Chapter 6
“Iam sorry, Miss Knightley,” bland Lady Bassett said, an unyielding look on her face. “But the offer is no longer available.”
“I am sorry,” Letitia said, though it was ridiculous that she was apologizing. Still, she didn’t know what else to say, not when she was here, in the Bassetts’ home, her satchel clutched between her fingers so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. “I just… I don’t understand.”
Lady Bassett pressed her lips together until a thin white line emerged around the edges.
“You don’t need to understand,” she said after a long moment. “The position is unavailable. Please leave.”
Letty’s heart was pounding in her chest. Only an hour ago, she had been embracing Sarah fiercely, promising to visit on her first half-day off.
She asked her friend a dozen times if she had enough funds to get by until Letitia received her first paycheck, and Sarah had, a dozen times, assured her that she did.
And then she had left, feeling reassured that things were finally turning her way.
And now this.
“But…” Letitia said, looking around wildly, as though she could find some way out of this, as though an answer was hiding between that ugly potted tree or the large vase full of half-dead flowers. “But you hired me.”
“And now, I am not hiring you.” Lady Bassett had a sour look, but Letitia had the strange impression that it wasn’t entirely directed at her. “I do not care to argue about this any further. Goodbye, Miss Knightley.”
The lady left with an aggrieved sniff. Letty stood, blinking in confusion, at the house she thought would be her home, at least for a while.
What was she supposed to do next? Slink back home and tell Sarah that she had somehow been dismissed on her very first day?
“Miss Knightley.”
Letitia looked up, expecting a footman ready to throw her out, and was surprised when she spotted a middle-aged gentleman with thinning, graying hair on top instead. She had never met him before, but this had to be Lord Bassett, though she had no idea how he knew her name.
She blinked away the desperate tears that had threatened to fall and gave the gentleman a polite smile.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” she said, her bobbed curtsy knocked a little off-kilter by her heavy satchel. “I have just received the news that the position has been filled by someone else.”
This wasn’t precisely what Lady Bassett had said, but it felt better than “I just found out I was sacked for no reason.”
“I will be going now,” she concluded, trying to sound unbothered.
“Well, that’s actually what I wanted to speak with you about,” the man said amiably.
Despite herself, Letitia felt a flicker of hope ignite in her chest.
Of course, it wouldn’t be ideal to have a position in a household where the lady didn’t want her there.
But Letitia could convince Lady Bassett that she was a good governess.
She would stay out of the way, keep her head down, teach the children effectively…
She could do it. And then, if things became untenable, she could seek another position.
Maybe the Lightholders would even take her back after their year abroad.
It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was a better plan than her and Sarah both slowly starving to death.
“Oh?” she inquired mildly.
The amiable look melted into something cruder, and Letitia knew in an instant that she had hoped too soon.
“The position of governess isn’t available, it’s true,” Lord Bassett said, stepping into her space, angling himself toward her. “But we could make… another arrangement. A pretty girl like you...”
Letitia stumbled back. She scarcely even cared if she lost her footing on this slick floor. She just needed to get away from him.
“How dare you, sir!” she gasped. She didn’t wait for his answer; she turned and fled back the way she had come, her bag no longer heavy in her hand now that she had devastation and disgust spurring her on.
She rushed back into the street, not stopping until she found another hackney that she could scarcely afford.
It was only when she was safe, alone in the carriage, hurtling back toward the little flat she shared with Sarah, that Letitia buried her face in her hands and let out a little shriek of anger and dismay.
What was wrong with these bloody gentlemen?
Why were they such disgusting creatures, determined to bully, coerce, and abuse?
They all had everything in the world—money, influence, security.
Most of them even had a mistress or two, tucked away somewhere.
And yet, they all seemed to find their enjoyment in pursuing girls like her—regular, everyday girls who just wanted to earn a goddamn living bloody wage!
By the time she’d made it back to the flat, her horror had transformed into anger, which was more pleasant to bear.
There was nothing else for it. She would spend today having a nice seethe, would complain to Sarah about unreliable nobles until she was blue in the face, and then tomorrow she would try again.
She still had the Lightholders’ letter of reference—likely her most valuable possession, at this point—and she would find another post.
She kept telling herself this. She would keep repeating it until it felt true.
But first, she had to tell Sarah what had happened.
Yet, as Letitia let herself into their tiny shared flat, she heard something unexpected: Sarah’s laughter, quickly stifled, followed by the low rumble of a man’s voice.
It had been an extraordinarily trying morning, but despite everything, Letitia was impressed. Did Sarah have a beau? If so, she’d wasted no time in inviting him once Letty was gone, though why she would keep him a secret, Letitia had no idea…
“You,” she said flatly as she turned the corner to see not an eligible tradesman or shopkeeper’s apprentice, but rather the Duke of Rutley.
He had made himself quite at home, she noted with a flash of irritation. He and Sarah were seated at their small table, a pot of tea between them. The smile on Sarah’s face faded when she saw Letitia and her expression.
“Letty!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? I told poor Mr. Swifton that he had just missed you, but here you are. What has happened?”
“Poor Mr. Swifton, is it?” Letitia demanded, her eyes narrowed at the duke.
He spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. She barely held back her snort of disbelief. He did not seem at all put out at having been caught doing… whatever it was that he was doing.
“I confess, Miss Greystone, that though I did not lie, precisely, when I gave you my name, I might have misled you a bit,” he said this with a grand air of apology.
Sarah, clearly baffled, looked between the duke and Letitia.
“That’s the Duke of Rutley,” Letty said flatly.
Sarah’s eyes widened, and she appeared ready to leap to her feet, but the duke motioned for her to stay. Sarah froze halfway between sitting and standing, clearly torn between obedience and showing proper respect.
“You must forgive me, Miss Greystone,” the duke went on, sounding properly contrite. “But I feared that you would put yourself to far too much trouble if you knew my title.”
“Indeed, I would have,” Sarah scoffed, sounding almost offended that it was in doubt.
The duke shot her a charming smile, and Sarah sank back into her chair as if mesmerized. Letitia rolled her eyes, not that either of them was paying attention.
“But I am so pleased that you didn’t,” he said. “I have been having a lovely time talking with you. But now that she has returned, I really must speak with Miss Knightley about our business matter.”
This smooth transition seemed to remind Sarah that Letitia was here and that, indeed, she was not supposed to be here.
She blinked. “Right. Letty, what happened?”
Letitia was starting to suspect that what had happened was tall, aristocratic, and currently sitting in one of the two chairs in the flat. She held his gaze as she spoke.
“I was sacked.” She didn’t mince her words. “Without reason. I had not even met the children, so I am quite uncertain what cause there even could be.”
The duke didn’t flinch or blink. He took a slow sip of his tea.
“I am certain that anyone who saw you interact with the children would never think of letting you slip from their grasp,” he said coolly.
Oh, Letitia wanted to strangle him. But murdering a peer would no doubt distress poor Sarah, so she just gave him the thinnest glimmer of a smile.
“How kind,” she said flatly.
“Not at all.” Goodness, he was smooth—like ice just before it sent you crashing down on your backside, the kind that stung your pride more than your body.
Sarah’s eyes returned to their darting motion. Letty, the duke, back to Letty. But now, she looked even more alarmed. Letitia needed to get him out of her flat.
“What did you need, Your Grace?” She tried to make his title sound like an insult. His smile grew wider. He likely got away with everything, with a smile like that and a title to back it up.
“Might we speak privately?” he asked.
Sarah looked absolutely delighted to have an excuse to leave.
“Oh, I have been meaning to go out for some food for supper anyway,” she muttered to herself, not looking at either of them as she grabbed her basket and the small purse where they kept their coin. “So nice to meet you, Mr.—Your Grace. We shall talk when I return, Letty. Goodbye. I am leaving.”
The door shut behind her with a slam.
“She,” the duke said, gesturing toward the door, “is a delight. She did rather clam up when she learned I was a duke, but before that, she was telling me a simply marvelous story about a horse, a bishop, and a cask of wine that some smugglers had abandoned.”
Letitia pressed her lips together. She was not going to be charmed by this man, even if he had enjoyed one of Sarah’s favorite and most ridiculous anecdotes from the estate in Belgium where they’d both been raised.