Chapter 5
Chapter Five
THWACK!
The fourth morning of Imogen’s tenure began not with the ringing of a distant church bell or the coo of a dove from the window, but with the distinct, wet thud of a mud-soaked boot hitting the center of her bedroom door.
Imogen sat up, smoothing her hair behind her ears. She didn’t cry out or rush to the door in a panic. She took a slow, steady breath.
I have survived years of Julia’s psychological warfare. I can survive two twin boys, she told herself, and so she rose to get dressed.
When she opened the door, prepared to take on whatever was on the other side, the hallway was empty. All that remained was the offending boot and a trail of damp garden soil leading toward the schoolroom. She picked up the boot by the heel and marched across the hall to find the boys.
Inside the schoolroom, Arthur was perched on the edge of a bookshelf, his expression one of braced defiance. Philip was huddled under the heavy oak table, clutching a tattered picture book as if it were a shield.
“Good morning, Lord Arthur. Good morning, Lord Philip,” Imogen said, her voice calm and cool.
She walked to the center of the room and placed the muddy boot on the table.
“I see we have had an early start to our geography lesson. Is this boot meant to represent the rugged terrain of the Highlands? Or perhaps an island in the middle of a murky sea?”
Arthur blinked, his brow furrowing. He had clearly expected a lecture or a threat of the willow switch.
“It’s a boot,” he said flatly. “I threw it.”
“I can see that,” Imogen remarked, pulling out a chair and sitting down gracefully.
She didn’t look up at him, instead opening a notebook and beginning to sharpen a lead pencil.
“Though it is a bit of a shame for the boot. It looks quite lonely without its mate. And I imagine the footman who must polish the floorboards won’t find the terrain quite as interesting as I do. ”
“I’m not coming down from up here,” Arthur challenged. “You can’t make me.”
“That is your choice. God granted us all free will, and so we have the liberty to make good and bad choices.”
“I know that.”
“I am sure you do. However, I’m about to start the story of the Great Fire of London,” she said, her voice animated. “I have some red and orange chalk to draw the flames on the slate.”
“Do you?” Arthur asked, his arms crossed.
“Oh yes, but it’s a very loud story. Lots of shouting and buckets of water. Since you’re up so high, you’ll have a wonderful view of the fire from the safety of your mountains.”
From under the table, Philip’s head popped out suddenly. “Did the dogs get out?”
Imogen’s resolve softened, a sharp ache in her chest at the boy’s trembling fear at the mention of flames.
The fire.
She chided herself. In her eagerness for the lesson, she hadn’t properly weighed the toll it would take on Philip in particular, remembering what His Grace had told her about their parents.
It wasn’t just another lesson anymore. She knew that she needed to transform this room into a sanctuary where his fears could be unraveled, rather than exploited.
He should start to face his fears in a safe space.
“They did, Lord Philip. Everyone helped the animals. Would you like to sit in the big chair today and help me draw the river? I have a shade of deep blue, almost as nice as your eyes.”
Slowly, Philip crawled out and scurried to the chair beside her. Arthur watched them for a full minute, his lip curling in a pout, before he scrambled down the shelves with the agility of a monkey. He sat across from her, shoving the muddy boot aside.
“I’m not sorry,” he muttered.
“I didn’t ask you to be,” Imogen replied gently, handing him a piece of orange chalk. “I asked you to help me with the history lesson.”
By Thursday, Arthur’s testing of her had escalated. During their midday meal, Arthur decided that he was no longer a boy, but a wolf. He refused to use utensils, attempted to lap his soup from the bowl, and snarled at any servant who approached with his teeth bared.
The footman, a young man named Benjamin, looked ready to bolt. “Miss, His Grace wouldn’t like this. He says the boys must learn to be gentlemen. I do not want to get in trouble.”
“His Grace isn’t here,” Imogen said, her eyes fixed on Lord Arthur. “And it seems we have a guest today. A very hungry wolf.”
She didn’t scold Arthur. Instead, she pushed her own plate aside and leaned forward.
“I’ve heard that wolves in France are very clever. They don’t just eat. They listen to the sounds of the forest. Did you know that even the King of Wolves knows how to hide his tracks so the hunters can’t find him? He is smart, not impulsive. He thinks, then acts.”
“Really?” Arthur paused, a drop of broth hanging from his chin. “Hunters?”
“Indeed. And a messy table is like a trail of broken branches. If a wolf wants to stay safe in a Duke’s house of all places, he must learn to eat with the quiet grace of a true predator.
” She picked up her spoon and moved it with exaggerated, silent precision.
“Like this. Not a sound. Can a wolf be that quiet? Can he hide himself from The Titan?”
The challenge worked. Imogen watched as Lord Arthur spent the rest of the meal in intense, silent concentration, trying to use his spoon without making a single clink against the porcelain.
The Duke is a ghost in his own home.
As the first week drew to a close, the pattern that began to emerge bothered Imogen more than the boys’ behavior.
She occasionally saw him in the mornings, crossing paths in the breakfast room or in the hall as he headed to his study.
Against her will, she would breathe in his woodsy, pine scent, with a hint of brandy, as she passed, and feel the heavy weight of his gaze on her back even though she never turned to see.
He never entered the nursery or schoolroom. He never joined them for afternoon tea. He never asked the boys what they had learned. When the twins’ laughter echoed too loudly through the vents, she would hear his study door shut with a firm, final thud.
One rainy afternoon, as she sat in the window seat watching the boys build a fortress out of sofa cushions, she saw ’the Duke’s carriage pull away from the house.
Leaving for his club again, no doubt… how does he not see… how much these boys need his presence?
“Will Uncle Ambrose like the fort?” Philip asked suddenly, clutching a pillow to his chest. “I think we did a swell job!”
Imogen turned, her heart sinking. “I’m sure he would find it very sturdy, Lord Philip.”
“He won’t come in, Philip. He won’t see it,” Arthur said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He kicked a cushion, toppling a corner of the wall. “He wants us to be quiet, so he can forget we’re here.”
“That isn’t true, Arthur,” Imogen said, though a part of her feared it was.
She understood now. The boys weren’t trying to misbehave for any other reason than to make an impression upon the Duke.
They were screaming for the attention of the only man they had left in the world.
They acted out because a scolding from a Duke was better than being ignored by their beloved uncle.
How can he not see what he is doing to these boys by ignoring them?
The realization made her blood simmer, and she began wringing her hands together.
Her thoughts raced, and she thought of her own father, how he had kept her in the house but refused to look her in the eye or acknowledge her in any tangible way.
His silence had been a more effective weapon than any of Julia’s shrill screams. She shook her head at the thought.
Now, while she was one house over, the same thing was happening. The Duke, perhaps out of guilt or grief, was starving these children of the only thing that could tame them.
That evening, after the boys were tucked in, Imogen didn’t go to her room. With a new sense of resolve, she marched down to the main floor, her footsteps echoing on the marble as she charged. She saw light spilling from beneath the library door and took a deep, steady breath.
She knew her place. While now a governess, she was still a servant, a woman with a false identity and a precarious future.
She should have gone to bed and been grateful for the fifty pounds a year.
But as she looked at the closed door, she saw the faces of two lonely boys who needed her to use her voice. And she would find it.
She did not knock as a maid would, softly, tentatively. She knocked with the sharp, clear rap of a woman who had been a ’Viscount’s daughter, and she surely didn’t wait for a “come in” before she turned the handle.
I am on a mission.
“Miss Lewis?” he asked, his voice gravelly. “Is something wrong with the boys?”
The Duke was sitting behind his desk, a glass of brandy in his hand and a mountain of ledgers before him. He looked up, his blue eyes startled and then darkened with that familiar, intense heat as they landed on her. She assumed it was the same look he gave her when they passed in the hallways.
“Everything seems a bit fraught with the boys, Your Grace,” Imogen said as she stepped into the room.
She didn’t look at him directly as she closed the door.
“I’ve been trying to understand them, so I may help them find their way, and I find myself wondering…
if some of their misbehaviors might stem from the expectations you’ve set. ”
The Duke of Welton froze, his glass halfway to his lips, and an eyebrow arched in amusement.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Lewis? What is the meaning of this?”
“Well,” she said, her voice shaking as she began to lose her resolve under his sharp gaze, the scent of him making her dizzy. “I said—”
“Yes, I am the cause of their current state as mischief makers, it seems, at least according to you,” he said plainly as he downed his brandy in a single gulp. “What do you suppose I do about it? Hm?” His tone was almost teasing, which only made Imogen’s blood heat under her skin.
“Well, I…” She stumbled. “As their governess, I feel that…well…”
“What is your plan, governess?”
“Would you please… Well, would you like to join us tomorrow after breakfast, for an educational picnic at Hyde Park?”
“An educational picnic? A bit of a contradiction, don’t you think?”
“I have been organizing some lessons surrounding local ecosystems and think we ought to enjoy the autumn weather before it turns too cold, Your Grace.”
“I am sorry, but I do not have time for such things. Business calls, Miss Lewis.
“I hate to be so bold, Your Grace… but…” she whispered, biting her lip.
“What is it, Miss Lewis?”
“Well, I just think it would do a wonder for the boys’ spirits if you were to join. That way, you could see firsthand all the work we have done. It would mean so much to them.”
“If it means all that much, I will make room in my schedule for a brief outing. Will that suffice?”
“If it is not too much trouble, Your Grace.”
“It is inconvenient, but not insurmountable for tomorrow’s schedule.”
“It’ll benefit the boys greatly.”
“I did not have children for a reason, and now, you see, I have two.”
“Well, I am most grateful for your making the adjustment to your schedule,” she said, rubbing her hand on her. “Thank you.”
“I am a Duke, and the maintenance of a duchy is no small feat. While I am happy to do my duty to help it thrive, it is not without sacrifice. You should have seen the shambles my father left this in…” his voice trailed off as he got up to refresh his glass. “I need another drink.”
“You owe me no explanation, Your Grace. I am sorry for the intrusion, and am grateful for your joining us, and this opportunity,” she said, having fully recovered her composure.
“That will be all, Miss Lewis.” He dismissed her as he filled his glass. “Until tomorrow.”
“Until tomorrow,” she said as she slowly crept out of his study and shut the door tight before turning and leaning against it. “Until tomorrow.”