The Dutiful Duke Read online

  When the nether regions of Hades freeze over, Nia thought, although she managed a thin smile. "Thank you, Miss Saunders," she managed, resisting the urge to dump the contents of her teacup over the other woman's head. "I will remember that."

  "This is a lovely room," Lady Catherine said into the uneasy silence that followed. "I adore violet."

  "As do I, your ladyship," Nia said, grateful for the younger woman's tact. "In fact, this is my favorite room in the house."

  "What is your favorite room, dearest?" Lady Catherine asked, leaning down to smile at Amanda.

  "The ballroom," Amanda answered at once, her eyes resting hopefully on a cream cake. "It has hundreds of mirrors."

  " 'Hundreds of mirrors,' Lady Amanda?" Miss Saunders repeated with a condescending laugh. "I believe you are exaggerating, my dear. Not an attractive feature in a lady."

  "Well, it seems as if it has a hundred mirrors," Amanda replied sulkily, deciding she didn't care for the hatchet-faced lady. She reminded her of the nasty man who had come to her house before her mama died. He had made her mama cry, she remembered, and he had called her a naughty name.

  "I am sure it does," Miss Saunders replied, her mouth thinning. "Still, it never does to become too enthusiastic, my lady. Enthusiasm is for the lower orders. A lady strives always for dignity and decorum. Is that not so, Lady Catherine?"

  "One strives, certainly," Lady Catherine agreed with a laugh, "but whether one actually succeeds, I cannot say. Would you like a cream cake, Amanda? They look delicious to me."

  Amanda eagerly accepted the treat, and while she was devouring it the adults continued talking amongst themselves. All too soon the hour had flown, and it was time for Lady Catherine to leave. They were making their good-byes when Lady Catherine suddenly asked to see the schoolroom.

  "You needn't come with us, Miss Saunders," she added, giving her companion a sweet smile. "I know your lumbago has been paining you, and I see no reason why you should suffer because of my curiosity. I shall only be a moment."

  "That is very good of you, my lady." Miss Saunders looked relieved. "I fear my poor hips are already protesting this damp weather."

  They left her in the drawing room to enjoy the fire, and as soon as they were out of earshot Lady Catherine turned to Nia. "I hope you did not take offense to Miss Saunders," she said with a look of rueful apology. "She does mean well, and really, life has not been so very easy for her. She was raised a lady and must now make her living as a servant."

  "I understand, my lady," Nia replied, accepting the apology with good grace. Her own story was fairly close to Miss Saunders's, although she had been raised following the drum rather than in the safe world of the gentry.

  "Another reason I wished to get you alone is so that I might offer you the name of my modiste. She is very talented, and you may rely upon her to fashion Amanda a suitable wardrobe."

  Nia turned to her in amazement. "I beg your pardon?" she said, not quite believing her ears.

  "Oh dear," Lady Catherine sighed, her blue eyes worried. "Now I have offended you. I didn't mean to, I assure you. It is just . . . well, I do have eyes, and I can see that Amanda's gown isn't exactly in the current mode. And at Ackermann's I noticed you were studying pattern books. Naturally if I am mistaken, I—"

  "No, no, you are not mistaken," Nia interrupted weakly, her pride warring with her common sense. "As it happens I have been looking for a modiste for Amanda, and I would appreciate your help. I am afraid I don't know very much about such things," she added with a self-deprecating laugh.

  "Thank you." Lady Catherine gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I wouldn't have mentioned it, but I feared Miss Saunders would say something and insult you beyond all bearing."

  Nia smiled reluctantly. "She does seem rather . . . strong-minded," she amended, not wishing to offend her ladyship after all her kindness. "Now, what is the name and direction of your modiste? Is she French?"

  "Creole, actually, from New Orleans. Her name is Madame DuFrense, and her shop is on Dover Street not far from Picadilly. She designed my gown," she added, indicating her stylish gown with a wave of her hand.

  "In that case I shall definitely wish to engage her," Nia said, giving the dress an admiring look. "And thank you, Lady Catherine. I am most grateful for your assistance."

  When they were finished with the impromptu tour, they returned to the duchess's room, where they found the duke and a stranger talking with Amanda and Miss Saunders. Wyatt introduced the man to Nia as his very good friend, Ambrose Royston.

  "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Pringle," Mr. Royston said, smiling as he bent over her hand. "Lord Tilton has been loud in his praises of your abilities, and having met your charming pupil, I can see he has not lied."

  "Thank you, sir," Nia murmured, deciding she rather like Mr. Royston. He had an open, honest face, and there was something about his light brown hair and laughing blue eyes that made him seem approachable. Unlike some people, she thought, her gaze flicking toward the duke, who was sitting beside Amanda.

  Dressed in a dark green jacket of Bath superfine, his lean calves encased in a pair of shining Hessians, his grace looked as hard and remote as the first time she had seen him. He was wearing his black hair swept back from his forehead, throwing the austere planes of his face into prominence, and his obsidian-flecked eyes were coolly watchful as he sat in silence. Just as Nia wondered if he ever intended to smile, Amanda tugged at his hand, claiming his attention.

  "What is it, my dear?" he asked, his expression softening as he bent his head closer.

  "May I show Lady Catherine my doll?" Amanda asked, gazing up at her uncle in hopeful expectation.

  "I think that would be very nice," Wyatt approved. "Provided her ladyship has no objections?" he added, raising questioning eyes to meet Catherine's gaze.

  "I would adore seeing your doll," she told Amanda with a warm smile. "Please do fetch her for us."

  Amanda went dashing off. The door had no sooner closed behind her than Miss Saunders turned to Catherine, her face set in pinched lines of disapproval. "I hate to nettle you, my lady," she began in prim tones, "but may I remind you we are expected at Lady Redvale's? It would not do to be late."

  "I am sure a matter of a few minutes is of no consequence, Miss Saunders," Catherine replied, accepting her companion's censure with equanimity. "And if know my sister, she won't make her appearance until ten minutes after her last guest has been seated. Anne has always liked making an entrance."

  As this was patently true, Miss Saunders could not object, although she did give a loud sniff before turning to Wyatt. "How are you enjoying the season, Your Grace?" she asked with an ingratiating smile. "Lady Geoffrey mentioned you have only just come out of mourning for your brother."

  "I am finding the season quite tolerable, ma'am," Wyatt answered politely, hoping his dislike of the encroaching woman did not show. "London is always a fascinating city."

  "I remember my first season," Miss Saunders continued with a sigh. "I was just seventeen, and the city was full of French émigrés fleeing that tiresome revolution. When the peasants began guillotining their betters, I recall we all wore red ribbons about our necks. It was most exciting." She turned to Nia, her dark eyes full of malice.

  "And what of you, Miss Pringle?" she asked with cloying sweetness. "What do you remember of your first season?"

  "As I have never had a season, Miss Saunders, I fear I have no memories," Nia answered, boldly meeting the other woman's stare. "When I was seventeen I was with my father in Portugal. He was an army surgeon, and I traveled with him until he died."

  Miss Saunders blinked. "Oh." It was apparently all she could think of to say.

  "You must have seen a great deal in your travels, Miss Pringle," Ambrose said, graciously glossing over the awkward moment. "I've always longed to travel, but I fear I have never ventured out of England. Perhaps now that Bony is safely caged, I can change that."

  "Travel can be most educational," Nia agre
ed dryly, trying not to recall some of the horrors she had witnessed. "When I was no more than Amanda's age my father's regiment was posted to Egypt, and despite all the difficulties, he insisted upon taking us with him. It was . . ." She searched for the proper words to describe the searing heat and appalling dirt they'd encountered. "Interesting," she concluded with a half-smile. "You've never lived, sir, until you've had a camel spit at you."

  "I'm sure I have not, but if it is all the same to you, ma'am, it is an experience I believe I should choose to miss. I have already been bitten, kicked, and trod upon by English horses, and that is lowering enough to my consequence."

  The others were still chuckling over Ambrose's droll observation when Amanda returned, the doll clutched lovingly in her arms. "Uncle Wyatt bought her for me," she said, presenting the toy to Catherine. "I named her Lady Catherine, after you. See? She has blond hair, just like you and me."

  Catherine stroked the doll's hair, obviously aware of the great honor Amanda had accorded her. "So she does," she agreed with a misty smile. "Thank you, Amanda. She is a lovely doll."

  Amanda next offered the doll to Ambrose. "Would you like to hold her? You may, if you promise to be very, very careful."

  The look of horror on Ambrose's face was almost comical. "I . . . that is most generous of you, Lady Amanda," he stammered, sending Wyatt an imploring look, "but I am afraid I—" He broke off as the doll was thrust into his hands.

  Content that her doll was safe for the moment, Amanda climbed back up on the settee beside her uncle. "Guess what I saw?" she asked of the room at large. "I saw that carriage again."

  "What carriage, Amanda?" Nia asked.

  "That carriage," Amanda repeated impatiently. "I saw it yesterday when we were in the park, and once when we were walking I saw it, too."

  Wyatt shifted in his seat until he could look down at the child. "What did this carriage look like?" he asked, a frisson of alarm making the hair at the back of his neck stand up. He knew it was probably nothing, but in these dangerous times one could never be too careful.

  "It was black," Amanda said in dramatic tones. "And the man driving it was wearing a big hat and a coat with lots of capes."

  She had just described half the coaches in London, Wyatt realized, and relaxed his shoulders. "I shall have the servants keep watch," he promised, giving her hand a pat.

  "I think it was a villain," Amanda continued, unwilling to give up the center of attention. "I'll wager he was going to snatch me up, Miss Pringle, just like Count Divicchio!"

  "Who?" Ambrose leaned forward, temporarily forgetting the doll cradled in his arm.

  "No one." Nia spoke quickly, her face scarlet with mortification. She'd read Amanda and the others that silly novel months ago. It never occurred to her that the little girl would remember it in such vivid detail.

  "He was the duke of Venice," Amanda informed him with obvious relish. "He was a bad, bad man who was gong to wall poor Louella up in the chapel, but he got walled up instead. Do you have anyone walled up in your chapel, Uncle?" She looked up at Wyatt hopefully. "Can I see them?"

  Wyatt bit his lip, torn between laughter and annoyance. It was obvious Amanda was describing a scene from a Minervan novel, and he could think of only one person who might have read it to her. "I am afraid I do not," he said apologetically, his eyes resting on Miss Pringle's flushed features. "But we will speak of this later, Amanda. Our guests were just leaving."

  Lady Catherine took the gentle hint and rose to her feet, leaving Miss Saunders no choice but to follow. Judging from the self-satisfied smirk on her face, she was doubtlessly delighted at the small scene, and Nia could well imagine what she was thinking.

  After the door shut behind them, Ambrose also stood, his glance full of amusement as it darted between Wyatt and Nia. "I am afraid I must also be taking my leave," he said, a dimple flashing in his cheek. "Shall I see you at the Preshtons' on Thursday, Your Grace?"

  "That would be fine," Wyatt answered, his eyes dancing as he studied Ambrose. "In the meanwhile, may I ask you a question?"

  "Certainly."

  "Will you be leaving Lady Catherine?" He indicated the doll still tucked in his friend's arm. "Or is it your intention to start a new fashion?"

  "Well, Miss Pringle, what is your explanation?" Wyatt asked some twenty minutes later as he and Miss Pringle stood in his study. "I trust you have one?"

  Nia shoved her glasses back up her nose, resenting the duke's haughty tones. Since the moment Amanda had mentioned the count, she'd known His Grace would demand satisfaction, and she'd been carefully preparing her defense.

  "Children inevitably desire that which is forbidden them," she began, her eyes fixed on the knot in his exquisitely tied cravat. "Knowing this, I brought some Minervan novels to the academy, and I sold them to my pupils at so much per page."

  Wyatt raised a dark eyebrow. "One would have thought orphans would not have had a great deal of money for such fripperies," he observed sardonically.

  Nia's glance flicked up to meet his. "The medium of exchange was work, Your Grace," she informed him in a tight voice, "not money. I required so many pages of mathematics and Latin in exchange for a page of the story. It worked remarkably well."

  "Yes, I can see that it would," Wyatt conceded, his estimation of his opponent increasing. He only wished some of his tutors had been half so enterprising. "However," he continued in a stern voice, "I still feel you shouldn't have read such things to someone so young as Amanda. You can see the effect it has had upon her. The poor child sees villains and assassins behind every bush."

  "I know." Nia had the good grace to flush. "And in truth, I did usually restrict the arrangement to my older students. But Amanda slipped into the classroom one day and heard me reading to the others. She became fascinated and pleaded with me to hear the rest of the story. I know I should have told her no, but . . ." She gave an ineffectual shrug.

  Wyatt, who had already found himself being wound about his niece's thumb, could well identify with her predicament. "Then I take it this is the end of it?" he queried, folding his arms across his chest. "I needn't worry about Amanda developing a fascination with moldering dungeons and Italian counts?"

  Nia fought the urge to smile at his teasing words. "No, Your Grace, you do not."

  "Good," Wyatt said, and gave a sudden chuckle.

  "What?" she asked curiously, intrigued by the bemused expression on his face. It made him look younger, more relaxed, and, she realized, her heart skipping a beat, more devastatingly handsome than ever.

  "I was just thinking that this is the oddest conversation I've ever had with a lady," Wyatt replied, surprising both of them with his candor. "Usually when I am alone with an attractive woman I am singing praises to her glorious hazel eyes, not discussing the affects of Gothic literature on impressionable young minds. What a disappointing flat you must think me."

  Nia felt her cheeks glowing with embarrassment. "Nonsense, my lord," she said gruffly, hiding her discomfort behind a scowl. "I am a governess, not an . . . an attractive woman." She stumbled over the last words, praying he wouldn't think she was angling for compliments.

  Her answer amused Wyatt. "I was not aware that being a governess precluded being attractive," he drawled, giving her his most provocative grin. "But naturally, as you are the governess, I shall bow to your superior knowledge of the matter."

  "Thank you." Nia rose to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster. "With your permission, sir, I will be retiring to my rooms. It has been a long day."

  "Of course," Wyatt agreed, a half-smile playing about his lips as he watched her cross the room. He waited until her hand was on the brass handle before calling out to her.

  "Miss Pringle?"

  "Yes, Your Grace?" She stopped and sent him a suspicious look over her slender shoulder.

  His smile became a full-fledged grin. "Your hazel eyes are glorious."

  The next week passed in relative tranquility. The purchases from Ackermann's were deliv
ered, and Nia began the painstaking task of laying and cutting out her new dress. She was somewhat dismayed when it appeared her things had been added to the duke's bill, but when she mentioned the matter to Mrs. Mayton, the housekeeper dismissed her fears.

  "Not to worry, my dear," she said, patting Nia's hand. "His Grace can always deduct it from your salary if need be."

  Nia's lessons with Amanda took up most of the mornings, while afternoons were given over to the time-consuming task of arranging the girl's new wardrobe. She was delighted at so much attention, and submitted to the endless fittings like one to the manor born. Nia was not so sanguine, and she felt compelled to protest what she regarded as frivolous waste.

  "A riding habit, madame?" she asked, examining a length of claret velvet the modiste had set aside. "The child is but six years old, and she doesn't even have a horse!"

  "Perhaps not, but one never knows, n'est ce pas?" madame replied, giving Nia a wink. "His Grace was most specific in his instructions, and a riding habit was among the things he ordered for both the mademoiselle and you, Miss Pringle."

  "For me?" Nia was surprised. "Why should I require a habit?"

  "So that you may instruct her ladyship to ride, I am thinking," the Creole woman replied with obvious patience. "She can hardly learn on her own."

  "That is so," Nia admitted, then forgot her reluctance at the thought of riding again. Although she counted herself as a good rider, she hadn't been on a horse in years, and the prospect was decidedly pleasing.

  She mentioned this the next time the duke took tea with them, and he gave a pleased nod.

  "I was hoping you rode," he said, crossing his booted feet in front of him as he settled back in his chair. "Perryvale is best seen from horseback, and I was hoping to show you and Amanda about, once we are settled."

  Nia thought that had a rather intimate sound, and was surprised when her heart gave an unexpected lurch. As usual, she hid her vexing emotion behind a display of efficiency. "The modiste Lady Catherine selected is a godsend," she said, fixing her gaze over his right shoulder. "Not only has she talent and style, but she also has little ones of her own, and understands that a child's clothes must be sturdy as well as fashionable."