Chapter 2
“Isuggest we use a single test to judge the validity of her claims,” he continued. “If she was honest about one aspect of her tutelage, it stands to reason the rest may be true as well.”
“And what do you suggest, Mr Keene? Shall we have her conjugate Latin verbs? Share her opinions on Mary Anning’s fossil discoveries?” the duchess asked. Sofia couldn’t help but smile. What the duchess lacked in aristocratic polish, she more than made up in wit.
“Nothing so dry as that. I suggest a more practical display.” He reached for a broom and cracked its stick in two with a swift movement against his knee. “A fencing demonstration. I don’t expect her to win, of course, but if she puts up a worthy show, you hire her on. If not”—his eyes scraped insolently down the length of her too-lean body—“we feed her a decent meal and send her off.” He tossed the makeshift foil in Sofia’s direction and she caught it easily in one hand.
“What do you say, love?” he asked Sofia. “I’ll go easy on you. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
Sofia kept her eyes trained on the broken broomstick, cool against her palm. “Vinco, vincebam, vincebam, vici, viceram, vixero,” she murmured.
Mr Keene eased a step closer, his voice dropping in volume to match their intimate proximity. “Sorry, sweetheart, I never learned Latin. You’ll have to settle for insulting me in the King”s English. Then again, for all I know, you were complimenting the fit of my breeches.” His gaze slid to the duchess, “Was she complimenting my breeches?”
“I’m sorry to say she was not. It was the Latin conjugation for ‘I win.’”
Smile lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, stretching as he studied her with a focused intensity that made her stomach pitch. “Humbling a man in Latin. You’re absolutely charming.”
A young hall boy handed Mr Keene a second broom, which he broke to match the first before giving one-half an ostentatious twirl through the air.
“This used to be such a very normal estate,” Bennett muttered. Standing, he quit the room. The other servants, who had long since stopped pretending to work, looked to Sofia. For a fleeting moment, she considered throwing the match, bungling the whole thing so this day could be over and done with. She could run back to her brother and tell him he would have to give up this despicable scheme. That they would find some other way to make their way in the world. But then the bastard winked at her and she couldn’t help but envision him flat on his egotistical behind with her practice foil at his throat.
She raised one eyebrow and lowered her chin. “En garde.”
His grin stretched slowly. And for the first time, Sofia understood how dangerous this charming man could be. That smile. There was nothing safe about it and absolutely nowhere to hide from its brilliance.
Movement from the duchess tore her attention away from his weaponised dimples. “This won’t do. You cannot simply start fencing in the middle of the kitchen,” she said with a sigh.
Sofia felt her limbs relax. Thank God. Common sense had prevailed after all. Now she could thank the duchess and?—
“Outside. Less potential for broken bits.” The duchess gave a quick nod, as if a change in venue made this situation perfectly acceptable, and strode to the door. Servants dived to open it before she could grasp the brass handle.
“After you.” Mr. Keene bent toward Sofia in a parody of an elegant bow and held out his hand to indicate the direction. “Don’t worry, Your Grace,” Keene called out. “I know you have plans for the morning. This shouldn’t take long.”
The duchess cast a distinctly mischievous smile at Sofia. “I rather agree, Christopher, but I don’t think the ending will be precisely as you anticipate.”
Once outside, Mr Keene gave Sofia a jaunty salute and planted his feet. “First to five legal points? Standard foil, which means trunks only. I’d rather not have my?—”
“I prefer épée, but if you are afraid of splinters in your unprotected parts, I can abide your need for delicacy.”
Keene’s eyes widened. “It’s not my delicacy that motivates me, love. You look like a strong breeze could blow you over. But have it your way.”
Thatwas the outside of enough. Sofia sank into the familiar stance and raised her foil to the ready. “Allez.”
Keene lunged with exaggerated slowness towards her torso. Sofia parried, allowing the momentum to sweep her stick about in a circle, then pivoted to whack the heel of his boot with a resounding thwack. Keene leapt to the side, a comically shocked expression on his face.
“Well, all right then!” He recovered, then advanced with a series of graceful attacks, all of which Sofia easily deflected.
Sofi’s muscles settled into the movements, and she realised with some surprise that she was beginning to have fun. It had been so long since she’d focused on anything other than survival that the thrill of this moment felt strangely out of place, like discovering an erotic novel shelved amidst horticulture texts. “You’re predictable and your eyes give you away, sir. A typical, uninspired Englishman.” She ducked to avoid a sweeping strike to her shoulder and scored her second point with a soft pat to his rear.
He squeaked in surprise.
She circled him, taking slow, predatory steps as he visibly collected himself. “Don’t fret little English mouse, I won’t hurt you.” Sofia advanced again, every movement crisp and precise. Feigning a hit to his thigh, she slid the tip of her foil into his hair, ruffling the top with a flick of her wrist.
Keene sucked in a startled breath. “A bit reckless, don’t you think?” he sputtered. “You could have missed and gouged out my eye. I’m not certain my talents as a valet could withstand the loss of perspective caused by an eye patch.”
The valet.That explained his gentlemanly attire. It did not, however, explain his relaxed familiarity with the duchess, as if the estate and its people were his home rather than a place of employment.
“But I would make an excellent pirate.”
“Pointless to speculate. I don’t miss.”
Their broomsticks met again with a series of dull clacks, and Keene pressed into her space, her back beginning to arch as he loomed ever closer.
“That’s the problem with men, you know.” She twisted beneath his raised arm, scoring her fourth point to his kidneys. “You all think you can battle through life on brawn alone and your other resources atrophy as a result.”
Mr Keene rubbed the place where her stick had caught him, though Sofia knew she had barely grazed his topcoat. Recovering, they returned to centre. Keene wasted no time with his attack, far faster and more aggressive this time.
“Better,” Sofia remarked with a goading grin.
“But still not good enough for you to swap the foil to your dominant hand.” Her shock at the unexpected observation temporarily lowered her guard, and Keene took full advantage with a quick tap to her shoulder.
She lowered her brows in question.
“You used your left hand to reach for the door handle and used it again when you rubbed the little crease at the bridge of your nose. Never fear, love. My ego can survive a trouncing by a beautiful Italian woman… even one who handicaps herself to help me.”
Abruptly, every trace of arrogance vanished from his countenance, replaced instead with an expression so friendly and genuine that Sofia had to fight the urge to pick up her skirts and run. It was bewildering, really. And then he smiled at her like an awestruck boy. A shy curve on his lips as if he was wary of chasing something beautiful away.
Sofia didn’t appreciate the recalcitrant smile that nearly slipped out in response, and so she advanced again, forcing his balance to shift as she expertly controlled his body and the surrounding space. “Seems to me you should be paying less attention to the way I hold my foil”—her stick slid in a circular pattern, wrapping about his like a snake—“and more attention to holding your own.” The broomstick whizzed from his hand, launching some distance away before landing with a silent thump atop an azalea bush.
She pressed the tip of the foil to his chest. “You’ve just lost your heart.”
Keene wrapped his hand around her stick and held it in place. “Indeed, I have. Forget being the children’s governess. Marry me instead.”
She blinked to fend off the warmth and humour in his gaze. Sofia had bested countless men with a foil, and she had witnessed reactions that ranged from embarrassment to indignant fury. She’d learned to anticipate the predictable masculine claptrap. But nothing had prepared her for the look of respect and admiration that set his slate grey eyes to twinkling and propelled her completely off balance. Indeed, she was beginning to feel unnervingly dizzy.
Sofi widened her stance to find her centre, and when she shut her eyes to block out the whirl of colours, light sparkled behind her closed lids. All at once, the voices around her began to grow fuzzy.
Idiota. This wasn’t the result of a charismatic smile. This was hunger. They had spent the last of their coin on her boots two days prior and…
“Miss Lioni? Miss Lioni! God damn it, she’s fainting.”
Her muscles drooped like overcooked pasta and she winced in anticipation of the hard ground, but it did not come. Steady arms caught her instead and tucked her against a warm, solid chest. Mr Keene’s arms and chest. “Christ, you’re all bones. Who let this happen to you?” The teasing banter was gone, replaced instead by a harsh tone, thick with distress. “Someone get the door.” She could feel the warm puffs of his breath against her cheek as he spoke, but the remainder of what he said was lost to darkness.
She dreamt of food. Richly spiced stew in a bowl that magically refilled each time her spoon scraped the bottom, thick slices of bread with butter that melted on her tongue, and creamy wedges of cheese. More faintly, she imagined the sensation of her stomach stretching to contain it all. A feeling she could scarcely remember. When Sofia peeled her eyelids open, it took only a moment for her to recognise that the smell at least was real. She scanned the room for the source of the intoxicating aroma.
“There you are, Miss. We was worried you wouldn’t wake up at all today, but Keene bid me to stay right here in this chair until you did. I’m to see that you have this when you are able. I got a bit peckish while I waited, so I ate the bread, but there”s plenty more in the kitchen.” A young maid with bright red hair and an eager smile stepped closer with a bowl and spoon. Sofia’s stomach demanded she dive towards the food without delay, but her pride insisted she accept it slowly… never mind the fact that she was salivating like a dog. Pride won out as usual.
She slid her body upright and reached for the proffered meal. Beef. God above, she had missed beef. It had been among the first of her luxuries to go, when shame over her unpaid butcher’s bill began to outweigh her desire for red meat.
Sofia’s shoulders slumped when she saw that the thick stew barely covered the bottom. It shouldn’t have surprised her. Many houses fed their staff just enough and never more. But after the delectable array of choices on their breakfast table, Sofia had hoped this household was different. Clearly, that had been unrealistic.
She must have done a poor job keeping the disappointment from her expression because the maid added, “You can have more o’ course! As much as you want. But Mr Keene, Christopher that is—he’ll be wanting ye to call him Christopher—says every hour, on the hour…” The maid looked away, clearly embarrassed to finish the sentence. “To make sure it settles all right.”
More orders from Mr Keene? Why does a valet command such authority over the members of a duke’s household?
Sofia wanted to slither out the window in humiliation. She tried to convince herself that this girl’s opinion of her didn’t matter, tried to ignore the pitying look as she shovelled spoonful after spoonful into her mouth without chewing. She tried not to care that Mr Keene, with his annoying, charming smile, was likely laying odds on the vomit that would emerge any moment now. The risk of casting up her accounts was not dire enough to limit the size of her bites, however, nor was her comprehensive shame sufficient motivation to slink away from a bottomless bowl of stew. And so she ate in silence until every last drop was gone. Before she could think better of it, she slid her finger across the broth at the bottom and licked it clean. And then she looked to the window and considered her escape.
“Christopher said to have some of the boys bring up a tub and hot water for a bath. If you still feel all right after, Cook’ll send up a second helping. Right nice of Christopher to look after ye. He’s taken a fancy to ye, I think. A sweet man he is, and close as can be to His Grace. They grew up together.”
Any thoughts of fleeing had died with the word “bath,” but Sofia’s dignity was bleeding out in her chest. “This is all very kind, but as I have been employed to instruct the children and have met only one of them, I would very much like to stop lying about in this room and meet Zachariah.” Mentioning the room had caused her to notice its details. It was beautiful, all soft pinks and creams, with vast sparkling windows that welcomed the sunshine.
There were so many windows at Northam Hall that Sofia wondered if the architect had run short on lumber and decided to plug every remaining hole with glass. She pushed the thick counterpane away and slid her feet to the floor.
“Oh no, miss. Her Grace was very clear that you were to take the remainder of the afternoon to rest. Besides, you can see here through the window that Zachariah is quite busy with the family today.” Sofia joined the young housemaid, looking out into the garden where a small group assembled. A lanky boy was sitting beside Lady Nora with a book in his lap, and three adults laboured nearby. The duchess worked beside a handsome, middle-aged gentleman while a man in rolled shirt sleeves sawed away at a plank across the yard.
Sofia turned from the scene. “Then I would like to inventory supplies in the library and schoolroom.” There. That sounds far more dignified than fainting and then licking the bottom of a stew bowl. If there was no immediate escape from her situation, she would at least do a proficient job and refrain from embarrassing herself any further.
The girl busied herself refolding a blanket that was spread across the foot of Sofia’s bed. “You needn’t worry about that today, and His Grace will be all too happy to provide whatever you might find lacking in the schoolroom. But it’s not likely there’s much missing. He’s a good father, sees to everything his babies need, he does.”
The wind knocked from her sails, Sofia walked back to the bed and plopped down. “Well, I can’t just lounge around all day. I’m here to work.”
“Can I call you Sofia?” The girl sat on the edge of the bed. “My name is Polly, by the way. Truly miss, you can relax. You’ll never find more kind-hearted people than Their Graces. I don’t know where you’ve come from, but you’re safe here.”
In the silence that followed, Polly seemed to teeter on the brink of some uncomfortable decision. She moistened her lips, then let out a sigh. “When I first arrived, I was in a bad way.” Polly looked down at her folded hands, then back up to Sofia. “There was a boy back home. I thought he loved me, but when he found out I was in the family way, he joined up with the infantry and left without so much as a note goodbye.” She shook her head with a watery smile. “I was stupid. My family threw me out o’course. I didn”t have friends to speak of and I had nowhere to go, but I had a cousin who worked in the stables here. He always had such fine things to say about the duke and his late duchess, so I showed up at the kitchen door. Mrs Simmons—Cook, that is—well, she took one look at me and pulled me inside. Fed me the best meal I ever had, and the next thing I knew, Mrs Janewood offered me a job and the servants here became my family. Even though it was plain to see I was increasing, Her Grace never looked down on me when I’d see her in the halls.”
Polly bit her lower lip and looked away then. “When I lost the babe, His Grace had the doctor fetched right away, even though it was the dead of night. He wouldn’t take so much as a shilling from me. And then after… he and Lady Nora picked flowers. She brought them to my room but I saw him out in the garden with her, picking hollyhocks with his own two hands. You see, they was kind when they really didn’t have to be. They’ll be kind to you too, whatever trouble you’re in. You’ll see.”
Polly stood abruptly, then smoothed the creases from her uniform. “Right then. A nice bath’ll make ye right as rain. I’ll have it fetched.” Before Sofia could respond, Polly was gone.
Several minutes passed as Sofia tried to shake off the languorous jumble of emotions provoked by Polly’s story and her tender care. Naturally, they were the kindest people in the world. And here she was, being served endless bowls of delectable food on the softest bed she had ever slept in, plotting to destroy the very fabric of their being. She could not do this.