Chapter 5
As Stephen sat at his elbow, and Miss Shelby sat on the other side of the boy, Richard watched her consternation fade into a quiet resolve.
He had seen the governess glance at the maid, and knew that his dinner instructions must have been deliberately altered.
He wanted to just let the whole thing go—but he was Cecil now.
He forced a smile. “Beatrice, have you been naughty today?”
The girl blushed and smothered a giggle behind her hand.
Her triumphant gaze landed openly on Miss Shelby.
The governess ignored her, nodding to Robert the footman who set a plate before her.
Miss Shelby then turned to Stephen, reminding him of the proper utensil, and guiding the placement of his napkin.
She was a cool one, Miss Shelby. And so obviously intelligent that for a moment this afternoon, looking so closely into her deep blue eyes, he had considered telling her that a duke’s heir might always be in danger—from the next heir.
But that was his secret for the moment, his and Cecil’s.
He could not have an inquisitive, worried governess nosing into where she didn’t belong.
And then during their private meeting in the study, he’d really lost his mind.
He’d wanted to kiss her. Her lips had become all he could think about.
And she had sensed it, he knew. Which was maybe a good thing.
She should be on her guard with him. He wanted to tease her, occasionally humiliate her, but he did not want to care for her. There was too much at stake.
“So what did Miss Shelby teach you today?” Richard asked Stephen.
The little boy at first started talking with his mouth full, but with only a glance, the governess was able to remind him of his manners.
“I learned about India, Father,” he said after swallowing. “Miss Shelby even has a scarf from there!”
Richard glanced at Miss Shelby.
She continued to watch her pupil with fondness. “My father used to travel when I was young,” she explained. “That was one of the gifts he brought me.”
“Are you well traveled, Miss Shelby?”
“London is such a big city, Your Grace. Though I explored, there is still so much left to see.”
“So you are not well traveled,” he said, driving the point home in a way that made him want to wince.
A faint blush colored her cheeks. “No, Your Grace.”
“But my guess is that you had always planned to.”
She looked directly at him with her clear gaze.
“Before your unfortunate financial difficulties,” he continued, hating himself for hurting her.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said. “Every woman has plans for how she’ll live her life.”
He smiled. “With her husband, of course.”
Stephen looked between them uncertainly. “Are you married, Miss Shelby? Then why are you a Miss?”
She gave her pupil a fond smile. “No, my lord, I am not married. The duke was simply teasing me as a way to pass the time. Witty dinner conversation can make a simple dinner so much more interesting.”
To Richard, her tone subtly conveyed the fact this his conversational skills were wanting. He was amused and impressed by her daring. Bantering with the lovely Miss Shelby could be far too distracting.
Hargraves the butler opened the double doors from the corridor and stepped inside. “Your Grace, you have unexpected guests.”
The resigned tone of his voice let Richard know this was not an unusual event.
“The visitors are Lord Yardley and his sister, Lady Parthenope Dean, and Lady Lawton. Shall I have them wait in the blue drawing room until you have finished dinner?”
Richard wanted to tell them all to go home.
He vaguely remembered Yardley, and that he had a sister, but Lady Lawton was a stranger.
He’d hoped that the need for Cecil to recuperate would have kept people away for a while yet.
But then Cecil’s friends were hardly the type to respect rules—unwritten or otherwise.
Richard waved a languid hand. “Tell them I’ll be there when I’m finished with dinner, Hargraves. They won’t mind waiting. Provide them with whatever refreshments they’d like.”
But as they were finishing the main course, loud voices erupted in the corridor, and the doors were thrown open by a red-faced, laughing man.
It had been at least five years since Richard had seen Yardley, and it was obvious that a life of dissipation had not been good for him, as evidenced by his too-tight waistcoat and his bloodshot eyes.
“Thanet!” Yardley called, then stumbled and grabbed the door handle for support.
Hargraves pushed past him. “Your Grace, forgive this interruption. Lord Yardley would not wait any longer to see you.”
“Been waiting too long,” Yardley said, slurring his words together. “The brandy’s fine, but me poor sister needs someone to entertain her.”
The two women giggled from where they gathered behind him, and Richard forced himself to smile as if he were pleased by the interruption.
Yardley swung an arm around the neck of a plump woman. “This is Lady Lawton, Thanet.”
“Your Grace.” She managed a passable curtsy.
“We been spending time together,” Yardley said. “Poor thing’s husband up and died on her last year.”
Richard watched with disgust as Yardley waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, as if Miss Shelby wouldn’t understand his vague sexual references. The governess was speaking in a soft voice to Stephen, who looked bewildered, but resigned.
As if his father routinely abandoned him.
Richard would have to do the same thing.
Yardley grabbed his sister’s elbow and tugged her forward. She was obviously embarrassed and tipsy and hopeful, all at once.
“Thanet, you remember me sister, Parthenope? Finally out of the schoolroom, she is.”
Richard felt strangely old looking at the young girl. But of course he was five years older than Cecil. Inwardly he sighed even as he grinned.
The footmen waited with dessert. Richard motioned them forward, and as they began to serve, he said, “Miss Shelby, you and Stephen enjoy your custard.” He looked at the boy. “I promise we’ll have a longer dinner tomorrow night.”
Stephen shrugged and dug into his dessert. Miss Shelby left hers untouched, her eyes downcast and her face devoid of expression.
“Why don’t you bring your pretty friend,” Yardley said, eyeing Miss Shelby lasciviously.
The other two women pouted.
Miss Shelby’s formidable gaze took in Yardley, and before Richard could speak, she said, “I am Lord Ramsgate’s governess, my lord.”
“You don’t say?” Yardley said. “Means you need a night off, I think.”
She drew in a deep breath, but said nothing else.
Richard grinned at her. “Nurse Weston could escort Stephen to bed, Miss Shelby. You seldom get a chance to converse with adults. We’d be happy to have you join us.”
Meriel wondered if her skin was as fiery red as she imagined, from both anger and humiliation.
She could not believe that the duke would ask her to socialize with him—in front of his own son, no less!
It was one thing to be invited to a family event, since she was a member of the household.
But this was going too far. Luckily, Stephen was too young to realize the lewdness of Lord Yardley and his friends.
But deep inside, a restless, dark part of her soul imagined being with the duke as she used to be, a young woman of potential, of fortune, whom men had wanted for a bride—not a conquest. “You are kind to offer an invitation, Your Grace,” she said, “but I must decline. I had already promised Lord Ramsgate a tour of the portrait gallery.”
“Won’t it be too dark to see much?”
Stephen grinned. “Miss Shelby promised a lesson on my ance—ancest—”
“Ancestry,” she corrected.
“Ancestry,” the boy repeated dutifully. “But I’m looking for ghosts.”
The three uninvited visitors hooted with laughter at that, but Meriel noticed that the duke only smiled.
“Let me know if you find any,” he said to his son.
He looked back at Meriel and gave her a short bow that provided even more amusement to his friends.
“Have a good evening, Miss Shelby,” he said.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
~oOo~
Meriel had done her research before attempting to speak with Stephen about his ancestors.
In the library, she had studied several history books written about the centuries-old Thanet dukedom, and even questioned Mrs. Theobald about the most recent duke, the grandfather who’d died before Stephen was born.
All it proved to Meriel was that such power and wealth could corrupt easily.
It was up to her to help Stephen be a better man.
Not that she thought the present duke was exactly corrupt, she realized as she escorted Stephen through the immense house to the portrait gallery.
The duke treated his servants—especially the women, she thought dryly—well enough, and she had yet to hear any complaints about him.
He was seldom in residence for more than a few days at a time, so the household usually moved through each day undisturbed.
But she sensed an eagerness connected to his visit that she didn’t quite understand, especially amongst the maids, if Beatrice was any example.
She tried to examine her feelings. Would Meriel herself be eager to see him again after his inevitable departure? He brought uncertainty and arrogance—and sometimes amusement, she admitted reluctantly. Tonight she imagined him with those rude, drunken people who disgusted her.
But he didn’t. Was she beginning to think of him as above the everyday sins he committed?
Maybe that made her no better than the lovesick Beatrice.
A man was surely the sum of his actions, not what Meriel hoped he could be.
She didn’t know why she wished he were a better man—except for Stephen’s sake, of course.