Jane wasn’t surprised to be summoned to the library that morning. Calantha had reported that Betsy said Cook was in a snit about trimming the number of sweets. What was Jane supposed to do with three cakes every day—feed them to the pigeons that fluttered about the castle turrets? The tempest had only watered Parsons’ dislike of her. He’d scolded her again about showing the proper deference to an employer and peer of the realm. She could only hope if Wey intended to advise her as well that she could rely on his good will to keep her position.

She wasn’t prepared to find him in company. A tall, slender, well-dressed man rose from the chair she generally sat in to offer her a bow.

“Mrs. Kimball,” Wey said, “may I present Mr. Julian Mayes, late of London. He has some questions for you.”

Questions? About what? She glanced from the fellow’s too-charming nod to the duke’s polished look. “Happy to help, I’m sure.”

Mr. Mayes stepped aside and motioned to the chair. “Please, Mrs. Kimball, won’t you take a seat?”

Trying too hard, this one. That smooth smile, the artfully messed red-gold hair, whispered of hidden schemes. Surely no gentleman traveled in such perfection. It had to be a façade.

She deigned to sit, but she kept her back straight and her gaze wary.

“You came highly recommended from the Fortune Employment Agency,” he said, taking the seat beside hers. “Did you have the opportunity to meet Mr. Fortune?”

Jane smiled despite her misgivings and glanced to Wey. “It’s Miss Fortune, and yes, I met her. Silky grey hair, copper-colored eyes.”

Mr. Mayes frowned as he glanced between them.

“Fortune is a cat,” Wey informed him. “And I believe you were more interested in Miss Thorn, her owner.”

“Yes,” he said, turning to Jane. “What can you tell me about her?”

Not a great deal, now that she thought on it. She could explain that Miss Thorn preferred her tea with honey rather than sugar, and that two cups of the sweet stuff seemed mandatory before she started her day. Miss Thorn walked every afternoon, always with Fortune in her arms, as if the cat were her guardian or chaperone. Indeed, she was seldom without her pet. She dressed well, spoke well, moved with a grace Jane envied. Somehow, she didn’t think Mr. Mayes cared about any of that.

“I owe her a great deal,” she said instead. “I had lost my position, had used up what little savings I possessed. I saw her ad in the Times, met her at a coffee shop, explained my situation and what I was seeking in a position. She welcomed me to her home, treated me like family, and found me this post.”

“I see.” His gaze went to Wey, as if they both saw something invisible to her.

“What’s wrong?” Jane asked.

Mr. Mayes offered her that smooth smile. “Surely nothing.”

“Mr. Mayes thinks perhaps Miss Thorn is an old acquaintance of ours,” Wey explained. “If that is true, she grew up near the island. If she still had friends in the area, it could explain how she knew about our situation, our need for a governess.”

Jane nodded. “I always thought she was quality.”

Mr. Mayes leaned forward. “She said nothing of her background? How she came to start the agency?”

“No,” Jane admitted. “Only that she preferred to help ladies in need. I certainly qualified. But she seemed to know that. I just thought she was good at ferreting out the truth. But you don’t have to take my word for it. She’s in London. I’m sure you could locate her and ask.”

“Not exactly,” Wey put in as his friend leaned back and slumped as if defeated. “I requested that Mr. Mayes visit her in London to pay her fee. She cannot be found.”

Jane frowned. “What do you mean, she cannot be found?”

“I’ve been to the building that supposedly held her office,” Mr. Mayes told her, tone weary, “and the newspaper offices. No one claims to know a thing about her.”

Jane sat back, feeling a bit as if the chair was rolling like a ship at sea. “But you met her, Your Grace. She wasn’t a figment of my imagination.”

He rubbed his chin. “I met her, and her cat. But she seems to have disappeared without a trace.”

And with her, any sense of propriety. Jane Kimball, client of the prestigious Fortune Employment Agency, was worthy of serving a duke’s household. Jane Kimball, widow of an obscure cavalry officer, with no recommendation and no one to vouch for her, wasn’t worth a moment’s time.

Panic nearly pushed her to her feet, and she gripped the arms of the chair to prevent herself from rising. Wey believed in her, had supported her. Surely, he wouldn’t turn her away without good cause.

And what of Miss Thorn? She had been so organized, so confident, so determined to find Jane the perfect situation. She hadn’t had to take Jane in, house and feed her at her own expense. Could she be in some sort of trouble to have disappeared like this? Shouldn’t Jane try to help?

She stood, and they rose with her as propriety demanded. “Gentlemen, we must try to find her. Something terrible must have happened.”

Mr. Mayes nodded, handsome face darkening. Wey came around the desk to take Jane’s hand.

“Rest assured, we will locate Miss Thorn,” he promised. “She did us a favor by sending you to us. The least we can do is ensure her safety and pay her what she’s due.”

She felt as if the air had cleared and she could breathe again. “Thank you, Wey. I have an idea of how to locate her. We first met at a coffee shop off the Strand, but her home is on Clarendon Square.”

Wey stiffened, and Mr. Mayes drew in a sharp breath.

Jane glanced between them. “Is that important?”

“Our family town house is on Clarendon Square,” Wey said, gaze moving to his friend.

How odd. Jane frowned. “And you never met Miss Thorn?”

Mr. Mayes quirked a smile as Wey’s color heightened. “His Grace is not known for socializing.”

Wey raised his chin. “My time in London is frequently taken up by more important matters. Nevertheless, locating Miss Thorn may not be as difficult as we’d thought, Julian. I trust you can take care of the matter?”

“Decidedly,” Mr. Mayes said, but Jane wasn’t sure about the look in his eyes. “And thank you for your help, Mrs. Kimball.”

He bowed again, and she curtsied. But she could not help thinking that Miss Thorn had made a terrible mistake by attempting to evade this fellow.

Had Jane made a similar mistake by confiding in him?

 

~~~

 

“Singular woman,” Julian said after Jane had left. “Rather quiet for a governess.”

Alaric started laughing. “Jane is hardly the quiet type.”

Julian raised a brow. “Not telling you she’d lived a few doors down from you? I’d say she’s keeping her own counsel.”

“She only lived with Miss Thorn a short time. There was no reason for her to know who owned the other houses on the square. There are more than two dozen in the area. And I assure you she’s made her presence felt at the castle. Cook may eventually forgive her for improving the girls’ diet, and Jane and my mother appear to have negotiated a truce. Unfortunately, Parsons is implacable.”

Julian shrugged. “He always was. So, she’s doing a good job for you?”

And excellent job, if unconventional. He found it hard to remember life without her in it. Or perhaps he didn’t want to remember life without her. “Jane is easily the finest governess we’ve ever had.” He motioned his friend to the chessboard and took his accustomed seat as Julian slipped onto the other chair.

“You moved my pieces,” Julian said with a frown.

Alaric held up his hands. “Not I. Jane has some facility with the game. I suggested she take your turn. Feel free to move the pieces back if you’d prefer.”

Julian shook his head, brow clearing. “She actually put me in a better position.” He moved one of his bishops forward.

Alaric calculated possibilities. Move too soon, and Julian would have him in check. Too late, and he missed the opportunity to put his friend in check.

“I can’t help noticing the change in you,” Julian said, watching him. “Spouting poetry, defending a stranger on little evidence. Mrs. Kimball is a handsome woman, I’ll give you that. But she’s your governess.”

His face felt hot, though he knew he’d done nothing wrong. “I treat her with the utmost respect, I assure you.”

Julian sighed. “Wey, I will give you the same advice I give myself when I think of encountering Mary Rose again. Watch yourself. You have everything to lose and little to gain by an association with a woman you know next to nothing about.”

Alaric leaned back. “You think I don’t know that? Each day brings us one step closer to flooding, with no assurance the precautions I’ve taken will suffice. My daughters are near strangers to me, my mother aloof. I would do nothing to harm them or anyone else who depends on me, including Jane.”

Julian held up a hand. “Peace. I wasn’t impugning your honor or your intentions. All I’m suggesting is that we need to know more about her. I’ll look into the matter when I return to London.”

Julian’s methods of looking into matters were subtle and effective, enough so that the War Office had lately made use of his services. Still, any investigation into Jane’s past seemed another violation of her privacy. She’d answered any questions he’d put to her quickly and easily. Yet, how did he know she spoke the truth? She was caring for his daughters, living in his house. If there was any question as to her propriety, he should know. Surely that was his duty as a father. His father would have had the constable after her by now.

“Thank you,” he told his friend. “And it goes without saying that you will report any findings directly to me and only me.”

“Of course,” Julian agreed, and he neatly aligned his queen. “Check and mate.”

 

~~~

 

Julian didn’t stay much longer. Now that he had his marching orders, nothing Alaric said could convince him to spend the night at the castle. Alaric saw his friend out, waved him goodbye, and returned to the library.

But their conversation lingered, like smoke in the air. Could Miss Thorn be Mary Rose? The names seemed too connected to be a coincidence. Had she taken the darker appellation after losing her home? Where had she been since leaving Surrey? How had she come to possess a town house on prestigious Clarendon Square? How had she gained the capitol and presence to open an employment agency? Why had she singled out his family? Was Jane a dupe or a willing accomplice?

The matter refused to leave him. Perhaps that was why he questioned his mother over dinner. “What made you decide to favor the Fortune Employment Agency with our request for a governess?”

Her Grace looked up from her Yorkshire pudding. “I had never heard of the Fortune Employment Agency until I received a note announcing the day and time of the interview with Mrs. Kimball. I assumed you had engaged them.”

Alaric sat back. “I did not.” He glanced at their butler, standing in his usual place along the wall. “Parsons, can you shed light on this mystery?”

Parsons drew himself up. “No, Your Grace. I would have advised a more prominent London agency.”

So, no one in the house could offer him answers. He could only hope Julian would be more successful.

He was almost afraid to sit behind the desk that evening, ready for the next dire tale from Parsons, but his butler did not appear in the doorway to announce Jane’s latest innovation that threatened household order. The first notice he had of a visitor was the sound of little feet scurrying across the carpet.

Calantha came to stand just in front of his desk, her pale hair a nimbus about her peaked face. Did she know that was where Jane usually stood to give her reports? Very likely. It seemed his middle daughter was a keen observer, especially when no one noticed she was about.

Jane was standing in the doorway, fond smile on her face, so at least he knew Calantha had not escaped the schoolroom.

“Good evening, Calantha,” he said, offering her a similar smile. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

She dropped a quick curtsey. “Mrs. Kimball said…”

“Calantha,” Jane interrupted, “tell your father what you want.”

Calantha shifted from foot to foot, as if unsure how to proceed. Alaric rose, came around the desk, and went down on one knee beside her.

“There, now. What is it you’d like to say to me?”

Her face scrunched up. “You look silly like that.”

“I don’t think you came all the way from the schoolroom to tell me that.”

“Noooo.” She drew out the word as she shifted from side to side. “It’s about singing.”

He glanced up at Jane. “Yes, I understand Mrs. Kimball is teaching you.”

Jane spread her skirts and bobbed a curtsey.

“Yes,” Calantha said. “And Larissa and Abelona and I were wondering...” She took a deep breath. “We are going to have a recital this Friday at two and we would very much like you to come.” She paused as if she’d run out of breath, then added, “Please?”

“I am honored to accept your gracious invitation,” he told her.

“Oh, thank you!” She threw her arms around him, and he held her close a moment. His gaze dimmed. Tears? Ridiculous.

He released her and drew back. “I hope you’ll tell your sisters what I said.”

Jane laughed. “Try to stop her.”

Calantha dimpled. As he started to rise, however, she grabbed his hand. “Father, wait. There’s something else I want to ask you.”

Again he glanced to Jane, who shrugged as if she were just as mystified.

“Oh?” he said, returning his look to his daughter. “What would that be?”

“Can you change my name?”

Alaric rocked back. “Your name? What’s wrong with your name?”

She pulled away to bunch both fists in her muslin skirts, twisting them mercilessly. “It’s so long. Ca-lan-tha. Girls in books have nice short names like Ann and Jane.”

So that was the problem. He met Jane’s gaze, and she ventured into the library to lay a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“I always wanted a longer romantic name,” she said thoughtfully, “like Guinevere or Calantha.”

Calantha blinked at her. “You did?”

Jane nodded.

Calantha’s face puckered. “I don’t.”

“What do you want to be called?” Jane asked, and Alaric waited for the answer. Evangeline had insisted on the romantic names, mouthfuls most of them. Likely she would have found Calantha’s request a repudiation of her wishes. He chided himself for being glad for a moment she wasn’t here.

“Callie,” his daughter said.

Alaric took her hand. “All my life, I’ve had to be called by titles. When I was a boy, as my father’s heir, I was Viscount Worthington. Now that I’ve succeeded to the title, I’m Wey. No one but me ever called me Alaric, for all it’s the name I prefer. If you prefer Callie, that’s what we’ll call you. I’ll alert the staff.”

“And Grandmother?” she asked hopefully.

“And your grandmother,” he promised, rising at last. “Now, sleep well, Callie.”

She dropped another curtsey, with surprising grace. “Good night, Father. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

Jane put a hand to her shoulders to nudge her toward the door but glanced back. He was surprised to see tears in her eyes as well.

“Nicely done,” she said. “And thank you, Alaric.” She hurried out the door as if afraid of being chided. Likely Parsons would have suggested discharging her for such an impertinence.

When all Alaric wanted to do was thank her.