Chapter 4
Ronan found Miss Mendel, who was his daughter’s governess, in the schoolroom shortly after breakfast, seated at a small writing desk with several pages arranged before her. She rose so quickly upon seeing him that her chair scraped against the floor.
“Your Grace,” she said, dropping into a hurried curtsey. “I did not expect you to arrive here at this time.”
Ronan remained near the door, one hand resting upon the silver raven at the head of his cane. He had not intended to startle her, only had come to ask about Sarah’s lessons, a responsibility he had neglected for longer than he cared to admit.
“Where is my daughter?” he asked without mincing his words. He had a habit of speaking only to the point, and that applied to all the people in his life.
For better or for worse.
“Lady Sarah is walking with her nurse, Your Grace. They should return before luncheon,” the governess replied quickly.
It wasn’t lost on him that she refused to meet his gaze. Out of respect, or out of fear, he hadn’t really decided. But it was something that he was used to happening often; therefore did not consider it important enough to have a second thought over.
“And her studies?” he asked.
“They are going just fine, Your Grace,” Miss Mendel gestured toward the papers upon the desk. “She completed her reading lesson this morning. We have also begun simple sums, although she finds them less agreeable.”
Ronan waited, but the governess offered nothing more. She stood with her hands clasped tightly at her waist. As he moved farther into the room, Miss Mendel took a small step back.
“Does Sarah read well for her age?” he asked after a moment. It was something that he should know already, of course.
Some parents were actively involved in their children’s lessons, and knew everything of their progress. But his relationship with his daughter was not like that. If anything, he preferred to observe from a distance, all the while making sure that she was well looked after.
“She does, Your Grace. Very well.”
“Does she enjoy it?” he said.
“Yes. That is, she enjoys stories. Particularly tales involving princesses, enchanted forests and animals that speak.”
Ronan exhaled through his nose. The woman had been employed for nearly six months.
Her references were excellent, Sarah appeared to like her, and no complaint had ever been made regarding her work.
Yet every conversation between them became an ordeal because Miss Mendel behaved as though one wrong word might result in her imprisonment.
He glanced at the books arranged upon the shelf. “Has Sarah made friends with any children in the neighboring families?”
Miss Mendel hesitated. “She does not see many children, Your Grace, but she has mentioned the children she sees from the carriage when they pass through the village and asked whether they have lessons as she does.”
“And what did you tell her?” he asked again.
“That many of them do, although not always with a governess.”
“Has she said anything else?” Ronan nodded.
Miss Mendel’s fingers twisted together, and he could sense the hesitance.
“Speak plainly,” he said.
The governess swallowed. “Lady Sarah asked why the children in the village play together while she must play alone.”
The answer landed harder than Ronan expected, and a certain guilt occupied his mind immediately.
Playing alone.
It was not something that he had wanted for his daughter, but there was little else that he could do.
She didn’t have a sibling, nor any cousins who could come spend time with her.
It was a lonely childhood, and that was something that he knew from before, but it was now confirmed to him that his daughter felt the same way.
He looked toward the small table in the corner, where Sarah’s wooden animals had been arranged in a neat row.
Ronan turned back to her. “Why was I not told?”
“I did not mean to conceal it.” Miss Mendel’s face went pale. “I only thought.. that you would not wish to be troubled with such a small matter.”
“My daughter’s loneliness is not a small matter.”
“No, Your Grace. I did not mean that it was. I only meant that you are occupied with your duties, and therefore not to be disturbed with such domestic matters. I thought perhaps Lady Sarah might grow out of it, as children do.”
“Loneliness is not a childish habit,” he said, gritting his teeth.
Ronan knew his tone was severe. His father had taught him that a duke ought to speak with certainty and never force others to wonder whether he meant what he said.
Of course, he knew that the governess could not be blamed for any of this.
After all, how was it her fault that his daughter had no siblings, or friends that she could play with?
But at the same time, she was the person who was responsible for taking care of her, and therefore, it only felt fair that some responsibility fell on her as well.
“How often does Sarah ask for me?” he said.
The governess looked up, surprised. There was a hesitation in her, and the duke wondered if she was scared to answer the question truthfully.
“You may answer honestly,” he said after a moment.
“Not very often, Your Grace.”
The words affected him more than he showed, and a part of him wondered if his daughter was scared of him, too.
Ronan reached for the chair beside him, intending to sit for a moment while they discussed Sarah’s lessons in greater detail. His cane slipped slightly against the polished floor, and he tightened his grip upon it. The governess’s face drained of colour and she flinched.
“I beg your pardon,” she stammered. “I did not…”
“Do you believe I intended to strike you?”
“No, Your Grace.”
Ronan looked down at the silver raven beneath his palm.
In the last several days, the object had become the centre of more fear and suspicion than it had inspired in all the years he had owned it.
First Augusta Cluett had used it as proof that he was a murderer.
Now his daughter’s governess behaved as though he might wield it against her.
He raised his gaze to Miss Mendel. “Do you wish to leave my employment?”
Her eyes widened. “No, Your Grace.”
“You are not required to remain in a household where you feel unsafe.”
“I was foolish; please forgive me.”
“If you wish to resign, I will not prevent you, and I will provide a reference that speaks honestly of your work with Sarah,” he sighed.
Miss Mendel’s breathing had quickened.
“I do not wish to resign,” she said. “Lady Sarah is dear to me, and I am grateful for my position.”
“Then stop behaving as though I am a threat to you.”
“I shall try.”
Ronan disliked the answer immediately.
Trying implied that fear was justified and must be overcome through effort.
He had never raised his hand to a woman, never harmed a servant, and never threatened anyone beneath his protection.
Yet his height, his title, his cane and the severity of his face appeared sufficient to convict him of any cruelty people could imagine.
It was no wonder Augusta Cluett had looked upon him and decided he was capable of murder.
The thought brought her face into his mind with unwelcome clarity.
Her brown hair had been arranged neatly for the wedding, though several soft curls had escaped near her temples.
Her green eyes had been bright with certainty when she stood before the entire church and destroyed his marriage.
Even frightened, she had held herself upright and challenged him as though he were no more formidable than any other man.
She was also exceptionally beautiful.
Ronan had spent several days attempting not to remember that last fact, and even now he tried to push it out of his thoughts.
“You may go, our discussion is finished,” he said to the governess.
She curtseyed quickly. “Yes, Your Grace. Thank you.”
Ronan was not certain what she was thanking him for, but he let her leave without asking. When the door closed, he remained alone in the schoolroom.
He had intended to visit Sarah next. He ought to find her upon her return, ask about her walk and perhaps endure the awkward silence that always arose between them until one of her attendants supplied a reason to end the conversation.
Instead, he turned toward the corridor leading to the rear of the house.
He needed to strike something.
Gregory Welby was in the fencing room, exactly where Ronan expected to find him. The Duke of Brawnhite stood near the windows, examining a foil while speaking to the fencing master. Unlike most men, Gregory did not become tense when Ronan entered.
“Finally,” he grinned. “Congratulations on the nuptials.”
Ronan removed his coat and handed it to a waiting servant. “I am not married.”
“So I heard,” Gregory said, selecting another foil and offered it to him. “You were interrupted, apparently, by a young woman who stood before half the ton and declared that you had killed someone. I confess I am offended.”
Ronan took the weapon. “Why?”
“Her reason isn’t sound enough, or believable. I might have stood and objected on the grounds that the groom possessed an intolerable temperament.”
The fencing master wisely excused himself, leaving them alone with one servant posted near the door. Gregory took his position upon the strip. “Shall we?”
Ronan set his cane upon a bench and faced him.
“So,” Gregory said between strikes, “What will you do now? Challenge her brother-in-law?”
“No.”
“Have her confined to a distant convent?”
Ronan caught Gregory’s blade and forced it aside. “She would escape within a week.”
Ronan’s concentration faltered just enough for Gregory’s foil to touch his shoulder.
“Point,” Gregory announced.
Ronan stepped back and prepared for the next move. This time, Ronan attacked more carefully. Augusta’s face had intruded upon his thoughts repeatedly since the wedding, usually accompanied by the memory of her voice carrying through the church.
The Duke of Ravenhill is a murderer.
No woman had ever humiliated him so completely.