What a Difference a Duke Makes Page 4

  Edgar was poised to intervene when Miss Perkins took matters into her own hands.

  Literally.

  She grabbed the snake from Michel and stuffed it into her reticule, closing the clasp.

  “Thank you ever so much, Michel. This will be very useful for our herpetology lesson tomorrow,” she said.

  The constable eyed her with exactly the same wary expression Edgar must have used earlier. “You asked ’em to bring you a snake?”

  “Why, of course.” Miss Perkins regarded the constable as if it were the most common request in the world. “And they found me a splendid example of a grass snake, or natrix natrix, isn’t that right, children?”

  Michel nodded, gazing up at Miss Perkins. “Is that his name? Natrix?”

  “We’ll call him Trix,” announced Adele with a toss of her tangled black curls.

  “Is he venomous?” asked Mrs. Fairfield in a trembling voice.

  “Not in the least,” said Miss Perkins. “Grass snakes are a peaceful, water-loving breed, as I informed the children. The only reptile native to England that must be avoided at all costs is the adder, or common viper. But those are usually only found on the moorlands or in bogs.”

  “We found Trix by the Serpentine,” said Michel proudly.

  Miss Perkins nodded. “Very appropriate.”

  “They were all alone,” the constable said, scratching his chin. “Two children tearing through Hyde Park. Splashing about in the water.”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “We’ve already established that they were hunting snakes. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  She was always at the ready with a proverb.

  The constable frowned. “They said as their father was a duke but, you’ll excuse me, miss, I had my doubts.”

  “Why should you have had doubts?”

  “They was all covered in river mud. And they’re not exactly fair complexioned to begin with, now are they?”

  “True,” said Miss Perkins, in her lilting, cheery voice. “But then neither are you, Constable. Fair complexioned, that is. To my eye you’re rather a plummy sort of shade, especially about the nose.” She peered closer, examining the appendage in question. “Almost as if you overindulged in the tipple of an evening?” She leaned forward and sniffed at his breath. “Or an afternoon. Tut, tut.”

  “I beg your pardon,” sputtered the constable. “I never.”

  Michel and Adele grinned at Miss Perkins.

  India snorted. “She’s perfect,” she whispered in Edgar’s ear.

  “Why, because she orders me about and keeps snakes in her purse?”

  “Because she stands up for the children.”

  “Thank you for bringing the children safely home, Constable,” said Miss Perkins. “Cook will have something for you in the kitchens. Off you go then,” she said with a stern look. “Mrs. Fairfield will show you the way.”

  The constable knew when he’d been dispatched.

  He followed the housekeeper out of the entrance hall with a dazed expression.

  “Are you going to be our new governess?” Michel asked Miss Perkins when he was gone.

  “That’s for your father to decide.” She straightened and turned toward Edgar.

  The flame in her blue eyes dared him to dismiss her then and there.

  “Oh please, sir,” Michel said, addressing Edgar. “May we keep Miss Perkins? She’s not like the other ones. She’s much prettier. With rosy cheeks and interesting freckles.”

  And that was the bloody problem, now wasn’t it?

  “Has Miss Dunkirk left?” asked Adele.

  “You know very well that you chased her away,” said Miss Perkins.

  “We called her Miss Dungheap,” announced Adele.

  Miss Perkins frowned. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. How unkind.”

  “Well she was quite odiferous,” said Michel. “And that means smelly.”

  “Those who can see the faults of others sometimes cannot discern their own,” said Miss Perkins. “To my nose, there are two odiferous children in my near vicinity. Children who need baths in the very worst way.”

  Again she turned a questioning glance at Edgar.

  All eyes were on him, awaiting his decision.

  He found he didn’t have the heart to send her away.

  Not with the children gazing at her with such interest and none of the antipathy they’d shown toward their previous governesses.

  Her smile faltered. A crack in her confident façade. He sensed that she wasn’t quite as bold as she pretended to be. Somehow he had the feeling that this employment meant the world to her.

  She’d said she just arrived from Derbyshire. What if she had nowhere to stay in London? What if she had an ailing father and five sisters to support back in the countryside?

  His mind revolted at the thought of Miss Perkins abandoned to the tender mercies of London. A cheerful country girl like her would be swallowed alive.

  He cleared his throat. “One week’s trial, Perkins.”

  A smile bowed Miss Perkins’s lips, touching her eyes with relief. “I swear you won’t regret it, Your Grace.”

  He already regretted it. The twins might be momentarily disarmed by her, but they’d turn on her soon enough and chase her away.

  And then he’d be right back where he started. Governess-less and racing to finish a design that required finesse, focus, and, above all, a clear head.

  “I knew you’d make the right choice, darling.” India planted a kiss on his cheek. “See you at the exhibition.”

  She left him standing by the stairs and shook Miss Perkins’s hand. “Welcome, she-who-charms-snakes-and-children.”

  “That’s a jolly nice dagger you’ve got there, Lady India,” Adele said admiringly.

  “Why, thank you, Adele. It’s a replica of an Egyptian ceremonial dagger.”

  “Have you been to Egypt?”

  “I returned from there only one week past. Your father is hosting an exhibition of the antiquities I discovered. Should you like to attend?”

  “May we?” asked Michel.

  “I don’t see why not. Unless there’s some ducal objection?” India quirked an eyebrow at Edgar.

  “I think having something for the children to look forward to would be a wonderful idea,” said Miss Perkins.

  What she meant was that it would keep the twins from running away if they had a reason to stay.

  She had a point.

  “We’ll see,” Edgar said, in an attempt to maintain some control over his household.

  But the smile that his sister and Miss Perkins exchanged revealed that the two females knew exactly what had happened.

  They’d already won.

  “Mind Miss Perkins closely,” India said to the twins. “I’ve a feeling she has much to teach you.”

  His sister departed in her swaggering fashion, after one last triumphant over-the-shoulder I-told-you-so glance.

  As Miss Perkins passed him on the way to the stairs, he caught the warm scent of her skin. A lingeringly sweet floral soap. Lilies. Or lilacs.

  The fading afternoon sun lit the coronet of her braids and set it aflame.

  Those prim, tightly woven braids. He had a sudden image of those braids unbound.

  Of his fingers buried in her hair.

  Drawing her closer to map her freckles with his lips.

  Did she have freckles on her shoulders . . . or sprinkled across her breasts?

  This would never work.

  “Perkins,” he called sternly.

  She turned. “Yes, Your Grace?”

  Trepidation in her eyes. Desperation. Hope. “Good afternoon to you,” he finished, unable and unwilling to disappoint her.

  A smile flirted with her lips. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

  She disappeared up the stairs, the children trailing after her like tired little ducklings.

  She may be fashioned specifically to tempt him, but Miss Perkins was far too sunny and guileless, she was in his employ, and she must b
e an example for his children.

  Which set her entirely off limits.

  Thrice forbidden.

  And never to be explored.

  She’d evaded the executioner’s block, at least for today.

  As the twins led her to the nursery, Mari wondered what had changed the duke’s mind.

  He’d had such a long list of objections: she was too small and weak, too inexperienced, too hypothetically distracting to footmen.

  That last one had been unexpected, to say the least.

  She had one week to overcome all of his objections and to prove her indispensability.

  That is, if Mrs. Trilby didn’t find her out and ruin everything.

  A new life in London and the princely sum of thirty-five pounds hung in the balance.

  A small fortune, her heart sang.

  “Here’s the nursery, Miss Perkins,” said Adele, leading Mari into a spacious, high-ceilinged room with luxurious silk carpets and an expansive view of the park.

  The duke had spared no expense in outfitting the children’s nursery.

  Framed maps and prints dotted the walls, along with a large blackboard. In a sunny alcove stood an enormous wooden chest filled to the brim with wooden soldiers, balls, hoops, dolls, and a heap of other toys. Handsome oak bookshelves occupied one of the walls, bulging with shiny new leather spines.

  Only the best for a duke.

  Mari wasn’t the best. Not even close. She hadn’t been educated in one of the elite private academies, her Latin and French were merely adequate, and her charcoals more enthusiastic than skillful. Her accomplishments may be few, but if there was one thing she knew, it was children.

  Though these two would be a challenge, no doubt about it.

  They had identical black hair and delicately pointed chins, and the same wariness and mistrust in their dark brown eyes.

  What had happened to them during their upbringing in France? Mari had expected the cosseted children of a duke to be plump and petted. These two children were as lean as orphans bred on watery gruel and proverbs.

  “Is that a new set of encyclopedias?” Mari asked, pointing at the bookshelves.

  “Who needs encyclopedias?” Michel made a face. “Boring.”

  “We want to play in the park,” said Adele. “We want to hunt snakes. Trix will need a friend. May we see him now?”

  Mari laid a hand over her reticule. “Not until we have an appropriate receptacle for him.” She bent toward Michel. “If you must collect snakes from the Serpentine, I’ll be more than happy to assist with the endeavor. But there’ll be no more running away. And no more shooting constables, is that understood?”

  “You’re not like our other governesses,” said Adele. “They couldn’t abide snakes. Or spiders.”

  “Or toads in their beds,” added Michel.

  Mari sniffed. “I should think not.”

  “Miss Perkins, allow me to introduce Mrs. Brill, the children’s nurse.” Mrs. Fairfield entered the room followed by a fair-haired woman with round cheeks who wore a white apron over her blue gown.

  “Did you run off again, you naughty things? Why, you’re covered in mud.” Mrs. Brill gave Mari a sideways glance, as if including her in her disapproval. “You’ll never catch a husband crusted in mud.” She pinched Adele’s cheek.

  “Bah! I don’t want a husband.” Adele gave her a haughty stare. “Et ne jamais pincer mes joues!”

  “What’s that you say?” Mrs. Brill tilted her head.

  “She doesn’t want you to pinch her cheeks,” Mari translated.

  “Well,” said the nurse. “Might I be allowed to give Her Majesty a bath?”

  Michel glanced at Mari’s reticule. “Trix will have a bath with me.”

  “Certainly not!” said Mrs. Fairfield.

  “Mr. Trix would prefer a nice safe place to curl up,” Mari said. “Have you a spare water jug, Mrs. Fairfield? We can tie a piece of butter muslin over the top so he can breathe.”

  Mrs. Fairfield blanched. “You can’t mean to keep that disgusting reptile in the nursery.”

  Adele crossed her thin arms across her ribs. “Trix stays here with us tonight.”

  “You can’t keep a snake in the house,” sputtered Mrs. Fairfield. “What will Mr. Robertson think? He’s the butler, dear,” she explained to Mari.

  “You may tell Mr. Robertson that the snake is an educational specimen.”

  “If he were a specimen he’d be dead and pinned to velvet, now wouldn’t he?” replied Mrs. Fairfield.

  Mari’s reticule chose that moment to quiver violently.

  “You’re frightening Trix.” Adele’s brow furrowed ominously, reminding Mari of the duke.

  Mrs. Brill captured Adele by the elbow. “It’s time for your bath. I hear you’ve been splashing about in the Serpentine. Heaven knows what lives in that water besides snakes.”

  Adele stuck out her lower lip. “Trix needs a home.”

  “We won’t have our baths until he has a home,” said Michel.

  Battle lines already.

  She must win this one for the twins. “He’s quite harmless, Mrs. Fairfield. He’s not the biting kind of snake. And if he did manage to get free he would simply slither away. He’s far more scared of you than you are of him.”

  “I suppose you may keep him,” Mrs. Fairfield said doubtfully. “But only one day, mind you. Wait here and I’ll find something to house the reptile.”

  “His name is Trix,” said Adele.

  “Naming snakes . . .” Mrs. Fairfield shook her head. “Whatever will you think of next?”

  Mari waited until the housekeeper left the nursery before smiling at the twins. “There, you see? Trix shall have his home. And you shall have your baths. Now off you go with Mrs. Brill. No dawdling.”

  They dragged their feet, but they obeyed.

  She must discover the reason they ran away so often. They must be grieving if their mother died so recently and they’d been uprooted from their life in France.

  Children felt things so very keenly.

  Often they needed someone only to listen to them. When they felt their grievances were heard, when they unburdened their troubled souls, it was sometimes enough to restore their spirits.

  In the time she had with these children, whether it was weeks or years, she would show them what it was like to have a stable, patient caregiver, one who respected them and never talked down to them.

  “I’m to give you this, miss.” A strapping golden-haired footman in smart black-and-gold livery entered the room and handed her a large water jug, a scrap of butter muslin, and some twine.

  Mari smiled at him, but he seemed singularly undistracted. Perhaps she was only distracting to dukes? How odd.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Carl, miss.”

  “Carl, you aren’t frightened of snakes, are you?”

  “’Course not,” the footman scoffed.

  “Hold the jug tilted, just so.” She unclasped her reticule, reached inside, and transferred the snake to his temporary home. Clapping the porous muslin over the lid, she directed Carl to hold the fabric while she secured the twine with double knots.

  “Farewell for now, Trix,” she whispered. “You were a great help today.” She set the jug on a low table near the blackboard.

  Mrs. Fairfield returned to the nursery. “The children allowed Mrs. Brill to wash them?” she asked with an amiable smile.

  “The children are in the bath and the snake is in the jug.” Mari tapped the side of Trix’s temporary home. “Thank you for allowing them to keep him.”

  “We must choose our battles, must we not?”

  “Indeed.” Mari had only known Mrs. Fairfield a few hours but she was fast coming to the conclusion that the older woman was wise, kind, and a potential ally.

  “Now how about that hot cup of tea?” the housekeeper asked.

  At the mention of sustenance, Mari’s stomach rumbled. “That would be lovely,” she said gratefully. “I haven
’t eaten yet today.”

  “Oh you poor thing. Come with me immediately. I’ll show you to your chamber. I’m sure you’re tired after your journey and you’ll want to refresh your toilet.”

  Mari glanced ruefully at her dusty black skirts. Until the duke paid her, she’d have to make do with the one gown. It was a good thing she was plain and practical, with no reason for vanity.

  Her bedchamber was two doors down from the nursery and Mari was glad of the proximity. If Michel had a night terror, she’d be the first to respond.

  Was this really to be her chamber?

  It was light-filled and airy, with blue silk on the walls and green trees outside the windows instead of dreary gray stone. There was even an adjoining sitting room furnished with a matching set of scroll-backed walnut furniture.

  “Now, my dear, tell me how you find us thus far. Will we do?” the housekeeper asked with a twinkle in her eyes, accepting a tea service from a maid and setting it on the table in the sitting room.

  “I shall be very happy here,” said Mari, joining her at the table.

  As Mrs. Fairfield poured out, Mari settled against the cushioned chair back, easing the tension between her shoulder blades.

  “You’ve certainly a much readier smile than any of the previous governesses, and that’s a vast improvement,” said the housekeeper.

  Mari accepted a delicate teacup patterned with pink cabbage roses.

  Mrs. Fairfield proffered a plate heaped with lemon-scented biscuits. Mari longed to swallow one of the delicate biscuits in a single bite, but instead she bit off a small, ladylike morsel.

  Everything about her must proclaim refinement.

  “Michel and Adele are intelligent, spirited children who only want proper encouragement and guidance,” Mari said.

  “A very charitable way of framing the picture.”

  “I try to be an optimist, Mrs. Fairfield.”

  She’d had a reputation for efficiency and results at Underwood. A colicky baby? A girl who was unable to recall her lessons? Mari Perkins would take care of everything.

  She’d made herself indispensable there, and she would do the same here.

  “I’m so glad to hear it,” said the housekeeper. “I’ll have to personally thank Mrs. Trilby for sending us someone so cheerful and capable.”