Chapter 3
Letitia held Helen’s letter of reference tightly in her hand, almost as if it were a lifeline—which, in fairness, she believed it was.
A reference from the Duchess of Godwin was as good as gold when it came to securing another position. And Letty needed to do that quickly.
The letter did make her feel horrendously guilty, though, as it made her think back to her goodbyes with the Lightholders.
“Are you sure that we can’t convince you to come with us?” Helen had asked fretfully for the thousandth time. “I am certain that whatever obstacle is stopping you, it’s something that we can manage.”
She glanced back at her husband, who gave Letitia a slight incline of his head.
Letitia had never had much to do with the duke—for which she was grateful, because she had found it better to stay away from noblemen in general—but she had no reason to consider him unkind.
And he clearly doted on his wife. If she asked him to solve a problem, he would solve it.
The thought was almost enough to have tempted her, but Letitia instead put the same polite smile on her lips that she’d been wearing for weeks and told the same insipid lie.
“I appreciate that, Your Grace,” she said. “But since I have spent so much of my life in Belgium, I am rather enjoying being elsewhere. I hope you understand.”
Helen looked doubtful, but she nodded.
“Very well,” she said. “Of course, we have a reference letter for you—” Letitia had not been able to relax until that reference was in her hands.
She had not doubted the Duchess of Godwin’s word, but it was hard to rely on a future promise when her livelihood was at stake.
“The children shall miss you terribly. We do hope you write, if you have the chance.”
“Of course I will write,” Letitia had assured them, meaning it. It was bad enough that her heart felt like it was being ripped in two, leaving those two sweet children. She could not bear to never hear from them again.
“In that case, good luck, Miss Knightley,” the duke had said, coming forward to put a comforting arm around his wife’s shoulders.
He’d solemnly handed her an envelope. When Letitia had gotten home, she had found inside not only her letter of reference, but a five-pound note—a princely sum to be given in addition to her wages, which had already been generous.
She had not paused to consider how far that money might need to stretch if she could not find a position right away.
Instead, she went to the cheap lodgings she had paid for over the past year, cried herself to sleep, then woke up the next morning and went to an interview for a noble family that Helen had heard was looking for someone to help with their three young children.
Lady Bassett was a genteel enough woman, if a bit bland. She’d asked Letitia all the right questions, hummed vaguely, and had not, in the entirety of the interview, shown a single spark of personality.
The wages were less than what she had earned with the Lightholders, but not as much of a decrease as she could have faced, given the lower status of Lord and Lady Bassett.
The remaining terms were fine, however. She would get a half-day off on Sundays.
She wasn’t obliged to do housekeeping—some households, she knew from experience, tried to treat their governesses as maids, too, for no additional pay.
And the children were young, which meant that she could remain in the role for some time.
She’d been tempted to say yes immediately when she was offered the position, but she had already scheduled this last interview after finding a posting in the newspaper, and canceling it would have seemed rude.
Besides, this one was a ducal household, too.
And that usually meant better pay. And Letty would take all the pennies she could get.
She went back around to the servant’s entrance, where a no-nonsense housekeeper admitted her.
“You saw that the position is set to start right away?” the woman asked as she led Letitia up to a parlor. “As soon as possible?”
“Yes, of course,” Letitia confirmed. “That is my preference, as well.”
The woman gave her a brisk nod, then directed her into a sunny front parlor.
There was a man sitting inside.
He had to be part of the family. Letty knew this at once.
He was too well-dressed, too polished to be even one of the most senior servants.
He was a handsome man, she added guardedly to herself.
His shoulders were broad, his dark hair a little unkempt, flopping rakishly into his piercing gray eyes.
When he politely stood, she saw that he was tall, too.
She distrusted him immediately.
“Good afternoon,” she said carefully, dropping into a curtsy.
The door was open, and the housekeeper was nearby.
There was nothing improper about her meeting with him.
But she felt uneasy. Where was his wife?
Or even a sister, if his wife was not yet living?
If he was hiring a governess, there was a child involved, and if there was a child involved, there should be a woman nearby. So, where was she?
“I am Miss Letitia Knightley,” she continued, offering him her most practiced servant’s smile—one that didn’t invite anything but still displayed proper subservience.
“A pleasure to meet you,” the man said, his tone silky. “I am Ezra Swifton, the Duke of Rutley.”
On the outside, Letitia’s smile didn’t flicker. On the inside, she was screaming every swear word she knew, in both English and French.
This wasn’t right. Dukes didn’t meet with potential governesses.
“The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace,” she said demurely. When he indicated a seat across a low table from his own, she took it.
“Tell me, Miss Knightley,” he began, leaning back in the chair, one long leg crossed over the other. “What is your experience as a governess?”
This was a question she could answer in her sleep. “Thank you for asking. I have worked in several prominent households…”
She recited her bona fides absentmindedly, studying the man in front of her. He sat casually, but she suspected there was more to him than met the eye. His gaze was too sharp for him to be as relaxed as he wanted her to think.
Well, that didn’t matter. She would not be taking this job, not if he offered her a king’s ransom in wages.
“Wait,” the duke interrupted her as she recounted her previous employment. “You worked for the Lightholders?”
“I did,” she answered smoothly. This had happened at the other interviews, too. Everyone in England wanted a piece of the Lightholders. “I have a letter of reference from the Duchess of Godwin…”
The man snatched the paper from her hand, quickly reading down the lines.
“Bloody Xander…” he muttered to himself.
Letty paused. This had not happened at her other interviews.
“Are you… acquainted with His Grace?” she asked carefully. She regretted it immediately, as the Duke of Rutley’s too-sharp eyes flicked to her, a wry expression twisting his mouth.
“You could say that,” he said dryly. “Given that Xander Lightholder is my first cousin.”
“Oh,” she said. Then, “Oh.”
She recognized the name now—Ezra Swifton.
He had been the Marquess of… something until recently, but she recalled hearing some discussion of his inheritance in recent months, although she had been too busy with the children to pay the news much attention.
After all, what did she care about when a wealthy, influential man became richer and more powerful?
If she wasn’t working for him, it was very much not her concern.
But… The Lightholders were very close. Why had the Duchess of Godwin not recommended that Letitia come here first?
“Her Grace didn’t mention you were looking for a governess,” she said, hoping this sounded neutral instead of accusatory. His lips twitched again, suggesting these hopes were in vain.
“Her Grace does not know,” he said, leaning forward, resting his knees on his elbows.
Letitia did not like this. Not one bit.
“Should I ask?” She was weary of this. “Or would you just prefer to tell me?”
It was an unbelievably rude way to speak to a duke, but there was no point in making a show of how respectful and proper she could be, not when she had another, far less complicated, job offer waiting for her.
So what if the Bassett children were likely as bland as porridge, given their mother?
That was fine. She didn’t need excitement.
Excitement was just another word for trouble.
Instead of throwing her out on her rear, as he might have done, the duke seemed delighted by this show of spine.
“I see why Helen likes you,” he said, running his fingers through that dark hair of his. Letitia logged this as another thing she distrusted about him. That move was the move of a man who knew he was handsome. Those were the most dangerous kind.
“I was very fortunate to work for Her Grace,” Letitia replied primly.
The duke pointed a finger at her. “That will not work,” he said. “Not now that you’ve shown that you’re capable of more than that.”
Well, fine. If he was going to be like that, so was she.
She let her perfect posture slip just a little. It had been ages since she’d relaxed away from her professional demeanor, and she could not resist doing so now. What was the point when this interview was going so poorly?
“Very well,” she said. “If you must know, before I worked for Their Graces, I worked for Lady Clio. I was her governess when she was first in Belgium, then her companion when she returned.”
He raised a brow. “You’re from Belgium,” he observed.
That was the last thing she wanted to talk about.
“I was raised there,” she said. “I returned here with Cli—with Lady Clio, now Her Grace.” She’d almost slipped there, but just because she and Clio were friends didn’t mean she could act like the kind of person who referred to aristocrats by their given names. “She referred me to Their Graces.”