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

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

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

Gasps of shock echoed from their onlookers.

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

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

No answer.

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

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

“Yes, Father,” said a wavering voice.

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

“I’ve tried. It’s stuck.”

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

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

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

“Can you move it?” His Grace asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?” he asked the footman.

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

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

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

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

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

The tremor in her lower lip belied the brave nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She ran from the bedchamber.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Jane.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

~~~

 

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

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

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

And a curious sense of freedom.

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

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

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

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

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

Pasting on a smile, he moved into the room.

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

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

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

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

Larissa hung her head. Abelona nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All three girls shuddered.

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

They nodded solemnly.

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

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

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

Clever woman. Alaric nodded. “Then I’m sure Larissa would be happy to set it to rights.”

The way her brows gathered reminded him of her mother in a fit of pique. “That’s a servant’s job.”

“Not today.” He helped her rise and pointed her at the door to the governess’s quarters. “If you hurry, you’ll still have time for an arithmetic problem or two before your constitutional.”

With a martyred sigh, Larissa headed for Jane’s room. Simmons followed as if determined to help.

Jane rose. “I should supervise. I have an image of paste sticking my clothes together.”

Calantha giggled.

He caught Jane’s arm as she passed. “Don’t give them ideas.”

That grin was saucy. “Or paste, it seems.”

“Meet her halfway,” he murmured. “Let her practice curtseying for the queen or some other ladylike pastime today.”

“Ladylike.” The smile had gained an edge. “Conversations about the weather, perhaps.”

“Nothing so banal. Embroidery or singing.”

Now there was a decided gleam in her eyes. “As you wish, Wey. I’ll add singing to the curriculum. You may want to find something to do outside.” And with that threat, she strode after his eldest.