What was she doing? Jane’s cheeks were still hot as she hurried up the stairs for the schoolroom. She’d been flirting with the duke, pure and simple, as if she’d been at the local assembly and he was no more than a squire’s strapping son. But he wasn’t the son of a local landowner. He was a duke, the father of her charges, her employer. If Jimmy’s stepmother hadn’t thought Jane good enough for a cavalry officer, Jane certainly wouldn’t be good enough for a duke.

If she had any doubts about the matter, the next day proved her place at the castle. The morning was so cold, ice sketched patterns on the schoolroom windows, so she hadn’t the heart to take the girls on a constitutional or for a riding lesson. Instead, she led them marching around the schoolroom to the delight of Calantha and Abelona and Larissa’s unveiled contempt. Ladies, it seemed, did not march. She had just settled them with a history text when Mr. Parsons appeared to inform them that they were wanted.

“Lady Carrolton has come calling,” he announced. “Her Grace desires that her granddaughters attend her and her friend.”

Abelona hopped to her feet, but Calantha and Larissa followed more slowly.

“I told you we needed to practice deportment,” Larissa said with a look to Jane. “We aren’t ready.”

“It’s just a visit from an old family friend,” Jane said, rising and setting aside the book.

“Not just any visit,” Larissa insisted.

Calantha nodded. “Lady Carrolton is grandmother’s best friend. She comes by at least once a week. Betsy calls her Lady Quarrelsome.”

Mr. Parsons drew himself up. “You can be certain I will speak to Betsy about the matter. I do hope you’ll do better about talking out of turn, Mrs. Kimball.”

“I never could keep my opinion to myself,” Jane told him. “But I’ll try.”

He did not look comforted as he led them from the room.

Her Grace was entertaining in the withdrawing room, a cavernous space with pearly pink walls, gilded furnishings, and an inordinate amount of pottery. Jane tried not to gawk at the heavenly hosts cavorting about the painted ceiling and focused on their visitor instead. She had thought the duchess had an air of royalty about her, but the woman seated at her right on the pink velvet sofa made the duchess look plebian. Her long face was sculptured and pale, like finest marble. Not a curl was out of place in her elaborately styled white hair. Every inch of her amethyst-colored gown was pressed and stiff. She probably didn’t need whalebone to sit so tall.

“Ah, there they are,” the duchess said, hands fluttering. “Come make your curtsies, girls. Mrs. Kimball, you may sit over there.”

Over there appeared to be against the pink wall on a set of crocodile-legged chairs, one of which was already occupied by another woman a few years younger than Jane. Jane started to move, but Abelona snatched up her hand.

“Don’t leave us,” she whispered.

Jane twisted to meet her gaze. “I’ll be right there if you need me. Remember what your father said about respect. It applies to Lady Carrolton too.”

Abelona sighed but went to sit beside Calantha on the matching pink sofa opposite her grandmother’s.

Jane crossed to the wall. The other woman sat, feet firmly planted, both gloved hands tight on the tortoiseshell handle of the square red-leather case on her lap.

“Travels prepared for anything, does she?” Jane murmured as the duchess reminded her friend of her granddaughters’ names and ages.

The other woman’s gaze darted to Jane, then pointed steadfastly forward. She had honey-colored hair and eyes the blue-green of Lisbon’s Tagus River at sunrise. The shapeless navy gown betrayed nothing of her figure.

“Her ladyship is under a physician’s care for a number of ailments,” she whispered back. “It’s important to be ready for any eventuality.”

As if to prove as much, Lady Carrolton suddenly began sneezing, tiny little squeaks that nonetheless shook her slender frame. “Ramsey!” she cried between fits as the girls stared at her.

Miss Ramsey rose and hurried to her side, drawing a large square of white silk from her pocket and holding it under the lady’s nose. The sound of her blow was far from delicate. Larissa sat unblinking, but Calantha winced, and Abelona looked impressed.

Lady Carrolton sniffed as her companion withdrew the handkerchief. “Thank you, Ramsey. That will be all, but stay close.”

“Of course, your ladyship.” Miss Ramsey snapped open her case, deposited the soiled handkerchief inside, and closed the case again before returning to her spot along the wall.

Jane shook her head. “And I thought my post was challenging. I’m Jane Kimball, by the way, the new governess.”

“Patience,” she said, adjusting her navy skirts around the box.

“Yes,” Jane agreed. “I imagine you need a great deal of it.”

Her mouth quirked. “No, that is yes, but that wasn’t my point. My name is Patience, Patience Ramsey. I’ve been Lady Carrolton’s companion for three years now.”

“Then your name should probably be saint,” Jane told her. “Is she like this often?”

As if in answer, Lady Carrolton began coughing, great whoops that echoed to the high ceiling. Larissa sat farther back in her chair, and Abelona cuddled against Calantha, who looked positively fascinated.

Patience hurried to her ladyship’s side. She held a gilded vinaigrette under the lady’s nose and gently patted her back. “Easy, now. Breathe.”

Lady Carrolton took several deep breaths, and the coughing subsided.

“I must say, my dear, that you bear up well,” the duchess said as Patience returned to her seat.

“I try, but it is a constant burden. My dear Lilith is beyond herself with worry.”

“What’s wrong with the lady?” Jane whispered.

“Everything,” Patience whispered back, “and, I fear, nothing.”

Lady Carrolton began blinking hard. “Ramsey!”

Patience hurried back with eye drops this time.

And so it went throughout the visit. Lady Carrolton either convulsed over some ill or lobbed pointed comments at the girls.

“Too thin,” she said to Larissa. “Have your governess dose you with calf’s liver oil.”

The look Larissa sent Jane dared her to try it.

“Too quiet,” she said of Calantha. “I cannot bear a girl with no opinions of her own.”

“She’d love me,” Jane muttered to Patience.

Patience’s rosebud mouth hinted of a smile again. “Your idea of an opinion may differ from her ladyship’s.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

“Too pretty,” she told the duchess with a look to Abelona. “She’ll come to a wretched end, you mark my words. Probably marry a cavalry officer and run off to some heathen country to die of dysentery.”

Jane leaped to her feet. “Oh, goodness, look at the time. We must go. So much to do. Terribly sorry, Your Grace. Come along, girls. We must dose you before any of this infects you.” She clapped her hands as she rushed forward, and Calantha and Abelona scrambled off the sofa to run to her. Even Larissa moved faster than her usual languid grace. The duchess made some protest, but Patience Ramsey gave Jane the thumbs up as she hustled the girls from the room.

“Lady Carrolton may be a good friend of your grandmother’s,” she said as she led them back to the schoolroom, “but she is mistaken on several counts. You are most certainly not too thin, Larissa. I predict you’ll have a nice willowy figure by the time you come out.”

Larissa smiled, then frowned, then did her best to look haughty. Couldn’t agree with the enemy, after all. “Thank you, Mrs. Kimball.”

“And you are not too quiet,” she told Calantha as they entered the schoolroom. “You were only being polite, and I know your grandmother was proud of you.”

Calantha smiled as she skipped over to the table.

“Me, me,” Abelona said, tugging on Jane’s skirts.

Jane smoothed a curl from her brow. “You can marry whoever you please.”

Abelona beamed at her.

“She can’t, you know,” Larissa said, joining them all at the table. “We’re the daughters of a duke. We must make advantageous marriages.”

“What’s advantageous?” Calantha asked.

“Having advantages,” Jane explained, seating herself at the table. “It means your marriage will help your family in some way—bringing in wealth, property.”

Calantha wrinkled her nose. “Father has lots of property. Mr. Mayes the solicitor said it was nearly too much for one man to handle.”

Small wonder he was so busy.

“I don’t want an advantages marriage,” Abelona said. “I just want my unicorn.”

“You’ll want that kind of marriage when you’re older,” Larissa predicted. “Everyone wants an advantageous marriage, even Father. He needs a wife who will give him a son.”

Though she knew the truth of it, Jane still felt as if she’d run into a wall.

Calantha frowned. “Why does he want a son when he has us?”

“Because we don’t count,” Larissa said. “We’re just ladies.”

Something boiled up inside Jane. “Ladies are important too. How’s a duke to get a son without one, eh? Who makes sure this household has food and drink and bedrooms for everyone?”

“Parsons,” Abelona said.

“Grandmother,” Larissa corrected her.

“Exactly right. Now, no more talk of marriages. After the example you were just given, I think Larissa is right. You need lessons on deportment.”

Larissa brightened.

“Right after we finish arithmetic.”

 

~~~

 

The look on his mother’s face warned Alaric before he took a bite of the beef at dinner that night. It was just as well. His thoughts had returned with surprising frequency to his recent discussions with Jane and the girls. She’d said she was happy here, but he kept wondering about the gleam in her eyes last night. It was almost as if she’d been flirting with him.

Now he examined the slice of roast he’d taken from the silver platter the footman had offered. Rather blacker than usual. He knocked the tines of his fork against the edge and heard the dry crackle of charcoal.

“Not Cook’s usual style,” his mother said before taking a long drink.

Neither were the potatoes. He knew they must be near the end of last year’s crop, but the mound in front of him was grey and lumpy.

He glanced at Parsons, back straight against the wall. “Is there trouble below stairs?”

His butler kept his gaze on the flowered pattern of the opposite wall. “The kitchen is at sixes and sevens, Your Grace. Someone opened all the doors on the greenhouse, and the produce has suffered.”

At least Parsons could not blame Jane for that.

“However,” he continued as if determined to cut up Alaric’s peace, “the greatest problem appears to be Mrs. Kimball.”

Alaric sighed and set down his fork. “What has Jane Kimball to do with the kitchen?”

Parsons moved closer, as if encouraged by his reaction. “Just so, Your Grace. She went so far as to suggest that Cook send fewer sweets and more fruits and vegetables to the schoolroom. She has no sense of the tradition on which this great house was built.”

Another adherent to the sacred traditions of the island, it seemed, for all Parsons had been with them less than a dozen years. Planting, tending, harvesting—the rhythms had remained unchanged for centuries. Yet Jane’s suggestion made him wonder.

“How many sweets was Cook sending?” he asked.

His mother cleared her throat. “I believe I can answer that. After Evangeline died, I instructed Cook to indulge the girls. I believe she was baking three cakes a day.”

Alaric stared at her. “Three entire cakes, every day?”

For the first time that he could remember, his mother refused to meet his gaze. “One for each girl, you see. I’d quite forgotten about the matter, but I agree with Mrs. Kimball that it seems excessive now.”

It had been excessive then. He’d had a few friends who had drowned their sorrows in sweets when they were lads. One now struggled with gout, the other with alcohol. He would not want either fate for his daughters.

“Tell Cook we appreciate her efforts to cheer the girls when they needed it most,” he told Parsons. “And that we have the utmost confidence in her ability to rise to the occasion now. Let me know if we need to add to her budget or hire someone to help with preparations.”

Parsons inclined his head. “Yes, Your Grace. Thank you.”

As his butler stepped back against the wall, Alaric turned to his mother. “Are there any other decrees I should know about before Mrs. Kimball brazenly does what’s best for the girls?”

Her Grace’s smile was rueful. “I may have ordered matching outfits and instructed the maids to dress them identically each day.”

So that was the reason they all wore white so often. “Why?”

She scooted forward on the scroll-backed chair. “I never had a daughter. They are so much more fun to dress than a little boy. And they’re so adorable dressed identically, like dolls.”

“Mother,” he said, “my daughters are not your toys.”

She flushed red. “Certainly not. I merely mentioned the fact because dear Jane might want to improve their wardrobe, especially Larissa’s.”

He shook his head as he speared a limp piece of asparagus. “Dear Jane, eh?”

“Mrs. Kimball seems so formal,” she said, returning to her own dinner. “And she is a dear. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

More than he felt comfortable admitting. Jane was far too much on his mind. He could blame these crises that followed in her wake, but he had the feeling she would have been on his mind regardless.

“And how did today go?” he asked as soon as Parsons let her into the library that night.

That gleam he so admired was in her eyes as she approached the desk. “Quite well,” she reported. “Larissa took to multiplication, despite her protests to the contrary. I think we can move on to division shortly.”

“Excellent.” He motioned her into the chair across from him. “And no more ghosts?”

“None lately, but I won’t know about tonight until later. Ghosts don’t come out until midnight.”

“Learned that in Portugal, did you?”

She shook her head. “Egypt. Those old pharaohs have been moaning for centuries. Kept half the camp awake most nights.”

He laughed. It felt surprisingly good, and surprisingly strange. When was the last time he’d had a good laugh?

“You should do that more often,” she said, as if she knew his thoughts. “Happiness sits well on you.”

Parsons coughed, and she rolled her eyes. “That is, happiness sits well on you, Your Grace.”

Now Parsons rolled his eyes, as if begging heaven for patience.

“And how did the singing lessons go?” he asked.

“Tolerable.”

He shook his head. “And here I spent most of the last two days outside in the cold, on your orders.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said primly. “I’ll wager you spent most of the time behind that desk. You’re more housebound than your daughters.”

Parsons coughed again and added a stomp of his foot for good measure.

“Are you ill, Parsons?” Alaric asked. “Would you care to excuse yourself for a glass of water?”

“No, Your Grace,” his butler managed to choke out.

Jane rose. “It’s all right. I should be going. Just know that all is well in the schoolroom, Your Grace. Good night.” She curtsied and turned to go.

He wanted to call her back, give her some reason to stay. Life seemed so much better when she was near. But detaining her would be selfish. She had been hired to attend his daughters.

Odd. He never remembered being jealous of his daughters, until now.