What the Duke Wants Read online

  A knock on her door brought her head up and she rose. “Yes?”

  “It is I, Mrs. Pott, dear. Your belongings just arrived,” the housekeeper answered as she let herself into the room.

  “Thank you.”

  “I, er…” Mrs. Pott stuttered, her cheerful face slightly pinched in concern. “I’m afraid some of your clothes were, shall we say, damaged, in some sort.”

  “Yes, I’m aware. It was why I was hesitant for you to collect them. You see, on my way to London, my trunk fell and opened on impact. My dresses and—other things—didn’t manage too well against the mud on the road.” Carlotta felt her face flush with humiliation.

  “You poor dear! How wretched! I’ll have them laundered and pressed at once. Whatever can’t be salvaged we shall discard and I’ll endeavor to have new dresses made to replace them.”

  “There’s no need, I’m sure what I have will suffice.” The last thing she wanted was to be an imposition.

  “Oh fustian! Remember, my dear, your employer is the duke. We cannot have you looking like you work for anyone less.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought—”

  “Not to worry, dear. You’ll get used to it. Now, shall I introduce you to the girls?”

  “Yes.” Carlotta exhaled a sigh of relief.

  “Very well, follow me and I’ll take to you them.”

  Carlotta followed Mrs. Pott’s plump figure down the hall and to the left. It was oddly quiet for there being three children about. She expected Mrs. Pott to lead her to another floor, but rather, she paused in front of a large wooden door and knocked softly. Carlotta watched her expression soften. “Girls? I’ve your new governess with me.”

  The door cracked open slightly. Two very large brown eyes glanced out warily.

  “Yes m’um.” The door continued to open.

  Mrs. Pott cut a glance to Carlotta, speaking volumes. She would need to tread carefully.

  They entered a large salon decorated in a cream color. A cheery fire danced in the hearth, but the tone, the overall feeling of the room was one of despair. Carlotta focused on the two other girls sitting together on the settee, holding hands. The third girl joined them shortly. Clearly older, she placed a protective arm around the other two as she watched their approach with careful consideration.

  It was apparent they were all sisters. Three pairs of chocolate colored eyes were all framed in dark feathery eyelashes. Wide lips were thinned in a wary line and their chestnut hair was plaited neatly and in a similar fashion. In all truth, they looked like the very same girl but in different stages of life. The youngest couldn’t be older than seven and the middle one looked to be about ten or eleven. The oldest was perhaps fourteen but that was uncertain. She was in the first bloom of a young lady but her eyes seemed older, wiser. Pained.

  “Beatrix, Bethanny, Roberta? This is Miss Standhope. She is to be your governess,” said Mrs. Pott by way of introduction.

  “Berty, my name is Berty,” the youngest corrected with a scowl before being hushed by her older sister.

  “Yes, well.” Mrs. Pott tried to hide a grin.

  “Hello, sweet girls. I’m pleased to meet you.” Carlotta spoke quietly. Then on impulse, she took a few steps to get closer. Crouching down, she met them at eye level. “Truly, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. You’re all entirely lovely and I’m sure we’ll get along quite well.”

  Berty, the youngest, smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. However, the older two simply nodded, their expressions inscrutable.

  “I’ll leave you to get acquainted. Dinner will be shortly.” Mrs. Pott left, closing the door behind her.

  “Now then, can you please tell me which of you is Beatrix and which one is Bethanny?” Carlotta asked, standing.

  “I’m Beatrix,” the middle girl stated, her voice was deeper than Carlotta expected, a true mezzo.

  “I’m Bethanny,” the oldest spoke next, her voice clear and pure.

  “I’m Carlotta but you must call me Lottie. It’s ever so much easier than Carlotta,” she said with a grin.

  “I like you,” Berty stated.

  “Well I like you as well.” Carlotta reached out and patted the girl’s shoulder tenderly. “So, why don’t you tell me a little about yourselves? Bethanny? Would you start please?”

  “Well, I’m sixteen. I’m fond of reading and have done quite well with my embroidery.”

  “How ladylike.”

  “Thank you. Momma—”

  She stopped, her eyes darting to her lap as she bit her lower lip. The two other girls took similar postures.

  “Your mother? Was embroidery important to her?” Carlotta went out on a limb, hoping she wasn’t hurting their fragile relationship.

  “Yes,” came a low whisper.

  “You know, I lost my parents as well when I was about your age, Bethanny,” said Carlotta, keeping her voice gentle.

  All three girls gave her their rapt attention, pain and understanding clear on their faces.

  “Really?” Beatrix asked.

  “Yes, they took ill. My mother died of pneumonia and my father took to his bed shortly after. I think perhaps, he didn’t know how to live without my mother. He died about a month after her. “

  “That’s horrid.” said Berty.

  “It was indeed.”

  “What did you do?” asked Beatrix.

  “I wept…a lot. Tears clean your soul, you know. They help wash away the pain. And with time, the pain becomes less and less. You forget how sad you are and remember how happy you were when they were alive.”

  “I miss Momma and my father too,” Berty confided.

  “I’m sure you do.” Carlotta reached up and smoothed a stray lock of chestnut hair on the child’s head. “But you’re not truly alone. You have your sisters. And together you can all remember all the lovely things about your parents that made them so special. And as you get older, you can share the most delicious secrets together, and encourage one another.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Bethanny said, a thoughtful expression flitting across her beautiful face.

  “It is true.”

  “Do you have sisters, Miss Lottie?” Beatrix asked.

  “No. I always wished I did. So you see how lucky you are?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very good. Now. Tell me about yourself, Beatrix.” Carlotta coaxed.

  “I’m eleven, and I hate to read. I’d much rather be outside. I love riding but…” She leaned forward as if to impart some great secret.

  Carlotta leaned in, an indulgent smile tickling her lips.

  “I hate sidesaddle. Father let me ride astride, like a boy!”

  “Heavens!” Carlotta feigned shock, her lips spreading into a grin.

  “Truly! But he always said as I grew older I’d need to learn sidesaddle.” She pouted.

  “That’s wise.”

  Beatrix regarded Carlotta with a curious expression. “Do you ride sidesaddle?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then you can teach me.” She nodded.

  “I’m sure there will be a great many things we’ll learn from each other.” Carlotta replied. “Now then, little Berty, your full name is Roberta, correct?”

  “Yes, but I hate it. Roberta.” She said the name in a whine. “It’s just a boy’s name with an ‘a’ at the end. Honestly, couldn’t Mother think of a proper girl’s name for me? They said they were glad I was a girl but I think they wanted a boy. You know, to name him Robert. They were stuck with me so they just added an ‘a’ to the end.”

  “My.” Carlotta blinked, not quite sure how to address such a statement. “I’m sure your parents were thrilled to have another girl. And, I’ll have you know, Roberta is quite a popular name for a girl. You’re parents didn’t just make it up on a whim.”

  “That’s what I keep telling her.” Bethanny rolled her eyes.

  “I still don’t like it. Call me Berty, please.”

  “Fine, Miss Berty. You know, you even look li
ke a Berty, now that I think of it.”

  “I always thought so too.” The seven-year-old nodded sagely.

  “Now then, shall I tell you about myself?” Carlotta asked the girls.

  “Yes!” Berty shouted while the other two nodded.

  “Well, I’m a bit older than your oldest sister, so I’ll have plenty to teach you. I’m versed in Latin, French, and all the other studies you’ll need to learn. But also of equal importance, I’ll be teaching you how to be ladies of quality. Was your father titled?”

  “Yes, he was a baron,” Bethanny said.

  “So was my father,” Carlotta spoke before thinking.

  “Then why—” Bethanny’s expression was confused.

  “It’s not important. You are now the wards of a very powerful and influential duke. You’ll need to be properly trained in the ways of the London elite.”

  “Will we go to balls?” Beatrix asked, her eyes alight.

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “And drink champagne?” Berty said enthusiastically.

  “When you’re much older. So you see, you have so many wonderful things to look forward to.”

  “I suppose.” Bethanny nodded with a thoughtful expression.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Yes?” Carlotta answered.

  Murray entered. “Dinner is served.”

  “Lovely. Thank you.” Carlotta stood, her charges mimicking her movements.

  “Let’s follow Mr. Murray while he escorts us to dinner.”

  They went down the hall and soon the heavenly fragrance of roasted duck with some sort of rich sauce assaulted Carlotta’s senses. It had been an age, it seemed, since she had enjoyed a proper meal. At least since the fretful day Mr. Burrows had come to call. She’d found her appetite had quite disappeared, and then when it returned, she was already on her way to London and the fare she procured wasn’t of the tempting variety.

  They entered a gilded dining room with gleaming picture frames and polished sconces that reflected the candlelight in a deep glow. Velvet-covered chairs of deep crimson offered soft and luxurious respite as they all sat down to the table. While the room was large enough to accommodate at least fifty, the extra leaves had been removed from the table, which made it much smaller, though still far too large for the small party about to dine.

  Dinner was served with a grand flourish, each dish as beautifully displayed as it was delicious. Carlotta kept her eye on the girls, watching their table manners and tucking little observances into the back of her mind for later instruction. A voice boomed in the hall, startling her.

  “I don’t care if it’s the bloody Noah’s flood! They can’t be here tomorrow! I’m… entertaining,” the dominant male voice shouted, clearly the duke and therefore not accustomed to other people in hearing distance within his own home.

  Carlotta heard Murray’s voice but was unable to distinguish his words. It was quiet then, too quiet. Carlotta glanced at the girls. They were all staring at their plates, their eating long ceased as they clearly understood the meaning behind the loud shouts.

  They weren’t wanted.

  And nothing could have angered Carlotta more. Right then she decided, regardless of what Mrs. Pott said about the duke caring about his servants, all the gossip concerning him had to be truth. He was arrogant and thought only of himself. Truly, it was maddening for someone with so much power, wealth and influence to be so concerned with just himself. However, she didn’t need the girls sharing her opinion, though she rather thought they’d figure it out soon enough. As their guardian, they needed to respect the duke, regardless.

  “Girls, in spite of what you heard, remember that the duke is taking very good care of you. You’re fed, you have a warm place to sleep, and now you have me. I imagine it is quite a difficult adjustment for him as well. Let us have grace for, well, his grace. Shall we?”

  ****

  Charles wiped his face with his white-gloved hand at the gentle and unaccountably forgiving tone of the woman just on the other side of the door. Thoroughly shamed, not only by his butler, who had calmly reminded him that his guests were nearby and therefore privy to his loud declaration, but now by the lowly governess also. There was only so much humbling a duke could survive without taking to an evening of fine brandy.

  A copious amount of fine brandy.

  Her words were gentle, but it was primarily what she said. In all of this, no one had even considered his feelings. As he thought of it, it did sound rather selfish. The poor girls had lost their parents and now were forced to deal with the likes of him. But still, it was a miserable adjustment for him, regardless of the fact that they’d be in Bath shortly. Before, all he had to worry about was his land, his title, and his person. Now, he had the lives—the destinies—of three young women, and as much as he truly was the monster the ton gossiped about, he wasn’t completely heartless. He took his job seriously, and those girls wouldn’t go without a single necessity or want. He’d make sure of it.

  He listened closely, waiting to see if she’d speak again.

  “Yes, Miss Lottie. I suppose your right. Truly, we’ve not even met him yet. So it wouldn’t be fair to judge him.”

  “At least yet,” chimed in another voice.

  Charles grimaced. He’d been avoiding them for a few days now, conveniently leaving before they were about and returning when he knew they wouldn’t be awake. He truly had no idea what to say to them.

  So he said nothing at all.

  “I’m sure his grace is quite busy.” The governess spoke again.

  Was it his imagination or did her voice sound beautiful? Like it belonged to a beautiful woman, that was. He would know, he’d heard the voices of a great many women, most of them beautiful.

  Curiosity captured his fancy and he decided that there was no time like the present, so he straightened his stature, tugged his gloves into place and took a deep breath. Pushing the door open, he was greeted by four gasps of surprise.

  The young girls all looked remarkably alike, and strangely enough, reminded him of his mother’s portrait of when she was younger. His eyes then moved to the governess.

  And his mouth went dry.

  He would have to have a very serious word with Mrs. Pott.

  Mentally, he ran over his requirements for a governess for the girls. Appearance had never been spoken about, but in his head, he’d been thinking along the line of someone like…well, like Mrs. Pott.

  Not the tempting beauty regarding him calmly. Calmly? Shouldn’t she be at least mildly afraid? He was a duke after all, and his reputation did precede him. Surely, she knew, unless she was foreign?

  “Hello, ladies.” He bowed crisply then strode over to the head of the table.

  Murray appeared in short order, filling his wine glass and setting a place for him.

  “Your grace,” the beauty replied, the girls echoing her voice in quick succession.

  “I trust you are the new governess?” he asked.

  “Yes, I was hired by your housekeeper just this morning,” she replied, clearly not foreign but proper English.

  “Very good, and you lovely ladies, must be the misses Lamonts.”

  “Yes, your grace,” they murmured in unison.

  “I’m pleased to make the acquaintance of such lovely ladies.” He nodded, but his gaze slid over to the governess.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly as if seeing through him.

  Perhaps she did know his reputation then. No matter, in a few day’s time, at the most, she would be gone to Bath with the girls, removing the temptation.

  ****

  As his bloody luck would have it, it rained. Not the typical English spring shower, but a monsoon-like torrential downpour.

  And after the first day, he had tried to escape the confines of his house and ended up soaked before he made it to the second step, even with an umbrella. No longer feeling adventurous, he decided he needed to catch up on his business.

  By mid-afternoon, his eyes blurry and fully ready
to direct themselves somewhere other than fine print, he strode out to the library.

  And found it already occupied. Before he was noticed, he began to close the door then paused.

  “Miss Lottie? How do I waltz?” one of the girls asked, he assumed the oldest.

  “Waltz? Well, first you should learn the cotillion, quadrille—”

  “Oh! I know those! I just never… well we were going to learn the waltz next but…” Her voice trailed off, distinctly hesitant and… sad?

  Belatedly he remembered the ward’s loss of their parents. He knew the empty ache of loss that accompanied the death of one’s mother and father, but he suspected that his wards had been far more attached to their parents than he had been to his.

  “We shall remedy that, then.” The governess spoke again her tone overly bright, as if she had heard the sorrow as well. Carlotta. He practiced the name in his mind, letting its cadence float to his lips in a whisper. It was a beautiful name, a passionate name. The sound of it evoked the idea of color and desire.

  It was not the name for a governess, he decided, but a temptress.

  Which was all too accurate.

  A governess masquerading as a temptress. Heaven help him.

  “Now, Beatrix? Can you play the pianoforte for us? Slowly, if you please.”

  “Yes, Miss Lottie.”

  “Bethanny, I’m going to lead. But first, you must know that before you waltz, you must have permission from a patroness of Almack’s. Understood?”

  “Yes, Miss Lottie.”

  “Now, then. My hand will hold your waist, and your hand will rest on my shoulder. Very good. Beatrix? If you will?”