Jane stepped back with Abelona, Calantha, and Larissa as the groom hurried to saddle the horse. The flash of the dark eyes, the toss of that white mane, called to her. The horse was a bit tall for Abelona, to be sure, but the little girl would grow into her. Funny how the duke made the animal look fine-boned and delicate as he settled onto the saddle. He sat erect, proud, and the horse’s head came up as if she knew the sort of man she carried. With a nod to Jane and the girls, he urged the horse out of the stable yard.

All the girls ran out onto the lane to watch him as he broke into a gallop.

“Unicorns can go fast,” Abelona said, climbing the gate to the fields.

It wasn’t just the unicorn. The Duke of Wey bent low over the saddle, as if he were whispering to the horse, and Abelona’s unicorn stretched out, skimming across the fields. Jane wouldn’t have been surprised to see wings unfold from her sides. She hadn’t seen a man and horse so well attuned since…

She made herself smile as he cantered back into the stable yard.

“Unicorn is a fine mount,” he said, swinging down from the saddle. “I’ll have her and some of the other horses moved to the castle for your use. You may ride her, Abelona, when you have proved to Mr. Quayle that you can handle a horse this size.”

“I’ll do it, Father,” she promised. “I’ll be ever so good in the saddle. You’ll see.”

He lay a hand on Larissa’s shoulder and another on Calantha’s, the touch hesitant, as if he feared he’d break them. “All my girls will do their best to be good riders. They are Drydens.”

Larissa ducked her head, blushing, and Calantha sucked in a breath and stood taller.

He released them and turned to Jane. “I should see about some work on the western tip of the island. Are you comfortable returning the girls to the castle?”

Their faces fell. But after the way his ride had affected her, Jane was more than happy to take the girls back alone. “We’ll be fine. Thank you, Your Grace.”

He nodded to the groom, who went to fetch a big-boned black horse. Very likely he was the duke’s regular mount. The horse certainly seemed powerful enough to carry a knight into battle. As she and the girls moved toward the carriage, he mounted and rode out at a far more sedate pace.

But she could not forget the sight of him, silhouetted against the sky and flying.

 

~~~

 

She managed to escort the girls back to the house and the schoolroom, but it was clear Larissa was still smarting about her father’s decision to support Jane’s curriculum. Jane decided not to give her charges arithmetic but directed them instead to a history piece about the War of the Roses. Though Calantha and Abelona listened intently as Jane read, even tales of thrilling battles failed to amuse Larissa. Jane could almost see the thoughts percolating behind her hazel eyes.

Finally, she leaned forward and perched her chin on her hand. “We must be a terrible burden to you, Mrs. Kimball.”

Calantha and Abelona straightened, frowning.

“Not at all,” Jane assured them all. “I’m a governess. Caring for young ladies is my duty.”

“But we’ve made it difficult,” Larissa protested. “Grandmother can be so demanding.”

“Miss Carruthers said she was a perfectionist,” Calantha helpfully supplied. “I’m not allowed to say what Miss Waxworth called her.”

“Her Grace wants what is best for her granddaughters,” Jane said. “Quite understandable.”

“But we’re a trial as well,” Larissa persisted. “Abelona will only ride a unicorn.”

“I love Unicorn,” Abelona said, gaze turning dreamily out the window.

“And Calantha is horribly afraid of spiders.”

Calantha squeezed her shoulders so high her neck disappeared.

So much for a history lesson. Jane closed the book. “Here’s the thing about spiders. They’re squishy.”

Larissa shuddered even as Calantha said, “Ew!”

“No, that’s a good thing,” Jane told them. “It makes them easy to kill. Scorpions, now, those are nasty. Luckily they aren’t native to England.” She rose and went to the bookshelf for a volume she’d spotted earlier. “Let’s look up what is native to England, particularly the small woodland creatures.”

Calantha and Abelona gathered close to her once more as she retook her seat and opened the book. Larissa pouted.

The duke’s eldest didn’t give up, though. She pointed out every little flaw in her sisters, from the way Abelona’s printed her letters crookedly to Calantha’s tendency to slurp her cream of asparagus soup at dinner. As bedtime neared, the two younger girls shrank in on themselves more and more.

Jane beckoned them to the hearth as they waited for the nursery maids to turn down the covers and fetch them for bed.

“No one,” she said, gazing at each in turn and especially long at Larissa, “is perfect. I don’t expect you to be. I expect you to try your best and to keep trying. That’s all.”

Calantha and Abelona nodded. Larissa stared at the toes of her slippers.

“I know you’ve had several governesses. It’s hard to get used to people when they leave so quickly. I don’t plan on leaving any time soon. This is my position, my home now. You can expect me to keep trying my best too.”

The maids came in then, and Jane wished the girls good night. Larissa gave her a narrow-eyed look as she left.

“I’m not sure your oldest likes me in the slightest,” she told the duke when she saw him a short while later in the library. He had been standing beside a table and chairs nestled among the bookcases when Parsons had let her in. A fine marble chess set sat on the table, the knights riding high on their horses. His hands were clasped behind the back of his navy coat, fingers curled and thumb twitching as if beating time with his thoughts as he considered his next move, and she wondered who his opponent might be.

“I’m not sure Larissa likes anyone except her mother,” he replied, gaze on the pieces. “Calantha and Abelona were nearly babies when my wife died. Larissa is old enough to remember. I suspect any woman would have trouble with her.” He raised his head, pleasant smile firmly in place. “You seem to have won over her sisters.”

“Amazing what a unicorn can do,” she quipped.

“There wouldn’t be a unicorn but for your quick thinking,” he countered. “Though I shudder to think what Mr. Quayle will say if you have to spit on the horse’s mane each time Abelona wants to ride.”

“He’ll accommodate,” Jane predicted. “And eventually she’ll love the horse so much it won’t matter.”

He waved her into the seat across the board and took the one nearest him. “Do you play chess, Mrs. Kimball?”

She nodded, gaze going to the pieces. “My father taught me. Looks like someone has you in a corner.”

His smile warmed. “My friend Julian Mayes. Care to press his advantage?”

Jane rubbed her fingers together, noting location, the pieces still available. She grasped a bishop and slid it closer to the king.

He stroked his chin with two fingers as he studied the board. Such a strong chin—determined. And his lips…

Jane sat straighter. Better to think of something besides his lips. “You certainly put that unicorn through her paces today. Where did you learn to ride like that? I could see you leading a charge.”

He moved his king to the right, out of the path of both bishop and the knight that had been threatening. “As a lad, I wanted nothing more than to join a cavalry unit. I trained for months in the vain hope I could persuade my father. In the end, he refused. I was the heir, you see, and there was no spare. Heaven forbid I die in battle.”

“Fathers are like that,” Jane commiserated, edging a pawn forward. “Mine wanted to keep me close as well. I suspect that’s why Jimmy’s father let him go. He had three older brothers at home.”

She glanced up to see something spark in those green eyes. “Jimmy—your husband?”

Funny how it didn’t hurt so much to talk about him. When had grief turned to acceptance? “Yes. He was something on a horse. He could do all manner of tricks—hang off one side, ride standing with the reins in his teeth while firing.”

He quirked a brow. “That must have been something to see.”

“Oh, it was. He might have ridden for Astley’s, the equestrian show in London, if he hadn’t decided to follow the drum. That was his dream as well. Took him two years to save enough for a commission.”

He was watching her. “You must miss him.”

She shrugged. “Not as much as I did.” The truth of it struck her hard, and she dropped her gaze to the board. Why, she’d almost made it sound as if the duke had taken Jimmy’s place!

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she murmured. “I’m here to report, not reminisce.”

A noise behind her reminded her that Parsons was listening to every word. Jane raised her head, fixed her gaze on the bookcases beyond the duke’s left shoulder. That’s what Jimmy had said was the right way to report to a commanding officer—not too familiar, proper, respectful.

“We haven’t found our rhythm yet as far as studies go,” she admitted. “Calantha and Abelona seem interested in history and the natural sciences, but Larissa still doesn’t see the need. Still, I live in hope. We’ll try arithmetic again tomorrow and see how that fares.”

He sat back, as if realizing the time for informality had passed. “Excellent. I look forward to hearing of your success.”

Her success? She glanced directly at him. The polite smile had become warmer. It encouraged her to share confidences, dreams. But there lay the danger. She had no right to share anything with this man, except the progress his daughters made.

She rose and curtsied, and he stood and bowed as if she was a fine lady, an equal. The best she could do was escape the room before she said something to reveal herself further. Parsons saw her out and closed the door firmly behind her.

What was wrong with her? She shook her head as she started up the sweep of the main stairs. Twice in one day she’d let blatant sentimentality intervene. She should not be looking for encouragement of a personal nature from the duke. They had no personal relationship. Their professional relationship made it impossible to be truly friends. She had not come here seeking a husband. She’d had a husband, a wild, passionate, devil-may-care husband. She didn’t want another. The duke didn’t appear to be looking for a wife. And he certainly wouldn’t go hunting for one in the schoolroom.

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

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

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

That is, until the moaning started.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

~~~

 

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

“Yes?” he asked from the wingback chair.

“It’s Mrs. Kimball, Your Grace.”

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

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

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

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

“At whom?” he demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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