Chapter Two #3
“It was indeed. One might even say enlightening.” Henry pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto the bureau. “Though not in the way I anticipated.”
Davies moved to help him out of his coat. “Bad news, my lord?”
“Not bad, precisely.” Henry ran a hand through his hair. “Just unexpected.”
“Shall I prepare some brandy, my lord?”
“No. I’ve had quite enough for one evening.” Henry sat heavily in the chair by the fire while Davies knelt to remove his boots. “Davies, what do you know of Miss Ford? The governess.”
If Davies was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it, though one eyebrow rose slightly, a hint of that perpetual amusement that seemed to lurk behind his expression.
“Miss Ford, my lord? She’s well-regarded below-stairs.
Kind to everyone. Never puts on airs despite being clearly educated.
” He paused, then continued carefully, “And despite her position.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Davies set aside the first boot and reached for the second. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but it’s clear to anyone with eyes that she’s gentry-born. The way she speaks, carries herself. Mrs. Bromley always said there was a story there.”
“There is indeed a story.” Henry stood and moved to the window, staring out at the darkened grounds. “She’s Lady Sophia Ashford, sister to the Duke of Ashford.”
Davies’s hands stilled on the second boot. His mischievous brown eyes widened. It was not often Henry had seen him genuinely caught off guard. “The Duke of Ashford. How remarkable.”
“Yes. She’s been living in our nursery, caring for Amelia, while concealing her true identity for two years.”
“Good God.” Davies removed the boot and stood, shaking his head. “Why would a duke’s sister work as a governess?”
“Her family fell into disgrace when their father was falsely accused of murder. She had no choice but to find employment.” Henry turned from the window. “Her brother has now summoned her to London for a Season. She’s leaving within the fortnight.”
“Ah.” Understanding dawned in Davies’s eyes. “Miss Amelia will be heartbroken.”
“Yes.” Henry shrugged out of his waistcoat. “As will Miss Ashford herself. She loves that child as if she were her own.”
Davies began folding the discarded clothing with meticulous care. “The staff have observed as much, my lord. She’s devoted to Miss Amelia. We’ve all remarked upon it.”
Henry loosened his cravat, pulling the linen free from his collar. “My cousin Charlotte has suggested a rather unconventional solution to the problem.”
“My lord?”
“She thinks I should marry Miss Ashford.”
The waistcoat slipped from Davies’s hands. He caught it before it hit the floor, but his composure was clearly rattled. His lips twitched as though fighting a smile, though whether from amusement or shock, Henry couldn’t tell. “Marry her, my lord?”
“Precisely my reaction.” Henry pulled off the cravat and handed it to Davies. “It’s absurd, isn’t it?”
Davies appeared to recover his wits, carefully draping the cravat over his arm. His expression had shifted to something more thoughtful, though that hint of mischief still lurked in his eyes. “It would certainly be unexpected, my lord.”
“That’s a diplomatic way of putting it.”
“But not entirely without merit.” Davies moved to the wardrobe to retrieve Henry’s nightshirt. “If I may be so bold.”
“You may.”
Davies returned with the nightshirt, his expression thoughtful. “You need a wife, my lord. That’s no secret. And Miss Amelia needs a mother. Miss Ashford is already performing that role and doing it admirably. From a practical standpoint, the match makes a certain sense.”
“A practical standpoint.” Henry pulled his shirt over his head. “That’s one way to view it, I suppose.”
“The staff would approve, my lord. If that matters to you.”
Henry paused in the act of donning his nightshirt. “Would they? Even though she was the governess?”
“She’s a duke’s sister, my lord. And more importantly, she’s kind. Fair. The sort of mistress any household would be fortunate to have.” Davies picked up the discarded shirt. “Mrs. Bromley speaks very highly of her. As does Mrs. Mills. Even Grimshaw, and he’s not easily impressed.”
“But would they accept her? Truly? After two years of her living in the nursery as a servant?”
“They’d accept whoever you chose, my lord. But they’d welcome Miss Ashford. There’s a difference.” Davies met his eyes directly, and for a moment the usual playfulness was gone, replaced by genuine sincerity.
Henry sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. “It seems everyone thinks this is a brilliant idea except me.”
“Do you object to Miss Ashford herself, my lord? Or to the idea of marriage in general?”
The question was more perceptive than Henry expected. “I don’t know. Both, perhaps. Neither. I haven’t sorted it out yet.”
Davies moved about the room, tidying up for the evening. “If I may observe, my lord, you’ve been alone a long time. Perhaps too long.”
“Are you suggesting I’m lonely, Davies?”
“I’m suggesting that a house needs a mistress, my lord.
Miss Amelia needs a mother. And you…” He paused, choosing his words carefully.
“You deserve a companion. Someone to share the burden of the estate, the responsibility of raising Miss Amelia. Someone to talk to over breakfast who isn’t your valet.
And, if I may say, she’s exquisite. That has been remarked upon often, mostly by the men under your employ. ”
Despite himself, Henry smiled, tugging on his ear. “You make a compelling argument. Yet, would she really able to run a household?”
“I often do.” That familiar hint of amusement crept back into Davies’s expression as he collected the pile of folded clothing. “Will you be proposing to Miss Ashford, then?”
“I haven’t decided. I’m going to sleep on it.”
“Very good, my lord.” Davies moved toward the door, then paused, his brown eyes gleaming. “Mrs. Bromley would assist in acclimating her to such a prestigious position, so I do not see that as a problem.”
After Davies left, Henry lay in bed staring at the canopy above. The fire crackled softly in the grate, casting dancing shadows on the ceiling.
Marry Miss Ashford.
The idea should have been ridiculous. She was his employee. His governess. A woman he barely knew beyond her excellent care of Amelia.
Except she wasn’t just the governess anymore, was she?
She was Lady Sophia Ashford. A duke’s sister.
A woman of quality who’d been forced into service by circumstances beyond her control.
A woman who loved his niece with devotion.
A woman who’d wept in his study that very afternoon at the thought of leaving.
Henry rolled onto his side, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape. Tomorrow he would think clearly. Tomorrow he would decide what to do.