Chapter 3 #2
The man inclined his head once. “The incident occurred near my estate,” he said simply.
Amelia waited. He appeared finished.
“That was your reason?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“It was,” he replied without hesitation.
She blinked at him. “You rescued a helpless woman because she happened to be near your property?”
“I could hardly allow such a scandal to occur near my land,” he said, his voice perfectly serious. “People gossip enough already.”
Amelia stared. That might have been the least romantic explanation in the history of mankind.
“You are a remarkably practical man,” she observed.
“So I am told,” he replied.
Not the slightest hint of humor crossed his face. Amelia suspected she could announce that the house was on fire and receive precisely the same reaction. Oddly enough, she found the discovery fascinating.
At last, the man straightened fully and inclined his head. “I am Gabriel Warring, Duke of Anderton.”
Amelia nearly choked at the realization that followed almost immediately after his introduction.
A duke. Of course, he is a duke.
It felt entirely consistent with her luck that the man who had rescued her from one disaster would turn out to be the sort of man who could elevate it into something far more socially complicated.
“Miss Amelia Shirley,” she replied, recovering just enough composure to perform a proper curtsy despite the surprise tightening her chest. Something in Gabriel’s expression shifted at that, his attention sharpening in a way that made her suddenly aware of how closely she was being assessed.
“Your relations are likely searching for you by now,” he said, his tone even as he studied her.
Amelia felt her stomach drop at once. “Yes,” she admitted more quietly than she intended, her fingers briefly tightening together before she forced them still.
“You appear much improved,” Gabriel continued, his gaze moving over her briefly with the detached precision of someone evaluating damage after an incident.
“I believe so,” Amelia replied, though she was no longer entirely certain what answer was expected of her.
“Good,” he said simply.
The word landed with a finality that made her unease deepen rather than ease.
Amelia hesitated, watching him carefully as the pause between them stretched. “You should be leaving soon,” Gabriel added at last, as though concluding a practical arrangement.
There it is. The dismissal was delivered without ceremony or softness, as though my presence had already been accounted for and now filed away.
Amelia stared at him, searching his face for something—uncertainty, hesitation, even courtesy—but she found only calm indifference. Gabriel met her gaze without flinching, making the silence between them feel increasingly deliberate rather than accidental.
“I have nowhere to go,” she admitted finally, the words slipping out before she could temper them. She clasped her hands together tightly in front of her, not because it was proper but because it stopped them from shaking.
Gabriel did not react. His expression remained unchanged, as though she had offered him a logistical detail rather than a personal confession.
“That is not my concern,” he said evenly.
The statement struck harder than she expected, not because it was cruelly delivered but because it was delivered without effort at all, as though concern had never been part of the equation.
Without waiting for a response, Gabriel turned away from her with the same efficiency he seemed to apply to everything else. “I shall instruct a servant to escort you wherever you require,” he added, already moving to end the conversation.
Panic surged through Amelia so quickly it overwhelmed caution.
“No, wait,” she blurted, the words escaping before she could refine them.
Gabriel stopped and turned slowly, like a man already regretting the interruption.
Amelia scrambled for something, anything, that might keep him from sending her away.
“The little boy and young lady…” she said quickly.
“They are my wards,” he clarified.
Something clicked inside Amelia’s mind. A possibility. A ridiculous possibility, but better than no possibility at all. Before she could reconsider, the words came tumbling out.
“I have an excellent education,” she announced.
Gabriel blinked once.
Encouraged by the fact that he had not yet walked away, Amelia hurried onward. “I was taught by the finest governesses available,” she said, lifting her chin slightly.
Gabriel said nothing.
“I speak French,” she continued.
Nothing.
“I play the pianoforte.”
Still nothing.
“I can recite poetry.”
Not even a flicker.
“I know geography.”
Silence.
“I can identify most European kingdoms on a map.”
Gabriel’s expression remained maddeningly blank. Amelia felt her confidence beginning to crumble. “I should probably stop listing accomplishments now,” she decided.
“Probably,” Gabriel replied.
The single word somehow made matters worse. Still, she pressed forward. “I could be useful here,” she stated.
Gabriel folded his arms across his chest. “Useful?”
“A governess,” Amelia said quickly. The silence that followed felt endless. Her pulse raced.
“I could teach the young master,” she continued. “I have experience teaching my younger sisters. I know history, literature, languages, music…”
Her voice faltered. She hated how desperate she sounded. Yet this mattered. If he refused, she had nothing. No plan. No refuge. No future she could bear to contemplate.
Gabriel studied her carefully. For the first time since meeting him, she had the distinct impression he was actually listening. Not sympathizing. Not being kind. Simply listening.
“Please, I beg of you to consider. I have no place to go.” Her eyes began to water. “I do not know if my parents will take me back.”
She noticed the frown on his face beginning to lighten. Her desperation continued as her voice broke, “If I leave here, I will be back on the road, unsafe with no true direction.”
He sighed. Amelia noticed that he was quite handsome when his brow was not furrowed.
“There would be conditions,” he said at last.
Hope surged through her chest. “Anything,” she replied immediately.
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “There is one rule in this house.”
Amelia nodded at once.
“Nothing happens without my knowledge,” he said, taking a deliberate step closer.
“I understand,” Amelia replied.
“No one enters this estate without my approval,” Gabriel continued, taking another step.
She swallowed.
“No one leaves without my approval.”
The intensity in his gaze was startling.
“I understand,” she repeated.
“Do you?” he asked.
“Yes,” Amelia said firmly.
Gabriel held her gaze for another moment. “You would be expected to work hard.”
“I can work hard.”
“You may stay and work with the children for one month.”
Amelia barely breathed. “One month?” she repeated.
“I do not allow strangers in my home. Since you have no official training as a governess, I’ll grant you one month to stay. But do not mistake this for charity. After a month, you leave.”
She nodded so quickly it was almost embarrassing. “I accept.”
A hint of surprise flickered across Gabriel’s face before disappearing just as quickly.
One month. It’s everything. One month means time to think, time to plan, and time to become something other than a daughter being traded into marriage.
At last, Gabriel extended his hand. The gesture was formal, almost businesslike. Amelia immediately placed her hand in his.
The moment their skin touched, something strange happened. His hand was warm. Strong. Steady. A completely ridiculous awareness shot through her before she could stop it.
“Very well,” Gabriel said, releasing her hand and stepping back.
Amelia blinked and forced herself to focus before her thoughts wandered somewhere entirely unhelpful. One month was better than nothing. More importantly, it was enough time to figure out what came next. For the first time since fleeing her family, the future no longer seemed quite so frightening.
A governess in the house of the Duke of Anderton. I can do this. I must.