Henry’s face was unreadable. Clara merely stabbed her bread with a butter knife, the blade squeaking against the plate.
They followed Nancy up the hallway, Henry lagging behind as if each step weighed more than the last. Nancy led them to the second drawing room—a misnomer, really, as it was smaller and plainer than the first, with fewer paintings and less light.
Miss Edith Mercer was already waiting, standing in the precise center of the rug as if measuring its borders. She was, Nancy conceded, exactly what one expected of a governess: tall, dignified, hair arranged in an immaculate coil. Her gloves were a crisp gray, her collar even crisper, and her eyes a shade of brown that made Nancy think of walnut shells—sturdy, unbreakable, possibly edible.
Nancy introduced herself, then the twins.
“Miss Mercer,” said Clara, scrutinizing the woman with her customary frankness. “Have you ever tamed wolves?”
Edith’s composure did not falter. “Not actual wolves, but I did once instruct a set of Irish triplets. It amounts to much the same.”
Nancy felt the urge to applaud.
Henry, emboldened, asked: “Can you climb trees?”
“If it is necessary,” said Edith, not missing a beat.
Nancy felt her own equilibrium shift. There was something about this woman—an uncanny smoothness, as if she’d been sanded down to the precise shape required by the situation. It made Nancy’s skin prickle. Where was the flaw? The misplaced button, the ink-smudged knuckle? She found none.
“You come highly recommended, Miss Mercer,” Nancy said. “But as you can see, the situation is unconventional.”
“I would not have expected anything less, Your Grace.” The governess’s smile was polite, but not soft. “The Duke has already informed me of your…family’s uniqueness.”
Nancy’s composure cracked, if only for a moment. “Has he indeed? Well, then you are well briefed.”
“I also took the liberty,” Edith continued, “of preparing a preliminary schedule for the children’s studies. I have left ample time for natural history, as the Duke suggested, both have an interest in biology.”
Clara snorted. “We like bugs.”
“Bugs are excellent,” said Edith. “Tomorrow, we will catalogue every beetle in the garden.”
Henry’s eyes widened. “All of them?”
“Every last one,” Edith promised. “But for today, I thought we’d begin with an hour of reading, then some drawing, then perhaps a walk outside.”
Nancy tried to object, but the twins had already begun to thaw.
“We don’t usually walk,” Clara challenged.
“Today, we’ll make an exception,” Edith replied.
Clara and Henry looked to Nancy, as if awaiting an official ruling.
Nancy shrugged. “I see no reason why not.”
Edith gave a shallow bow and ushered the children out with efficiency bordering on military discipline. The drawing room door closed with a soft, absolute click.
Nancy lingered, feeling unaccountably displaced. She had thought, for some reason, that a governess would be a stopgap—a sort of warm body to fill the hours when the children’s energy threatened to overflow. She had not expected an actual professional, nor that the children would so quickly, so quietly, adapt.
She made her way back to the office, but could not focus. Instead, she took to the window and watched as Edith led Clara and Henry through the garden.
The twins walked side by side, not holding hands, but close enough that their shoulders brushed. Edith followed, clipboard in hand, pointing out plants and stopping occasionally for Clara to prod a leaf or for Henry to kneel and inspect a worm.
They looked, for the first time since arriving, not wild but simply…young.
This is what Oscar wanted,Nancy told herself.Structure and authority.But the sight of the twins, subdued, made her jaw clench.
A knock on the door. Mrs. Tullock entered with the day’s accounts.
