, and
Lord Henry. The little boy distracted her from her worries,
while the Duke—well, he made her feel safe and at ease. She
wasn’t sure how or why, but he did.

Lucretia stepped outside and inhaled the fresh autumn air. It

was late October now, and an early morning chill hung in the
air, aided by the rainstorm from the previous night. The
ground was soggy beneath her feet and she was careful to
remain on the proper walkway so as not to get her gown
dirty. With Lady Blinddale’s imminent arrival, she had to
ensure she maintained a spotless appearance.

She cut through the courtyard into the garden and strolled
past the gazebo when a familiar voice had her stop in her
tracks.

“Winterton, I do not know what to do. I have not allowed

myself to feel anything other than grief for so long and now,
now I am consumed by confusion.” The Duke’s deep,
melodic voice came from the gazebo. A row of trees
separated her from where the Duke and Lord Winterton were
presently sitting.

She carefully moved a branch aside so she could see them.

They were seated with theirs backs to her, both still dressed
in their hunting clothes. The Duke’s light hair hung in soft
waves down just past his shoulders, while Winterton’s, short
and brown, was hidden for the most part underneath his hat.

She watched as Lord Winterton turned to the Duke.

“Tradegrove, Tradegrove,” his tone was serious but

sympathetic. “I must say I am surprised to hear you talk in
such a manner about any woman. I had hoped, yet not
expected, to hear you feel this way once more.”

“I never expected it. Not after Helena. I thought I would

never again be able to look at a woman and see anything
other than a maid, or a cook, or a ….”

“A governess?” Lord Winterton said, a jest in his voice.

“Indeed. And therein lies the problem, does it not? Of all the
women, the one who manages to open a window into my
heart is a commoner, a governess. It could not have been a
lady of the ton, someone acceptable.” He shook his head and
then buried it in his hands. “Winterton, what am I to do?”

Lucretia swallowed, her hands clammy. She suspected that

he felt for her as she did for him, but to hear it confirmed
was another matter altogether. And she’d known that her
position in the household was something that would make
any such romance near impossible. Hearing it out of his own
mouth only confirmed what she’d already known.

I should not be intruding on his private conversations like this. It

is not right. Certainly, I would not like it if he listened to me as I
confided in Mary. And yet, if I do not listen, then I shall never
know where I stand. But it is wrong. I should go. I have heard
enough as it is.

She straightened up and turned to go back toward the house,

but as she did, she saw the Duke rise as well. She ducked
down before he could see her but found herself
uncomfortably trapped. If she got up and moved, he’d see
her. There was no way she could leave and not be seen,
unless he sat down with his back to her once more.

While the Duke paced, Lord Winterton remained seated, one

leg crossed over the other.

“Far be it from me to give advice in matters of the heart. I

am, as we both know, in no position to do so. However, given
that I am your closest friend, I will say that I have always
admired your courage to do what you felt was right, not what
was expected.”

“Is that so?” The Duke stopped his pacing but remained
standing, trapping Lucretia in her current position.

“Indeed. I often thought to myself that I should have done

what you did. Married someone I loved, instead of one who
was of my station. You know well it has brought me nothing
but misery. You, on the other hand, enjoyed a happy
marriage. As for me, I shall be trapped in a loveless marriage
to a wench of a woman for the rest of my days.”

“Now, now, Winterton …” The Duke started but was swiftly

cut o .

“You know it to be true. My only chance to find happiness is

if I were to find some poor dear who might fall for my
charms and would not mind living, as they say, carte blanche.
Alas, the thought of it repulses me. But you have a chance to
be happy. Even if it is with a governess. You’ve done it
before, after all. Married below your station.”

The words hit Lucretia hard, even though they were said in a
kind way. They reminded her again that she was but a step
above a servant while he was a step below the Royal Family.
“You are right, Winterton. Of course, you are. And yet…” he
sat down at last, albeit facing in the direction Lucretia was
hiding in and as such, did her no favors.

“And yet, I cannot imagine going through it all again. The

upheaval. The fights. The justification. And my sister. You
recall she was against my marriage to Helena at the start,
since she thought I could do better than a Baron’s daughter.
Can you imagine if I told her I was falling for the
governess?”

“Well, my dear Tradegrove, perhaps you must ask yourself.

Once one has begun to fall in love, can one really stop? How
does one stop falling? Seems quite impossible.”

Lucretia broke into a grin. Lord Winterton was a cheeky sort

indeed, and yet his directness seemed to be one of the things
the Duke valued about him.

“By Jove, Winterton. I do not even know how she feels. Well,
I suspect she feels as I do, but …” he stopped just when
Lucretia needed him to continue on. She needed to know
what he intended to do, if he intended to reveal his feelings
to her, so she’d know how to act around him. To her dismay,
he changed the subject entirely.

“In any case, there is my sister to consider. And I expect she

will not be in the mood to discuss matters of my heart
today.”

“Oh yes, indeed. What is it that brings her here with such
little notice?”

Lucretia heard the creaking of wood as the Duke rose again.

“There has been some manner of falling out with her

stepson, the Marquess of Blinddale. I do not know the details
and her message was vague. I see Biasi’s landau is arriving.”

She heard Lord Winterton rise and peeked up to see which

way they were going. To her horror, they descended the
stairs nearest to her. She crouched down, hoping they would
not walk right past her.

“Perhaps we can reschedule our hunt for another day. Next

week perhaps, when the ground is not soggy and you are not
occupied with your precious paintings.”

The two men stepped down from the gazebo and passed so
close by Lucretia that she could hear the gravel beneath their
shoes. She held her breath and ensured not to move an inch
until they had passed her.
Then, she exhaled and pushed herself up to stand when a
man appeared and looked down at her, extending one hand
to help her up.

“Oh. Thank you, William,” she said as she stood, startled.

The coachman nodded and turned away, hurrying in the
direction of the stables.

Had he been here this entire time? Watched her watching the
Duke and his friend? A sick feeling spread from her stomach
throughout her body and she swiftly made her way back to
the house.
 CH APT ER 18

B enedict walked Biasi out toward the front door,

through the hall where his previous acquisitions
still hung, staring down servants and visitors alike.
Soon another would join their ranks.

“I thank you, Biasi. It is a magnificent piece, indeed.”

The man smiled, pleased that this meeting had gone much
better than the previous one.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I am only relieved it has met your

expectations. Shall I set out to seek another? I heard of a
collector in Cardi who…”

Benedict raised his hand. “No, Biasi. I do not believe I shall

require another. I think this one quite completes my
collection.”
He could see the shock on the man’s face. Benedict was well
aware that for the past few years, he had ensured the
painter’s increasing wealth. Still, the truth was, Benedict no
longer felt the need for the paintings. He’d been excited
yesterday, enraptured by the idea of another painting. But
then…well… life had gotten in the way. Real life. In the form
of Miss Nelson.

When Biasi first unveiled the new painting, I felt nothing. Nothing
at all. The woman looked a lot like Helena. However, it did not fill
me with longing. All I could think about was how much I wanted
Biasi to leave, so that I may have enough time to play Miss Nelson
the piece of music I promised her.

Still, the painter’s disappointed face made him feel badly.

“Do not fret, Biasi. I shall not deprive you of my business. It

just so happens that I have a request.”

“Anything, Your Grace.” the painter eagerly replied, as they

made their way into the hall, where Swindon already awaited
them, the man’s coat and top hat in hand.

“I should like to commission a painting of myself and my

son, the Marquess of Tenwerth, and my sister, the Dowager
Marchioness of Blinddale. She is arriving today and will
reside with us henceforth. I should like a painting of the
family. Perhaps near Christmastide we can sit for you?”
The man’s face lit up with anticipation. “Of course, Your
Grace. It will be a pleasure. We shall arrange a date and time
that suits you.”

“Very well. Swindon here will escort you back to your

carriage. And, Swindon, send Miss Nelson into my study,
please.”

Benedict watched with relief as the painter made his way

back to his carriage and he returned to his study, anxiously
awaiting the arrival of Miss Nelson. He sat at the pianoforte
and ran his hands along the keys without actually playing.

I wonder which piece of music she has chosen. I am certain

whatever it is will be an excellent choice. She is a woman of good
taste, after all. She is a woman of…

He got no further, for a knock on the door alerted him to her

arrival.

“Come in,” he said loudly, aware that his voice shook

slightly with the anticipation of seeing her. When she
entered, he was struck right away by the way she looked
today. She wore a simple gown, although not the one she
usually wore, the blue round gown. No. She was clad in a soft
primrose-colored muslin gown. It was light enough to just
suggest the figure that hid beneath it and it swayed softly as
she moved towards him.

Her hair was tucked away underneath a white mop cap that
was adorned with matching primrose-colored embroidery.
He was about to marvel at how well put together she looked,
how free of any stain or blemish she was when his gaze fell
to the bottom of her gown and he broke into a grin.

There, along the bottom of her gown, was a layer of dust and
dirt, surely collected while walking outside. He decided not
to mention it, for she would only be embarrassed.

“Miss Nelson, thank you for seeing me at this unusual hour.

I hope I am not keeping you from anything.”

She nodded at him and curtsied. “Of course, Your Grace. Lord
Henry is presently being attended to by his valet and I have
found myself with little to do until he has been prepared for
his aunt’s visit.”

Ah, Clem. If only she’d given me a little more notice. I so despise

when people call on me unannounced. Not that I do not wish to
see her, far from it. I love having her and it will be wonderful
when she’s back, but the first few days she does require a lot of
attention from Henry and me. As such, now is not the most
opportune time for it all.
He banished those thoughts from his mind. Right now, all he
wanted to do was pay attention to Miss Nelson.

He noted that she had a rather concerned look upon her face
and frowned.

“Is something troubling you?”

She shook her head, still standing in the middle of the room.
He observed the tips of her shoes move up and down with
anxiety.

“Not as yet, Your Grace. I only wonder what made you wish
to speak to me so early in the day when you have the painter,
Mr. Biasi, to attend to.”

“I never did tell you. I apologize, Miss Nelson.”

He motioned for her to sit. She would imagine all sorts of

things wrong. When she sat, he gazed at her, taking in her
face. He found himself lost in her features. Her eyes so bright
they sparkled, her skin was smooth and sun-kissed from her
time outside with Henry. It was starkly di erent from
Helena’s and yet so very attractive.
“Your Grace?” she prompted him, her forehead in wrinkles
of worry.

“Yes, dear Miss Nelson. I apologize if I worried you. The

truth is, I simply asked you here to see if you might like me
to play you the piece of music. I fear we shan’t have time to
do it with Henry today or any day soon, for my sister will
want to take up his spare time. His old Papa will soon be
forgotten, you’ll see.”

He chuckled at his own joke but felt his heart get heavy.
Would Henry still want to spend time with him once
Clementine was here? He loved being with her so much.
Benedict was surprised just how much he’d grown to love
spending time with his son.

Her face relaxed at the mention of the music and a smile

washed over her face.

“I would like that, Your Grace. Although I do not wish to

waste your time. I know you are so very busy today.”

“Time spent with you is never wasted,” he said, surprised

that the words came out of his mouth with such ease. But it
was true. “And besides, Biasi has already come and gone,
and so has Lord Winterton. The rainy weather has made it
impossible to go hunting and I find myself with spare time
and thus…” he motioned to the pianoforte. “Have you made
a selection?” She blushed slightly and averted her eyes but
nodded.

She has been thinking of this as much as I. Oh, my dear Miss

Nelson. If only I could confess how I feel. If only I could reveal my
heart to her. I am certain she knows but it is impossible. Or is it?

He shook his head and rose, making his way to the

instrument where she joined him.

“I have. I choose Fantasia No. 3.”

“Mozart? A good choice indeed.” He sat and stretched out

his fingers. “A tragic piece, really. Did you know it was
unfinished at the time of his passing?”

Lucretia nodded, “It is one of the reasons I like it. It lends

itself to… interpretation. Mrs. Doringcourt liked to play it
and then a x her own ending to it, claiming the one popular
now is but a suggestion, given that Mozart never completed
the composition.”

He smiled. He so enjoyed conversing with her. They shared

so much more than their love for Henry.
“She was a wise woman. I enjoy learning unfinished pieces
for this reason, to interpret the endings as the mood strikes
me.” He fell silent for a moment, considering his next words.
“I once had dreams of writing music.”

Her eyes grew wide. “You have? But why have you not?”

He swallowed and shook his head. “I was born and raised to

be a Peer of the Realm, to serve the King and now the Regent.
It is not proper for someone of my standing to follow such a
career.”

“You do not strike me as a man who follows convention.”

He wasn’t sure if her statement was meant to be a reference

to the feelings they shared. Surely it was. Benedict licked his
lips and gazed at her.

“Miss Nelson, I… I hope you know how much I enjoy your

company. Not just because you are Henry’s teacher.”

She averted her eyes, “Thank you. Your Grace is very kind.”

“It has been very dark, indeed. You have brought a light into
my life.”
She blinked and raised her head, facing him once more. He
wanted to say more but he knew he could not. No, he would
consult his sister on the matter before giving in to his
feelings. Even though she had been against his union with
Helena, she’d seen his happiness and she’d seen him su er.
Surely she would support him if he chose to court Miss
Nelson openly. Would she not?

“Now, if you like to claim your reward.” He indicated the

armchair next to the pianoforte and she sat, hands folded in
her lap. “The reward which you won, fair and square.” He
added with a grin.

“If you insist. But perhaps I should challenge you for a re-
match.”

He had already placed his hands on the instrument but now

raised them, his eyes wide with surprise.

“You are challenging me? Well, how can I say no? But
perhaps not another run. I’m not fond of running, I must
admit.”

Her eyes sparkled as an idea came to her. Benedict tilted his

head to one side in anticipation.
“Perhaps shuttlecock? We could play it in the garden, with
Lord Henry. And maybe your sister may enjoy joining us?”

“What a wonderful idea.”

Benedict liked the idea of giving his sister a chance to get to

know Miss Nelson via a game of shuttlecock. She would see
what he saw in the governess, see how much Henry loved her
and then, once Benedict felt ready to seek out her advice and
approval regarding his feelings, she would be bound to
support him in his desire to reveal his feelings.

He turned to the pianoforte without further conversation but

instead gave her a smile as he placed his hands on the
instrument and began to play the melody from memory, his
eyes closed. As his hands danced over the keys, he felt a
peace, knowing that she was sitting right beside him,
listening to the music his hands created. Yes, this was what
he had been missing in his life, this sense of peace. A sense
of belonging.

Benedict stood in the Great Hall and watched as two footmen

labored with the heavy new painting. Usually, when a new
painting arrived, he had the footmen hang it immediately so
he could spend the rest of the day gazing upon it. Today,
however, he’d left it standing in his study, covered by a
cloth. He’d quite forgotten about it, so enthralled had he
been with the presence of Miss Nelson.
He found himself engaged in conversation with her for some
time after the completion of Fantasia and time seemed to
melt away. It wasn’t until Mrs. Harrison came to announce
that Lord Henry was ready for his lesson that they were
forced to end their conversation.

Now he stood and watched them hang the painting. He had

his arms crossed in front of his chest and his head was tilted
back slightly as the painting was lifted high into the air. It
was pretty, he had to admit. The woman was seated upon a
horse, her slim body clad in marvelously glamorous riding
clothes. She smiled, exposing white teeth. She looked like
Helena and then again not. Just like the others.

He found that he wasn’t filled with longing as he had been

all these years. He still thought of his wife every day, but that
burning sense of loss was no longer there.

Footsteps sounded from his left and he turned to see

Swindon walk his way.  The butler had a habit of walking in
heavy, long strides which always announced his arrival
before he could be seen. Benedict knew who he was going to
announce before he even spoke.

“Your Grace, the Dowager Marchioness of Blinddale, has

arrived.”
Benedict nodded, “I shall greet my sister at once. Please have
Miss Nelson bring my son to greet his aunt.” He turned and
looked back over his shoulder at the footmen, who were still
working on hanging the painting, before departing toward
the front of the house.

He heard his sister before he saw her. Just like Swindon’s

footsteps, her voice carried, much more so than the voice of
a lady should, but Clem couldn’t help it.

When he arrived in the parlor, he found his sister deeply in

conversation with Mrs. Harrison, receiving the latest updates
on the household. The housekeeper turned her head in his
direction when she saw him, prompting his sister to cease
her conversation and re-direct her attention to him instead.

“Benedict!” She exclaimed and rushed toward him, her arms

outstretched in anticipation of a hug.

He embraced her, startled for a moment at the sound of his

own name. Nobody called him by his given name these days
but Clem. On occasion, when su ciently foxed, Winterton
would call him Benedict, or Benny, as they had when they
were children. He liked the sound of it and momentarily
wondering what it would sound like if spoken in Miss
Nelson’s soft voice.
“You look well, my dear.” She beamed at him. He observed
that she did not look particularly well herself. Her face was
drawn and ashen, despite the carefully applied powder. The
stress of her strained relationship with her stepson showed.

“Thank you, Clem. I am glad to have you home. Have the

footmen attended to your luggage?”

She waved a hand dismissively.

“Of course, of course. Swindon has attended to everything,

as usual. Now. Where is my beloved nephew? You’re not
withholding him from me, are you?”

She said it in jest and Benedict smiled in response.

“No, no, my dear sister. He shall arrive in no time. The

governess has gone to fetch him this very moment.”

At the mention of the governess, Lady Blinddale’s face

darkened and her brown eyes narrowed.

“I must say, I am still rather cross that you have chosen to

employ a governess without consulting me. Henry is far too
young to start his education. And then a governess that has
no experience.”

She shook her head. Her auburn hair was hidden beneath a
teal-colored turban adorned with a peacock feather that
bobbed back and forth as she walked. He’d seen this on many
of the older ladies during the London Season.

It occurred to him that at her age, fifteen years his senior,

she would be considered one of those older women now. He
felt badly for her, given that she had no children of her own.
To keep herself fulfilled, she liked to involve herself in his
life, and Henry’s. It had been helpful after Helena’s passing,
and he did not usually mind her involvement, but her
comment regarding Miss Nelson bothered him.

He had no chance to set her right on the matter. For at that

moment, the woman in question and Henry descended down
the grand staircase.

He was relieved to find the valet had dressed Henry in his

best skeleton suit, one usually reserved for church. A sash
had been added in a large bow around his waist and atop his
blonde hair was a round straw hat with a brim.

He looked smart, and older than his six years. Behind him,
Miss Nelson appeared, still dressed in the same outfit.
However, he noted with relief that she attended to the dirt
stains along the hem of her gown. While he no longer cared
about such things, he did not want to risk his sister having
any complaints. Especially since he badly needed her
approval should he choose to reveal his feelings for Miss
Nelson to the world.

“Lady Blinddale!” Henry exclaimed, and rushed toward his

aunt, who squatted down and cradled him in her arms as if
he were a baby still.

“My dear boy. Look at you! So handsome. You are indeed

your father’s son. You look just like him.”

The boy beamed at her. “Papa says I look like Mama. Do I

not?”

She frowned and glanced at Benedict who shrugged.

“You have a little of the both of us. Even so, you are
handsome like your mother, not rugged like your dear old
Papa.”

Clementine rose and look at him. “Papa? I think I have never

heard him call you that. Isn’t that what Helena used to call
her father?”
Benedict nodded, glad his sister remembered this detail.
“Indeed. You will find much has changed since your
departure. In a good way. And most of it is thanks to Miss
Nelson. Our wonderful governess.”

He walked a few steps toward her. She was still standing on

the steps, waiting to be formally introduced. He reached a
hand out to her which she took, after a moment of
hesitation. He assisted her in taking the last couple of steps
down, knowing it was not necessary.

“This is Miss Lucretia Nelson, our governess. Miss Nelson,

let me introduce you to my sister, Clementine, Dowager
Marchioness of Blinddale.”

The governess curtsied, without wobbles or swaying and

lowered her gaze in deference to his sister. She scanned the
younger woman with a stern face.

“Well, she is far younger than I had imagined. When I think

of a governess I always imagine someone like Mrs. Lester.”

“Miss Nelson can run much faster than Mrs. Lester, Aunt.
And hop and skip. Horace said when Mrs. Lester tried playing
jump rope with him, she fell flat on her face into the mud. A
sight, he said,” Henry said with a grin.
Benedict had to look away so his sister would not see the
amusement on his face. His eyes met Miss Nelson’s and he
saw she was stifling a chuckle herself. The two looked at one
another for a long moment, eyes locked as if sharing a
secret.

“Now, Henry. That is no way to talk about a poor older

woman. She can’t help not being as limber. Comes with age,
the loss of one’s flexibility. I am glad to hear you approve of
Miss Nelson’s activities, Benedict.” She looked at him and he
noted that she had yet to address Miss Nelson directly.

“Miss Nelson might be young, but you will find she is rather
accomplished and well-versed in many di erent subjects.”

At last, his sister addressed her. “Are you now? Do you know
Latin, then? I believe you were raised by the nuns.”

Miss Nelson nodded, a smile on her face as she faced her.

“Indeed, I do. And Lord Henry has been studying Latin as
well. Along with French and Greek. I’d be more than happy to
go over his lesson plans with you as I am aware you take a
keen interest in his education.”

“Indeed, I do.” His sister’s face had relaxed somewhat at the

mention of the various languages Henry had been learning.
“I am very interested in seeing what you’ve been teaching
my nephew. Perhaps after I take dinner with my brother
tonight, we can meet and discuss it in more detail?”

Benedict cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Actually,

my dear, if you do not mind, I had considered asking Miss
Nelson to join us at dinner, with exactly that purpose. What
do you say?”

His sister was taken aback, that much was clear. However, to
his relief she agreed.

“Of course, as you please. It shall be a pleasure.”

Henry jumped up and down. “Does this mean I shall be

having my dinner with Miss Hastings?”

“You shall indeed. Perhaps she can teach you a new dance.”

The boy smiled and looked up at his aunt. “I have learned the
Quadrille. Would you like me to show you?” With all the
enthusiasm only a small child could possess, he readied
himself to dance when Clementine raised a hand, a kind
smile on her face.
“Perhaps not at this very moment, Henry. I am quite
fatigued from my journey. How about tonight? I imagine
Henry will be joining us at dinner?”

Benedict swallowed. He’d not considered it for he knew how

much Henry enjoyed his dinners with Miss Hastings, and the
subsequent music and dance lessons. Yet, the boy appeared
utterly thrilled at the idea of dining with his aunt.

Henry nodded. “Yes, please. May I?”

“Very well. I don’t see why not. Now, we must let your dear
aunt have a rest. She has had a long journey.”

The boy stood with his hands crossed behind his back and
glanced up at him sheepishly. “Papa? Miss Nelson told me
you went to seek the blackbird’s nest last night. Can we go
and search again? I have kept the egg mighty warm.”

He noticed the frown on his sister’s face. She was not used to
the boy speaking to him in such a warm tone and for them to
spend any time together whatsoever was new to her.

He wanted to ru e the boy’s hair but was held back by the

large hat he wore, so instead he patted his bony shoulder.
“Not right now, Henry. How about you, Miss Nelson, and I
venture out in the morning to seek out the nest? In the
meantime, be sure to keep it nice and warm.”

“I will.”

Benedict turned his attention to Miss Nelson who had been

standing quietly by the stairs, next to Mrs. Harrison, as they
both watched the proceedings.

“Miss Nelson, perhaps you could take Lord Henry into my

study to play the pianoforte for a while, until it is time for
dinner? And Mrs. Harrison, I trust you have prepared Lady
Blinddale’s chamber?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Harrison replied. “And I’ve

sent William out with Miss Hastings to fetch some lemons
and nutmeg from the market, so there will be Negus tonight,
as her ladyship likes.”

She curtsied and departed.

“Let us go play some music, what do you say?” Miss Nelson

said to Henry.
“Yes, let us.” He stopped and tilted his head back so he could
look at the adults in the parlor, one by one.

“All of my favorite people in one room!” He grinned and

then skipped away, toward the study.

Benedict almost felt his heart burst at being referred to as

one of his son’s favorite people. Not long ago his son had
hardly looked at him without apprehension. And now?

He locked eyes with Miss Nelson who appeared to have tears

in her eyes. He mouthed, ‘Thank you’ and she replied with a
silent nod of the head before departing after the child.

When Benedict turned his attention back to Clementine, he

saw a frown on his sister’s face, vexed by what was
unfolding before her eyes.
 CH APT ER 19

L ucretia paced nervously outside the dining room,

smoothing her gown down as she went. She was
wearing a gown in a light pink color that was airy, yet
respectable. She found it the previous week, while
accompanying Betsy to town on a rare day o . It was made
of silk, a fabric much too expensive for her, but there was a
small error in the construction. The seams did not line up
properly around the sleeves.

If the seamstress had not pointed it out, Lucretia never

would have known it. In any case, due to the error, no lady of
the ton would be seen wearing it and thus it was sold to her
for a price she could a ord. She had hesitated but Betsy
convinced her to get it because ‘one never knows’. Now she
was glad she had it. To cover the sleeves, she borrowed
Mary’s prettiest spencer.

I do feel like a lady. Being dressed properly for the occasion, and
knowing Lord Henry will be there to break the tension are the
only things I can draw comfort from right now. I am so nervous.
Surely, I will be shaking throughout the dinner.

“Lucy.” Mary’s voice called out in a hushed tone and

Lucretia turned to where it was coming from. Mary rushed
toward her.

“I found it.” She held up a small porcelain box. When she

was close enough, Lucretia saw what it was. They had been
searching Mary’s chamber for her lip salve, to help give
Lucretia’s usually pale lips a bit of sheen for the evening, but
hadn’t been able to find it.

“Where was it?”

Mary’s forehead fell into a deep frown. “It was hidden, in the
empty dresser neither myself or Charlotte ever use.” She
sighed as she opened the box. This had been a recurring
problem in the last few days. Items would disappear from
both Mary and Lucretia’s chamber and then reappear
elsewhere. On one occasion, Lucretia found that a dirty sheet
was placed upon her bed. Or the servants would forget to
inform Mary that it was time for dinner. “They hate me so.”

“Do not let it vex you. It…”

“I am not. It is quite all right. In fact, I am content here. I
have you and I can teach Lord Henry, who’s an eager
student.” She paused as she carefully applied to salve to
Lucretia’s lips. “And William.”

Lucretia almost tumbled over backwards with surprise at

this revelation.

“Will—”

Mary placed a finger on Lucretia’s lips. “Hush. You will mess

your lips up. Also, I don’t want the others hearing.” She
sighed and suddenly, a grin appeared on her face.

“William is a lovely man. It is true, we can hardly

communicate for he’s not learned to write much as yet, but
we’ve found other ways to communicate.”

“Other ways?” Lucretia was well aware that Mary had spent
many of her evenings in William’s little cottage, teaching
him. What she hadn’t known was just how close the two of
them had gotten. Then again, Mary did not know that her
hunch about Lucretia’s feelings for the Duke had been right,
either.

“A lot of pointing and gestures. It’s di cult, but we get by

and his writing is getting better every day. And some things
don’t require a language, anyhow. Still, I cannot wait until he
can communicate with ease, for I know there are so many
thoughts inside his mind that are just yearning to escape.”
She blushed and Lucretia couldn’t help but stare at her.

“Mary Hastings. You and the coachman.” She whispered, for

several footmen were assembling at the stairs, waiting for
dinner to commence.

“Indeed! Who would have thought? So, in any case, if Lady

Blinddale knows of a governess’ position for me, I only hope
it is not too far away, for I should not like to be away from
William when we are only just now getting to know one
another. Perhaps, if the matter comes up…”

Lucretia clasped her friend’s elbows. “I shall try my best.

Alas, I must say I am most nervous. I… I have not told you
but…” she leaned in closer. “I overheard His Grace talking to
Lord Winterton just this morning and…. you were right. He
feels… I feel…”

Mary’s hand flew in front of her mouth to stifle a scream of

joy.

“Oh, la! I knew it. The way he looked at you the first day I
saw you together, I knew it then. Faith, Lucy. What will you
do?”
“Nothing, I cannot do anything. It can never go beyond what
I feel. I can never declare it to him, even though I know he
feels the same. I am a governess, a commoner. I have no
family but an elderly housekeeper. He is a Duke. One of the
richest and most powerful, at that. The scandal if he took me
for…”

I cannot even bring myself to say wife.

She shook her head.

“I cannot allow myself to even think about it. Certainly not

tonight. Oh Mary, what if I make a cake out of myself in front
of Lady Blinddale? Her opinion of me matters more than
anything.”

Mary freed her hands from Lucretia’s grasp and placed them
on either side of her friend’s cheeks.

“You are a wonderful person. The Duke sees it, and doesn't
care about the circumstances. And his sister will, too. Now,
stand straight. Be proud of who you are. I hear them coming
now.”

Mary took a step back and winked at Lucretia once more and
then rushed away.
The Duke, in a dress coat with a large white cravat and
beautiful golden cu inks, came down the hall, his sister by
his side and Henry next to her.

Lady Blinddale was dressed in a blue gown that was much

more in the French Directoire style than what most women
wore today. Her hair was still in a turban—albeit a bright red
one this time, with a black band around the front.

Lady Blinddale’s face was made up with white powder,

probably of crushed pearl, and her lips were red, not unlike
Lucretia’s.

When he approached, his eyes widened and he winked at her,

something he had never done before. She felt herself blush
and looked down for a moment, only then realizing that this
might cause more suspicion on Lady Blinddale’s part.

She remembered Mary’s advice and stood straight, facing

forward.

“Don’t you look fetching, Miss Nelson,” Lady Blinddale said.

Her tone was kind and chipper which eased Lucretia’s nerves
some. She sensed that the Lady was not best pleased by her
presence when she’d arrived earlier in the day.
“You do indeed,” the Duke agreed, his eyes firmly on
Lucretia. He indicated for them to enter.

Dinner had been set up at the large dining table, with four
sets of plates. Lucretia was to sit to the right of the Duke
while his sister was seated across from her. Henry, of course,
was beside her.

Once they had taken their places, dinner was served

posthaste. Lucretia had not dined in such surroundings
before and felt confused by the various forks, knives, and
other utensils on the table. Her foot began to tap up and
down under the table, something that tended to happen
whenever she was nervous.

Beside her, the Duke glimpsed at her and then dropped his
napkin on the ground. He bent down to collect it and as he
rose, he whispered.

“Follow my lead, my dear.”

She watched as he discreetly pointed to a small spoon and

lifted one finger, indicating it was to be used for the first
course.

If Lady Blinddale was aware of their exchange, it did not

show. Instead, she savored the soup which had been served,
eyes closed.

“Delicious,” she declared after the first spoonful. “So, Miss

Nelson,” Lady Blinddale tilted her head to one side as she
addressed her. “My brother tells me this is your first
position as a governess.”

Lucretia swallowed hard. “Yes. It is. But I have many years’

experience as a teacher.” She kept one eye on the little boy,
who ate his soup the way she’d shown him, like a grown up.

“For girls. It must be quite di erent teaching a young lord

such as our Henry. There is much a future duke must learn
that little ladies do not.”

The Duke opened his mouth, no doubt to defend her. She

knew that he was pleased with Lord Henry’s progress. She
quickly answered Lady Blinddale, aware that she was the one
being interrogated and having him answer for her would
only irritate the Lady.

“I have been fortunate to receive an education not just by the

nuns, but by our former headmistress, Mrs. Doringcourt. She
tutored both boys and girls in her time.”

“Did she teach you all about European history? It is

important for a member of the House of Lords to know who
our friends are. And enemies.”

Lucretia nodded and turned her head toward Lord Henry.

“We are presently learning about the French Royal Family.
Given his young age, we are only learning about the current
Kings and Queens. As well as the geography of both the
Kingdom and the continent.”

Henry glanced up from his soup and grinned at his aunt.

“Norway has a King called Frederick. He has eight children.
Can you imagine? So many playmates.”

“Yes, that is quite wonderful, isn’t it?” Lady Blinddale

responded. The way she looked at the child told Lucretia that
she truly loved him, the way his mother might have, had she
lived.

He had another spoonful of his soup and then looked up

again, this time addressing the Duke.

“Papa. The first King of Norway was called Fair Hair because
of his hair. We have fair hair also.” He beamed, making
everyone at the table smile, for his happy mood was
contagious.

“Indeed we do. Alas, I fear there is no connection to that

particular king,” the Duke said, suppressing a laugh.
“Lord Henry is quite talented with numbers, and he excels in
his globes. And as you know, he is ever so talented when it
comes to the pianoforte.”

This, it appeared, was Lady Blinddale’s soft spot, for her face
changed at once. She no longer frowned at her as she spoke
but now even showed the hint of a smile.

“He is, don’t you agree? I am no musician myself, but I know

how to play and I tried to teach him before I was called away.
I am pleased he is learning an instrument. It shapes the
character.”

“Indeed.”

Lucretia glanced at the Duke, whose attention appeared to be

focused on the next course which was presently being
served. “His Grace has been playing the pianoforte with Lord
Henry most days for the past week. Lord Henry looks
forward to it each day. It is his chosen reward almost every
day.”

“Chosen reward?” Lady Blinddale placed her napkin aside

and sat, hands folded, all her attention now on Lucretia.
The boy looked at his father as if seeking permission to
speak. When the Duke nodded his head, Henry cleared his
throat. “If I do well with my lessons in the morning, Miss
Nelson lets me chose a game or an activity to do in the
afternoon, before I take my afternoon classes.”

The Duke turned toward her and they exchanged a smile. She
broke their gaze and instead looked at Lady Blinddale. She
found the woman with a pleased expression upon her face.

“That is lovely, Henry.” She paused and considered her

brother’s face. Then she placed a hand on his wrist. “I am
ever so pleased you’ve at last broken out of your shell. I’ve
worked so hard for years to make it so.” She paused, taking
in Lucretia’s face now. “Yet it appears it took a beautiful
young woman to release you from your grief, not an old hag
like myself.”

The Duke looked crestfallen at this declaration and reached

for his sister’s hand. She quickly pulled it away, waving it in
dismissal.

“I jest.” She declared loudly and followed the statement with

a loud laugh that took everyone by surprise.

Lord Henry, as surprised by the sudden laughter as Lucretia,

jerked up in fright, accidentally tipping over the bowl of soup
as well as Lucretia’s cup of Negus. The liquid rushed down
the table causing both Lucretia and the Duke to jump up to
avoid the flood. As she jumped up, her chair tipped
backwards, dropping onto the marble floor with a
thunderous bang.

Faith! What a disaster! And it was going so well.

“I am so sorry, Papa.” The little boy stood, his face white as

a sheet.

“It is quite all right, Henry. It was only an accident. Do not

worry. Nothing has happened. I did not get a drop on me and
neither did… By Jove.” He pointed at her gown, on which a
dark spot was spreading out along the fabric.

My lovely gown.

Lucretia did her best not to appear distressed, for she did not
want to make Lord Henry feel worse than he already did.

Lady Blinddale rushed around the table and clasped her

hands in front of her mouth when she saw the damage to the
gown.
“My dear Miss Nelson. We must get you out of that gown at
once before it is ruined. Quickly. To your chamber.”

Lucretia opened her mouth to protest, but Lady Blinddale

had already tucked her arm under Lucretia’s and was
walking her swiftly out of the room and toward her chamber.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw the Duke standing
there, looking back at them—or rather at her.

His expression was one of tenderness and longing. She

understood just by looking at him that he wanted her to stay
just as much as she wanted to be there, next to him.

It felt as though they gazed at one another for an eternity,

but in reality it lasted only a few seconds, for Lucretia found
herself at the bottom of the stairs in no time, being ushered
upstairs.

Lady Blinddale escorted her all the way to her chamber. On

the way, she ordered Molly to fetch them a bowl of warm
milk and clear water.

“Now, change into a di erent gown and then let me take a

look at the damage.”
Lucretia did as she was told, changing out of her fine gown
and into her blue round gown. When she stepped back into
her chamber, Lady Blinddale held out her hand for the gown.
Molly had arrived and placed two bowls on the table next to
Lucretia’s bed. She stood in the back of the room, arms
crossed in front of her and a scowl on her face.

“Lady Blinddale, I am sure Molly will not mind attending to

my gown.”

“Most certainly not. It is my job after all.” She said it with

such venom even Lady Blinddale, who was inspecting the
gown, could not help but notice. She raised her head, looking
from one to the other but then decided to keep her own
counsel. She dabbed the stain with a cloth soaked in the
warm milk.

“You may go, Molly. Be sure to have the kitchen send up a

small tray of white soup with bread and venison. And some
desserts for Miss Nelson. She could not finish her meal. And
a tray for myself please, I shall have it in my chamber.”

“Of course, Lady Blinddale,” The maid turned her head and
left the room. At the door, she gave Lucretia one more glare
as she shut it behind her.

“I do not trust the help with my fine gowns and neither

should you. Especially that one, Molly. Her sister, Maggie,
now that is a gem of a girl. The only one here I trust with my
gowns. Mrs. Harrison is your cousin, yes?”

Lucretia nodded, not daring to stop the flow of words from

Lady Blinddale’s mouth. She had replaced the cloth with
another, this one soaked in the clear water. She dabbed at the
stains and to Lucretia’s delight, it appeared to lift. “She
knows her way around a stain. However, she is otherwise
occupied.” She held the gown up and examined her work,
“You will want to lay it out so it does not wrinkle.”

She handed Lucretia the gown and she shook it and placed it
over the chair by the window.

“Thank you, Lady Blinddale. It is ever so kind of you.”

The woman nodded and scanned Lucretia’s chamber. “You

are most welcome.” She settled her eyes on Lucretia. “My
brother speaks of you in the highest of terms in his letters.
You have made quite the impression on him. And young
Henry, of course. I had thought him too young to begin his
education, but it appears he has taken to it with ease.”

“He has, he is a special young boy.”

She sighed and ran one hand over the dresser by the wall,
lifting her gloved hands and checking her fingertips. She
flicked specks of dirt o her fingers.

“Indeed he is. Now, tell me. What is it you have done to make
the maids dislike you so?”

She turned suddenly towards Lucretia. 

“I… I do not know …” she stammered. 

How does she know? Was it simply Molly’s tone? Or is there more?
I do not know if I should even tell her for Betsy would not want to
bother the lord of the house or his sister with domestic troubles.

“Come now, it is obvious. I have been around a household or

two and can spot with ease when there is tension. For one,
the way the servants looked at you at dinner… It was not
simply with envy due to your eating with His Grace and I.
There was more. And I can tell they do not clean your room
with the care they should.”

She glanced at her fingertips again. Lucretia had to admit,

the maids did not clean her room at all. She knew they were
supposed to but they stopped some weeks ago and she had
chosen not to make it into an issue with Betsy, who had
enough work on her hands. She’d instead done it herself as
best she could. Although evidentially, not with enough care.
“And then, of course, there is young Molly’s attitude. Quite
surprising to see a servant speak in such a tone in front of
the Lady of the House. Now, I shall ask again. What has
occurred between you?”

Lucretia sighed and sunk into her chair.

“It is my friend, Miss Hastings. They do not like her being

here and they blame me for bringing her.”

The Lady frowned, “The young woman my brother wrote to

me about, in need of a governess’ position?”

“The very same,” Lucretia replied. “Her arrival here has

upset some, giving them the idea Maggie would not be
allowed to return.”

“Nonsense. Surely Mrs. Harrison should have squashed such

silliness at once.”

“She has. I believe the true cause of it all is because Mary,

Miss Hastings that is, has begun to teach William, the
coachman, to read and write. They’ve been spending a lot of
time together and it has upset Molly. Due to her … former
relations.”
“The coachman without a tongue? The one who was involved
in the accident? She is teaching him to write?”

Lady Blinddale appeared rather perturbed by this news, and

for a moment Lucretia wondered why she should upset. Then
she remembered. Lady Blinddale had been in the accident as
well, certainly his name alone caused her to remember that
awful day.

“She has a kind heart and likes to help. That is all. She… I am
sorry to have brought him up, it must be upsetting.”

Lady Blinddale waved an arm dismissively.

“Do not worry. It does not bother me to talk about it. It is

just that I thought William was content with his current
circumstances. I had o ered him a tutor early on but he
refused. I even considered having him sent to this new
school, where they teach the deaf to talk with their fingers.
He was not interested. Miss Hastings must be quite special to
have gotten through to him.”

Lucretia could not help but grin but she averted her face
quickly, not wanting her to see. She didn’t want the Duke’s
sister guessing that there was more between Mary and
William than simply teacher and student.
“Mary is convincing.”

“It appears so.” The lady got up and Lucretia followed her
example. “Well, that explains the hostility. I shall see what
can be done to bring some calm back to the house. You
should not have to su er for their foolish notions, nor
should your friend. You’ve done much good here, I can tell.
Do not worry. I shall set things right.”

Lucretia did not know what to say, but she did not have to as
Lady Blinddale turned and walked out of the room after
giving her a quick nod of the head. She curtsied and by the
time she rose, the Duke’s sister had walked out of the room,
leaving the door open behind her.

Lucretia considered returning to the dining room but chose

to remain in her chamber. Lady Blinddale had indicated that
she was doing the same. It would be inappropriate for her to
return to the dining hall without her. And by now, the Duke
and his son were certainly finished and Betsy would be
preparing Henry for bed.

She paced back and forth in her room, regretting the

unfortunate circumstance that had led to her missing out on
an evening of dining beside the Duke. And yet, she knew
she’d see him again soon. She and Lord Henry were to meet
the Duke tomorrow, after lessons, to finally seek out the
blackbird’s nest. 
Her thoughts were interrupted when Charlotte, the maid
sharing Mary’s room, knocked and brought her a tray of
food.

Lucretia tried to be cheerful and engage her in conversation,

but the young maid did not reciprocate, simply bringing the
tray and departing.

With a sigh, she carried it to the window, balancing the tray

on the desk as she sat anxiously by the windowsill. She
picked up the bowl of soup and stirred, then lifted a spoonful
into her mouth.

“Gracious! How ghastly!”

She spat out the soup and grabbed a handkerchief to wipe

her mouth. The soup was salty, to the point of being inedible.
She had been able to get a taste of it before the Negus spilled
on her gown and it had been delicious, as always. Now she
could not possibly eat it. Instead, she reached for the bread.
Butter had already been smeared on it, for some odd reason.
She took a bite of it and dropped it.

It was hard and her teeth hurt where she’d bit into it, not
having expected its consistency.
This cannot be by mistake. Certainly. The salty soup, and now old,
hard bread meant for the animals.

She glanced at the other dishes on the tray. There was a slice
of meat; venison if she remembered correctly. She lifted it
and inspected it with her cutlery. While it looked good, it
smelled odd. She stuck out her tongue and licked it,
crumpling her nose in disgust. The meat was covered in a
fine layer of vinegar.

The sauce, a brown mushroom-based specialty of the cook

which usually made Lucretia’s mouth water, appeared darker
than usual. When she stirred it, she almost threw up in her
mouth. Mixed in the sauce was a good handful of dirt. She
lifted out a spoonful and shrieked, dropping the spoon and
its content on the floor.

“Faith! Do they really hate me so much?” She threw her

hands in front of her mouth and shook her head. On the floor
in front of her was a small worm. A worm which had
undoubtedly drowned in her sauce.

I have to find Mary and speak to her. This cannot continue. Not
cleaning my room is one thing, but now this?

She left the tray in her chamber and rushed out the door, in
search of her friend. They had to find a way to put a stop to
this feud between them and the servants. They just had to.
Lady Blinddale would not stand for it. Not even for one more
day.
 CH APT ER 20

T he following morning, Benedict woke early, a

smile on his face. He dressed and attended to his
business until it was time to take breakfast with Clementine.
There was a lightness about him, and he was not sure why.
Perhaps it was because his sister had taken so well to Miss
Nelson, despite her initial brusqueness.

Perhaps it was because having a formal dinner with his sister

and Miss Nelson let him glimpse into a future, one that he
had not dared to envision, but secretly hoped for.

It’s true, being at one table only made me realize how much I long
to have her in my life as more than a governess. It felt right. The
way I had always imagined my life to be. I can’t deny it any
longer. It is what I wish she could be. My wife. Henry’s
stepmother. If only it could become a reality.

More than likely, it was because he knew that soon, he would

take the air and sit at the pier until Miss Nelson arrived with
Henry. Seeing her and spending time with her, along with
his son, had become the highlight of each day.

In fact, he found that he was energized and experienced a

vigor he had not felt in a long time. This morning, for
instance, the hours flew by and by the time breakfast was
being served, he had already accomplished more work in one
morning than he usually did in a day.

He met his sister in her drawing room, where a small table

had been set for their breakfast. Clementine was already
there, reading the paper, her hair once again hidden by a
turban. He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

“My dear, I hope you rested well.”

As he took his seat, his sister folded the paper and sat it
down on the chair beside her.

“I have, indeed. It is such a wonderful respite to be here at

home, with my family. You could not imagine how ghastly
Lord Blinddale has become. No, I shan’t ever return there if I
can avoid it.”

Benedict spread a napkin on his lap and reached for a piece

of honey cake. “I am ever so sorry relations with the
Marquess have become so unfortunate. As you know, I am
more than happy to have you live with us.”

She smiled, the wrinkles on her face deepening as she did. “I

am grateful. Of course, I will be making myself useful around
the house. It seems Mrs. Harrison could use a hand in
managing the household.”

Benedict placed his spoon down. “Mrs. Harrison? What do

you mean?”

His sister folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate.
“Well, the upheaval in the household cannot be easy for her
to deal with, kind-hearted as she is. These young maids
seem to do just as they please, especially now with Maggie
gone.”

Benedict frowned for he had no idea what his sister was

talking about. She had always been one to sni out any
problems without much trouble, and she was fond of gossip.

“Oh, dear brother. I was under the impression you were

aware. It appears the maids, Molly in particular, have taken a
dislike to Miss Nelson and Miss Hastings. I expect because of
Miss Hastings keeping time with William. As you know, he
and Molly…”
He sighed and nodded, “I am well aware of the history.
However, I was not aware that there were any problems. And
I certainly do not understand why anyone would take issue
with Miss Nelson.”

Clementine took a sip of tea. “I should imagine since she is

the one who has brought Miss Hastings here, any actions
taken by one of the women would reflect upon the other. It
appears the maids are not even caring for Miss Nelson’s
chamber as they should. It is rather… dirty.” She crumpled
her nose.

He shook his head.

Why has Miss Nelson not mentioned anything to me? Does she not
feel she can trust me?

“I will have a word with Mrs. Harrison. It is not acceptable.”

His sister reached over the table and took a hold of his wrist.

“Why don’t you let me handle it? You have enough on your
plate. “
“I would much appreciate it. I would not want either of the
young women to feel unwelcome here.”

Especially Miss Nelson.

He found himself quite unsettled at the thought of her being

under duress.

“Certainly not. Miss Nelson appears to be quite the charming

young woman, in any case.”

Benedict inhaled sharply, for he knew his sister well enough

to know there was more to the statement. And there was.

“Of course, we must do what is best for the household.”

He frowned and took a sip of his tea, steading his nerves.

“Meaning?”

His sister shrugged. “Meaning if things continue to

deteriorate, it may be best to find alternate postings for
both.”
Benedict shook his head as his heart began to beat quickly. “I
will not hear of it. Miss Nelson is a wonderful governess, as
you have yourself attested. And Miss Hastings is not meant
to be here for a long period anyhow.”

His sister nodded. “I am aware. I do believe once Miss

Hastings is removed things will much improve for all. In
fact, I have reached out to a friend of mine who may be in
need of a governess, and sooner rather than later. I expect to
hear from her shortly.”

Benedict exhaled with relief. If, indeed, Miss Hasting’s

presence was causing problems for both her and Miss
Nelson, then perhaps posting her elsewhere would remedy
the situation.

The siblings continued their breakfast in peace, discussing

instead matters at Clementine’s former home and the
problems she encountered with her stepson. While
sympathetic, Benedict could not help but feel his mind
wander, for he could not wait to see Miss Nelson later on
that morning. The thought of her being upset greatly
troubled him and a fear spread inside of him that he had not
felt before. The fear of losing her. He had to speak with her
and comfort her, should she need it.

It was with relief when Clementine declared herself fatigued

and retreated to her chamber. Benedict, meanwhile, stood
and brushed crumbs o his pantaloons and set o to the
pier.

The sun was high in the sky when he heard his son’s
footsteps, running along the path that lead to the lake. He
looked back and saw the boy, dressed much less formally
than before, beaming as he carried the blackbird egg in his
hands.

He is such a darling child and so caring and protective of that little

egg. I cannot bring myself to tell him it will likely never hatch for
it has been away from its nest too long. Still, the very idea of
saving that little bird makes him happy, and I shall let him enjoy
the feeling.

He rose and felt his stomach dip with joy when he saw Miss
Nelson behind Henry.

The joy at seeing her did not last long however, for he
spotted at once her strained expression. With her mouth
pressed together, forehead bunched up and her ridged
stance, it was clear to him that something was amiss.

“Papa! Let us look for the nest now. Can we?” Henry shouted
and rushed toward him. Benedict knelt down and caught the
boy as he ran into his arms. He lifted him up, surprised at
how heavy the child was.
“Indeed, we shall.” He glanced at Miss Nelson who’d
reached them now. “Why don’t you run ahead and take a
look around. Miss Nelson and I shall follow you. I am certain
the nest is over yonder.” Benedict pointed west and Henry
rushed in that direction. Once the boy was out of earshot,
Benedict turned his attention to Miss Nelson.

“What has happened?”

She shook her head.

“It is nothing, Your Grace. Isn’t it a lovely day today?”

He stopped and faced her. “Please, Lucretia.” He deliberately

used her first name for the very first time, for he wanted to
ensure she knew that they were much closer than merely
employee and employer that her well-being was of the
utmost importance to him.

“Do not act as though nothing is the matter. I have learned

just this morning that all has not been well in the manor for
you. Or for your friend.”
He saw at once that this topic caused her great discomfort,
but he could not ignore it. Not if it was causing her harm. At
last she exhaled and dropped her shoulders in resignation.

“I did not want to bother you for I had hoped it would

resolve itself. It appears the servants have been unhappy
with Mary’s arrival and they blame me. There have been…
incidents for the past few weeks.”

He turned back to Miss Nelson. “Incidents?”

She nodded, looking ahead, rather than at him. “Small

incidents at first. Some of my belongings would go missing,
then reappear. My chamber was not cleaned. The same
things would happen to Mary. At first, they were only minor
inconveniences. Bothersome more so then a cause for worry,
for both Mary and I knew why they were occurring.”

She paused and chewed her lip, looked up at him for a split
second and then away, her eyes settling on the lake behind
him. “Alas, things have deteriorated. Last evening, after the
dinner with your sister, I was served a tray of food that had
been—tampered with.”

“Tampered?” Benedict found himself alarmed at this

revelation.
“The soup was made salty, and the bread replaced by one
meant for the fowl. The gravy was mixed with dirt. Then,
when I returned to my chamber that night, the gown Lady
Blinddale so graciously cleaned disappeared. It was returned
this morning.”

“Perhaps it was taken by mistake to be washed?”

She shook her head, tears springing into her eyes. “It was
ripped in two places. Slashed across the front and the side,
and the hem ripped down.”

She broke into tears, stopping where she was. Her hands flew
to her face and she shook with violent sobs. Benedict found
himself unable to stand back. He took a step toward her and
wrapped his arms around her, pulling her near. The scent of
spring that he’d first noticed the day they played Hide and
Seek in the garden once again found its way to his nose.

“This is unacceptable. Rest assured, I will tend to the

situation at once. As will my sister. Of course, she is unaware
as yet of the severity of the infractions against you, but she
will hear of it and together we will squash this behavior.
Please, do not worry.” He took a half step back and lifted her
chin so they were eye to eye.

The amber speck in her brown eyes seemed to glow in the

sunlight, glimmering through her tears.
“Trust me, Lucretia,” he said quietly. “Do you trust me?”

 She blinked. “I do.” She dropped her hands to her side, her
face still wet. Benedict withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed
at her cheeks.

“Good. I will ensure that these incidents cease. There will be

no more occurrences such as these. Neither you nor Miss
Hastings need worry. I will keep you safe. I promise you.”

She opened her mouth but was interrupted by Henry.

“Papa! ‘Tis here!” His voice sounded from a distance. Miss

Nelson plucked at the handkerchief in his hand which he
quickly gave up to her. She used it to wipe her face in a rapid
motion and then returned it to him.

“We are coming!” He called out the child who presently

appeared from behind a tree several feet away.

“Would you prefer to return to the manor? I would love your

continued company but if you’d rather…”
She shook her head. “No, Your Grace. I feel comforted by our
conversation. And by your presence.” He felt her hand find
its way into his and he gave it a squeeze. The overwhelming
urge to kiss her overcame him and he would have done so,
society’s expectations be damned, alas Henry appeared in
the distance, jumping in excitement. His blond hair bounced
as he pointed to a tree behind him.

“Here! It is here! Papa! Quickly!” He dashed into the thicket

once more without waiting for them.

“I believe we have found a blackbird’s nest for our little lost

egg, Your Grace.”

“Indeed, we have.”

Together, they followed Henry into the bushes where they

soon discovered the tree which had been home to the little
blue egg.
 CH APT ER 21

“L ucy!” Mary called out to her, her voice full of

happiness.

Lucretia turned around and saw her friend running toward

her. A wide smile lit up her entire face.

“What is it, Mary? You are glowing with excitement.”

Mary stopped in front of her, placing one hand on Lucretia’s

shoulder to steady herself as she was out of breath from
running.

“Look at this.” She straightened up, one hand on her

heaving chest. With the other she waved a piece of paper
toward her friend. Lucretia took it and unfolded it. It was a
note. Written in a child’s unsteady handwriting, it was barely
legible and the ink had smudged. She strained to make out
the words.
“You are a wonder fowl?”

“Yes. He meant, ‘You are wonderful’. He has only been

learning for a little over six weeks now, so it is quite the
progress, don’t you think? Thus far, he has only copied
things I wrote for him. This is the first thought of his own
that he was able to write down. And he thinks I am
wonderful.”

It was from William. Suddenly, Lucretia understood just why

her friend was so ecstatic. Mary swayed slightly; her cheeks
flushed. She took the note back and clutched it to her chest.
Over the past couple of weeks, the two had grown closer and
closer. She could tell just how close by the way Mary beamed
whenever she returned from the little cottage.

Lucretia grinned, for it was evident her friend felt about

William the same way she felt about the Duke. Mary’s
romantic feelings had a much bigger chance to become a
reality than Lucretia’s, as at least she and the coachman
were of the same class and a romance would not be frowned
upon by society. Of course, the matter of Molly was another
issue altogether.

“That is wonderful news, Mary. I am so happy for you.”

Mary lowered her gaze and swayed back and forth, letting
the skirt of her gown twirl as if she were a little girl.

“Lucy, I think I am in love. And so is he. He hasn’t said

but…” She waved the note in the air.

“I am so pleased for you.” She paused and leaned in closer.

“Of course, you know that it may make things more
awkward around here, given the situation.”

Mary sighed with exasperation. “I am quite tired of their

foolishness. Just yesterday, Charlotte unmade my bed,
knowing fully well that your cousin was coming to inspect
our quarters. It is ridiculous. I will not let it spoil my
happiness.”

“And you should not. However, if you intend for this

flirtation to become more…”

Mary cut her o . “I know. We would not be able to remain

here. Although it is much too early to think about the future.
But what about you and the Duke?”

Lucretia swallowed. “I wish I knew. I am…”

“Miss Nelson!” Lady Blinddale called out from the front
porch, saving Lucretia from having to discuss her ever
growing feelings with her friend.

Since their day at the lake, earlier in the week, they had met
in secret most evenings to take the air together. Sometimes
the Duke would reach for her hand, squeezing it briefly,
sometimes they would sit side by side by the water, watching
the stars, with their arms pressed together. In fact, they
were due to meet again that evening, at the gazebo, to read
together.

Lucretia had no time to anticipate the upcoming meeting, for

Lady Blinddale approached them with a smile. She stopped
short when she recognized Mary. Something in her posture
shifted. She pulled her shoulders back and stood straight,
pushing a lock of curly auburn hair out of her face that had
come lose from the elaborate up-do on her head.

“Miss Hastings, I believe?” She looked at Mary with her

head tilted to one side, lips pursed as though she were
examining an exotic animal. “You are the one who is
teaching our dear William the skills of communication at
last. I have not had occasion to be formally introduced to
you. How is our dear William advancing?”

Mary curtsied before the lady, reminding Lucretia to do the

same.
“I am, Lady Blinddale. And I am pleased to report he is
making strides. At the current pace, he will be able to have
no trouble lettings us know his innermost thoughts.”

The grin on her face was just a tad too cheerful, for Lucretia
had learned that Lady Blinddale was a perceptive woman.

“By Jove, that is wonderful. He is fortunate you have you. It

was such a tragedy, the accident. And he was such a chipper
fellow before it all happened, pleasant to converse with.” She
paused and pursed her lips. “I had feared he would remain in
his shell for the rest of his life, seeing how it has been a
number of years since the accident.”

Mary nodded in agreement. “Yes, it appeared to be that way.

But as it turns out, he only needed the right kind of
encouragement. You will see, soon he will be writing pages
upon pages filled with all the thoughts he has not been able
to share all these years.”

Lady Blinddale smiled, but Lucretia found it a forced smile.

As though she knew it was the correct way to react but did
not quite want to.

It must be hard on her to be reminded of that terrible day.

Especially as the carriage ride was her idea. Perhaps in time she
can take comfort in knowing both William and the Duke are at
last breaking free of the shadow of that awful day.
“How wonderful. And what a great addition to your already
impressive résumé, Miss Hastings. I have located several
possible postings for you already and I shall be certain to
mention this accomplishment to them.”

“Thank you, Lady Blinddale.” Mary hesitated.

“Now, I shall not keep you much longer. I trust there have
been no more incidents these past few days, since I spoke to
Mrs. Harrison?”

Mary and Lucretia exchanged a glance. “There have not,

Lady Blinddale. You are very kind,” Lucretia said and
curtsied once more, not sure if this was the proper response
or not. She had to admit, she was quite surprised that the
kindness the Duke had shown her from the start, and Mary,
appeared to run in the family. Thus far, Lady Blinddale,
while rough on the outside, appeared to be as kind as her
brother.

“Well, you are most welcome. My brother, while he has

trouble believing it at times, was born to be a member of the
House of Lords in every way imaginable. He is a true assent
to the Regent. Alas, he is not one to run a household. That is
where the lack of a wife shows itself. In any case, now that I
am here, things shall change. For the better.”
She gave them a curt nod and departed toward the garden.

“What a special family we have found ourselves working for,

Lucy.”

“Indeed. If only all of the nobility were as kind as they are,

perhaps we would not have such an unfortunate divide
between them and us.”

Mary placed an arm on her friend’s back.

“There is no divide that cannot be conquered. Believe me. If I

can help a mute man find his voice, your Duke can find a way
to bridge the gap between commoner and aristocrat.”

“I hope you are right, my friend. Now, I must return to the

house for it is time for Lord Henry’s afternoon lesson. And
then I promised him a game of Hide and Seek.”

Mary sighed. “I suppose I should return to the house and

assist Mrs. Harrison. She is teaching me to polish the silver.”

“How invigorating.” Lucretia grinned as her friend pinched

her in the arm with a giggle and then departed.
That afternoon, after Lord Henry had successful learned to
count to 100, Lucretia made good on her promise of a game
of Hide and Seek. Dark clouds had moved in and turned the
formerly blue sky grey.

“Now, remember Lord Henry, do not venture too far. Only in

this wing and two floors up.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The little boy stood as if ready to race o ,

only waiting on her to start counting. Lucretia sat on the
steps and began counting back from thirty while the boy’s
footsteps disappeared up the stairs.

Once she was done counting, she made certain to act as

though she was searching downstairs, ignoring the fact that
she already knew Henry had hidden upstairs Only after a few
minutes had passed did she make her way up to the second
floor. She searched for him in the public rooms, in the
cabinets and every nook and cranny, yet could not find him.

She stood with her hands on her hips and frowned. She
ascended the steps to the top floor of the manor and
searched there as well without success.

Where has he gone? Surely, he has not gone elsewhere in the

manor. He knows better than to disobey me. No. He knows
breaking the rules we set forth results in not being able to have his
chosen activity. I am certain he is on this floor.

She spotted a small staircase at the end of the hall and

climbed the steps. At the top was a door, slightly ajar.
Lucretia approached it carefully. She had not found occasion
to be in this part of the manor and did not want to intrude on
anyone who might be here.

She opened the door a little further and found the room
inside bright and airy—and empty. At least it looked that
way.

“Lord Henry?” She stepped inside and gasped. She knew at

once that this room was not like the others in the house. No.
This room was hers. The Duchess. It was evident from the
feminine nature of the furnishings, the delicate but modern
embroidery that lined the lavishly ornate desks and cabinets
in the room. This was a woman’s sanctuary. She did not wish
to intrude and decided to turn around when—

“Goodness!” She exclaimed and clasped her necklace in

horror. Her eyes widened as she took a step back, into the
room. She could not take her eyes o the terrible picture in
front of her. There, mounted on the wall, was a painting. It
was not like the others in the hall. No. It was not a copy or a
look-alike. It was like the one in the drawing room, above
the fireplace. The real thing. The Duchess as she had truly
been in life.
Except for one thing: This painting had been slashed with a
knife right through the middle, destroying the beautiful
work of art and surely one of the only true images of the
Duchess.

Lucretia’s heart beat fast. Who would do such a terrible

thing? Who would seek to hurt the Duke in this manner?
Surely anyone who knew him would know how cruel this
was.

She took another step back as she surveyed the damage

when she tripped over something and nearly lost her
balance. Once she’d steadied herself she glanced down to see
what she’d fallen over and another gasp escaped her. She
bent down and retrieved the object, her body shaking.

It was her bracelet, the one that had been taken from her
room. She clutched it in her hand as cold sweat broke out on
her back.

Someone left this here on purpose. Someone wants the Duke to

think I did this. I am being implicated for something I did not do.
Faith, had I not come here to look for Lord Henry, the Duke would
have found this and certainly assumed it was I who caused the
damage. But why? Do they really hate me so much?
She had to find him at once and tell him what she’d
discovered. It would break his heart to see the painting of his
late wife in such a state, but she had to tell him. For who
could tell what other fake evidence had been left in the
room? No. She had to find him at once and let him know
what had occurred.

She left the destroyed painting behind and ran down the
stairs.

“Henry!” She called out, her voice shaking. “Come out at

once. The game is over.” She knew she sounded too panicked
and would upset the boy. She took a deep breath and held it
in, letting it fill her lungs as she counted to ten. Then, she
exhaled with her eyes closed. She only felt marginally calmer
but to her relief, the little boy did as she’d asked. He crawled
out from behind the curtain at the other end of the hall.

He was pale-faced and studied her with his wide, blue eyes.
“Ma’am, are you ill?”

She bent down to him and started to reach out but noticed
that her hands were shaking. She quickly tucked them
between her knees as she squatted before the boy.

“Everything is well, Lord Henry. I feel a little unwell. I

should rest for a little while, if you do not mind. Perhaps you
may keep Mrs. Harrison company?”

“I suppose. Do you think she might let me have a piece of

marzipan?”

She forced her face to relax into a smile as she stood. “Let us
go and find out,” she led the child down the stairs, her legs
shaking still from the shock of her discovery. To her
surprise, Lord Henry stopped on the stairs and raised his
small hand up and took hers.

Despite the shock of what she’d seen, she felt herself

overcome with emotion at the small gesture. Tears sprung
into her eyes once again but she blinked them away, not
wanting to alarm him further.

Together the two walked to the dining room where Lucretia

knew her cousin would be polishing the silver with Mary.

“Lucretia!” Betsy exclaimed when she saw them enter. “You

look unwell. Mary, go fetch a glass of ale for Miss Nelson.
Sit.”

She pulled out a chair for her and Lucretia fell into it.
“I have a headache, I thought perhaps you might watch Lord
Henry for a little while.”

“Of course, Lord Henry can help me polish the silver. You
liked helping last time, did you not?”

“May I?” the boy asked and without waiting for a reply,
helped himself to a silver spoon which he set about polishing
with the cloth Betsy had left on the table.

“I shall return in a moment,” Betsy said. “I entrust the

family silver to your care while I escort Miss Nelson to her
chamber. Are you ready to defend it with honor?”

He giggled and gave a stern nod of the head. “I shall.”

“Very well.” Betsy rose and linked her arm with Lucretia’s.

“I cannot go to my chamber, Betsy. I must seek out His

Grace.”

“His Grace? I believe he is in his study. But why? You needn’t

ask his permission to rest if you are unwell.”
She stopped. “I do not have a headache. Oh my dear Betsy.
I’ve made a discovery too ghastly for words.”

She surveyed the area and then leaned in, telling her cousin
what she’d found. The older woman listened intently, her
eyes widening at the news. When she spoke again, it was
with determination.

“We must discover the culprit. I cannot believe even Molly

would stoop so low, but she has riled the other servants up
against both you and Miss Hastings. The servants are loyal to
Molly and her family and thus….” She shook her head in
disgust. “To think such things are happening at Amberley
Manor. The Duchess would be appalled. Appalled, I declare.”

“Do you think the Duke will blame me?”

“You?” Betsy exclaimed. “For what? The painting? The

upheaval? Nonsense.”

“All of it.” Lucretia felt herself growing ever more anxious as

they approached the study. “Whoever did it, did so to rid
themselves of me. Had I not come here, none of this would
have happened. And what if His Grace believes that I am the
culprit? That I acted out of jealousy?”

Betsy stopped and spun around.

“Jealousy? Why ever would he….Oh. I see.”

They had not spoken of Lucretia’s feelings for the Duke, but
it appeared she understood once she saw the expression on
her cousin’s face. “I suspect you might be …. He might be….”
She shook her head. “It does not matter. In any case, he
already knows of the unsavory events that have taken place,
so he would not blame you. Certainly not if the two of you…”
She stopped, a warmth taking hold of her old, wrinkled face.
“He would not blame you, my dear.” She placed a hand on
her face. “But we must tell him at once.”

She dropped her hand to her side and turned, strutting along
the hallway on her way to the Duke’s study, followed by
Lucretia. She felt her heart beat faster and faster as they
closed in on his study.

I pray it is how Betsy says and he will not blame me. I pray he
does not change the way he feels about me. I pray he does not fall
back into the darkness when he realizes one of the only true
paintings of his wife is destroyed forever. Even if he does not
blame me, the pain it will cause him will be devastating. I do not
wish to inflict it upon him but I know I must. I must be the one to
tell him.

They stopped in front of his study and Lucretia’s entire body

shook, knowing that she was about to wound the man she
loved so badly. Loved. Yes, indeed, she loved him. And she
was sure he loved her, too. But this, she feared, might
change everything.

She took in a deep breath and Betsy took her hand in hers,
holding it tight as she knocked on the Duke’s study.

“Enter!” His deep voice called and Betsy pushed down the
door handle and they stepped inside.
 CH APT ER 22

H e stood at the window and looked outside. Down

below, his sister was walking across the lawn with
Henry by her side. The boy was chatting excitedly while his
sister patted his head.

He turned and watched as Thomas, the footman, strutted

along the path toward the house with mail in his hand. He
passed Molly and Charlotte, on their way back from the daily
shopping, no doubt.

I cannot believe one of them would be so filled with hate for

Lucretia to attempt to… And yet…

His nostrils flared and he curled his hands into fists until his
nails dug into his palms. He turned swiftly as the rage inside
of him rose once more.

“I shall have to see it. At once.”

“No. Your Grace, it…” Lucretia’s voice was full of worry and
fear. She looked pale, her rosy face completely white. Beside
her, Mrs. Harrison carried an equally worried expression
upon her visage. He had no time to consider their faces or
their fear. No. He had to see what they were talking about for
himself, even if it would tear his heart apart.

“I must view the damage myself, and posthaste.” He pushed

past the two women and was out the door before they could
protest further. He walked in large steps along the hallway,
aware of the hurried footsteps behind him as they followed.

He arrived at the attic door and hesitated for one moment,

bracing himself for what he was about to see. Behind him,
the two women rushed up the stairs, the sounds of their
footsteps ceasing when they reached him.

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Harrison said, a pleading tone in her

voice. He ignored her and stepped cross the threshold.

Rage. All he felt was rage as he stormed down the stairs

toward the servants’ staircase. It ran through his body,
consuming him. He did not hear Lucretia rushing behind
him, pleading for him to look away. He did not head Mrs.
Harrison’s request to allow himself a moment of time before
proceeding.
He only slowed once, when passing Swindon, to tell him to
send as many servants as possible to the servant hall at once.
Then he proceeded on his way.

He stomped down the staircase. Stopping only at the bottom.

He stood and watched as the bustling activity came to a halt
as the servants realized he was there.

“To the servant’s hall, all of you. At once!” His voice echoed
along the hallway, drawing people from the scullery and
even the dairy.

He stood and waited for several minutes, watching as the

hall filled with familiar faces, many of whom he’d known for
years.

The perpetrator is among them. I am sure of it.

Benedict banged his closed fist on the table, commanding

the attention of everyone who was not already aware of his
presence. From behind him, he heard the hurried footsteps
of the servants who had been summoned from all over the
house by Swindon.
Benedict glanced back and spotted Molly and Charlotte, their
shopping baskets still in their hands. Behind them he saw
other servants filling into the cramped hall; among them
Miss Hastings and John, his valet, and husband to Maggie.

“Where is William?” He asked out loud. There was

grumbling among them and glances were exchanged until
Miss Hastings spoke up.

“He is tasked with transporting Lady Blinddale and Master

Henry to the village. He shan’t be back until near dinner
time.”

Benedict nodded, remembering that Clem had informed him

she was taking Henry into town.

“Very well. Now. I will say this once and only once. And I
trust that word will be carried to those who are not among us
at present.” He took a deep breath, knowing that it would
not serve him to let his rage show. He closed his eyes, filling
his lungs once more.

“It has come to my attention that the Misses Hastings and

Nelson have been subjected to unsavory activities and have
been targeted for some time. These instances have been
driven by pettiness and rumors.” He made sure to look
directly at Molly. The maid, dressed in her uniform with her
hair tucked under a large, frilly cap, cast her eyes down at
the stone floor, unable to so much as face him—even for a
second.

“I am certain Mrs. Harrison and Mr. Swindon have already

attempted to address the matter. Alas, it appears I must step
in myself. Let me assure you, there never was nor will there
ever be a time that Maggie is not welcome here. She is our
head housemaid, and a mere step below our dear Mrs.
Harrison. She will remain so as long as she chooses. Now.”
He exhaled and curled his fingers into a fist once more.

“I do not care what petty notions are behind the recent

incidents, but they will cease at once. There will be no
further harassment to either Miss Nelson or Miss Hastings.
They will be treated as respected members of the household.
Evidentially some of you are gravely o ended by the young
women doing the work they were hired to do. To that end, let
me assure you, their employment here is far more secure
than that of the cork-brained individual who is leading the
harassment against them.”

He scanned the room. “I had thought better of you. Now, if

this unsavory activity ceases at once, there will be no
reprisals. However…” he paused, gathering his thoughts.
“An incident occurred this morning that will not be
forgotten or forgiven. Someone in this household entered my
private attic room where, as you all know, hangs one of the
few portraits that I possess of my wife, the late Duchess.
This morning, someone slashed the painting into pieces,
destroying…” he felt rage and sorrow compete within him.
He swallowed the feelings down and raised his eyes once
more.

“The painting is destroyed, and with it one of the few true

likenesses of her. The culprit will, once found, be punished.
So, will anyone…” he turned on his heels, pointing his finger
at everyone in the room as he spun, “anyone, who hides
knowledge of the perpetrator’s identity.”

There was silence among the ranks of the servants. Save for
the occasional glance at once another, nobody moved nor
spoke. They waited. Benedict looked from one to the next
until he’d scanned each of their faces, but nobody came
forward. Not with a confession and not with an accusation.
He shook his head.

“Mr. Swindon and Mrs. Harrison will be available for anyone

who wishes to speak on the matter.”

He stopped and stood in silence, hoping once more someone

would speak out. When nobody did, he gave them a curt nod
of the head and turned on his heels.

He’d almost made it out of the hall when someone spoke up.

“What happens if you can’t find the culprit, Your Grace?”

He fixed his gaze upon her. It was Charlotte, a young
housemaid that had only been in his employ for a few short
months. Her expression was one of curiosity more so than
fear.

“If I cannot find the culprit? Well…” he hesitated for a

moment, he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Charlotte, in that case, I am afraid this home shall be one

where suspicion and fear reigns. Of course, I do not wish for
this to happen, as I’m sure you all agree.”

This time, Benedict stormed out of the room and back up the
stairs. He hoped his rage would dissipate once he voiced his
anger to the servants, but it did not.

He went out the front door, the fresh air hitting him in the
face. A moment later, the door opened and soft footsteps
approached.

“Your Grace?” Her voice was hesitant, as if fearing his

wrath. When he turned to her, he saw that her face matched
the sound of her voice. It was as if she feared his reaction—
his anger, even though he had none. Not for her.
“Do not look so Friday-faced, my dear. None of this is your
fault.”

She stepped toward him. “But I am sorry, Your Grace. For all
of it.”

He sighed at the formality with which she spoke. “Do not

worry. We will find the culprit. And I am in hope that the
incidences of harassment against you will cease.”

She turned her head away, looking out over the landscape.

“I have brought you nothing but upheaval. I understand if

you wish me to leave.”

“Leave?” He shook his head and reached out for her hands,
holding them both in his for a moment, before realizing they
were in plain view of everyone. He let go and nodded his
head toward the path by the lake, where they usually walked
with Henry. “I do not wish for you to leave. It is the last
thing I want.”

She followed him, walking near enough to him to where

their arms occasional touched as they walked.
“But…”

“No ‘but’. You have done nothing wrong. Neither has your
friend. And while I am distraught at the loss of the painting,
I will confess that the mere thought of losing you causes me
much greater pain.”

“Your Grace…”

“Perhaps it is time you call me Benedict, when we are alone.

Don’t you think, Lucretia?”

The sound of her name on his lips was sweet and comforting.
It felt right. A small smile washed over her lips.

“As you wish, Your G… Benedict.”

His skin tingled when she said his name. Yes. It was right.
She was right for him.

They walked together to the lake, passing servants as they

rushed back to their stations at the stables and gardens. He
was aware of the whispers and the looks, but did not care.
“Lucretia, please promise me one thing. That you will not
leave here without first speaking to me.”

“It is a promise I gladly make. Alas, I do fear that the loss of

your painting is due to my presence here.”

He sighed. “Even so, while it pains me, I know Biasi will be

able to recreate it. In fact, I believe it will please him to do
so, for he worried a great deal over my declaration that his
services in portrait sourcing are no longer required.”

“They are not?” She sounded surprised, which made him

grin.

“No. They are not. One very special lady made me realize
that I cannot continue to lose myself in the portraits. In the
end, they are only pretty pictures that serve no purpose but
to keep me in a dark place. A dark place I have found a way
out of, at last. Thanks to you.”

They had reached the lake and were alone, free from prying
eyes. He reached for her hand and clasped it in his, delighted
when she curled her fingers around his hand.

They walked in silence for a spell and he found that being in

her presence slowed his heart, which had been racing the
entire time he’d addressed the servants and beyond.
After a while, they arrived at the small pier. Together, they
sat at the edge, their shoes placed on the side, feet dangling
over the pristine water.

“What will become of us?” She suddenly asked. She looked

out over the water as if the question was for the universe as
much as for him.

“You hold my heart in your hand, Lucretia. Something that

has not happened in a very long time. I did not think it would
ever happen again. You’ve opened my soul to the possibility
of love and I shall never let it go again. I should like to spend
all of my days with you.”

He noticed her mouth twitch and her eyelids flicker.

“If it is what you wish as well,” he added.

“It is, Your G… Benedict. It is. I never thought I would feel

this way about any man, but I do. I did not want to admit it,
but it is true.”

He scooted closer to her and wrapped an arm around her.

Instantly, her head rested on his shoulder and his heart was
ready to burst. How blind he’d been not to see how
wonderful she was the moment he first saw her.

It has taken all these months for my heart to open up to her, but
now it has. It is open wide and it shall never close again.

“My dearest,” he reached to touch her face, running his

hands along her jaw. When his hand reached her chin, he
gently lifted it and leaned forward until her soft lips were on
his.

Their kiss was sweet and innocent, lasting only for a

moment, but it was a moment that seemed to shake the very
earth around him. Placing his fingers on his lips, he smiled.

“It has been many years.”

“It has been…never,” she replied with a cheeky smirk.

“Never?” He could not believe his ears. And yet, the

declaration made her even more charming.

“I thought I would never experience a kiss, much less love. It

has been so foreign to me.”
He held on to her hand.

“You shall experience everything with me. Everything the

world has to o er shall be yours. I will take you to London;
you and Henry. And Clementine, of course. I shall take you to
the finest museums, and the most amazing parks.”

He realized at once that his daydreaming had gone too far, as

her expression changed. The dreamy look on her face
following their kiss was replaced with doubt.

“I am a governess. A commoner. I do not even come from a

wealthy family. How could this ever be more than a lovely
dream we share on a pleasant, sunny afternoon?”

He sighed. “It is not as impossible as you may imagine.”

She shook her head, a sadness in her eyes.

“Your reputation in society would plummet like  a falling

star.”

He shrugged. “It may. But it will recover. Society looked

down upon me when I wed Helena, for she was but a baron’s
daughter. With time, the union was accepted.”
“But I am no baron’s daughter. I am nobody’s daughter. I am
the child of a woman who passed birthing me and a man who
could not bear it and took his life. We both know the ton
would speak of nothing else but the orphaned governess who
married up.”

“And it would bother you, what the ton says?”

“Of course not. But you… You are a Peer of the Realm. A step
below Prinny, as my cousin likes to say.”

Benedict shrugged. He had worried so much about this very

matter, but he found that now, faced with the possibility of
losing her, he no longer cared.

“I have made my fortune, Lucretia. I have my lands and I am

much respected. There will be those who hold a grudge
against me and who would use our union against me,
certainly. However, Prinny likes me well. Respects me, even.
I should imagine if I can get his approval the others will fall
in line.”

Her eyes grew wide and he could imagine what was going
through her head. She, the orphan who came from nothing,
the subject matter in a conversation with the Regent.
“It is not the ton nor even the Regent I worry about.”

She nodded, knowing what he was going to say before he had

to say it.

“Your sister. I gather she is one who cares for society’s

opinion.”

Benedict leaned back on his elbows, letting the sun shine

into his face.

“She is. It is out of care and concern, you must understand.

She herself has been looked down upon for her failure to
provide the Marquess with another child. She has seen the
trouble I went through for making a match that was
considered unfortunate. But I believe she will grow to love
you. In time.”

“In time,” she repeated and turned toward him. The setting
sun shone upon her brown hair, giving it a gilded glow.

They fell silent, gazing at each other and basking in the

moment until they were interrupted by the sound of horse’s
hooves coming from the path near them. A horse neighed.
Benedict rose and craned his neck to peek through the trees.

“It is my landau, being returned to the stable. Which means

Henry and my sister have returned from their outing.”

She pushed herself up and rose.

“We should return to the house. But first, what are we to

do?”

He too rose and slipped his feet into his shoes. He held out
his hand for her to take. When she did, he set forth back to
the house.

“I shall tell my sister of my intentions, but first we must

allow her to know you better. It was a mistake I made with
Helena. I told Clem of it after everything was already set in
stone, giving her no time to get used to the reality.”

She nodded in agreement.

“Perhaps if Lady Blinddale knows me well, she will not be

opposed to our union.”
They had reached the path and were forced to let go of one
another’s hand.

“We shall include her in our games with Henry. She loves
him, so it will only suit her. And I shall arrange more
dinners. Perhaps the three of us, without Henry. Then, when
the time is right, I will tell her and hope for her approval.”

“What if she does not approve?” She asked the question so

quickly he realized it had been on her mind the entire time.

“If she does not, then we will move forward anyhow. But I
would much rather have her approval.”

“It is agreed then.” They looked at each other once more

before she turned away. “Perhaps it is better if we part ways
for now, so not to arouse suspicion, until we are ready.”

He bowed deep and she responded with a small, steady

curtsy. She had already walked several steps when
something occurred to Benedict.

“Miss Nelson!” He called her by her proper name, for

William and two of the stable boys were presently walking
nearby.
“Yes, Your Grace?”

“St. Nicholas Day is the day I shall speak to my sister.”

She smiled at him and nodded before turning away and

walking back toward the house.
 CH APT ER 23

L ucretia sat quietly by the window and glanced outside

while Lord Henry was busy assembling a puzzle of
the continent. On occasion she checked on his
progress, touched by his dedication to his work. He sat, deep
in concentration. His tongue was sticking out the side of his
mouth.

Downstairs, she saw the Duke, Benedict, walking side by side

with his sister, Lady Blinddale. They both donned heavy
outerwear, with Lady Blinddale wrapped up warm in a red
redingote with black trim. She looked regal, even from a
distance.

Momentarily, she caught Benedict’s glance as he looked up

at the window. She smiled and he waved—a grin upon his
handsome face. The wave caught his sister’s attention and
she too look up at Lucretia. When the two women’s eyes met,
they nodded at one another before the siblings resumed their
walk.
The four of them were due to go on a carriage ride in
Benedict’s new barouche. It was already late November and
chilly, but it had been the little boy’s wish and Lucretia had
to admit she was keen on it. It certainly would give her the
opportunity the converse with Lady Blinddale further.

It has been more than a month since Benedict—it still feels

strange to use his name, since he has declared his intentions. Lady
Blinddale seems to like me well. Alas, I have not had occasion to
be alone with her.

“Ma’am?” The boy called out, drawing her from her

thoughts. “I can’t fit this piece. Tis the last one, but it will
not fit.”

She got up and walked over to the table, surveying the

puzzle. He’d done well. She leaned down and took the small
piece from his hand. It took her only a moment to see where
the problem was.

“Lord Henry, perhaps you would do well to examine the

South of France once more.”

He squinted over the region and then whooped.

“Tis wrong! In Nice!” He removed the piece which had not

quite fitted and replaced it with the one in his hand. “Now,
this one goes from Nice to Edinburgh!” He slipped the piece
in and clapped. “I did it!’

“Indeed, you did.” Lucretia ru ed his blonde hair, a grin on

her face.

“Now can we go ride in the barouche?”

“We can. But first, let us get a piece of fruit, what do you
say?”

Lucretia sat beside Lord Henry on the chaise in the drawing

room where his mother peered down at them. They did not
have to wait long before Mary appeared, carrying the
requested fruit. Lucretia examined the apple, already cut into
pieces for her, carefully.

While incidences such as the worm in her soup or the ruined

gown had decreased since the Duke’s address to the
servants, they still occurred on occasion. Randomly, she
would be served rotten food, her clothes would return from
the wash with stains, or her window would be left open
during a storm, soaking her bed.

She knew these things were done deliberately. Alas, she

could not prove it and so did not tell anyone but Mary. She
did not want to bother Benedict during the few quiet
moments they could steal away for themselves. It was,
however, rather vexing if not quite as scary as before.

“It is good. I cut it myself, straight from the barrel,” Mary

explained and walked to the window.

“That is good to know. I did not much enjoy the taste of

vinegar on my apple last night when it was served at
dinner.”

Mary shook her head. “And you shan’t experience it again if

I can help it. In any case, I am in good hopes that all will
return to normal once Maggie returns after Christmastide.”

The maid’s child, Ben, named after the Duke, was at last
thriving and the head maid was due to return. While it was
good news, Lucretia knew that it also meant Mary would
have to take a position as governess soon.

“I hope you are correct, Mary.”

“I am certain. In fact…” she smiled slyly and beckoned for

Lucretia to join her at the window. When she did, Mary
leaned in closely and whispered, “I shall depart as early as
the New Year, and you will have peace at last.”
Lucretia’s eyes grew wide. “The New Year? What do you
mean? Have you decided to take one of Lady Blinddale’s
postings after all? But … William?”

Given that she and William had developed a deep attachment

to one another, Mary was reluctant to take any of the
positions Lady Blinddale suggested to her. Being apart from
William was no longer an option for Mary. Lucretia
understood well, for she felt the same about Benedict.

“I am to take over the governess position from Mrs. Lester,”

Mary beamed.

“Mrs. Lester?” She could hardly believe her ears. “But what…
I…”

Mary wiggled her shoulders back and forth in a silly little

dance.

“I was summoned to see His Grace. When I got to his study,

who should be there with him but Lord Winterton?
Evidentially, Mrs. Lester has given her notice. Her nephew’s
wife just had twin boys and she desired to look after them, at
their London home. Thus, I shall take over from her when
she departs in January.”

Lucretia sat the apple aside.

“That is wonderful news. We shall see each other all the
time. The children can play together. It will be delightful.”

The two women clasped hands in delight when something

occurred to Lucretia.

“What of William? Have you told him? Will he be upset that

you will no longer reside on the same estate?”

Mary sighed and shook her head.

“I have not told him yet. He has been sullen in recent days. I
suspect he does not much enjoy serving as coachman to Lady
Blinddale. He won’t say it but I expect it brings back bad
memories. In any case, I shall only be a short ride away and
perhaps it might inspire him to…” She stopped speaking but
winked at her friend.

“You are hoping he’ll make an o er?”

“I am. Gracious, won’t it be wonderful? Me, married to

William and you to the Duke.”
Lucretia shook her head and pressed a finger against her
lips.

“Don’t say it out loud. We have spoken of it but I fear until

Lady Blinddale approves…” she shrugged. “He speaks as
though he wishes for a future with me regardless of his
sister’s approval. Alas, he loves her so dearly that I fear it
would wreck their close relationship if she disagreed. And it
would cause a strain between us. I do hope she agrees.”

“She will.” Mary grabbed her friend’s wrist. “You are

wonderful. And you have spent so much time with her
already. I dare say she appears to like you a great deal.
Whenever she speaks of you it is with nothing but respect.”

Lucretia took a bite of her apple, savoring the tart flavor. She
felt her nerves flutter in her stomach whenever anyone
mentioned Lady Blinddale. While it was true that the lady
appeared to like her, she only knew her as the governess, not
as the woman who had captured her brother’s heart.

“I hope so,” she said once she swallowed.

“She will, believe me.” Mary glanced over her shoulder

where Molly was presently passing, a scowl on her face when
she saw them talking.
“I must return. I should not be spending time talking while
at work. Molly has just begun to treat me as an equal she
only slightly dislikes and I’d much rather keep it at that. I
see the Duke and Lady Blinddale are on their way, in any
case.”

She nodded toward the front door where the siblings were
about to enter.

“Aunt!” The little boy cried out and out rushed to them. He
wrapped his arms around his aunt’s legs and she patted his
head, a delighted smile on her face.

I do so enjoy watching him with his aunt. She loves him so much
and to him she is the mother figure he never had.

Lady Blinddale glanced up and spotted Lucretia.

“Miss Nelson, how are you on this chilly afternoon?”

She curtsied at the older woman. “I am well. Pleased to

report Lord Henry completed an entire puzzle of Europe
today, thus certainly earning the ride he requested.”
The woman grimaced.

“Ah, yes, indeed. The ride in the barouche.” Lady Blinddale

looked down at the boy. “Are you quite certain you wish to
ride in an open carriage? It is rather chilly. You might catch
cold.”

Lord Henry shook his head. “It is not too cold for me. Is it for
you? If it is, we shall not go. I just wish to go on a ride with
all of my favorite people.” A look of genuine concern and
disappointment crossed his little face.

Lucretia found that Lady Blinddale could not refuse Lord

Henry no more so than Lucretia could refuse Benedict. She
stood beside them, Benedict’s eyes wandering from Lucretia
to Henry and back.

“I am sure we will be fine, Henry, and you certainly earned

your reward.”

“Wonderful.” Benedict clapped his hands together. “William

has the barouche ready outside, if you please. And Swindon
has your redingote, Miss Nelson, and Henry’s cape.”

Lucretia followed them into the parlor where the butler was
indeed waiting with their outerwear. After helping Henry
into his cape, she slipped the redingote on. It was brand new,
a gift from the Duke. She struggled with the rich fur collar,
as the small clips she used to adorn her hair were getting
caught in it.

To her surprise, Benedict stepped behind her and gently

detangled her clips from the fur. She stood still, unsure of
how to react. They’d exchanged tender touches whenever
they could, in private, but this was a bold sign of a ection,
and in front of his sister who stood and watched the scene
with bemusement on her face.

“There. All put to rights.” The Duke declared, oblivious to

his sister’s stare.

“That is a rather fine redingote,” Lady Blinddale commented

as they exited the warmth of the house and stepped into the
November afternoon chill.

Lucretia swallowed and glimpsed at Benedict but he was

occupied with his son, who was running ahead toward the
barouche.

“Thank you, Lady Blinddale,” she replied, hoping she would

not ask her where she’d gotten such a fine piece of clothing.
She was certain that she was well aware of what Lucretia’s
salary was and that she could by no means a ord an item
such as this. And indeed, it appeared so.
“You must have a secret benefactor,” the Lady said with a
grin.

“I… Well….”

Lady Blinddale broke into another of her roaring laughs,

causing Lucretia to shrink back. She’d grown used to the
boisterous outbursts Lady Blinddale was prone to, but they
still sometimes came as quite the surprise.

“I jest, I jest. I know you have an eye for a bargain. I

appreciate that in a woman. No sense in wasting all one’s
guineas when one can be thrifty! That was something I
always disliked about the Duchess,” she lowered her voice.
“Terrible with money, terrible. Couldn’t even do the
household ledger properly. But then, she would not have
been expected to have to run the household of a Duke. Given
her position.”

She says it as though it is a terrible thing to be a baron’s daughter.

Benedict did say she disapproved of Helena at first due to her
heritage. Alas, it sounds as though she still feels this way.

They’d reached the vehicle where William waited for them.

Benedict had taken his son to the front in order to pet the
horses. Several weeks prior, the little boy had finally
admitted to his father that he feared the beautiful steeds and
mares, causing his father to do all he could to take the fear
from him by slowly getting him used to the animals.

“William,” Lady Blinddale greeted the coachman with a curt

nod and he bowed before her. “I hear you are doing well with
your writing. Is that true?”

The young man stared at her and for a moment Lucretia

though she detected fear in his eyes. But why would he be
afraid of the Marchioness? She certainly did not blame him.
In fact, Lucretia had found that the Lady Blinddale cared a
great deal about William. She often asked about him and his
progress. She’d even purchased a notebook for him.

Before she could wonder any further, William assisted both

her and Lady Blinddale up the step into the carriage. They
were joined in short order by Henry and his father.

The Duke took a seat next to her while Henry sat with his
aunt. As they set in motion Benedict leaned over to her and
whispered in his low, deep voice.

“You look breathtaking today, Lucy.” He hesitated and

glanced at his sister who was busy pointing at something o
in the distance that had caught Lord Henry’s attention.
Satisfied that his sister was occupied, he leaned over once
more. “I cannot wait until I can tell the world about my love
for you.”
She wanted to reply but found herself quite unable to.
Instead, she simply looked into his deep, tender eyes. His
lips parted and he whispered, “I no longer wish to wait for
St. Nicholas Day.” Abruptly, he turned away to his sister.

“Say, Clem,” she heard him say, “Would you care to take
dinner with me tonight?”

Lucretia observed the woman’s eyebrows rise in surprise at

the suggestion. “Why, of course. Will Miss Nelson join us
again?” She did not look at Lucretia for, of course, it was not
up to her. To her surprise, Benedict shook his head.

“No, I thought it may be nice to dine together, just the two

of us. We never seem to find an occasion to lately.”

Lucretia’s heart sank.

He plans to speak to her tonight. That is what he meant when he

said he can’t wait any long. Faith! No.

She wanted to stop him. Given Lady Blinddale’s comment

about the late Duchess’ lowly heritage, she certainly would
not react favorably to the news of her brother wishing to wed
one of even lower standing.

Lady Blinddale eagerly accepted the invitation. Lucretia sat

back and let her eyes take in the scenery around them,
appearing calm on the outside. Inside, apprehension and
anxiety rose at the prospect of Benedict’s plans.
 CH APT ER 24

S peaking to Clementine that night was, of course,

exactly what Benedict had in mind.

His sister had spent considerable amounts of time around

Lucretia so she might know her better. A few more days
would not make any di erence. And he had to admit that he
was growing tired of having to hide his feelings for her in
public.

Surely by now, many of the household sta were aware or at

least suspected, given that they spent a great amount of time
together. Even though they were trying to be discrete,
Benedict had never been good at hiding his feelings.

I can’t help myself. Whenever I see her,  I break into a smile and
have the impulse to touch her, to be near her
It was time that the world knew, starting with his sister. He
found himself picturing what their life would be like. Once
the waves of the scandal subsided and the ton grew tired of
their gossip and found something else to be scandalized by,
their life would be quiet and peaceful.

Lucretia would be accepted as the new Duchess of

Tradegrove and the ladies of the ton would compete to be in
her favor, given that she would be the wife of one of the
most influential and richest Dukes in the Realm. Her lowly
heritage would be forgotten in the favor of ambition.

Lucretia and Clem would be friends, raising Henry together

with Benedict. Perhaps there would be more children, if they
were fortunate. It would delight Clem, that much he knew.
Yes, the thought of more children around was bound to
soften his sister’s apprehension about having a commoner in
the family.

Their life would be wonderful and harmonious. He was

certain of it.

Just like he had always pictured his life with Helena. Just as
their life had been for that brief period they had been
granted together.

He sighed at the memory of his departed wife. He’d thought

of her much in recently days. A mixture of gratitude for the
life she’d given him, for the man she’d helped turn him into,
washed over him whenever he thought of her. But there was
also the familiar sorrow. And a new feeling. Guilt.

Yes, he felt guilt for wanting to be happy again, for having

feelings for someone who was not Helena. He glanced at
Lucretia who was seated next to his sister, the two in
animated conversation.

Surely, Helena would be happy for me. She always wanted

nothing but the best for all those around her. If only Clem would
see things the same way.

That evening, Benedict felt his throat tighten as he stepped

into the dining room where his sister was already seated at
the table.

When she saw him, she rose. “My dearest brother, I must say
I have been looking forward to dining alone with you all
day.” They gave each other air kisses as was more customary
on the continent and Benedict took his seat.

“As have I, Clem.”

His sister swallowed a large gulp of ale and dabbed her

mouth.
“As much as I enjoy dining with young Henry, it is nice to
have adult conversation. Private conversation. Between
family.”

Benedict motioned for Thomas to fill his cup with ale. He’d
hoped his sister would bring up Lucretia and while she had
not done so directly, he knew she was referencing the meals
they had taken together lately.

“I thought you enjoyed dining with Miss Nelson,” he said,

reminding himself not to use her first name just yet.

His sister reached for a piece of bread which stood on the

table before them and dipped it in the soup that had just
been served.

“I do.” She paused and glanced up at him while taking a bite.

She chewed the bread carefully, never taking her eyes o of
him. It made him increasingly nervous. She knew already,
didn’t she?

She already has an idea what I intend to speak to her about.

“I believe it is you who rather enjoys dining with the young
lady. More so than I. And even, I dare say, Henry.”

Benedict looked down at his soup, as though transfixed by

the meat that swam in the broth before him. She did know.

I cannot say I am surprised. She always was perceptive, and I have

included Lucretia in a great many outings and dinners recently. I
suppose there is nothing else to say but what I’ve invited her here
to say.

He lifted his head.

“You are right. I do enjoy her company. Very much so. In

fact, I would like to enjoy a great deal more of it. Out in the
open. In public.”

He did not say the words ‘courtship’ and ‘marriage’ for it

was how he had presented his union with Helena to Clem
and it had not gone well. He knew he had to tread carefully.

“Enjoy her company out in the open. I see. You mean to tell
me you are considering a…. match?” She forced the word out
with great struggle. Benedict shrunk back in his chair at the
way she phrased it. There was something in a tone that
reminded him of his childhood. Of being chided for
something he’d done that was considered wrong.
“I am. I… Clem,” He placed his hand on hers and squeezed,
feeling how loose and dry the skin on her hands had become.
Another reminder that his sister was aging rapidly. “I know
the way I presented my intentions toward Helena to you all
those years ago was wrong. I wanted to do it right this time.
Tell you how I felt first. Get your approval. Your…” He
hesitated. He did not want to say the word ‘permission’ for
he did not need it.

And yet, that is indeed what he was after.

“I am in no position to forbid you a courtship, Benedict,” his

sister said, pulling her hand away.

He sighed and shook his head. “You are not, that is correct.
Not in any legal capacity. But you are my only family and my
beloved sister. I would not wish to cause strain between us as
I did the first time I wed.”

His sister dropped the spoon she’d been holding and it

clanged on the plate with a loud bang.

“Wed?”
“What did you expect I wished to do? Keep her as my carte
blanche?”

Clem’s lips twitched and he realized the was exactly what

she’d expected.

“You must know me well enough to understand I would

never do such a thing. It is no way for a woman to live, not
long term. And it is a seedy, unsavory business.”

“It is.” Her voice was shrill. “So is marrying a governess.”

He hushed her, desperate to keep the conversation between

them. Alas, it was too late. A murmur was audible from the
side of the room were the footmen were standing. He
glanced over and saw them staring in their direction, trying
hard to conceal their curiosity. In the corner, he saw Molly.
She stood with a small tray in one hand, her face pale.

The news of his intentions to wed Lucretia would spread

around the servant quarters faster than a forest fire in
summer. He placed his spoon beside his bowl and faced his
sister.

“Clementine, please. I do not wish to rehash the past nor

repeat it. She has captured my heart. She has brought a light
back to my life that I thought extinguished forever. Please do
not darken this for me. Please let us not fall out once again.”

She shook her head and glared at the table, her hands balled
into fists.

“I got used to you courting a baron’s daughter, Benedict, but

a governess? A commoner? One without even a wealthy
family to point to once the gossip and snickering among
society begins? Benedict. Think of what it would do to you,
and to Henry. Do you not remember the vicious manner in
which the ton treated you and Helena when first you wed?”

Benedict shrugged.

“I certainly do. But I venture to say it was all worth it. And it
will be again.”

His sister rose and placed both hands flat on the table.

“You are making a mistake. A grave one. You are walking

into your own ruin. Society may forgive your foolish choice
in a wife once, but a second time? Benedict… You will lose all
respect in the House of Lords and ruin our family name for
yourself and for Henry!”
She stomped away with angry, heavy steps as he jumped up.

“Clementine. I command you to stop.”

There was a fury in his voice he was unfamiliar with and it

startled him. She stopped in her tracks, clenching her fists
still and turned slowly.

“You have commanded me to stop. Your Grace?” She

curtsied to him in the deep, deferent manner in which one
was to curtsy to nobody but the King or Regent. It was a
mockery; he knew it and it enraged him further.

“I had hoped you would take the news in a more dignified

manner. Instead you have ridiculed me, Lucretia, and sullied
the memory of my wife. I do not understand why it matters
so much to you what society thinks. It matters little to me.”

She rose and fixed her gaze upon him.

“You would not understand, for you are a spoiled man. Yes,
you are a Duke, and one of the most revered in the land. Yet,
you are at the mercy of those above you. What if you are cast
out by the other Lords, the other Dukes? What if the Privy
Council stands against you and you fall out of favor with the
Regent? You could lose everything.”
Benedict shook his head.

“There has been much greater scandal than a Duke who wed
a governess. Besides, the Lords were upset when I chose to
wed Helena. They looked down upon me then, but they
forgave and embraced her, did they not?”

She sco ed. “Embraced her. I should think not. Benedict,

you were a naïve child and you are a naïve man now. Who do
you think helped smooth over the scandal? Do not forget,
Helena was not just any baron’s daughter. She was Baron
McMillian’s. A man so on the rocks he was always hanging
o his younger brother’s sleeve. People laughed at you. Said
you were not to be trusted for you displayed such poor
judgement. Who do you think ensured that your standing
within society was restored, and hers along with it?”

She pushed her chin forward as if in a challenge and his

mouth fell open.

“What do you mean?”

He had been under the impression the Lords simply grew

used to the idea, that the women followed their husbands
lead and embraced Helena, despite her lowly standing within
their ranks.
“It was I. And the Marquess, my husband. We wined and
dined the ringleaders, the ones who were most opposed to
you. I socialized with their wives, passing out the finest
candies, and the  most expensive wines. Arranging for
musicians of the highest order to play at our house parties
where we served the best meals and the richest cakes. The
Marquess made deals with the other lords in order to…” She
waved a hand. “It was all for nothing. You did not care then
and you do not care now. Go, walk into your doom. I shall not
stand by and watch.”

She did not wait for him to dismiss her but instead turned
around and walked away, shaking her head as she went.
Benedict stood alone, his shoulders slumped forward, unsure
what to do next.

He felt the servant’s stares burning into his back. When he

could bear their stares no longer, Benedict set in motion
after his sister. He had to resolve this problem. He could not
allow it to destroy his relationship with his sister. Not again.
He had to make her see sense.

As he strode after her, his mind raced. She and the Marquess
of Blinddale had wined and dined their fellow nobles into
forgetting the poor match he'd struck? Could it be true?

Surely that is exaggeration. Winterton would have told me if there

was any truth to it. But then, she has never lied to me before.
He reached the foyer where the under butler stood at
attention.

“Did Lady Blinddale come this way?”

“Yes, Your Grace, but a moment ago.”

Benedict motioned for the door and the young man opened it
to let him outside. Without his coat, the chill of the evening
was a shock to Benedict. He tucked his hands into the
pockets of his pantaloons and pressed on.

He glanced around the porch but did not see his sister.
Aimlessly, he walked down the length of the porch and then
around the house, until the sound of voices made him stop in
his tracks. He recognized his sister's voice, for it was strong
and loud even against the wind which whipped around the
house.

The other voice was softer and he tilted his head to hear
better. To his surprise, he realized that it was Lucretia's.

By Jove! What is she doing out here?

He took a step closer until he was near enough to hear them
while still hidden behind the corner.

“I am ever so sorry this has caused you such distress, Lady

Blinddale. It was not my intention. Not ever.” Lucretia's
voice was pleading and soft.

“Do not apologize. One cannot help one’s feelings, and my

brother is a handsome man. You must understand the
damage to his reputation, and after he has already made a
match below his station, I fear he would not recover. I’m
afraid his reputation most certainly would never recover,
should this news become public.”

“It shan't. Not until Ben... His Grace is ready to announce it.
By then we are sure to have a plan, and with your approval
and help...”

His sister interrupted her. “I fear it is too late for any plan.
Unfortunately, my brother and I had quite the row, and in
front of the servants.” She sighed deeply. “It was not my
intention to pull a cap with him but at times my temper...
Well. When I get my bristles all set up I have trouble
containing my words. In any case, the servants know or will
by night's end.”

Benedict heard Lucretia gasp. He knew just how she felt and
wanted nothing more than to rush out and comfort her,
assure her that despite this, everything would be well. Yet he
knew now was not the time.

“What are we to do, Lady Blinddale?” Lucretia asked, her

tone now thick as panic set in.

“I am sure you understand that this union can never be. You
are a smart woman and I know you are aware of how the
world works. And while my brother drew a beautiful picture
of the future you might have, a part of you must have known
that it's not possible. That it would cost him dearly.”

“He has assured me we can weather any storm that comes

our way, Lady Blinddale. This does not have to ruin His
Grace.”

There was a silence between the two women and Benedict

hoped that his sister would see sense. She did not.

“Have you heard of the Earl of Beckshire?”

Benedict froze in place. Not the old story of Beckshire...

Evidentially, Lucretia had indicated that she did not know of

the man, for his sister set forth to explain.
“Beckshire was a well-respected Earl. He rose up quickly in
the Court of King George the Second. After the death of his
wife, Beckshire chose to bed and wed one of his dairy maids.
An unfortunate decision, for he fell out of favor with the
King. Slowly, his lands were taken away, he lost his relations
with the other Lords, and well... within a few short years, he
lost most everything. Including his new wife, who left him
for a merchant when Beckshire lost his fortunes. He took his
own life shortly thereafter.”

Benedict’s blood boiled and he stepped around the corner.

“Clementine! Please, do not scare Lucretia with tales of

times long gone by.”

Both women turned to him, their faces pale with shock.

“Benedict!’ Lucretia exclaimed while his sister glared at him.

“I am giving Miss Nelson nothing but the truth. Which you

should have done so yourself. Of course, you did not know
the whole truth. You did not know how close you were to ruin
before the Marquess and I helped you.”
Lucretia tilted her head to one side, her face a question.

“I shall explain later, my dear.” He stepped closer to her and

took her hands in his. She backed up with shock, her head
twisted toward his sister, who stood with her mouth agape.

“Beckshire lived and died many years ago. Since his time,
many nobles have wed out of their class and most recovered.
The tale of Beckshire is one many mothers, and my sister,
tell young men to scare them away from marrying for love. I
am not scared. Even if I lost my title and lands, which I
would not—of that I am certain—I would still have
everything if I had you.”

“But what of Henry?”

Benedict was touched by her concern for the little boy, which
only strengthened his conviction.

“We would provide for him. He would be raised by parents

who love him. In any case, the Regent is not an unreasonable
man. I have not known him to strip a man of his titles simply
for marrying for love. Times are changing. The merchant
class is ever rising, and soon unions between the nobility
and the lower class will be acceptable, I am certain. Besides,
with wealth comes power, and I have grown my wealth much
since my first marriage.”
He turned to his sister.

“Clementine, I wish you would see how much joy she has
brought into my life—and Henry’s. By Jove, I have a
relationship with my son that I have not had for years.
Lucretia drew me from the depth of despair and brought me
back to the surface by reuniting me with my son. Surely you
can see that.”

He set his eyes on his sister’s face.

“I do not wish to see your reputations ruined. Both of you.

You will never be accepted by society. Henry will have to
carry the burden and social stigma.”

“Henry will have a stepmother who loves him and a happy

home. That counts for more than the opinions of lords and
ladies trapped in unhappy unions. Such as Winterton. Or you,
dearest sister.”

She swallowed—the words had wounded her. He knew it was

cruel to bring up the fact that her marriage had not been a
happy one. It had been practical, but happy? No.

“I know well what hardships have to be endured in the name

of society. I also know that it is easier for you, a man, to
endure them and bear them than for us women.”
She paused, looking wearily from one to the other and then
shrugged. “I do not wish to lose you, brother. You ask if I
cannot see the good Miss Nelson has brought into your life. I
can. I have from the moment I arrived here. I can see why
you would wish to wed her, the attraction between you is
palpable.”

She shook her head. “The truth is, I have known for some
time. I had hoped it was but a flight of fancy on your part,
Benedict. I see now it is not.”

“I have never been more serious about anything, dearest

sister.”

Benedict’s voice was calm. He knew he finally breached his

sister’s wall of defiance and obstruction. He knew if he
treaded careful, he may turn her into an ally yet.

“Lady Blinddale,” Lucretia spoke up, her hand still in his.

“Please do not let expectations of others come between us.
Any of us. I know I am but a lowly commoner and I may
never find acceptance within your ranks, but perhaps if I can
find your acceptance, it will be enough.”

Clementine rose and walked up and down the porch for

several minutes, leaving Benedict and Lucretia to huddle
together closely to shield against the cold draft from the
wind which still whipped around the house.

When she finally stopped pacing, an expression of

determination was apparent on her face. “Very well, then. I
see there is nothing I can say or do to keep you apart. You are
determined to walk along this path, even if it is to your ruin.
Lucretia, I shall call you by that name from now on, given
the circumstances. You are quite mistaken. Winning my
acceptance is of no consequence when it comes to society.
You must win acceptance. Not just from me, but from other
ladies. Influential ladies. And I shall help you gain it.”

Benedict felt his eyes grow wide.

“You will?”

His sister shrugged. “What choice do I have? I love you, and I

love Henry. I wish to be a part of this family, for I have no
other left. And if this is what you are determined to do, then
I can only do my best to soften the impact such a union will
have. On all of us.”

“Lady Blinddale, I am ever so grateful.” Lucretia let go of

Benedict’s hand and walked toward his sister, hands
outstretched.
Before Clementine could say or do anything, Lucretia had
reached for her hands and held them in hers.

“Now, now, let us not grow sentimental. There is a long road

ahead. Now, Benedict.”

His sister turned to him, removing her hands from Lucretia’s

grasp.

“I will do my best to help. I only ask that you give me time to

introduce Lucretia to society. In small, measured ways.
Perhaps I can take her with me to introduce her to my
friends. Once they know her as a friend of mine, the shock of
your marriage will not be quite so great.”

He nodded. “It is a good idea, yes. What do you say,

Lucretia?”

His sister frowned but turned to look at her, awaiting an

answer.

“Of course, whatever you believe is best. Thank you for…”

Clementine raised a hand to silence her. “I do this for my

brother, and for my nephew. I am opposed to this, but for the
good of the family—” she shook her head. “I am to call on
my friend, Lady Manchester, this upcoming weekend. You
will accompany me. You will make no mention of the
entanglement with my brother, nor any reference to him
other than as a trusted governess. Do you understand me?”

“I do, Lady Blinddale.” Lucretia curtsied before his sister

who acknowledged her gesture with a nod of the head.

“Very well. I shall retire. This evening has been vexing,

indeed.” She did not wait for either of them to reply but
simply rose and walked along the porch until she reached the
corner and disappeared from view.

Benedict stood and stepped toward Lucretia.

“I told you, she would eventually grow to like you,” he said

with a grin.

“It does not sound as though she likes me, nor is she doing
any of it for me. I am sure she would enjoy it if I simply went
away.”

Benedict shook his head and cupped her face.

“I know my sister well enough to tell you she has a soft spot
for you. And she is correct in her approach. Introducing you
to some of the ladies will help transition you into their
circles.”

He noticed a flicker in her eyes and then a smirk appeared on

her pretty face.

“You know, you have yet to make an o cial o er.”

He frowned. It had not occurred to him that it was

something that would be required. Given that she had no
family, but…

“Should I ask Mrs. Harrison for your hand?”

Lucretia giggled. “I jest, Benedict.”

“No, no, no,” he shook his head. “Let us speak to Mrs.

Harrison right away. She is, after all, the elder in the family.”

He smiled broadly and dropped his hands from her face,

instead taking her hand and pulling her after him.
“Benedict!” she exclaimed with a laugh.

He stopped and turned around, placing his hands on her

waist.

“I know it is all in good fun. However, I do want to make it

known that I intend to wed you. And if we cannot make it
public yet, I at least wish to inform some of our nearest and
dearest of it. I suspect Miss Hastings already knows.”

Lucretia nodded, “She does indeed. As does Lord Winterton,

I assume.”

He nodded. “Then it leaves Mrs. Harrison.”

Lucretia frowned. “I hope she will not be cross with me for

keeping a secret from her.”

“I am sure if she is, her wrath will not last. Now. Are you
ready to let your cousin know that you will soon be the
Duchess of Tradegrove?”

She blushed but nodded. Then, together, they made their

way into the house.
 CH APT ER 25

“M ary! I am ever so nervous. Lady Manchester is

such an influential lady, I simply must
impress her. She is one of the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s
in London.”

Her friend smiled as she helped her arrange her hair in a

sophisticated half-up half-down style. Lucretia was dressed
in a brand-new yellow silk muslin gown. Lady Blinddale had
taken her into the village earlier in the week in order to
procure a new gown for the visit.

In fact, she had purchased three di erent gowns, as well as a

matching pelisse, a new redingote, shoes, and two bonnets.
Necessary, she claimed, for she intended to bring Lucretia to
call on several of her friends. Lucretia had found herself in
the uncomfortable position of having to let Lady Blinddale
purchase everything, for she did not have the money to buy
even one of the gowns.
Each cost more than she earned in a month. This one, the
finest of them all, had a round neckline and pu ed sleeves
which stood in contrast to the long tubular skirt. Cream lace
trim was sewn throughout the bodice. Along with it, she
would wear a matching yellow bonnet.

Mary stepped back and studied the hair.

“You look lovely. Like a Duchess-in-waiting,” her friend

giggled.

“Do you think so? I am so nervous. I am beginning to realize

just how di erent my life will be.”

Mary tilted her head to one side, studying her friend. “But
you are still happy, are you not?”

Lucretia felt her face break into a wide smile.

“So happy. But also scared.”

Mary helped her put on her new shoes and then place the
bonnet on her head in such a way that it would not ruin her
hair.
“I understand. As am I. Only a few short weeks and I will be a
governess myself. Although I do not know how William feels
about it. He has been rather withdrawn. In fact, today he
would not even see me. He left me a note saying he had to
prepare the horses for the journey to see Lady Manchester.”

“Do the stable boys not ready the horses?” Lucretia

wondered.

Mary shrugged. “I do not know. In any case...” There was a

knock on the door and Molly entered. Her face was free of
the scowl she usually wore when seeing the two girls. She
had grown more docile toward them. Perhaps knowing that
her sister would soon return, and that Mary was getting
ready to depart, had softened her toward them.

Or perhaps it was the fact that all among the servant

quarters it was now known, although not discussed or
acknowledged, that the Duke intended to make Lucretia his
wife and thus their Duchess. In any case, Molly entered with
the hint of a smile on her face.

“Lady Blinddale is sending for you, Lucretia. She is waiting

in the parlor.” She paused, scanned Lucretia up and down
and then added, “You look nice. Although there is a hair
astray, there, by your ear.”
“Indeed, it is. Thank you, Molly,” Mary replied and attended
to the stray hair.

They left the room together, and Mary walked her to the
carriage which waited outside.

William stood by the open carriage door. Having already

escorted Lady Blinddale inside, he waited with an
outstretched hand to assist Lucretia.

There was something in his eyes today, something she

hadn't seen in a long time. It was the heaviness, the sadness
that had been there when first she had met him. She frowned
and wondered what had happened to make him look quite so
Friday-faced. But before she could inquire, Lady Blinddale
greeted her.

“Lucretia, the gown suits you well.”

“Thank you, Lady Blinddale. You were so kind of purchase it

for me.”

The carriage door closed behind her as she took her seat. She
settled in just as the horses came into motion. Warm
blankets were placed on the seats, should they need them. It
was December now, and with the Christmas Season came the
chill. Yet, today it was still pleasant enough to where the
carriage window could be allowed to remain open to let in
fresh air. Soon that would not be possible or they would
freeze to their seats.

They journeyed through Amberley Estate and out onto the

road and toward the village. Lady Blinddale was quiet,
looking out the window, deep in thought. Her silence vexed
Lucretia, for she was nervous and had hoped Lady Blinddale
might provide some advice on how she was to interact with
Lady Manchester.

“Does Lady Manchester live very far?” She wanted to break

through the silence, and the question appeared to do the
trick.

“It is only about an hour’s ride,” Lady Blinddale announced.

She licked her lips and swayed her head back and forth, as if
considering her next words. “I supposed it is enough time
for an honest talk, now that it is just us.”

Lucretia’s heart sank.

I knew it was too good to be true. I knew she had to have some
kind of ulterior motive. She came around much too quickly. She is
certain to use this time to talk me out of wanting to be with
Benedict.
“Lady Blinddale, let me assure you I am …”

The woman raised a finger and wagged it in her direction.

“Lesson number one. As a commoner, you must never

presume it is your turn to speak. Know your place. It is
especially important for you to know your place for you will
always, and I mean always, be apart from the other ladies.
You understand that, yes?”

Lucretia swallowed.

“I hoped that with time…”

Again, Lady Blinddale interrupted her. “Time means

nothing. You see, my brother may not think so, but society
has not changed that much since the days of the Earl of
Berkshire. We may have a Regent in place who is more…
flamboyant… in his ways than his ancestors, but the way of
the world is still the way of the world. You will always be the
poor orphan whose father killed himself, and who was able
to wed well. Nothing more. And it will bring shame to my
family.”

Lucretia cleared her throat and glanced out of the window,

realizing this entire trip was pointless.
“Lady Blinddale, perhaps it is best that we cancel my visit to
your friend. I see now that we continue to misunderstand
one another. I believed you were ready to assist your brother
and I in…”

“I am assisting my brother. And you, in a way. By taking this

time to paint you a lovely picture of what your future will be
like. A true picture, not the one my brother likes to paint.”

“With all due respect, Lady Blinddale, I do not require it. As

your brother said, he and I would be perfectly happy even if
society never accepts us. Having a family will make it all
worth it. Frankly, I find the expectations of your class
ludicrous.”

“Ludicrous? There you go. There it is. The very reason a

commoner should never, never ever wed into nobility. You
have no respect for our ways.”

Lucretia pushed herself closer to the door as the carriage

drove on. Outside, the scenery changed from the small
houses of the village to the farms on the outskirts of town.

“If you stop the carriage, I shall walk back to the Manor I do
not see much sense in us continuing this charade.”
The woman smirked at her and banged against the roof of
the carriage. Evidentially it was a signal for William to
hasten the horses as they speed on faster than before.

“Dear Miss Nelson, I stopped playing charades quite some

time ago. I did all I could to give you a chance to walk away,
to leave my family alone. Unfortunately for you, you chose
not to and so you leave me no choice.” Her face darkened.
“Just like she gave me no choice.”

Lucretia’s heart sank further.

What does she mean? I am almost too afraid to ask, but what
choice does she leave me? She wants me to question her, clearly.

It was evident by the expression on Lady Blinddale’s face.

Her smirk had widened, causing her wrinkles to deepen so
much that her carefully applied powder cracked, giving her
the appearance of a court jester.

“Go on,” the woman prompted Lucretia. “Ask what I mean.”

Lucretia swallowed, but grew ever more determined not to

let this woman intimidate her.
“I am certain you will tell me your meaning.”

“You have a smart mouth. Too smart for someone of your

standing. But then, that has always been the trouble with
your lot. You do not know your place in our world. Helena
was the same. Never understood that just because she
married up it didn’t make her an equal. Of mine or any other
lady.”

She shook her head and briefly glanced out of the window, a
wistful expression on her face.

“She was a nice enough girl. Pretty to look at, as you

gathered from the pictures, I’m sure. Not the smartest. I
always thought my brother favored beautiful, but simple
women, judging by his previous wife. You are quite the
opposite. Oh, you are pleasant to look at, I’ll admit. But you
are rather… plain and somewhat unkempt.”

“Lady Blinddale, I do not believe it necessary to be quite so

rude. I understand you will never accept me. That is quite all
right. I had hoped we may be friends, but you make it clear it
is not to be. Let us return to the Manor and allow Benedict to
solve our dilemma.”

She knew that if Lady Blinddale’s attitude was going to be as

it appeared, Benedict would have no choice but to break with
one of them. And what were the chances he’d choose her
over his sister? But then, was he aware of this hateful side
she possessed?

“I am afraid the only one making a choice today is me. And I

am choosing to ensure my brother does not make the same
mistake again. The Tradegrove name will not be sullied by a
commoner, by a lesser-than. No. If he is to wed again, it will
be to a noblewoman. One of equal standing. However,
Benedict may find that it is better to remain alone. Given the
tragedy that follows each time he gives his heart away.”

“Tragedy? What do you speak of? Certainly…” Lucretia was

growing increasingly scared of this mad woman who
presently was banging on the roof of the carriage again. Once
more, the horses sped up. Outside, the view of the farmlands
had long given way to trees as they passed through
Northumbringshire Forest.

“Oh, you see,” Lady Blinddale said as she rummaged in her

bag for something. “My brother has never been skilled at
knowing what was good for him. Helena was terrible for him.
She made him weak, mushy. She taught him to rely on his
feelings and impulses instead of the logic and common sense
which has served us so well all these years. He grew soft.”

She crinkled her nose and the corners of her mouth turned
down as she shuddered.
“I taught him how to be a man, and she taught him how to
be mawkish. You, on the other hand, you did a wonderful
thing, reuniting him with his son.”

A softness appeared on her hard face which confused

Lucretia.

“If I did such a wonderful thing, why do you despise me so?”

She puckered her lips, creating a tsk-tsk sound with her

tongue. “I do not despise you. I like you. I even respect you
as a governess. It is you insisting on intruding into our
family that vexes me so. I tried reasoning with you, as I did
with the Duchess. I implored her to leave the raising of
Henry to me, as she was so ill-suited for it. Begged her to,
even. She would not budge.”

Lucretia’s eye grew wide as she heard the woman’s words.

Was she even aware how unhinged she sounded?

“Lady Blinddale, do you mean to tell me that you asked the

Duchess to leave Benedict, leave behind her child? Because
you did not like the way Benedict was around her?”

“I did. In a carriage much like this one. I wanted to give her

one last chance.”
One last chance? What is she talking about? Surely she is not…

An awful thought came to Lucretia.

“This was on the day of the accident? Lady Blinddale… It was

an accident, was it not?”

Fury took a hold of her face then, twisting it into a grimace

of rage.

“She was a terrible wife! A terrible mother! She would have

done nothing but pamper Henry, would have raised him to
be a dandy or worse, a rake. Or weak like his father. You see
how he is. So forgiving of the servants, so lenient. By Jove, if
the servants had acted the way they did at Amberley Manor,
the way they treated you, I would have let them all go and
started afresh. But Benedict? No! He gives chances after
chances. As for him,” she indicated toward the front of the
carriage.

“What use is a mute servant? I implored him to send William

away. But no. Benedict kept him on, despite his sullen
moods.”

“Because he is a kind man. A loving man who cares about

others.” Lucretia found her voice shrill, so shrill it scared
her, for she knew it would only make the woman angrier.
“Kindness… The world does not operate on kindness. That is
something you and she have in common. You are both naïve
young things who do not understand the way of the world.
Do you know why the Duchess wanted to take me her to her
father’s estate the day of the accident?”

Lucretia shook her head.

“She wanted to set aside our di erences and show me the

way her father ran his estate. With kindness and a soft hand.
She wanted me to see how happy the servants were, the
tenants.” Lady Blinddale rolled her eyes. “She thought, if I
could see where she grew up, I could understand her better
and the way she chose to manage, or rather mismanage,
Amberley Manor.”

“Maybe if the accident had not happened, she would have

proven to you that her way was the right way,” Lucretia
suggested, despite the strong feeling that the accident had
been no accident at all.

Outside, they had turned o the road that led toward Bath
and the seaside. They were on a dirt road, approaching a
clearing.
“I already know what I would have found at the Baron’s
estate. A mismanaged home, with sta running amok due to
lack of leadership.” She shook her head. “You know,
Amberley Manor did not begin to run as smooth as it does
today until I arrived. People worked, and there was no
gossip. I handled the household, along with your cousin. I
was in charge, as I should have been all along. As I will be
from now on.”

“Lady Blinddale, I would never oppose your assistance in the

running of the household. I am, as you know, unfamiliar
with it and would not know the first thing to do. And you
would always have a place in our home, of course.”

She realized at once, in her panic she’d said the wrong thing.

“Your home? Amberley Manor is not your home, it is mine!

It will never be your home. You know, the Duchess did teach
me one thing. Would you like to know what it is?”

Lucretia nodded, aware she was in quite a scrape.

“When she and I went for our ride that day I tried to reason
with her. I explained to her that it would be better for all
involved that she left, departed in the night. It would give
Henry the chance to be raised in a way befitting his future
title. Let Benedict find a woman befitting his status as he
always should have. She did not wish to listen.”
“I wonder why.” Did Lady Blinddale have any idea just how
removed from reality her ideas were?

“She proved as unwilling to listen as you are. I tried scaring

her away. Just as I did with you. Alas, just like you she would
not listen. And thus, I learned my lesson. If one is unwilling
to accept reason, one must pay the price. As did she, now will
you.” She grinned and pulled her hand out of her bag.

Lucretia’s breath caught in her throat when she saw what

the woman was holding. It was a key. A small key, one that
she knew would fit into the locks on the carriage doors.

“In his quest for safety, my brother has made my mission so

much simpler than the last time. Last time, I had to have
William pretend the wheel was broken and I had to assist
him, in order to lock the Duchess in from outside. This
time…”

She smirked and Lucretia’s worst suspicions were confirmed.

“Lady Blinddale… You caused the accident that killed

Helena? It was you?”
“But of course. It did not go quite to plan, of course. The
stupid thing could not even die properly.” She sighed heavily
and shook her head. “I had planned for a swift death for her.
I am not a cruel woman, after all. Alas, she survived the
crash and I was forced to… well. One puts a wounded animal
out of its misery, so why not a wounded Duchess?” She
chuckled at the memory of her misdeed while Lucretia
pressed herself farther into the side of the carriage. She
looked out of the window, which she realized was much too
small for her to escape through. Not even a child would have
fitted through.

Outside, they had come o the dirt road and through a

clearing, beyond which lay a beautiful lake. Lucretia realized
at once where they were. Amherst Lake. Benedict had taken
her and Henry here when it was still warm enough to travel
in the landau.

The lake had a lovely path that lead in a loop around it,
allowing for carriages, horses and pedestrians to make their
rounds with ease. Tall oak trees lined the path, providing
shade. It had been such a beautiful, peaceful place when first
she’d been here. Now, it filled her with dread for Lady
Blinddale banged her flat hand against the carriage wall and
they came to a stop.

“It is a shame that these carriages are so very prone to

accidents. My dearest brother, he will require much
comforting. Who knows, perhaps he will start collecting
portraits of ladies who look like you to have besides those of
Helena!”

 Lady Blinddale laughed, opened the door and climbed down

the step with surprising speed. Lucretia hastened to get up
and rushed after her, attempting to get out of the door, but
she was too late. Lady Blinddale slammed the door shut,
catching three of Lucretia’s fingers in the door.

“Oh! My hand!’ She exclaimed and fell backwards onto the

floor. To her horror, she heard the little key being turned in
the lock.

“No!” She got up and pushed the handle down, knowing

before she even did so that it would not open. She was
trapped.
 CH APT ER 26

“W ho would have thought one day you would be

picking greenery for a lovely maiden again.”
Winterton grinned, as Benedict picked another branch of
holly.

It was becoming cold now that it was December but Benedict

had decided to surprise Lucretia upon her return with a small
bouquet of winter greens, as she loved the Christmas season.

“Indeed. Neither did I,” he said as his friend stood next to

him.

“You appear very confident that your sister will succeed in

introducing Miss Nelson to the upper class.”

Benedict straightened, the branches firmly in the grip of his

hand. “I am. When my sister sets her mind to something,
she always succeeds.”
The two began to stroll back toward the house.

“Then what will happen? Once your sister has introduced her
to her friends?”

Benedict felt himself break into a smile.

“Then, dear Winterton, I, Benedict de Clare, 5 th  Duke of

Tradegrove, will shout from the rooftops that I have found
love once more and shall wed. And as soon as this spring, if
Lucretia agrees.”

He walked ahead of Winterton with a spring in his step,

turning and beaming at his friend whose eyes had grown
wide.

“Zooks! This spring already? You are certain?”

“There are few things in life I am certain of, old chum, but
this is one of them. I cannot believe it has taken me so long
to realize it.”
The two climbed up the front steps to the manor where
Swindon opened the door for them.

“Swindon, would you kindly see that Mrs. Harrison gets

these? I envision a bouquet. Perhaps she can get the
gardener to cut some matching greenery?”

He handed the branches to the butler who stared at him, all

at once confused and delighted.

“Of course, Your Grace. Mrs. Harrison has been searching for
you, along with Molly and Mary.”

The smile that had been all but permanently displayed on his
face this morning fell at the mention of the two young
women’s names.

“They have?”

Beside him, Winterton whistled. “I fear there is trouble

about to rain down upon you, Tradegrove.”

Benedict shuddered but had no chance to say anything more

on the matter, for hurried footsteps approached from down
the hall.
“And here it is now.” Winterton nodded in the direction the
two women who were running towards them, Mrs. Harrison
rushing behind them a little distance away.

“Your…. Grace…” Miss Hastings gasped, waving a folded

piece of paper.

Benedict frowned and braced himself for another round of

their bickering, a thing he’d hoped was in the past. To his
surprise, Molly placed an arm on Miss Hastings’s back.

“Let me, while you recover your breath.” She took the paper
from her hand and held it up. “Mary discovered his letter in
William’s cottage. It says…. It says that…” She could not
continue for suddenly, her voice broke and tears sprang into
her eyes.

“It is dreadful. We must. Lucretia is with her right now. We

must do something!” Miss Hastings exclaimed. She rambled
on, her words coming so fast that they made no sense. The
confusion only grew bigger when Molly, through her tears,
attempted to help.

“Stop.” Benedict raised his hand. “Enough. I cannot

understand anything either of you are saying. Mrs.
Harrison,” he addressed the older woman who had caught
up with them. “Please explain.”

“Your Grace,” she was out of breath, but calmer than the two
young women. “Mary has found a letter in William’s cottage,
addressed to her. It appears to have been a confession of
sorts.”

“No confession!” The young woman protested. “He was

forced, forced by Lady Blinddale!”

“Coerced, in fact,” Molly agreed.

Benedict sighed. “Please, Mrs. Harrison, what does the letter

say and what does it have to do with Lucretia and my
sister?”

Mrs. Harrison wet her lips.

“Your Grace, it appears William has kept a secret for all of

these years. A secret so grave I can hardly believe how he
lived with it. He states in his letter that the accident that
killed our beloved Duchess was no accident, but planned out
meticulously by your sister.” She swallowed and looked at
him with fear in her eyes, as if she expected him to turn on
her.
“What?” Benedict could say no more. The revelation was too
shocking.

“This is the letter?” Winterton interrupted, pointing at the

paper. When Molly nodded, he took it from her hand in one
swift motion and unfolded it, pacing back and forth as he
read.

“William revealed that Lady Blinddale coerced him into

assisting her, manipulating the wheels, by threatening harm
to Molly, who as you know, was his betrothed at the time.”

“No, I cannot believe this. Clem would never harm anyone.

She… No. William must have lost his mind.”

“No, Your Grace!” Molly exclaimed with intensity. “He was

forced to keep silent all these years. And he says it will
happen again. Today! And Lucretia is the intended victim!
Lady Blinddale has been threatening him into assisting her
again all week. The letter to Mary was to say goodbye for he
is certain it will mean his death as well.”

“Lucretia? No! It cannot be true. She is taking Lucretia to

Lady Manchester to introduce her to the high society, not
to…”
“It appears they speak the truth,” Winterton’s voice was
grave and thick. “It is all here. He claims she threatened his
life and Molly’s and now she is threatening Mary.”

“Clementine?” Benedict felt as though his head might

explode at any moment. “Never! She may not have been a
friend to Helena but she was just as distraught as I at her
death. And she herself declared that she is fond of Lucretia.”

“Perhaps fond of her as a governess, Your Grace.” Swindon

spoke up. He’d kept his own counsel for some time,
observing the proceedings. Until now.

Benedict swallowed. “No. I cannot believe. She would

never…. Winterton, certainly you don’t believe it…”

His friend’s face was pale and his thin lips were pressed
together so hard it appeared as though he had no lips at all.

“It is what William is claiming. And if he is correct, then

Miss Nelson is indeed in grave danger.”

Benedict shook his head, his heart pounding. Torn between

wanting to protect the woman he loved and the inability to
believe his sister was capable of such villainous an action
froze him in place.
“What does it say precisely? The letter.” His voice was quiet.
As he stood in the hall, surrounded by his friend and
servants, he felt utterly alone.

Winterton cleared his throat and raised the letter up.

“It is addressed to Miss Hastings, here…” he glanced up at

the woman who was presently wiping the tears from her
eyes. “Well. He bids farewell to Miss Hastings, stating that
Lady Blinddale has ordered him to assist her in ‘taking care’
of the ‘governess problem’.” Winterton used his free hand to
draw quotation marks in the air.

“He says that he was forced years ago to do the same to the
Duchess. That your sister ordered him to crash the carriage
in an attempt to kill the Duchess, and when it did not
succeed….” Winterton swallowed and glanced up at Benedict.

“What is it? What does he say?”

With a sigh, his friend continued. “He says that your sister
‘completed the task herself’.”

His legs buckled beneath him at the words. Behind him,

Swindon caught him and steadied him.
No. Never. Clementine would never…. She grew fond of Helena.
She was distraught at her death.

But Winterton was not yet done.

“He then states that Clem ordered him to remain silent

about the matter, lest his loved ones would pay the price. He
says…” He raised the letter closer to his eyes.

“’It seems the Lady doubted my promise, for a moment

later, her tiger, Fenders, was ordered to relieve me of my
tongue and I was left on the grass. I feared that I would die.”

“Oh, how ghastly!” Mrs. Harrison exclaimed. “Poor

William.”

“Fenders,” Benedict said, his tone without any emotion.

“Tradegrove?” His friend stepped nearer to him and placed a

hand on his shoulder.

“Clem’s tiger at the time. His name was Jack Fenders. He

died six months later. Thrown from a horse. It appeared at
the time the saddle came loose.”
A collective gasp sounded from the group.

“My, I cannot believe it. Your sister? All this, but why?”
Winterton shook his head as he looked at the letter once
more.

Benedict shook his head when suddenly Mrs. Harrison

cleared her throat.

“If I may, Your Grace…”

“By all means…” He was so overcome with shock at these

revelations and at the prospect of what it meant for Lucretia,
that he could no longer put his thoughts in order.

“It is well known among the servants that Lady Blinddale

was never fond of Her Grace, the Duchess. Even after the
marriage.”

Benedict frowned. He’d known that his sister disagreed with

Helena on the running of the household but those had been
small squabbles, and ones Helena had sought to resolve the
very day of the accident. Yet, Mrs. Harrison was resolute.
“The servants hear everything, Your Grace. We know to keep
what we learn to ourselves, but it is true. Lady Blinddale
never grew to like the Duchess, she only pretended.”

Benedict paced back and forth, his heart racing.

“If this is true… If she … Lucretia is with her at this very

moment.”

Winterton shook his head. “If it is true, then Miss Nelson is

indeed in grave, grave danger.”

“We must act. We cannot stand here and ponder. Swindon,”

Benedict spun around. “Saddle my horse, I must follow them
at once. Winterton, join me.” The men headed toward the
front door.

“Of course!” his friend turned to the butler. “Have them

ready one of your fastest steeds. It is only a short ride from
here to Amherst Lake.”

“Amherst Lake? No. They have gone toward Bath, where

Lady Manchester lives, we must travel along the main road
to find them.”
Winterton raised his hand with the letter.

“William claims Lady Blinddale instructed him to take them

to Amherst Lake. The plan appears to be to manipulate the
carriage wheels until they come o at a fast speed, causing a
crash. Amherst is the perfect location for such a feat.”

Benedict’s eyes grew wide. “The loop around the lake!

Indeed. I was the one who first took Clementine there, years
ago.”

His heart felt heavy. If Williams’ words were true, then his
sister intended to kill the woman he loved at a location he
had introduced her to.

Sensing the way his mind was going, Winterton slapped him
on the shoulder.

“We must act now, there is time to ponder later. Let us go.
To the lake!” Winterton declared and together the two peers
charged ahead toward the stables.
 CH APT ER 27

L ucretia rushed to the other side of the carriage and

pushed on that door handle as well. Of course, this
too did not open. It was then that she heard the
sounds of voices. Lady Blinddale’s and…

William! I forgot all about William. He will save me! Certainly, he

will.

“William!” She called out as loud as her lungs would allow.

“William, help me!”

To her great relief, the coachman’s face appeared at the open

window. Relief only lasted for one short moment. For to her
horror, she recognized the expression on his face. It was
regret and defeat. At once Lucretia knew that the
Marchioness did not intend for her to see the light of another
morning. This was to be her last day. And William knew it,
too.
Lady Blinddale came around the side of the carriage and
peeked inside the window while the coachman squatted
down and did something to the wheel.

“I am ever so sorry things have to be this way.

Unfortunately, this is for the good of us all. Godspeed, Miss
Nelson.”

She slapped William on the shoulder. He looked up at her, a

small metal tool in his hand. She pointed to the seat of the
carriage.

“Go, you useless mute. Set it in motion again. Go round and

round, as fast as they will go. Gravity shall do the rest. Now,
with any luck things will go smoother than last time. If not…
well. I am prepared.”

Lucretia could not see William’s face for he was turned away
from her but he gestured wildly.

“Stop this fidgeting, William. You may not die today. You
may escape harm as you did last time. Rest assured, if you
perish, Mary will be safe. At least from me.”

She snickered and Lucretia’s stomach turned as the picture

of the Duchess’ accident became clear in her mind’s eye.
She’d forced William to help her. Probably by threatening
harm to those he loved. As apparently she had done again
now, with Mary.

William disappeared from view and a moment later, they

were moving again.

“Please, Lady Blinddale, don’t do this! I beg you!” Lucretia

banged on the carriage wall helplessly. “Help! Please!
Anyone help!”

Alas, it was hopeless. The carriage began to move, fast and

faster around the lake.

At this speed, the pulling gear will separate from the carriage
quickly and the carriage will crash. I will not survive. There is no
way I will. And even if I do, I am trapped in this carriage and
cannot escape. And William! It is his certain death as well. Why
would he sacrifice himself? For Mary’s safety?

“William!” She shouted out of the carriage window.

“William, you do not have to do this! Please, stop the
carriage before it is too late.”

He turned, his hair flying in the wind and his eyes full of
sorrow. He shook his head and looked back onto the road.
This is why he chose to spend all his life in silence, alone and
separated from the world. This is why he was content in his own
little world. Because the Marchioness forced him to be complicit in
the accident that killed the Duchess.

She could not imagine the guilt he must have lived with all
these years. And now, history was repeating itself. Suddenly,
Lucretia’s eyes widened and she knew exactly what the
coachman was thinking.

“William! You do not have to die today. Nor do I! Please, it

was not your fault what happened to the Duchess. And this is
not your fault. I do not blame you. I know she is forcing you
to participate in this plot as she did before.”

She knew he could hear her for his head turned ever so
slighting.

“Mary will not blame you either. Please! You can be a hero,
and you can save me. You can save yourself. This does not
have to be how we die. They are no better than us.”

Suddenly, a rage sprung up inside of her. All this plotting

and lying and murdering, because Lady Blinddale despised
those below her in station. A commoner was not good
enough for her brother, a baron’s daughter wasn’t good
enough. Nothing, and nobody but perhaps a royal princess
would ever be good enough for her. And so many like her.
“Listen to me. We are not less than them. They may be richer
and more powerful, but they are just people. They don’t
control us. They don’t own us. We are our own people. No
matter what she has said to you. She’s a murderer. We are
better than her. You are better than her. Please, William.”

He did not turn. And up ahead, the front wheel of the

carriage began to bounce out of control as it was coming
loose from the pulling gear.

Wind swept her bonnet from her head as she continued to

lean out of the window, now ever more certain that these
may well be her last moments on earth.

“William…” she whispered his name now. “Please, don’t let

me die. Not when I’ve only just found happiness.”

She closed her eyes and pictured Benedict and Henry. She
tried to recall every single moment she’d had with them—
from the first time she’d stepped into Benedict’s study, a
frazzled mess from her journey, to the first time she’d
known that she loved him. Tears sprang to her eyes and a
moment later, they rolled down her cheeks.
She found that the fear inside her subsided, replaced by a
sudden surge of another feeling altogether. Gratitude. She’d
known love. She’d known what it was to have a family. Even
if it had been in secret, and even if it had been brief. She’d
known it. And that was more than she ever thought possible.

It was not right, the way her life was about to end. No. It was
unfair. It was cruel. Yet there was a peacefulness in the
knowledge that she’d brought happiness to Benedict, and
that she’d restored his relationship with Henry.

Suddenly, outside, the horses neighed and the carriage

jolted. She dug her hands into the cushioned seats, certain
that this was it. But instead of crashing, the vehicle appeared
to slow.

Lucretia looked outside and up, only to see William glance

back at her, a determined expression on his face. She
watched as he further slowed the horses. Given the speed,
stopping them abruptly would have led to the carriage
separating form the pulling gear, and to their certain death.
This, of course, had been Lady Blinddale’s plan all along.
William had evidentially heeded her words and decided to do
what he knew was right.

The carriage slowed down further and finally came to a stop.

William jumped o his seat and rushed toward Lucretia,
pulling on the door.
He looked up at her and shook his head, indicating that he
did not have a key to let her out. Lucretia, suddenly aware
that her life had been saved, was overcome with fury. She
would not stay in this carriage for one moment longer.

“Step aside,” she said and William took a step to the right.
With all her might, Lucretia kicked against the door. Now
that the carriage was no longer in motion, she had some
leverage behind her and the door began to budge. She gave it
several more kicks until she was out of breath.

William appeared once more and this time, he placed one

foot against the carriage wall. With both hands around the
handle, he pulled while Lucretia pushed with her shoulder
from inside.

With their united strength, the door popped open and

Lucretia tumbled out. He caught her in time and then the two
found themselves standing across from one another, neither
sure of what to do next.

“We must return to Amberley Manor. We must inform the

Duke of what has occurred here.”

William shook his head vigorously, his hair flying about his
face. He motioned with his hands as if they were handcu ed
and Lucretia understood his fear.
“No, I will not allow them to arrest you. You have done
nothing wrong. You saved me. It was her, that hideous
woman who made an attempt on both our lives. Please,
William. I will need you to help explain what Lady Blinddale
has done, for I am certain she will give her version of events.
And if you are not there…”

He sighed, understanding that he would have to face the

Duke. He pointed toward the horses. Together, they freed
them from their harnesses. He helped her find her seat atop
the brown mare. Riding without a saddle felt strange but she
knew it was the only way to make it back to the Manor
quickly.

They had ridden only a few short paces when Lucretia’s

stomach dropped. There, on the path before them, was Lady
Blinddale. She was still in the same spot where the carriage
had taken o , waiting for the inevitable crash, no doubt.

Seeing them ride toward her now caused her face to distort
into an ugly, angry mask.

“No! No! William, you useless mute!” She screamed loud

enough for them to hear. “Good for nothing! Stop, stop at
once!”

Lucretia shook her head at the display. She had lost, she
knew there was nothing she could do but watch as they rode
by and revealed her misdeeds. There was no way she could—

“No! Lady Blinddale!” Lucretia screamed for the woman, in a

state of utter rage, had stepped into their path, directly in
front of Lucretia’s horse. She yanked on the reins, trying to
divert the horse, but it was in vain. To her horror, her brown
mare collided with Lady Blinddale, who was flung to the
ground. Lucretia, riding without a saddle, was thrown from
the horse herself and landed in the thicket by the side of the
lake.

As she fell, she heard a scream, and then the sickening sound
of bones breaking. From the corner of her eye she saw
Williams’ black horse as it dashed away from the woman. He
had not been able to avoid her, either.

There was silence. Lady Blinddale lay on the path before her,
her body contorted in an unnatural position. Her eyes were
open and lifeless and then darkness swallowed Lucretia’s
world.
 CH APT ER 28

T here was a knock on the door and Miss Hastings

entered. She was pale, and dark rings under her
eyes told the tale of nights spent without sleep and days
marked with worry.

Benedict motioned for her to come closer and she sat beside
Lucretia’s bed, where the woman he loved was still asleep.

“Has she woken at all?” She placed a hand on her friend’s

sleeping face.

He shook his head. “Not yet. The physician called on her

earlier. He hopes she will wake soon.”

It had been three days since he and Winterton had come

upon the terrible scene at Amherst Lake. Benedict had
discovered William, atop one of the horses, and Lucretia
draped across the horse’s back behind him, halfway between
the lake and Amberley. The coachman, unable to
communicate with him, had gestured wildly but it was not
until they returned home that he’d been able, via quill and
paper, to explain what had happened.

Frozen with shock, Benedict had set out that night, alongside
Winterton and Swindon, to seek out his sister. They’d found
her exactly where William had indicated. Her lifeless body
was lying on the path. He still could not quite come to terms
with her actions.

She was my sister and I loved her. Yet she is the one who robbed
me of my first love, and nearly did the same to my new love. And
why? Because they were not good enough in her eyes?

He watched Lucretia as she slept and then turned to the

young woman.

“Miss Hastings, how is William?”

She did not take her eyes o her friend. “He goes through
phases. Sometimes he will sit for hours and just stare out of
the window into the distance. No matter what I say, he will
not stir. Other times he is frantically writing notes to me, as
well as notes for you.”
She finally tore her gaze away and stuck a hand into her
pocket, retrieving several pieces of paper.

Benedict took them from her and read.

“I am sorry Your Grace. I was forced. Molly’s life was

threatened. Then Mary’s. I did not know what to do. I would
have given my life. Gladly if it meant to be absolved of the
guilt.”

There were more notes, but he felt unable to read any more.
He did not need to. William had written the entire account
down for him, both of the day Helena died, and the day that
had led to Clementine’s own demise. Both had been
harrowing, dreadful accounts.

There were gaps, things only Lucretia could fill in, but in all
honesty, Benedict wasn’t sure if he needed to hear more.

“He fears Your Grace will blame him,” Mary’s soft voice
interrupted his thoughts.

“I do not. There is only one villain here and unfortunately it

is my sister. The things she has done to him are horrific and
I cannot imagine the pain he was in all these years, having
witnessed…”
He shook his head. He could not bring himself to say the
words out loud. The murder of Helena.

“I thought perhaps, once Lucretia is recovered it may be a

good idea to take him away for a while. Somewhere away
from the estate.”

Benedict nodded, “It will be for the best, I agree.”

He did not know what the future held for the coachman. The
servants all knew what he had done, and even though it was
understood that he had been under duress, the household
would never be the same. And yet, Benedict could not see
himself dismissing the man who had just saved the woman
he loved.

Perhaps time and some distance would prove enough.

Perhaps they could all find a way to live a life that felt right,
despite all that had happened to them.

There was yet another knock, and a moment later, Mrs.

Harrison entered.

“Mrs. Harrison? Did I not order you to bed but an hour ago?”
Benedict said sternly. Mrs. Harrison had kept a vigil by
Lucretia’s bed just as he had done. He’d finally convinced her
to retire to her chamber for a while. However, it appeared
she’d changed her mind.

“Yes, Your Grace. Alas, I have unfortunate news,” she closed

the door carefully behind her and entered the room.

Benedict sighed. “More unfortunate news?”

What else could have happened?

“As I was retiring to my chamber, I was stopped by

Charlotte. It appears the events of the past few days have
inspired her to confess her part in it all.”

“Her part?” Benedict did not know the young maid well.
She’d only been in his employ for a little while. Prior to that
she’d been employed by … He stood and shook his head.

“Of course! What a fool I’ve been! She arrived here on

recommendation from my sister. It was her all along, was it
not? The rotten food, the ripped gown?”

Mrs. Harrison nodded. “Indeed, it was. She said Lady

Blinddale asked her to find ways to make Lucretia
uncomfortable, soon after she arrived. Prior to Lady
Blinddale ever meeting Lucretia. It appears Lady Blinddale
did not like that Your Grace wrote about her in quite so
glowing a manner.”

Benedict sighed and shook his head. He’d feared as much.

Mrs. Harrison was not finished.

“When Molly began her vendetta against Lucretia and Mary,

Charlotte saw a way to do just that without drawing
attention to herself. While Molly engaged in small, petty
misdeeds, such as misplacing things on purpose or over-
salting food, Charlotte would engage in rather more criminal
activities, such as the slashing of Lucretia’s gown, and …”

“The destruction of my portrait.” Benedict nodded.

“Indeed. She thought that since it was well known among

the servants that Molly was plotting against Mary and
Lucretia, all blame would go to her.”

Benedict sighed. Molly had already confessed to minor

misdeeds, but vigorously denied being the culprit in the
more serious events. It appeared she’d told the truth.

“And what did my sister do in order to coerce the young

woman into doing her bidding? Threaten anyone? Hold
anyone hostage?”
He knew he sounded bitter, but it was how he felt right now.
The disappointment, the despair his sister’s actions had
brought on him and his household were unimaginable.

The housekeeper shook her head in disappointment.

“Nothing but the promise of payment for each act, I am

afraid.”

“By Jove!” Benedict balled his hands into fists. “All this for
nothing but a few guineas. It is disgusting. Disgusting!”

He paced the room, anger consuming him.

“Where is the wench? I shall have a word with her myself

and then I shall turn her over to the authorities. I will….”

“She is waking!” Mrs. Harrison exclaimed.

“Lucretia?” He called out her name as he rushed back to her

side. Slowly, her eyes flickered open and all the anger he’d
felt for the last few days fell away. All the worry, all the grief
made way for one all-consuming emotion. Relief.
“Lucretia, my darling Lucretia,” he placed one hand on her
cheek as she opened her eyes fully. The amber speck in her
brown eyes sparkled in the candlelight. A smile appeared on
her lips and she closed her eyes once more, pushing her
cheek gently into the palm of his hand.

“How do you feel?” Mrs. Harrison leaned over Miss Hastings

to get a good look at her cousin. She opened her eyes once
more.

“I am weak. I am…I cannot quite recall what happened. Did I

fall?”

The two women looked up at Benedict, seeking his guidance.

“My darling, you did fall. But do not worry if you cannot
recall. It will all come back to you, and if not, well, I am here
to help you.”

A part of me wishes that she may never remember. Though I have

questions, so many questions, perhaps some questions are better
left unanswered. Some memories better forgotten.
“Fetch the physician, would you? Both of you.” Benedict
instructed them. Miss Hastings stood and bent over, placing
a kiss on her friend’s forehead.

“I shall be back this evening, I promise, Lucy. I am so

relieved you woke at last.”

“Rest well, my dear,” Mrs. Harrison patted her cousin’s

head. Then, the two women departed.

Lucretia looked at him. “How long have I been asleep?”

He stroked her hair, “Three long days, my dearest. I feared

you would never wake again.”

“What happened? The last thing I remember is being on a

horse and your sister, she was there and…” she squinted as if
wishing to recall the image.

“Hush, my love. Do not strain yourself. In time, I will reveal

everything you cannot remember. Now, let me just look at
you. My beautiful.”

He did just that, taking in her eyes, her lips, her face pale
from days away from the sun.
“I feared I lost you. And I came so close without even
knowing. But you are here and I shall never let you go
again.”

He pressed his forehead against hers and felt her left arm
move. In a moment, she placed her hand on the side of his
face and stroked his cheek which was full of stubble, for he
had not shaved in days.

“Oh Benedict, I am blessed to have you by my side, watching

over me.”

She turned her head toward him and he leaned forward until
his lips found hers. When he pulled away, a smile on his face,
he found himself overwhelmed with emotion.

“I shall watch over you from this day until the end of my
days. I shall keep you safe, forever. I should have told you
long ago—I love you, Lucretia Nelson.”

“And I love you, Benedict de Clare.” They gazed at once

another for a long moment and then their lips found each
other again and the darkness that had followed them both
for so much of their lives was chased away by the light of
their love.
 EPI LOGUE

S he walked slowly and carefully along the path,

Benedict steadying her as she went. It had been four
weeks since she’d fallen o the horse, four weeks since the
true nature of Lady Blinddale had been revealed.

Lucretia had recovered slowly, confined to her bedchamber

with a broken leg and many cracked ribs.

For several days after waking from her long sleep she’d been
in a merciful state of confusion. The events of the day that
had cost Lady Blinddale her life had been hazy as if a
distance dream. But then, over the course of several days, the
memories returned. Often while she slept. She would wake
with a start as another fragment of the day returned to her.

At first she would tell Benedict everything she remembered,

in great detail for he was eager for the truth, but then she
realized that it did nothing but push him into a state of
melancholy.
In any case, they had been able to paint a clear picture of the
events from the confession of Charlotte, who had been sent
away, and the descriptions of William.

It was still di cult to comprehend that she had plotted,

schemed, and murdered to preserve her family’s name in the
eye of the upper class. And, of course, to preserve her own
place in Benedict’s life. Lucretia understood now that in
Benedict’s sister’s eyes, nobody would ever have measured
up. To Lady Blinddale, she herself was the only one who
knew how to run the Manor, how to raise Henry, and even
how to advise Benedict.

Helena hadn’t been good enough, Lucretia hadn’t been,

either. Nobody ever would have. Not to Lady Blinddale.
Lucretia felt tears spring into her eyes again as she thought
about it.

“What is it, dearest?” Benedict noted her change in mood at

once and pulled her closer toward him. She shook her head.

“Nothing, Benedict. It is nothing. Just a moment of

reflection.”

He nodded. “I experience them frequently myself. But we

cannot live in the past—a beautiful, smart woman once told
me that. We must move forward. There is so much good in
the future for us.”

She smiled and kissed his smooth cheek. She admired him,
really. He handled the betrayal of his sister, and her untimely
passing, with much more restraint that she had expected.
She had feared he would once more fall into depression and
hide behind his portraits. However, he did not.

He devoted much of his time to his son, who was badly

shaken by the death of his beloved aunt. Benedict had helped
the child adjust to this loss by engaging him in play and
taking an interest in his studies. Many days, while Lucretia
was bound to her bed, Benedict would bring both Henry and
the schoolbooks to her bedside, and together, the three of
them would study. It had felt natural and comforting after
the upheaval.

They walked together along the porch toward the gazebo

until Lucretia felt herself growing tired.

“I must take a rest, if you do not mind.”

A flash of disappointment crossed his face.

“Of course, of course. But do you think you might take just a
few more steps? To the bench over yonder? I have something
spectacular I’d like to show you.”

She looked ahead. The bench was only a few more steps and
the curiosity of what he wanted to show her proved a
wonderful motivator.

They pressed on until they reached the end of the porch

where the marvelously decorated marble bench sat. He
helped her sit, raising her injured leg up on a small table that
sat beside the bench, and then rushed away, shouting, “I
shall return in a moment!”

“Benedict!” she called out, rousing the attention of two

passing servants who looked up and grinned.

While they were as yet unwed, the entire household was

aware of their courtship, and for the most part seemed
happy for them.

Molly, the force behind some of the minor irritations Mary

and Lucretia had to contend with, had been humbled by the
knowledge it was William’s love for her that had forced him
to participate in the murder of the Duchess. Indeed, the
knowledge had caused quite the turnaround in the formerly
sullen maid. She’d grown outright pleasant toward Lucretia
and accepting of Mary and her budding romance with
William.
The thought of her friend and her newly betrothed ached, for
she missed her. Mary and William had been on a journey
along the English coast for the past three weeks. She knew it
was for the best, as both of them needed space to recover.

Still, she missed her friend. The two exchanged frequent

letters via messenger, however, it was not the same and
Lucretia could not wait for Mary’s return. There was so much
planning to do for the upcoming weddings. The thought of
both herself and Mary getting married made her smile.

“Lucretia!” Her cousin’s voice called out with some alarm.

She turned and saw Betsy rushing toward her, a blanket in
her hands.

“I cannot fathom the Duke’s actions,” she complained as she

covered Lucretia’s body with the warm blanket. “To take you
out here in the depth of winter without a proper cover. You’ll
catch your d…” she stopped, horrified at her own words.
“I’m sorry, I…”

She reached for Betsy’s hand and gave her a squeeze.

“It is quite all right. Please, do not fret. Here, sit beside me.
Benedict has something exciting he wishes to show me.”

Betsy’s lips widened as she broke into a grin.

“Ah yes, that is right. He told me.” She sat beside her as
Lucretia shared her blanket with her cousin. “You will be
ever so pleased.”

“You both are making me rather curious.”

Just then, Benedict appeared around the corner, hastening

toward them. He clapped his hands together and then
cupped them around his mouth.

‘Come now!” he called out loudly and took a seat to

Lucretia’s left.

From just behind the gazebo, she detected motion and

voices. Children’s voices that went from excited chatter to
giggles. Lucretia craned her neck to see better and then they
appeared.

Lord Winterton rode out from behind the bushes on his new
beautiful white steed. Behind him was his son, Horace, on a
pony, and following behind him was Frances. And behind
her, sitting confidently atop his own pony, was Henry.

“By Jove! He is riding.”

“And loving it, too.” Benedict beamed proudly at his son as
the boy followed behind his friends. Slowly, the small
procession made their way toward them. When they were at
eye level, Lord Winterton stopped his horse and raised his
hat to her.

“Why, if it isn’t the future Duchess of Tradegrove. How

lovely to see you looking well,” he bowed theatrically on his
horse, sending the children into giggles. Then he placed his
hat back on his head and set his horse into motion again. The
children followed suit, waving at the trio on the bench as
they passed. When it was Henry’s turn to pass by them, he
stopped, his face flushed with pride.

“Lucretia!” He exclaimed. He’d taken to calling her by her

first name in recent days. Given that she would be his
stepmother soon, she did not mind it at all. “I am riding, do
you see?”

“I see. And you don’t look the least bit afraid.”

He shook his head. “I am not. Papa taught me to ride, and

how to take care of Marble.”

“Marble?”
“Tis her name!” He patted the pony’s long neck with pride.

“A splendid name, I declare!” Benedict said. “Now, join your

friends for their ride, son. And tonight perhaps we can have
dinner together?”

The little boy beamed and he nodded before following his

friends.

“Speaking of dinner, I am needed in the kitchen. Now, Your

Grace, you best not keep my cousin out here in this cold for
too long, lest you both freeze to the bench,” Betsy chuckled.

“I promise to return her unfrozen,” Benedict replied.

With that, Betsy made her way back to the house. Lucretia
looked towards the children and Lord Winterton who were
riding into the woods. She placed her head on Benedict’s
shoulder and he pressed his head against hers.

“I only wish all this had come to us in an easier way,” she

sighed.

“As do I, my darling, as do I. However, at least we can rest

assured that whatever di culty lies ahead of us, it will be
nothing compared to what we have already endured.”

“I must admit, I was frightened by the way the lords and

ladies of the upper class will react to me becoming your wife,
but I am no longer worried. For none of their reactions can
be as frightful as those of your sister.”

Benedict grimaced. “You are right. And in a way, her actions,

her atrocities against you and Helena, will ensure that once
you do come out into society with me, nobody will dare
mistreat you for they would be considered cruel and
heartless, given all you have su ered. What we both have
su ered.”

She sighed. “Truly, I do not much care about what society

thinks, for I am happy. Happy to be accepted for who I am by
the people that matter most.”

She glanced up at him, “And loved just as I am by the only

man I’ve ever loved.”

He stroked her cheek.

“You are loved, so very loved.” He gently kissed her lips

which were cold from the chilly weather. “And soon, very
soon, we will at last be man and wife.”
As the snow began to fall, Benedict and Lucretia wrapped
their arms around one another on the porch and fell into a
long kiss, sealing their love and promise to one another,
from now until forever.

The End?
 EXT END ED EPI LOG UE

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relationship evolved? Then enjoy this free complimentary
short story featuring the beloved couple.

Simply TAP HERE to read it now for FREE! or use this link:
http://emmalinfield.com/7bs1 directly in your browser.

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But before you go, turn the page for an extra sweet treat
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PREVIEW: THE BREAKING DAWN OF A
FALLEN DUKE
 CH APT ER 1

H is heartbeat raced as he flew through the hallway.

His breath burst in and out in tandem with the
creaking floorboards. Damian jumped the stairs two at a
time; his terror mounted with every step. Beads of sweat
rolled down his forehead, and the door appeared before him.
He kicked it down.
His midnight blue eyes darted nervously across the room.
“What is going on in here?”
The air was stu y and smelled of sweat and sex. Squeaking
and creaking and moans and giggles escaped from the other
rooms along the hallway.
The older man tensed his wide shoulders, squinted his angry
eyes at the interruption, and rumbled, “What the bloody ‘ell
do you want?”
Damian clenched his teeth and continued to scan the sight.
Clothes were strewn about the small room, and bedsheets
tossed on the floor. He spotted the jack weight standing over
the terrified young blonde. Damian didn’t care if the man
flared his nostrils, or his beady eyes looked furious. He was
focused on her. He noted one eye was blackened, red marks
marred her delicate, nude skin, and she was crying. The man
held a folded belt in his hands.
Damian glared at the ru an. “What do you think you’re
doing? No gentleman is to strike a lady in here.” He felt his
face getting hot. “It is strictly forbidden.”
The man slapped his pot belly and bent over laughing. “Well,
when I find a lady, I’ll make sure not to ‘it ‘er.” The crown of
his head was bald, and his sideburns were long and dark.
“But this ‘ere,” he bared his yellow teeth and raised his chin,
“this ‘ere is nothing but a run of the mill doxy, and I’ll be
damned if I let someone like you tell me what I can or cannot
do.”
Damian sighed and raised his hands. He needed to control
himself. This wasn’t the time for violence. Meryl lay on the
bed and obviously needed care. “Look.” Damian kept his
voice controlled and steady. “Just put your clothes on and
come out peacefully. We can sort this out like civilized men.”
Come on, I’m o ering you a way out. Take it!
The man’s skin flushed. “You?” He shook his head and his
neck corded. “You think you can throw me out?” He cracked
his neck from side to side. “Do you have any idea who I am,
boy?”
Oh, that’s how you want to play it? Damian smirked. “From
what I can tell, a fat bully, who’s too much a coward to take
on a man, so he takes his frustrations out on helpless
women.” His muscles quivered. “Did I miss anything?”
The older man’s wild eyes widened, and he screamed as he
lunged at younger man.
Damian dodged the punch.
The fat man’s veins strained against his reddened skin as
tried to hit his target.
But the younger man was faster.
Controlling his breathing and harnessing his fluttering
chest, Damian danced around his tiring stout foe. His heart
pounded. An opening would appear at any moment. His
expression tightened. There. The man dropped his guard.
Damian smiled and unleashed a savage right hook on his
jaw.
The defeated man fell on his hands and knees. He was
wheezing, and his entire body was quaking. “You –” He spat
blood on the carpetless floorboards. “You’re dead.” He
jumped up with a guttural roar. His hand clenched a knife.
Oh darn. The fear of imminent death was stabbing at
Damian’s mind and thoughts, and he took a step back. This
wasn’t good. A fistfight was one thing, but with a knife in
play… He frowned. A chill went down his back. Just dodging
was no longer an option, he’d have to block.
He panicked. But block with what? The room was scant with
bare walls holding only one window, and the only furniture
being a simple wooden desk and the wide bed.
The man slowed his breathing and narrowed his gaze at the
younger man.
Damn it, he’s calming down. Though, at this point, I doubt he’d
consider talking. Damian sighed and shook his head.
The clothes were an option, though an unsafe one. He
gulped. He could use a pillow, but getting to those would be
tricky. He’d have to time it perfectly. What should I do?
The man pinched his mouth and stepped forward. His lip
curled. He swiped a few times, but nothing hit.
Okay, this is how it has to be. I can do this. He took a deep breath
and waited. The man struck again. Shivers ran through
Damian. He rolled forward under the strike instead of
dodging and landed next to the bed. His stomach became a
bottomless pit. His mouth dried out. This is it! He lunged
forward, grabbed a pillow, and turned around to block. His
heart skipped a beat as the knife stabbed up to the hilt into
the pillow. Yes!
He chuckled. “I got you now!” With a racing heartbeat
drumming in his chest, he threw the pillow and knife away
and kicked his adversary in the stomach as hard as he could.
The man wheezed and coughed as he fell down. His lips were
smiling, even as his eyes were glaring. “You fool.” He spat at
the feet of an approaching Damian. “You have no idea what
you just did. You have no idea who you’re messing with.” His
jaw clenched. “You’re dead.” Then he suddenly laughed.
“Your harlots are dead.” He raised his chin and eyebrows.
“This building will burn.”
Damian approached the brute. No, not a man. This was an
animal. “Oh yeah? And what makes you so confident of
that?”
The man grinned and raised his head, a mad glean filling his
eyes. “I’m Jack Baxter’s brother.”
Damian’s next punch knocked the man unconscious, and he
proceeded to drag the porker outside and dump him into the
rain.
“This was a huge mistake on your part, Turner.” The spindly
woman was sitting behind a mahogany desk full of papers,
and her thin lips were pinched.
The coils in his stomach were wound so tight, he wanted to
scream, but instead, he shook his head and sighed “Well,
what was I supposed to do?” He had that exasperated look on
his face. “He was beating Meryl.” No one got to hurt his
sisters and get away with it. No one.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and drummed her fingers.
She had the now-that-was-dumb look on her face. “Be that
as it may, there had to have been a better way of handling
this.” Her face was diamond shaped, with hints of wrinkles
on her eyes, and her cheeks were sunken.
The room they were in was big, with paintings lining the
walls. Two bookcases sat behind the desk, and a red wool rug
laid on the floor. There were also two more chairs in the
room, as well as a sofa. Flames were crackling in a fireplace.
The air was heavy with perfume, and the inarticulate —and
not so pleasant —grunts and groans thankfully did not
penetrate.
He snorted, but his voice had no power in it. “He attacked
me.” He avoided meeting her gaze. She had this bad habit of
staring into your soul when she was angry with you. He
shuddered, internally, of course. Heavens forbid she see him
and ask what was up. “He pulled a knife on me.” With
another sigh, he looked into her brown eyes for the first time
since coming in. “He never gave me a chance, madam.” Yup,
there’s the soul stare.
Her shoulders slumped. “Well. What’s done is done. But we
still need to handle what is to come.” She looked at him with
eyelids half dropped. “What do you know of Jack Baxter?”
“Pretty much nothing.”
“I’m not surprised; he keeps to himself as much as he can
help it.” She giggled. “Though, you could say that we ran
into one another a few times. Concerning business, of
course.”
He chuckled. “Of course.” Humph, who knew the madam
had a love life? Not that she was ugly, mind you, but – his
stomach rolled, as fingers of cold glided down his neck –
who knew what those creepy eyes of hers could do in a
situation like that. “But why is it such a big deal, then, if he’s
such a recluse?” Besides, that line of thought was pretty
much thinking of the love life of one’s mother to him… Aw,
great, now that picture is stuck in my head.
She stared at her palm. Her voice thickened. “Because his
crew isn’t.” Her posture sagged. “Baxter runs a hell down
under old man Mercer’s abandoned factory.” She made
vague gestures with her hands. “Runs a thief and thief-taker
business on the side, too. Not to mention that he has so
much blunt he can practically drown in it.”
Damian dropped his head into his palms. “And I beat up his
brother…” Stupid, Damian, stupid!
The madam nodded and took a deep breath. “Now you see
our problem.” She shook her head. “Not to mention what a
mean crew he has. They carry guns at all times and aren’t
afraid to use them.”
“And now I’m in their black books…”
She nodded.
The magnitude of his decision hovered over him like a
vulture circling its next meal. What should I do?
He felt a heavy weight settling on his chest. I could run.
He bit his lip. No, that wouldn’t work. I’d have to spend the rest
of my life running and looking over my shoulder.
He closed his eyes and rubbed them. Not to mention what
they’ll do to the girls here. So, that’s not an option.
He swallowed and cracked his neck. Could I kill him?
He pressed his hands on his stomach. No… No, I couldn’t. I’m
no killer.
He chuckled. Besides, I’d get jumped way before I ever got to
him.
He took a deep breath and crossed himself. No, there’s only
one choice…
“You done having an internal breakdown?”
“Huh?” He snapped his gaze up, only to see the madam
smiling at him. Cursed old women, thought they could make
fun of him! Oh, who was he kidding, he would’ve done the
same to her. “Yes, sorry. I was just thinking about what I
could do.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “I’m just going to play it by the ear. Meet with
him. Try to work things out,” his gaze dropped, “or at least
try to make sure he takes his revenge only on me and leaves
you all alone.”
Her chin tremored as she stood up and approached him; he
rose from his chair. “You come back to me, you hear?” She
caressed his cheeks and high cheekbones. “You come back.”
She hugged him.
He nodded and left with no goodbyes. What could he have
even said? “I promise not to die?” His heart tightened in his
chest as he stepped onto the street. Nonsense. He started
walking. As if he could tell her something like that.

Old man Mercer’s abandoned factory loomed over him like

the gallows. His face was ashen, and cold sweat rolled down
his neck. This was it. He wanted to move, but he was frozen
to the spot. Stuck, watching those would-be gallows and the
noose tightening around his neck. I can do this… There was no
going back now. He took a step forward…
And then something hit him on the back of the head hard
enough to knock him out.

He groaned and rapidly blinked. Ugh, what hit me? His head
was heavy and dropped down. He was dizzy. His mind was a
haze.
Where am I?
He tried moving, but he could only struggle. Apparently, he
was tied to something. A chair? Heat rushed through his
body.
I feel like I’m forgetting something really important right now.
What was he doing before? He shook his head. He was back
home this morning… He was minding his own business,
when…
Oh, damn! He opened his eyes and looked around. He was in
an empty room with torches—of all things— lining the
stone walls.
“I have a flair for the dramatic, you see.” The voice was gru
and came from behind him.
He shook his head and cracked his neck. “What?”
A man appeared in front of him. “I assumed you would ask
about the torches.” He was tall, though not as tall as
Damian, and broad shouldered. “Everyone always does.” He
shrugged. “They are purposely made to be very medieval.”
He grinned; a missing tooth was visible in the flickering
light. “Then again, you are in my dungeon, so…”
Damian snorted and o ered a friendly smiled. “Jack Baxter, I
suppose?”
The man bowed his head. “At your service.” Then, he smiled.
“My two friends behind you are Rick and Tom.”
“What two…” His question was interrupted, quite rudely in
his opinion, by two slaps on the back of his head. Wonderful,
he has gorillas here too. As if life hasn’t already bent me over
enough…
He nodded and slumped his shoulders. “Well, I wanted to
meet you. This is as good a chance as any.”
“Quite.” Baxter chuckled. “I have to say, you are a tall lad.”
His tone was monotonous, and his face blank. This really
wasn’t a good time to dillydally. Get it over with and go
home, as Damian always said.
“I’m here to talk about what happened with your brother.”
The older man gestured a “no” with his finger. “There’s
nothing to talk about there, my friend. You did what you did,
and I’m going to do what I’m going to do. That’s all there is
to it.”
Damian’s brow furrowed. This smells funny. His jaw set.
“Really?” There was a strong coppery feel to the air, and it
smelled of human excrement. “Then why am I still alive?”
Baxter’s smile failed to reach his eyes. “I like to consider
myself a businessman first and foremost. We’re here to talk
about what you can do for me.” He spread his arms. “After
all, reclusive I may be, but I’m no fool. I’d rather get a man
in dun territory than darken his daylights.” His smile
widened into a grin. “So, tell me, Mr. Whatever-Your-
Name-Is, what can you o er me to save yourself?”
Damian dropped his gaze, and his hands went limp. Like you
don’t know my name… Humph… You knew everything there is to
know about me before I even approached this dreadful place. His
heart thudded dully in his numb chest. What can I o er you,
though? He had a tight dry feeling in his throat and the
inability to see a positive outcome. I have no money, nor
business… I have no useful acquaintances, or connections. I have
no political power…
He clenched his jaw and looked straight at the older man.
“For you, Mr. Baxter, I only have my sincerest apologies to
give.”
“Ah…” The man shook his head. “That won’t do. If I start
letting people o easy like that, I’ll find myself dished up.”
He scratched his pointy chin and focused his small, brown
eyes at his captive. “Tell you what, I’ll take over that
establishment of those lovely light-skirts you were so keen
on defending. I must say, it’s kind of poetic.” He chuckled.
“I’ll need you to handle the transfer of ownership, of course,
I’d rather not run into the madam again, thank you very
much.”
Take over? Damian’s skin flushed, and he struggled against
his binds like a raging bull. This upstart criminal wanted to
invade his home? Oh, he’d kill him. He didn’t know when
and how, but he’d kill him. “You leave them alone!” His
voice was hoarse and cracked, and his eyes mad. “You go
nowhere near them, you hear me?!”
The man tilted his head and laughed. “Temper, temper.” He
clenched his jaw and glared at his captive. “Alas, you should
be more mindful of it. You are in less than a favorable
position to be making threats.”
I don’t care! I’m going to find a way to get you! But… He sighed.
Gosh darn it, he’s right. I can’t be rash now… He deflated and
dropped his gaze to the floor. “I apologize, you’re right.” He
gulped and looked into the man’s eyes with his own
glistening. “Anything else, I beg you. Just leave them be.”
Baxter tapped his nose and raised his head. “Hm. What to do
with you…” He snapped his fingers. “I know!” His attention
went back to Damian with a grin. “You can help me out a bit.
See, there’s some people that really need to go away, and—”
“No.”
“No?”
“No chance.”
The man squinted and flared his nostrils. “Then we are at an
impasse. And, since you can o er me nothing…”
Before Damian could reply, however, Baxter looked behind
him and disappeared. It seemed as if he was talking to
someone, although Damian couldn’t really tell what it was
about. He made out something about “an estate,” a “Mr.
Macon,” and “taking over.” Then, Baxter came back with a
grin reaching from ear to ear.
Damian raised an eyebrow. “Good news?” Hopefully, whatever
it is, has put him in a good enough mood to help my situation.
The man clapped his hands and laughed. “Oh, just the best.”
He put his hands on the younger man’s knees and got into
his face, his grin became shark-like, and his voice grew
deeper and chillier. “I’ve decided what I’m going to do with
you.”
 CH APT ER 2

H er heart raced as she tiptoed through the dark

hallway. Her wide grin showed her pearly white
teeth, and her dark eyes sparkled with gleam. She was
actually doing it! Her body was as light as a feather. She was
actually sneaking out while everyone listened to her aunt’s
boring speech! Her hands were tingling.
“Going somewhere, are we?”
She froze. The melodious voice coming from behind her was
far too chipper and far too familiar to her. She turned around
and made a shushing gesture.
“Sorry, I’ll speak more quietly.” The girl standing before her
was lithe, with a heart shaped face and lustrous, long dark
hair. She giggled. “We mustn’t let anyone find us, after all…”
Gabriella sighed and got in the girl’s face. “What do you
want, Josephine?”
The girl pulled back and put her hand over her mouth. “Lady
Gabriella, that is most improper.”
She giggled. What? Nobody said she had to be all prim and
proper in her mind. She had to have some freedom. Not like
anyone could read it anyway. Though, she did avoid thinking
certain words, just in case…
“Stop it. Nobody saw you leave.” She squinted and pursed
her full lips. “Nobody saw you leave, correct? You managed to
make your escape unfollowed?”
The taller girl waved her hand. “Be at ease, we may speak
freely.” She had high cheekbones and was wearing an
emerald green gown. “Not only was I unnoticed, but I
managed to ensure that your little escapade remains
unseen.”
She raised her eyebrow. “How so?”
“Oh, well…”
“What?”
“I’m unsure if I should tell you…”
The two girls huddled in a long narrow hallway, where and
paintings, marble statues, and knights’ armors covered its
walls. Beneath them ran a plush blue carpet.
This was going to be something extremely stupid and either
funny to her friend or extremely bad for her. There was no
third option with Josie. Gabriella frowned and tilted her
head. “Why wouldn’t you tell me, oh my dear Josephine?”
The girl pouted and raised her wide chin. “Because you were
rude.” The air was stale, but the smell of perfume and
exquisite flowers lingered.
Indeed. Stupid it was. Oh, God, why now… She ran her hand
over her face. “Must you make me ask?”
Josie remained silent.
Gabriella sighed. “Very well.” Her expression was pinched,
and her eyes narrowed. “Why was I rude, Josephine?” She
crossed her arms and started tapping her foot.
“Fine, fine, no need to be angry with me.” The sounds of the
party reverberated through the corridor. The speech was still
going strong. “Your aunt was looking for you before the
speech.” She smirked and leaned in. “She said she had a
lovely young man whom she wanted you to meet.”
Troublesome aunts. Gabriella groaned and squeezed the back
of her neck. “Of course, she did.” She drew a long breath and
sneered. “Because that is what I need— more high-in-the-
instep peers who want nothing more from me than to be
obedient and pretty.” God forbid anyone ever ask her about
her feelings or anything. No, seriously, that would be asking
for too much. Which wasn’t proper. She snorted. Stupid
society.
Josie gently squeezed her friend’s shoulder and lowered her
voice. “Gabby, are you okay?”
Yeah, I’m so happy I’m just about to jump up and dance. She
shook her head. No! Bad Gabby! No insulting Josie. She sighed,
and her voice was strained. “No, Josephine, I’m not okay.”
Josie smiled and raised her eyebrow. “Do you feel like the
only purpose society has is to ruin your life in as many ways
as possible again?”
Humph… Stupid Josie, knowing her so well. “No!” Her throat
closed up, and her stomach hardened. “Maybe…”
Her chest tightened. She sighed. “I just don’t understand.”
Her lips pinched together. “I can’t comprehend this society,
which expects the sole purpose of my life to be to marry and
be a good wife and lady.”
Her nostrils flared, and her jaw clenched. “What about what
I want?” Her face reddened, and she ground her teeth.
“What if I want to explore the world? Go on an adventure?
Start a company?”
Her body tensed, and heat flushed through her. “I’m smart. I
can work, and I’ll bet you I’d be better at it than most men.”
The other girl rubbed Gabby’s back and spoke in a soothing
tone. “There, there. It will be fine, you’ll see. Society will
change… Eventually.”
Yeah, in about a hundred years. A hundred and fifty tops. Her lips
spread into a narrow smile, but her eyes watered. “I’m not
so sure it will. It’s all right, Josephine.” She stepped away
and held her friend’s hands. “Can you go back in there and
cover for me? I really need to get away for a while…”
The girl nodded and slipped back among the guests, while
Gabriella escaped the house with her gaze dropped down and
a sour taste in her mouth.
However, when she descended the steps into the cold night
air, which smelled of recently passed rain, one more voice
greeted her. It was deep and strong, but kind as well. “Where
are you going?”
She stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes. Damn. “You
tell me, Father.”
“Ah, I see. This would be about your aunt’s newest attempt
at getting you a good suitor, wouldn’t it?”
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. Stupid Father,
knowing her so well. “You and I seem to have a di erent
understanding of the word.” She turned around and glared at
him. “Then again, I’ve forgotten that the selfish desires of
girls to lead a life they would be satisfied with are… selfish.”
Her father was just a bit taller than her and had a skinny
frame. His brow wrinkled, and his bushy eyebrows furrowed.
“My dear daughter, are you…”
“Do not finish that sentence!”
He chuckled. “Feeling like the only purpose society has is to
ruin your life in as many ways as possible again?”
I am not dignifying that with a response.
He sighed and shook his head. “We’re not trying to hurt you,
daughter.” He stepped towards her, holding his hands
behind his back. “We’re trying to help you.” He shook his
head. “We just want you to be happy…”
“Do not tell me that.” Her hands shook, and her voice
vibrated. “I will never be happy in a loveless marriage in
which I am little more than an obedient bed warmer.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t have to be
loveless, my darling. You simply need to give it a chance.
Knowing one another comes with time, and, with that, will
come love.” He gazed at her with sorrow. “Or are you
insinuating that your mother and I have a loveless and poor
marriage?”
Oh, low blow, Father. But I shall not be bested yet! Her lip curled,
and her shoulders pushed back. “Mother doesn’t share my
values. We have di erent desires and ambitions.” She put
her hands on her hips. “Do not drag her into this.”
He raised his arms and nodded; he was giving up. “Very well.
This is a pointless argument right now as it is.” He
approached her and hugged her. “I sincerely apologize, my
dearest. I did not come here to quarrel with you.”
Ha! Take that! Victory for Gabriella. However, she then
remembered that her father and Society were still winning
the war that was her love life, so the sweet nectar of victory
became the bitter bile of defeat. Not that she was going to be
a bad sport about it, mind you. She leaned into his embrace
and smiled. “I know, Father. Thank you.”
“I assumed you’d want to leave, but I want you to promise
me one thing?”
She squinted and stepped away from him. “Which would
be?” Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say…
He smirked. “Do not slip away from your escort this time.”
She hung her head. Damn him, he saw right through her
master plan. “Do I have to?”
“Yes.”
Curse you, Father, and your tyrannical ways! She tilted her head.
Then again… “All right. You win. I promise I will not move
away from my escort.”
He pressed his lips together and squinted. “Curiously
specific.”
Ha! Spot that loophole if you can! She giggled and nodded.
He shook his head and went back inside without a word.

Weightlessness and warmth infused and permeated her body

as she stepped on the street and ambled ahead. Her genius
scheme had worked! Her stomach fluttered. Her heart raced.
She smiled from ear to ear. I never promised I wouldn’t hide
and let him move away from me…
Chills unrelated to the weather sprung up within her. She’d
gotten lost. Her chest tingled and weighted down with
confusion. I don’t understand— how did this happen? Her limbs
were shaking. I kept to the main street. I took that one left turn
and that one right… Her heartbeat was sluggish. Well, no use
thinking about it now. I have to find a way back.
She discovered the alleyway she was in was narrow and long.
Seriously, what was it with Society and narrow alleys? She
walked slowly, dragging her footsteps. There was little light,
and buildings loomed far above on each side, like grand trees
in an evil forest. Her oval face was contorted and cringing.
All of the side passages were identical to her. For which, of
course, she blamed her hated enemy. Society! She held her
elbows close to her sides.
Where am I supposed to go? She gulped. How am I supposed to
get home?
Hairs lifted on her nape and arms. A clanking sound had
come from one of the side passages. That wasn’t normal,
right?
Must’ve been a cat… Hopefully…
Her face steadily turned ashen as more sounds resounded
from other passageways. Metal hitting wood, clanking of
metal against metal, and mewing. Her hands were clammy.
All right, that was definitely not normal.
What is going on here? Her chin trembled. Her heart raced.
What is it with all this noise? She held her breath and sped up.
The streetlamps flickered, and the shadows danced around
her like imps, ready to devour her. Ice and numbness oozed
into her stomach. The noise rumbling around her became a
thundering cacophony. Then she saw them. Shadowy faces,
standing all around her, with only their leery smiles visible.
She shuddered. Her breathing quickened and shallowed.
None of them had eyes, but she knew they were wolfing
every inch of her with their gazes.
I need to get out of here. She hyperventilated and sprinted
away. What do I do? What do I do? The shades flew after her.
The unseen faces and their leery smiles hunted her. Spots
appeared in her vision. Oh, God, they’re catching up to me. Her
chest hurt. Adrenaline and pain coursed through her legs.
“Hey, you! Stop!” The deep voice came from behind her.
Oh no! Heartbeat racing and body quaking, she turned around
without breaking stride. There was a tall, muscular man
hunting her, a frown on his face, and his jaw clenched shut.
Her lungs were on fire. Her feet were lead. She couldn’t fail!
Wind beat against her face. Her limbs were tingling with
fatigue and numbness. The bang of her shoes against the
rough, chipped, and filthy cobblestones echoed through the
dark alley. Her heart ached. This isn’t happening. This can’t be
happening… Tears fell from her eyes like a waterfall from a
mountain peak. Why me?
Pain erupted from her back as she was pushed down. Her
face banged against the rough stone, and a weight pressed
down from above her.
She sighed, and her cheeks burned. This is it, huh? Her chin
tremored. No escape now… She started sobbing.
The deep voice was but a whisper in her ear. “Finally. I’ve
got you.”
 CH APT ER 3

E very inch of his body screamed at him in pain akin to

the one of being burned alive as he hobbled down the
darkened alleyway. Each bruise was like a crater pulling
tender flesh in. Yet, his chin was high, and his neck exposed.
A smirk was on his face, and, underneath the screaming
pain, warmth coursed through his body.
His walk was unhurried, his movements relaxed. Yet, his
chest was aching, and his throat sore. There was a shortage
of energy within him, like a streetlamp running out of oil.
Had he won or lost? He couldn’t tell.
He shook his head. There was a time for thinking about what
had happened, but it was not now. He had preparations to
make.
Well, he had had preparations to make until he saw a young
woman, wearing a ruby red dressing gown of all things,
running by him as if the devil himself was after her.
He furrowed his eyebrows and started blinking rapidly. What
the deuce was that about? He shook his head and massaged his
temples. And who wears a dressing gown to this part of town?
His face tightened, and he pressed his lips. Whoever she was,
she obviously needed help. Rich folk like that didn’t belong
in the slums. Not if they valued their lives and possessions
anyway.
Well, at least it would be easy to catch up to her… Right?

Good Lord and heavens above, it wasn’t easy to catch up with

her. He shook his head. How did she manage to run that fast?
She was like a woman possessed. He was panting as he
finally managed to tackle her. I wish I didn’t have to be so
rough, lady, but you left me no choice. He was still wheezing, so
all he could manage was a whisper in her ear. “Finally, I got
you.” It was time to get some answers.
Unfortunately, she stayed silent. Odd, considering he did his
best to tackle her as painlessly as possible. Hmm. This calls for
a change in tactics!
“Hey, if I let you go, will you stay still and have a civilized
conversation with me?” He raised an eyebrow.
She gasped for breath and nodded.
He slowly let go of her and stood up. His breathing was
coming back under control, and the burning in his muscles
was fading. The rest of his body still hurt like hell though.
She hugged her knees and dropped her gaze.
Somehow, she still seemed less than willing to talk. Which
was kind of odd, considering she really had nothing to be
that afraid o . Honestly, she was behaving like he was some
kind of psychopath. He spoke softly and made peaceful
gestures with his hands. “It’s all fine, you can talk to me.”
Come on, rich girl, ease up; I’m no threat.
The girl was shorter than him, though that made her about
as tall as anyone else these days. After all, he was a tall lad.
She shook her head, making her long, curly black hair swivel
and swing.
He relaxed his posture and slowed his breaths. “What’s the
problem?” His muscles eased. “Are you afraid of me?” For
some reason?
The girl gulped down a ball of air and slowly nodded.
Seriously? What did I do to deserve such blatant bias?
She had an oval face with soft features, as if they had been
drawn by a feather and left there to become bones and
cheeks. Yet, they were symmetric and harmonious, and fit
together like pieces of an intricate puzzle.
He loosened his limbs, and the tension and stress left him.
“Look…” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It doesn’t
have to be like this…” He grinned and o ered his hand.
“Let’s just do this the easy way, huh? Let me help you.”
She smiled and allowed him to raise her up. Finally, she was
seeing his benevolent nature. Lightness sprung up in his
chest. This was easy enough. Now all he had to do was get
her home, and his good deed for the… “OW!” Her foot found
a way between his legs, and pain in his nether regions
erupted like a volcano.
She sprinted o again, without ever so much as a glance
backward. He shook his head, kneeling on the cracked
cobblestone, and gingerly held his crotch. He felt the wind
knocked out of him as he lay on the ground in a defenseless
fetal position waiting for the pain to subside. What was that
about? I was trying to help you, you silly girl! Damn, this hurts!
His groin kept throbbing – seriously, he was beginning to
wonder if he’d ever have children – and his injured body still
in pain. He struggled to his feet and rushed after her as the
icy air bombarded his face.
Beyond question, he promptly caught her again. Not that
he’d expected anything less. Besides, he couldn’t let
something happen to her. He was invested now. This time,
however, he made her sit on the back of her legs.
“Please don’t do that again.” His trembling voice
reverberated through the empty alleyway. One didn’t go out
into the dark in the slums. Not when only one in five
streetlamps worked, and even those always had little oil.
Which made him wonder why in heaven’s name was he out
in this ungodly hour… Oh, right, the Baxter problem. “It
really hurt.”
She glared at him in silence.
“I don’t understand…” His voice was strained, his throat
closing up. “Why are you being so di cult?” He could feel
pressure building in his skull. “I’m trying to help you, you
dumb cow.”
A bull-like snort rushed through her flared nostrils. “Oh, I’m
aware of how you intended to help me, sir.” Her expression
tightened, and her face reddened. “And I refuse to sully and
dishonor the name of my family by allowing you to do so
without resistance!”
“What are you even talking about?” He threw his hands in
the air in surrender. “I’m trying to be nice here, stupid!”
Her lips curled. “Oh, I’m sure you are.” She tried to stay
strong on wobbly legs. “Violating and possibly murdering
me will feel really nice for you, of that I am certain.”
His eyebrows shot up, and his mouth fell open. “What?” He
took a step back. Her response made his skin prickle in
disbelief. “I’m not going to violate and possibly murder
you!” Then again, we are alone… in the slums… at night… and I
tackled her to the ground from behind…
He just managed to stop himself with a quick slap. I’m a
bloody idiot.
A passive-aggressive smile spread on her face, and she
blinked “Oh, then you must intend to violate and definitely
murder me.” She pursed her lips and clenched her jaw.
“Good to know.”
He let out a long breath and closed his eyes. “Look…” His
gaze met hers. “I’m not…” He ground his teeth. “What is it
with you and being violated?” Honestly, was this lady that
paranoid?
She shrugged. “I’m a good looking, aristocratic, young
woman.” Her jaw tensed, and she looked into his eyes
without blinking.
All right, that much was true…
“And men are randy pigs, who only ever think of sliding
between a woman’s legs.” She smirked.
That was also true. He really should have been more ardent
in spending time with other men. This was just
embarrassing…
He crossed his arms, and his eyelids dropped. “I don’t only
think of sliding between a woman’s legs.” Ha! Beat that!
She squinted at him. “Are you a sodomite?”
…
She’s beaten it.
“I most certainly am not!” The veins in his neck pulsed.
Her ears turned red, and she cleared her throat. “All right, all
right, just checking.” Her posture slumped. “So, if you’re
intending to neither violate nor murder me, might I ask what
you want, good sir?”
Sti ness took hold of his neck. It was about bloody time…
The headache was drumming like it was directing redcoats.
“I just want to help you get home.” He sighed and squeezed
his forehead. “If I may?”
She angled away from him and wrinkled her brow. “Why?”
Because I’m a Good Samaritan, obviously. However, then his
gaze lost focus on a moment, and a smile tried to creep up on
his face but failed. There was another reason, of course. One
that was as ingrained in him as the rule to never enter any
room in the brothel without knocking. Ever! “I was raised by
a group of women.” His breathing slowed, and his body
relaxed. “They taught me to never abandon a lady in need.”
His shoulders pushed back. “And, as ugly as it sounds,
dressed like that, you’ll find yourself robbed in this part of
town.” His chest tingled and burned. “And definitely violated
and possibly murdered.” He sighed. “So, please, just let me
help you get home safely. All right?”
She smiled. “I would very much appreciate that.”
He returned her smile and bent over to help her get up.
“Damian Turner.”
She chuckled. “It is my most sincere pleasure to meet you,
Mr. Turner.” She curtsied. “I am Lady Gabriella Gri th, only
daughter of the Marquess of Ashtanshire.”
Oh, bad. A sudden coldness cut through his stomach. “Oh,
Lord…” Very, very bad. His ears flushed red. “I could tell you
were rich, but nobility?”
They’ll kill me, for sure. His chin trembled, and he had to force
the words from his mouth. They’ll put a chain on my legs, and a
noose on my neck. Oh, I’m going to end up like the poor bread
guy… He gulped. Best try to make this right quickly. “I apologize
for my informal tone, my lady. I swear, I’ll speak to you
correctly from now on.”
Her expression pinched, and she crossed her arms. “Now,
now, none of that.” She poked him in the chest, and her tone
was sharp. “You didn’t know, so that makes it fine. If Society
wants to do something about it, it can…” She put her hand
on her lips. “Never mind.”
“What?”
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.” He could’ve sworn that he
was about to witness a lady of high society cussing, but alas,
fortune wasn’t with him today. The hairs on his arms lifted.
“Are you sure they won’t hang me?”
She snorted. “You’re exaggerating.” She nudged him. “No
one is going to hang you for calling me by my name.”
He gulped. “I must disagree, my lady,” his voice cracked. “I
once heard about a man hanged for stealing a loaf of bread.”
Seriously, he’d been having trouble eating the stu ever
since. He looked around. The street was still empty. Thank
God. “I’m not taking any chances.” A cold wind ru ed their
hairs and clothes as it chilled their very bones. “I wonder if
the Americans will hand me over.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are you really that
stupid?” Her posture straightened. “You do realize those
were most likely just rumors, right?”
The headache started pounding in his head. “Don’t you call
me stupid, miss I’m-a-filthy-rich-girl-who-got-lost-in-
the-slums.”
“Hey, that was an accident!”
“What, daddy bought you a red gown when you wanted a
green one, so you ran o crying?” He shook head. “Rich
people…”
Her squint was harsh, and her delicate eyebrow leapt up.
“How much do you value your freedom?”
“What?”
An ugly, twisted sneer appeared on her mouth. “I don’t
mean freedom as in ‘not being in prison’, I mean freedom to
choose what you want in life?” Her nose wrinkled. “How
much do you value being able to go where you please, when
you please?”
His eyebrows were a millimeter away from merging. That
was a rather awkward question. “What do you mean?”
Her quavering chin was raised high. “You could get up
tomorrow and move to China, if you wanted.” She ran her
finger through her collar, trying to loosen it, and kept her
gaze ice cold upon him. “You could spend the next three
months traveling Europe with a gypsy caravan.” Her tone
deepened. “You can work.” Her shoulders shuddered. “If you
had enough capital, you could even open a business.” Her
tone was a venomous whisper, akin to the hiss of a snake.
“How much do you value being able to do all these things?”
He broke eye contact. “I… I don’t know?” His entire face was
heating up. “I’ve never really thought about it.”
Tension tightened her body like a drawn bow. “I have.” She
stared away into nothing, her voice far away and lost. “I
think about it all the time.” She balled her fists. “Because I
can’t do any of those.” She whirled around, glaring at him.
“You think I have it so well, huh? Money and dresses and
parties?” She snorted. “Good enough for other ladies,
perhaps…”
He looked down. “But not for you?”
A bitter laugh fought its way out of her mouth. “Oh,
definitely not…” She turned away from him again, her
attention was more lost into an endless void. “I’m a
songbird, Mr. Turner. A songbird trapped in a gilded cage.”
She crossed her arms. “I want to fly, and explore, and have
fun, and…” Her voice strained and her tone jumped up. “I
want to live! I want to taste everything life has to o er me.”
His hand hovered above her shoulder, but he couldn’t bring
himself to do it. How can I comfort her with this? How can a
mere stranger help her with something he’s never experienced?
Something he doesn’t understand…
Tears rolled down her cheek. “Instead, all I’ll get is some
lord or another to marry. I’ll stay at home and watch the
estate.” She let out a long breath. “I’ll raise the children, and
go to parties, and pretend to like all the other ladies.” Her
sarcastic and bitter giggle filled the stagnant air. “I’ll force
out laughs and smiles, and then go back home to my
miserable, gilded life.” She turned around and, walking
backwards, poked him in the chest with each word. “So.
Don’t. You. Talk. To. Me. About. Running. O .”
She suddenly screamed out in pain and fell backwards. His
heart skipped a beat. Not good, not good… He rushed down to
her. His face turned ashen. Oh, if they weren’t going to hang
him already, he was doomed now… Her foot had got stuck
between a few missing cobblestones and was now bent in a
way that was certainly not natural.
He needed to get her out, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.
“Hold still.” He forced his breathing to slow down and his
voice to remain steady. This was a horrendously stupid idea.
Not that he had any other choice, though. “I need to pull
your foot out, but it’s going to hurt like hell.” He squeezed
her shoulders, and made sure her eyes didn’t leave his. “I
need you to be tough for me now, all right?” He ripped o a
piece of his shirt and folded it into a ball.
She bit into it and nodded.
He took a deep breath. “All right, I’m pulling it out on three.
Ready?”
She glared at him and nodded again.
“All right… One…”
Her teeth sunk into the fabric with a mu ed scream, as he
snatched her leg out in a single movement. She just lay
there, panting, with tears running down her face. He was
crouching next to her, his eyebrows drawn together, and his
posture open.
After a few moments of shaking there, on the cold and rough
cobblestone road, she looked up and started hitting him on
the shoulder.
He raised his hands. “Hey, hey, what’s that about?”
She punctuated each word with another strike. “You.
Complete. Bloody. Jerk. Damian. Turner!” Her breathing was
noisy, and she was scowling. “Do you have any idea how
much that hurt?”
He laughed and caught her hands. “Well, I’m sorry, miss
I’m-rich-and-unused-to-pain, but that was the best way to
do it. Sudden and quick but hurts less in the long run.”
She snorted and looked away. “Be that as it may, that still
hurt like hell.” She tried to move her foot, but only got a
pained grimace. “Ugh, still hurts like hell.” She tucked a
loose strand – See? This is why you don’t run with a fancy
hairdo – behind her ear. “Either way, I apologize for cussing
at you and for hitting you, Mr. Turner. It was unacceptable
and unbefitting of my status.”
He waved her o . “It’s fine.”
A smile creeped out from her frown. “Thank you. That is
most kind of you.”
Well, as touching as that was, they still had another problem.
A rather immobile problem, one could say. He pressed his
lips together. “I see. You can’t move it at all?”
She dropped her gaze and shook her head.
“Well, we have no choice then…”
Hangman’s noose, here I come.
She squinted. “What are you going to…”
In one fluid movement, he picked her up and started
carrying her bridal style.
She laughed. “Well, someone no longer fears the gallows.”
Um… not true! I fear them! I fear them very much! He shrugged.
“Well, what can I say, you’re worth it.”
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Like I
said…” Her lips slowly stretched into a smirk. “Randy pigs.”
He threw his head back. That was a poor choice of words. No,
that was a “beggar on the street with no home or bread”
choice of words. “Please don’t let anyone hear you, they’ll
actually hang me…”
She giggled. “Relax, you have a good excuse.”
He pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. “You know, you’re
really relaxed for a noble lady.”
Her visage darkened. “Thank you, I try. If Society wants to
cage me and make me follow its rules, I’ll…”
“Follow them to the letter?”
She pouted. “No! I snub it with my relaxed demeanor.”
He chuckled. “Something tells me, you only admit that when
no one can hear you.”
Her gaze dropped down, and she pouted. “Not true… I do it
with my best friend. And now with you.” Her eyes narrowed
at him. “You won’t tell anyone, of course.”
“Oh, but of course.”
She snorted and shook her head. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Well, here I am, telling you my life story, and you’ve told
me nothing about you.” She poked his chest. “So, tell me,
who is Damian Turner?”
“Ah… well, not much to tell, I suppose.” His voice quieted.
“Grew up here in the slums, never knew my parents.” His
head tilted to the side. “Now I just sort of… scuttle about I
guess.” And deal with homicidal gambling hell crews. His belly
fluttered, and his muscles relaxed, even under the girl’s
weight. Which, if he thought about it, really wasn’t that
much. “Do what I can to survive and help my family.”
“You’re talking about the women who raised you?”
His chest heaved with a sudden jolt. “Yes.” Warmth sailed
through his body. “You’ll never find a group of people more
kind or considerate.” His lips spread into a genuine smile.
“They made me who I am today. They taught me to be strong
but kind. Never to look on others from above, never to judge,
never to hurt.” He chuckled and shook his head. “They also
helped me get a bit of learning.”
“How so?”
“A lot of educated people visit them, so they managed to get
them to teach me some stu every now and then. It’s not
much, but I can read and write, do some math…” Apparently,
scholarly people loved brothels. Who knew?
Her eyelids lowered. “They sound like very good people.”
She took a deep breath. “Who are they, if I may ask?”
His eyes gleamed. “Prostitutes, here in the slums.”
“Ah, my sincerest apologies, I…”
“Why?”
“Pardon?”
“Why are you apologizing?” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m
not ashamed of them. They do honest work, like everyone
else, and theirs is much tougher, in its own way.” He
chuckled. “I think you, of all people, can respect the fact that
I snub the society that scorns them for what they do, when
we all have no choice to do what we must to survive.”
A gru voice came from behind them. “I agree.”
They turned to see a thin man with patches of grey hair on
his head. “I need to do what I have to do to survive too, I’m
afraid.” He was wearing a shabby and ripped coat and had no
shoes on. “I’m really sorry for this, you look like a lovely
young couple, but…” He pulled out a gun and pointed it at
Lady Gabriella.

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 A L SO B Y EM M A L I N F I EL D

Thank you for reading A Fearless Governess for the Forsaken Duke!

I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, may I ask you to please write a review HERE? It
would mean very much to me. Reviews are very important and allow me to keep
writing books that you love to read!
Some other stories of mine:

The Breaking Dawn of a Fallen Duke

A Bottle of Betrayal for the Forgotten Duchess
The Untold Tale of the Winter Duchess
An Unbending Lady for the Desperate Earl
His Duchess in Disguise
The Art of Catching a Marquess

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Catalogue HERE.
Thank you for allowing me to keep doing what I love!
Emma Linfield
 ABOU T T H E AU T H OR

Emma Linfield has always been passionate about historical romances. Ever
fascinated with the world of Regency England and being utmost inspired by Jane
Austen and Georgette Heyer’s work, she decided she wanted to write her own
stories. Stories of love and tradition being mixed in the most appealing way for
every hopeless romantic, much like herself.
Born and raised in Southern California, Emma Linfield has a degree in Creative
Writing and English Literature, and she has been working as a freelance writer
for the past 10 years. When she isn’t writing,  Emma loves spending her time
with her own prince charming and two beautiful children, all the while enjoying
the famous Californian sun and ocean.
So, hop on to this exciting journey of Dukes, Earls and true love with Emma and
find pleasure in the old fashioned world of Regency - an Era of pure romance,
elegance and high fashion!