“And when Lady Elspeth asked whether I liked the schoolroom, I told her I liked it a lot better since Mrs. Kimball threw out Simmons for putting spiders in our beds,” Callie told her rapt listeners, pausing to take a bite of her toast and swallow it. “I liked her, but she won’t marry Father. Lord Carrolton said she is pining for her sweetheart at home and only came tonight because her mother insisted. Marrying a duke is better than marrying a second son.”

Larissa nodded wisely. The three girls were gathered around the hearth in Jane’s room, nightgowns puddled about their feet and toasting forks in their hands. Jane had sent Betsy, Maud, and Percy the footman to bed, wanting only to hear more of what had happened downstairs, with no witnesses to any turmoil it might cause her.

Now she felt a tug of guilt at her delight that the lovely blonde would not be pursuing Alaric. From her brief glimpse in the withdrawing room when she’d escorted the girls, it seemed that all the young ladies invited to dinner were beautiful, graceful creatures. Likely they’d make far better duchesses than she ever would.

Her hopes that Callie would be her eyes and ears after Jane had bowed out had been rewarded with a wealth of information. Lady Elspeth loved another. Lady Lilith’s hauteur deterred interest. And none of the girls had liked Lady Fredericka.

“She pinched me,” Belle complained, accepting a piece of toast from Jane.

“She pinched all of us,” Larissa said, rubbing at her cheek as if she could feel the lady’s fingers even now. “But Father will probably marry her. She’s beautiful.”

Jane busied herself affixing another piece of bread to the toasting fork. “You never know. Beauty isn’t everything.”

Callie brightened. “Lord Waterbury said Lady Fredericka had only her beauty to recommend her, so if Father doesn’t want a beautiful wife, then perhaps he won’t pick her.”

“Every man wants a beautiful wife,” Larissa informed her. “Plain girls end up spinsters.”

The far plainer Callie slumped. Jane set down the fork and aimed her frown at Larissa. “I don’t know who’s been filling your head with such drivel, but that’s quite enough. A man wants a wife who will respect and care about him. If a fellow focuses only on the outside, there’s something wrong with him, not the lady.”

Larissa tossed her head. “You don’t understand. You married a cavalry officer.”

“Who could have had his pick,” Jane informed her. “Every girl in three counties had set her cap for him. He still chose me.”

“That’s because you’re beautiful,” Belle said, climbing into Jane’s lap. “Inside and out.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Jane said, relishing the warmth of the little body next to hers. “But I know I’m no great beauty. And neither do you have to be to have a happy life.”

Callie nodded, but Larissa looked unconvinced.

Jane let them finish their toast and escorted them back to bed. Larissa and Callie snuggled in right away, but Belle’s eyes were wide and bright as Jane drew up the covers on the big bed in the little girl’s room.

“I know who Father should marry,” she said as Jane brushed a golden curl from her forehead. “You.”

Something clutched at her heart. “Dukes don’t marry governesses, Belle.”

She frowned. “Do they have to marry princesses?”

Jane smiled. “No, but they must marry someone who will do them credit.”

“Oh.” She yawned. “Well, perhaps you could do Father credit. I’d help.”

“I’m sure you would. Goodnight, Belle.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Kimball. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

Jane moved away from the bed and shut the door behind her. Funny. So many times Jimmy and his friends had talked about the Forlorn Hope—a dangerous effort to take a position in enemy territory, a task so difficult and important that most of the men would attempt it in the hope of glory and promotion and die instead. She’d never entirely understood the attraction, until now. A part of her very much wanted to march down to the dinner party and proclaim that Alaric would marry no one but her. How glorious indeed if he should throw down his napkin, leap to his feet, take her in his arms, and declare his love.

Unfortunately, the duchess would probably order Jane from the castle while he shook his head and apologized to his guests for her impetuous nature. Her hopes were forlorn indeed.

 

~~~

 

Jane did not report to him that night. With the dinner party lasting until nearly midnight, Alaric did not think she would. Yet he missed the sight of her, that conspiratorial smile, the banter they used to share. Jane would have had something to say about Lady Fredericka, Lady Lilith, and Lady Elspeth. He could almost hear her voice as his valet helped him undress.

You don’t want a duchess who wouldn’t say boo to a goose or sneer at everything you do. Lady Fredericka, now, at least she had backbone. Though she seems to admire the silver and the plate as much as I do.

That was the truth. The lady had fingered her silver fork as if weighing its worth, and he’d noticed her examining his mother’s porcelain figurines as if determining how much they might bring at auction. While she had gushed over the girls, her effusions rang hollow, and her conversation to him had revealed nothing more of her character. He could not shake the feeling that in offering for her he would be buying himself a bride.

His mother appeared at the breakfast table much earlier than her usual wont, dressed in a sky blue, narrow-skirted wool gown, hair elaborately curled, and paper in hand.

“Is there something particular you hope to accomplish today, Mother?” he asked as Parsons poured him his second cup of tea.

She smoothed the paper on the linen tablecloth as she sat. “We must discuss your options. I took a moment to compose my thoughts.”

And had recorded the composition, it seemed. “Indeed.”

If she heard the lack of interest in his tone, she did not show it, gaze fixed on the notes she had made. “I was impressed by Lady Elspeth’s decorum,” she said, nodding to Parsons as he lay a piece of buttered toast on her plate. “She listened more than she spoke, which is always a congenial trait.”

“For those who speak a great deal,” he countered, setting down his cup. “I keep imagining us sitting across the table from each other and having nothing to say, for days or weeks.”

“Hm, yes, well.” His mother consulted the paper as Parsons arranged pots of jam and honey in easy reach. “Lady Lilith seemed devoted to her mother. A devoted daughter-in-law would be quite pleasant.”

For his mother. “She refused to look me in the eye,” Alaric said with a shake of his head. “I was under the impression I was somehow beneath her.”

His mother made a face. “Fine. Lady Fredericka, then. She was far more forthright.”

“And expected me to agree with every one of her opinions.”

His mother threw up her hands. “Well, if you want a wife who speaks her mind at the least provocation and enjoys a good argument, you might as well marry Mrs. Kimball.”

Parsons gasped and turned the noise into a cough before composing himself.

“Parsons,” Alaric said, “I find myself hungering for some of that pickled asparagus Cook provided last night at dinner. I don’t suppose there’s any left.”

Parsons drew himself to attention. “I shall endeavor to enquire, Your Grace.” He strutted from the room.

Alaric turned to his mother. “You’re right. I should marry Jane Kimball, but we both know that’s impossible.”

She reached for her cup, and he was surprised to see her hand shaking as she lifted it. “Nonsense. Nothing is impossible for a duke.”

Alaric leaned back, unwilling to accept so quick a response. “I cannot imagine you introducing her to your friends. ‘Lady Gossipful, please meet my daughter-in-law, our governess. Her first husband was a dashing cavalry officer. Alaric can never compare of course, but she was glad to marry up in the world.’”

His mother colored. “I most certainly wouldn’t go out of my way to disclose her background. And I would set you against a cavalry officer, no matter how dashing, any day of the week.”

He inclined his head. “Kind of you, Mother.”

She idly tapped her spoon against the side of the cup, head cocked as if thinking the matter over. “But it isn’t entirely beyond the pale, you know. Remember Lord Killibridge? He married the woman who had been his nanny when he was a lad.” She shuddered.

He knew what his father would say. Lord Killibridge was an upstart, a fellow so newly elevated to the title he had no idea of the gravity and responsibility of his position. Alaric had been trained otherwise.

“I have no intention of marrying any of the staff,” he assured her. “If I followed my own inclinations, I wouldn’t marry at all.”

His mother straightened. “You must marry, Wey. Your father and grandfather worked too hard to see our lands given to some stranger or worse, the Crown. I will allow that the ladies last night were not up to the standards I would normally hold for a daughter-in-law. I will endeavor to do better next time.”

He hid his own shudder. “As you wish, Mother. But you cannot force me to marry.”

“No.” She sounded sincerely saddened by the fact. “And I do want you to be happy this time. I can see that Evangeline was the wrong wife for you, but I cannot entirely regret the marriage for it gave me three wonderful granddaughters.”

“Yes, it did.” He thought, he hoped, that she might leave it at that and returned his gaze to his cup. The amber liquid had never looked less appealing.

“If you decide on Jane Kimball,” his mother said, rising to take her leave, “then I will simply have to accustom myself to the idea, and so will the rest of Society. I hope you’ll consider that.”

How could he fail to consider it? For a moment, he felt as if she were reinforcements, charging over the hill to save his regiment from certain doom. Yet would Society truly accept Jane as a duchess?

The question kept nagging at him as he went to the library after breakfast to review the reports Willard had provided on needs around the island this spring. He had never been fond of the Social whirl, so if some of the high sticklers snubbed him for his wife’s humble beginnings, he’d shed no tear. But Jane did not deserve the condescension and condemnation she’d likely receive. And if he and Jane were not welcomed in Society, wouldn’t he have isolated her more surely than locking her in the schoolroom? Could she be happy in such a life?

And what of the girls? Would they be treated poorly for his choice?

“The morning post, Your Grace,” Parsons announced, moving into the library with a silver salver balanced on one gloved hand. “And Mr. Willard sends word that the river is starting to rise.”

A chill went through him, but he accepted the notes from his butler and dismissed the man. Sitting back at the desk, he thumbed through the stack. The thick vellum of invitations from mothers who wanted a duke for their daughters, the pressed sheets with Julian’s hand on some matter concerning the estates. One stood out—the writing canted and crooked, as if written in a hurry and with great emotion. The missive was battered, as if it had traveled far. He took his penknife and broke the seal.

 

Dear Duke of Wey, I understand from Mr. Mayes that you have questions about our former governess, Mrs. Jane Kimball.

 

He started, gaze darting to the signature at the bottom of the note. Colonel Travers’s wife was writing to him. Julian must have reached her at last. He returned to the top of the note to read the rest.

 

I can only tell you that I thought her a fine model for my daughter until I discovered her in my husband’s arms.

 

The chill he’d felt earlier spread through his body.

 

Jane Kimball is nothing but an adventuress, out to trap any man who makes the mistake of wandering too close. I discharged her without recommendation, and I suggest you do the same. It is never wise to succor a viper in one’s bosom. Sincerely, Mrs. Grace Travers.

 

The letter fell to the desk as if his fingers had gone numb. He rather thought his heart had suffered the same fate. Jane, an adventuress? It couldn’t be.

She had joined his household under suspicious circumstances, something inside him whispered. Insisted on dealing only with him. Allowed herself to be alone with him on numerous occasions. Wormed her way into his daughters’ hearts.

And his.

He rose from the desk, to go where, he wasn’t sure. He clasped his hands behind his back, paced in and out among the maze of bookshelves. The wisdom of ages surrounded him—with tomes by philosophers who understood the workings of the mind, poets who delved into matters of the heart. None would tell him what he most longed to know. Could he trust Jane?

Of course he could.

He was used to relying on reports, recommendations, the insights of others. Julian had cautioned him against her. Miss Thorn refused to answer questions. Now Mrs. Travers insisted she was no good. He knew what his father would have done—discharged her immediately, voice imperious and face merciless.

He would never be his father.

For once, he was thankful for that. Had he followed his father’s advice and viewed everyone with suspicion, he would never have come to know Jane. And that would have been a great loss. Jane was encouraging, positive, honest to a fault. She brooked no response that wasn’t in the girls’ best interests. She had helped his daughters to learn, to grow. Even his mother had mellowed in her company if she could suggest accepting a governess as a daughter-in-law.

Besides, if Jane was hunting money or a title, she had had him dead to rights. He’d kissed her. She could have demanded income for her silence, even that he marry her. Instead, she had helped him think through options, suggested that they pretend it had never happened. She could not have allowed such an opportunity to pass if she was an adventuress.

It only followed, then, that Mrs. Travers was slandering Jane’s good name. The question was, why?