Chapter 4
In Which Knees Turn to Blancmange; And Then a Dialogue About Black Coffee, Rare Timepieces, Chronometers, and Other Matters of Great Import Ensues…
The front door of St Lawrence House swung open to reveal a smartly dressed, poker-faced gentleman with iron-gray hair and fiercely bristling muttonchops. “Yes?” he asked coldly.
The man’s tone—Emmeline assumed he was the duke’s butler—was so funereal and forbidding, a shiver slid down her spine.
But she would not be deterred. She lifted her chin.
“My name is Mrs. Emmeline Chase, and your master, the duke, has summoned me here for an interview,” she said.
“For the vacant nanny’s position. I’m from the Parasol Academy. ”
The man’s imperious gaze slid over her. “Weren’t you here yesterday? I heard you’d somehow managed to get stuck on the roof like some common sneak thief.”
Emmeline arched a brow. Good grief. Would she never get through the front door?
“Yes, I was here,” she said. “But as I mentioned, I have an appointment. His Grace is expecting me at three o’clock, and I’m sure you don’t want to keep your master waiting.
I’ve heard punctuality is important to the duke. ”
The butler looked down his long nose at her, but nevertheless, he opened the door wider to admit her. “Quite.”
“Thank you,” she said as she handed her wet umbrella to a liveried footman. “Mister…”
“Woodley,” said the servant. “I am His Grace’s butler.
” As soon as Emmeline had divested herself of her cloak, bonnet, and gloves, he added curtly, “Follow me.” His long strides carried him across the black and white checkerboard marble floor, then up the grand sweeping staircase so swiftly that Emmeline had a hard time keeping up.
Upon reaching a shadow-filled, hushed hallway on the second floor, the supercilious Woodley bade Emmeline sit upon a chair beside a set of double oak doors. As she complied, the butler knocked, and then he disappeared into the room beyond when there was a murmured summons.
It was the duke. Emmeline immediately recognized the hotchocolate richness of that lovely baritone.
There was undeniable power and authority and musical beauty in that resonating voice.
Not only the deep, meltingly warm timbre.
There was also a certain exquisiteness in the perfectly refined vowels and the precisely clipped consonants and the undulating cadence.
And all the man had said was, “Come in.” She was certain if the duke began to recite Pythagoras’s theorem or Newton’s laws of motion, she’d be utterly enthralled.
Emmeline unnecessarily straightened the folds of her navy wool skirts and then stared at the rain drumming against a nearby window. Her heart was beating a fast tattoo as well.
She must compose herself. She didn’t think she’d ever been quite so nervous in her entire life and she couldn’t account for it.
Nerves and an inconvenient physical attraction were her enemies right now.
During her interview, she needed to be as cool and calm and collected as a frozen cucumber in midwinter.
Above all, she needed to come across as professional. She must get this job.
Mrs. Chase, thank God you’re here , came a cultured, avian voice, and a moment later, Horatio Ravenscar Esquire fluttered into the hall. He perched on the back of a neighboring chair and studied her with an obsidian eye.
Oh , responded Emmeline, blinking in surprise. Why?
The raven tilted his head . After you left yesterday, all hell broke loose. While my master was out procuring an aquarium for Archimedes, Miss Harriet decided to conduct a trebuchet experiment.
Emmeline’s eyebrows shot up. A trebuchet experiment ?
Horatio bobbed up and down and made a clicking sound in his throat that reminded Emmeline of a short chuckle.
Yes. Apparently Miss Harriet wanted to “test the effect of different counterweights on linear velocity.” She selected the nursery for the field of testing, and flour “bombs” were the projectile of choice.
One of Nanny Snodgrass’s linen caps was purloined for the trebuchet’s sling.
And Nanny Snodgrass was the principal target.
Emmeline winced. Oh dear. I’m almost afraid to ask what happened.
Horatio emitted another laugh. This time it was a fullthroated chortle that sounded quite human.
Oh dear, all right. Even though nothing was damaged, everything and everyone in the nursery was coated in flour including Nanny Snodgrass.
It looked like a snowstorm had whirled through the room.
The raven ruffled his glossy plumage. While I rather enjoyed looking like a ghostly raven at first, I’m still trying to get the flour out of my feathers.
I take it Nanny Snodgrass quit then? remarked Emmeline.
Horatio spread his wings and gave them a decided flap. Actually no. When my master returned with the aquarium and found out that Nanny Snodgrass had threatened to use a birch switch to discipline his wards, he sacked her on the spot.
Emmeline’s mouth dropped open. How shocking and awful that she would threaten to do such a draconian thing. I know His Grace’s wards were misbehaving, but that is not the way to go about dealing with such a situation.
The raven puffed out his chest. I know, Mrs. Chase. I know. The bird suddenly cocked his head to one side. I believe my master is ready to receive you. Good luck!
A moment later, the butler reappeared. He saw Emmeline into the room—a study by the looks of it—and then the door shut behind her with a soft snick.
She was alone with the Duke of St Lawrence, and all at once, she felt discombobulated all over again. Like she’d just teleported into the room and everything was not quite right.
Today, the duke seemed all sorts of stiff and starchy, perhaps even disdainful.
He stood ramrod straight in front of an enormous oak desk, his hands buried in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black frock coat, while upon his face, he wore an expression of chill remoteness while he looked everywhere but at her.
He hadn’t been quite like this yesterday, had he?
Emmeline cleared her throat. “Good afternoon, Your Grace,” she offered as brightly as she could, despite the fact she suddenly felt self-conscious beyond measure.
Her confidence was further eroded when the duke’s attention stayed fixed on a far corner of the room, as though she were a source of displeasure, or worse, someone not worthy of regard.
Emmeline wasn’t sure if she felt insulted or disappointed. The man had summoned her here for an interview. She’d arrived on time. Her attire was spick-and-span, her hair under control.
Had he changed his mind? Had he already found someone else in the time between his meeting with Mrs. Temple and now?
Why on earth was he being so damned rude?
Emmeline’s palms grew damp and she licked her dry lips. She knew the duke’s wards were a handful, but she wondered if the man himself might be difficult to manage too. He was, in a word, mercurial.
Perhaps her initial, favorable impression of the Duke of St Lawrence had been completely wrong.
Perhaps he was just like any other member of his elevated class—thoroughly snobbish and stuffier than the stuffed armchairs gracing his hearthrug.
Then again, she was so horribly nervous, she might be misreading the duke and overthinking every little thing he said and did.
Scraping together the remnants of her rapidly disintegrating dignity, Emmeline drew a bracing breath in preparation to speak, but then the duke’s piercing gaze swung to her. And that’s when she realized that she was behaving like a total peagoose; she hadn’t yet curtsied.
This man was a duke. A suitable display of obeisance was required.
Unlike yesterday, she had no excuse not to do so.
Even though her knees were quivering like a blancmange, Emmeline managed to execute a passable curtsy.
As for the duke, he at last inclined his head in acknowledgment and intoned a perfectly polite, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Chase. How do you do? Thank you for coming here at such short notice.” Then his mouth quirked up at the corner in a hint of a smile.
“I’m pleased to hear you arrived by the front door today. ”
“I… Yes I did, Your Grace. And you’re very welcome.
About me attending for an interview,” replied Emmeline, relieved that there was still a sense of humor lurking beneath the duke’s aloof exterior.
“Mrs. Temple informed me that you visited the Parasol Academy and asked for me to apply. For the vacant nanny’s position. ”
“Yes.” The duke withdrew a gloved hand from his pocket and gestured toward the other side of the room where, to Emmeline’s surprise, a sumptuous afternoon tea had been laid out on a low table by the fire.
“Shall we, Mrs. Chase?” he asked. But then his brows descended into an uncertain frown.
“Or should I call you Nanny Chase? What would you prefer?”
What would I prefer? Emmeline blinked. The duke actually did appear to be a trifle perplexed. Had she misjudged him? Was he, in fact, a little uncomfortable, perhaps even nervous? Was that the reason for his standoffish behavior?
Surely not.
She reexamined his expression, but she couldn’t tell one way or the other. Nevertheless, she answered his question. “Mrs. Chase will do, Your Grace.” She offered a small smile. “Nanny Chase if you offer me the position. I suppose it’s up to you.”
“Of course,” he said.
Emmeline chose a velvet wingback chair, and the duke folded his long frame into the opposite seat. As he sat poker straight, one lean but muscular thigh draped over the other, Emmeline took a moment to study him a little more closely (surreptitiously of course) while she removed her kid gloves.