The duke wasn’t a bad sort. Jane smiled to herself as she walked back to her quarters near the schoolroom. Perhaps it was that cool green look, or the way he sat so still, like a catamount willing the deer closer. But she’d thought he might argue on the proper way to educate girls.

The duchess certainly had firm ideas, and not just on education.

“We cannot have boisterous behavior in the corridors,” she had told Jane as she had led her and the girls to the schoolroom earlier that afternoon. “You will see that my granddaughters are cared for in their proper place.”

The proper place had been up a narrow, dimly lit set of stairs at the end of the corridor. Jane had been a little afraid the girls had been confined to cells in the attics, but the top floor opened into a long, wide, room with sunny yellow walls and windows looking out over the courtyard and onto the island. Bookcases, miniature versions of the ones in His Grace’s library, lined one wall, while the center of the room held a worktable surrounded by spindle-backed chairs. Crouched in one corner was a wooden rocking horse, color fading.

Smaller rooms opening along one wall held bedchambers for her and each of the girls. She didn’t mind in the least that hers was smallest. The bed with its carved headboard and matching washstand was finer than what she’d made do with many times on campaign, and the walnut wardrobe along one wall would hold her meager belongings nicely.

“And these are your staff,” the duchess had said with a regal wave at the three people who stood near the windows. She made no effort to introduce them, as if the two older women and younger man in the olive livery of the house were nothing more than additional pieces of furniture.

Jane broke away from the duchess to approach them. “Jane Kimball. And you are?”

The shorter of the two women, her light-brown hair neatly drawn back below a lace-edged cap, curtsied. “Betsy, ma’am. I’ve been nursery maid since Lady Larissa was born. Maud here came along when Lady Abelona arrived.”

The larger of the two, in height and figure, Maud nodded her greying head. “And glad I was to join the household.”

“That’s Simmons,” Betsy said with a look to the strapping footman. “He does for the nursery.”

Simmons nodded, clean-shaven chin jutting out. He had hair the color of ripened wheat and eyes a steely grey. “Mrs. Kimball. I know the routine. You needn’t worry about me.”

Jane smiled. “Routines can change.”

Larissa, who with her sisters had been avidly watching the exchange, shook her head.

The duchess drew herself up. “You will find, Mrs. Kimball, that we are traditionalists here at the castle. I have expectations, you know, for you and my granddaughters. See that you live up to them.”

Jane knew what was expected of a gentlewoman—the ability to smile and nod while life tumbled around her, a good seat on a horse, accomplishments in piano, watercolor, and embroidery. Jimmy’s stepmother would have argued that Jane had had all that, and it had availed her nothing. She’d been a disobedient daughter, an impossible daughter-in-law.

Now she knew what was truly needed in a lady—pluck and grit and determination. A willingness to see to the needs of others, no matter their ancestry or position. And the ability to protect herself. She would have loved to add drills with knife and pistol to the curriculum, but she fervently hoped the three little ladies in her care would never need those skills. After all, life at Wey Castle seemed rather predictable.

The scream as she started up the stairs now belied that thought.

It rent the air, terror lending it strength. Jane picked up her skirts and ran, barreling into the schoolroom and narrowing in on Calantha’s bedchamber.

The little girl had squeezed herself between the double-doored wardrobe and pink, silk-draped wall. Hunched down and arms covering her head, she trembled violently. Jane squatted beside her, drew her close.

“What happened?”

Calantha shook her head, then buried it in Jane’s shoulder while one hand pointed toward the massive box bed with pink and white chintz hangings that graced the center of the room.

“Did something frighten you?” Jane asked. “A nightmare?”

The little head on her shoulder shook a decided no.

Where were the others? The child had screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Larissa and Abelona should be crying out at the sound. One of the two nursery maids, Betsy or Maud, should have poked in a head. They shared a room just down the corridor, they had told Jane. And where was Simmons, the nursery footman? Shouldn’t he be on duty?

With a shake of her head, Jane scooped Calantha up and rose, a bit unsteadily. The eight-year-old might look like a piece of eiderdown, but she weighed considerably more.

“Well, there’s nothing to fear, now,” Jane assured her. “I won’t let it harm you.”

The girl gave a shaky sigh and cuddled closer.

A tall shadow appeared in the doorway. “Spider again?” Simmons asked. Earlier he’d been wearing the proper olive coat and breeches. Now his shirt was untucked, his feet in stockings, as if he’d thrown on his clothes or hadn’t bothered to take them off.

Calantha shuddered at his voice.

“Ah,” Jane said. “So that’s it. Nasty things, spiders. I don’t like them much myself.”

Calantha pulled back to show a face puckered by fear. “Miss Carruthers said they’d bite me in my sleep if I didn’t do my sums right.”

Anger bubbled up inside her. “Miss Carruthers is mistaken. Spiders are more likely to go after governesses who treat little girls badly.”

Calantha sighed again as she lowered her head. “Oh, good. That means you’re safe too.”

Jane nodded to the footman. “Check the bed, Simmons.”

He straightened. “There’s no spider. She’s just scared.” He nodded to Calantha. “Go back to bed, now, like a good girl.”

Calantha sucked in a breath.

Jane held out the girl. “Very well, you hold her, and I’ll check the bed. I probably know more about catching spiders anyway.”

Calantha suffered herself to be transferred to Simmons’s much stronger arms. “You do?” the little girl asked.

“Certainly I do,” Jane said, shoving up her sleeves. “I’ve captured or killed spiders in Egypt, Flanders, and Portugal.”

The footman scowled in obvious disbelief as Jane advanced on the flowing bed hangings. “Oy there! This is Lady Calantha’s room, and you’ve no business skulking about.” She grabbed the right bed hanging and shook the pink and white fabric. “Out! Out, I say.” Not so much as dust drifted down. She turned to Calantha with a frown. “No one there. Ah! I have it! The other one!”

She pirouetted in a circle and grabbed the other hanging, shaking it mercilessly. Simmons stared at her as if she’d gone mad, but Calantha giggled.

Now, that was better. Jane threw up her hands. “Not there either. How am I to catch a spider if it won’t be found?”

Calantha wiggled, and Simmons set her on her feet. “It’s gone,” she told Jane with conviction. “You scared it away.”

Jane cocked her head. “You sure? There are still two more hangings to check.” She held out her hand. “Let’s look together.”

Calantha accepted her hand, little fingers cool in hers. Together, they shook and shouted, but nothing fell out of the material or scurried away from sight.

“What do you think?” Jane asked as Calantha crawled back onto the bed.

“I can sleep now,” she promised, settling against the pillow and reminding Jane once more of a doll. “Thank you, Mrs. Kimball.”

“It was my pleasure,” Jane said. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

Calantha sat bolt upright. “There are bugs in the bed too?”

A quarter hour later, Jane followed Simmons out of door and shut it behind her.

“Does this happen often?” she asked.

The fellow shrugged, muscles rippling. “Only once or twice a week. You’ll get used to it.”

Jane caught his arm as he turned to go. “No, I won’t, and you mustn’t either. What if it had been something serious?”

He laughed. “It’s never something serious.”

“It might be,” Jane insisted. “If she screams, you move. I expect to see you there before the first shriek fades.”

His face turned mulish. “Her Grace says we shouldn’t encourage her. Let her cry it out alone. Why do you think none of the others came? She needs to learn to deal with her fears on her own. That’s how my da raised me. No one came running when I was scared.”

Jane put her hands on her hips. “The way to stop a child from being afraid isn’t to make her more afraid. You leave the duchess to me. Those little girls are your future. Who do you think will hire butlers when they grow up?”

His eyes widened.

Jane reached up and patted his shoulder. “Good man. Now, get some sleep before the next scream sounds.”

With a nod, he hurried off.

Jane made it to her quarters at last. Thank goodness Mr. Parsons had ordered her trunk brought up. She could only hope her saddle was safely in the stables below the castle. Right now, all she wanted to do was slip into bed and think. The duke had accepted her recommendations on the curriculum, but she still had to contend with the duchess and deal with Calantha’s fears. She also had to find a unicorn.

A unicorn.

She smiled as she knelt beside the trunk, working the latch. She hadn’t bothered to lock the thing when they had left London. No one at a great house was likely to paw through a governess’s things. Now all she could picture was the duke’s face when she’d mentioned Abelona’s preferred mount. For a moment, he’d looked almost approachable. It was as if she’d found a friend.

Or perhaps not. Gooseflesh pimpled her arms as she saw her clothes tumbled together. Someone had searched her trunk. Looking for what? She had only one thing she truly valued.

Panic pushed up inside her. Out went nightgown, her spare chemise, the one dress that wasn’t black. Where was it? Please, Lord, don’t let them have stolen it.

The bit of gold braid lay shining on the bottom of the trunk. Jane snatched it up, hugged it close. Jimmy had been so proud the day the general had awarded it. She could still see his smile, the way the sunlight had caught the gold, as if reflecting the blond of his hair. Would he forgive her, when they met in heaven one day, for tearing it off his uniform before they buried him?

Something hot and wet dripped on her hands. Tears? Not now. Now she had a chance for a future, a home again. She might never find a love like she and Jimmy had shared, but she could still make a difference for someone.

The scoundrel who had dared to search her trunk would learn that it took more than that to scare Jane Kimball.

 

~~~

 

“A word, Your Grace?”

In the library, Alaric looked up the next morning from his pressed copy of the Times into his butler’s implacable face. “Yes, Parsons?”

His butler allowed a sigh to escape. “It’s about Mrs. Kimball, Your Grace. I’m not certain she should stay.”

Alaric leaned back, foreboding dropping like a raincloud. “What’s happened? Salt in her tea? Snake in her bed?”

Parsons went so far as to shudder. “Ladies Larissa, Calantha, and Abelona are far too refined to ever touch a creature like a snake. No, I fear she has countermanded Her Grace’s instructions.”

Interesting. He had only known one person who could get around his mother’s edicts easily, and that had been his father. “Which instructions, precisely?” he asked, folding the paper and setting it aside.

Parsons drew himself up. “She comforted Lady Calantha over a spider.”

“A spider.” Alaric rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me, Parsons, but I seem to require another cup of tea this morning. Why is comforting a child over a spider a heinous crime?”

Parsons hurried to refill the china cup on the desk. “Lady Calantha is perhaps a bit unreasonable in her fears. Her Grace advised us all to ignore her. Naturally, when Simmons heard her scream, he waited some time before responding. Mrs. Kimball had the effrontery to scold him for it.”

Alaric set down his cup and rose. “Let me make sure I understand you. My daughter, the image of my dear, departed wife, screamed for help, and none of you responded?”

Parsons wilted. “Her Grace said…”

“Hang what my mother said.” Alaric leaned closer. “If one of my daughters screams, I want every able-bodied man and woman who hears it to run to her aid. Run, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Of course, Your Grace.” Parsons’s hand was shaking, and he hurried to mop up the tea he’d dripped on the wood of the desk. “Then, Mrs. Kimball…”

“Was entirely right in scolding Simmons. You can tell him that if I had been there, he would have received more than a scold. Are the girls up yet?”

Parsons had recovered some of his usual dignity, for he straightened and looked down his nose. “They were up, dressed, and breakfasted before eight. She then took them for a walk.”

By the sound of it, he considered that a heinous crime as well.

“Excellent,” Alaric said, coming around the desk. “I feel the need to stroll as well. Send for me when Willard arrives.”

He bowed. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Alaric found Mrs. Kimball and the girls in his mother’s garden behind the house. Sheltered on all sides by a stone wall, the space featured crossing paths among precisely sculptured shrubs. Now it was barren from winter’s chill, but soon red and purple tulips would poke up their heads here and there, and the entire back wall would be braced by a bed of golden daffodils.

Mrs. Kimball had her navy cloak about her again, bonnet hiding the shine of her dark hair. Each of the girls wore a blue redingote, quilted and tucked. Funny—he had never noticed their outfits matching before. He knew a lack of funds wasn’t to blame. Lack of imagination, perhaps?

Abelona sighted him first. “Father!” Breath puffing white in the cold air, she ran down the graveled path. Afraid she might trip, he scooped her up and held her close a moment. She smelled like warm, buttered toast.

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Kimball greeted as he drew abreast of them. Calantha was staring at him, and Larissa was frowning. He set Abelona down.

“Your first constitutional, I see,” he ventured.

Larissa sniffed. “Mrs. Kimball thinks it’s good for us.” She seemed to share Parsons’s opinion of the matter.

“I quite agree,” he told her. “I never realized you were shut up indoors so often. You should see the sunshine.”

Calantha glanced up at the overcast sky. “Grandmother says sunshine ruins a lady’s complexion.”

Larissa nodded. “We’ll get spots, like Mrs. Kimball.”

Mrs. Kimball’s fingers flew to her nose, but not before Alaric saw that Larissa was right. Delicate freckles arched over her nose, like cinnamon sprinkled on cream.

Another lady might have berated Larissa for her comment, but Mrs. Kimball laughed as she lowered her hand. “Just remember to wear your bonnet. That was my failing. Too eager to ride to fetch a hat.”

He knew that feeling. There was nothing like being in the saddle, flying down the lane. A shame he had no time for such luxuries anymore.

“Mrs. Kimball says we’re to go riding,” Calantha informed him.

“As soon as we find a unicorn,” Abelona reminded her.

“Ah, yes, the unicorn.” He shared a smile with Mrs. Kimball, savoring the sparkle in her dark eyes. “How goes the search?”

“I found three,” Abelona bragged.

“Three?” He couldn’t help his frown.

“On the carriage, over the garden gate, and on the pavement in the center of the garden.”

“Our crest,” he realized. “Very good, Abelona.”

She raised her chin and twisted from side to side as if thoroughly pleased with herself.

“But you can’t ride those unicorns,” Larissa protested. “They’re just pictures.”

“Which is why we must continue our quest,” Mrs. Kimball said. “The knights of old considered it noble to seek a unicorn.”

“A magical beast,” he agreed. “Just the sort to prance among the daffodils. Perhaps Mr. Reynolds, our head gardener, noticed a suitable mount hereabouts. I see him through the bushes. Would you ask, Larissa?”

Larissa stood taller, as if pleased he’d singled her out. “Of course, Father.” She started away, and Calantha trailed behind her.

“I better go too,” Abelona said. “She might not ask the right questions.” She toddled after her sisters.

Alaric took a step closer. He hadn’t realized Mrs. Kimball was so short. She came just under his chin. A neat handful, his friend Julian Mayes would have said.

What was he thinking?

He focused on his purpose. “Thank you for seeing to Calantha’s needs last night,” he murmured. “I had no idea my mother had given the order to stand down, but I have made it clear my daughters’ needs come first.”

“Thank you.” Her gaze remained on the girls as they approached the elderly gardener, who stopped his work to listen intently. “I wouldn’t be harsh with the staff. They were only doing what was requested of them. As for Her Grace, I’m sure it takes a little practice to deal with a child in situations like that.”

“I wouldn’t know. I was never a child.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but she shot him such as assessing look that he was forced to take a step back.

“I should go,” she said. “We still have to find that unicorn. Until this evening, Your Grace.”

He inclined his head, and she strode off to catch up with the girls.

Hands clasped behind his back, he returned to the house. Of course he’d been a child, raised in this very house until his mother had convinced his father he should spend a few years at Eton in the company of boys his own age. He remembered his time at the school fondly. Rowing competitions, fencing matches, races across the fields, the air damp against his cheeks. But over it all lay his duty. Never was he to forget he was the heir to lands that supported his family, his relatives, his staff, dozens of tenants, and their families. They were his responsibility. Every decision, every action, must reflect their best interests, not his.

Perhaps he truly had never been a child.

But that didn’t mean his children were bound to the same fate. As daughters, unable by patent to take on the title, they could follow their hearts. He would make sure of it.

His steward, Michael Willard, had just arrived when he returned to the library. The sight of the big, fuzzy-headed man, tweed cap turning in his capable hands, brought Alaric’s responsibilities crashing down upon his shoulders once more.

“Status?” he asked, taking his place at the desk.

Willard remained standing. “The lock has been installed on the western end of the canal, Your Grace, but the mechanism to open the gates is still sticking. We’ll keep working on it.”

“We must.” Willard knew as well as he did what was at stake. His steward’s house lay well below the rise of the castle. It would be one of the first to flood.

Alaric opened the center drawer of the desk and pulled out the plans, spreading them with his hands. “Show me the problem.”

Shoving his cap into the pocket of his plaid trousers, Willard bent over the diagrams, thick finger pointing. “We think it’s in this area here. The chain may not be long enough to wind around the capstan and completely open the gates to the river. We may get overtopping, which could bend down the gates and make them useless.”

Alaric nodded. “Unwind the chain completely. See if the blacksmith in the village can add another link or two. I’ll pay double for quick work.”

Willard nodded as he straightened. “Yes, Your Grace. And I have lads stationed upstream. If the river starts to rise, we’ll have a little notice to open the gates.”

A little notice. It was more than they’d had before. But if they couldn’t get the new lock system working in the next few weeks, he very much feared even a great deal of notice would not be enough.