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Ten days past, Isabelle had written a missive requesting any reports on her prospective master – this Duke of Aberdare.
Did he grope the maids? Was he a drunkard? Did he share a bed with his horse?
A reply had arrived yestermorn…
My Dearest Miss Beaujeu,
The Duke of Aberdare? Now that would be quite a coup for your résumé!
You can rest assured there is no gossip concerning lascivious conduct with maids, inebriation or horses – and wasn’t that a dreadful episode with Lord T?
But you should be aware that the gossip rags do label your prospective duke as The Mean, Moody & Mysterious Dare.
Mean? Isabelle had mused. As in parsimonious or bad-tempered?
Moody? Isabelle had rolled her eyes. She’d no time for noblemen and their ennui.
Mysterious?Perhaps that was simply because he was mean and moody.
My sources advise that this duke is one to lurk in corners at society events with brooding eyes and saturnine scowls.
The Ton is agog with delight, of course, and I’m told a certain countess swooned in rapture as he glared in her direction. The lady obviously lacked the guidance of a competent governess in her youth to allow such weakness. Though I digress…
Nothing too untoward thus far.
I’m informed this duke’s niece requires a governess as her mother died when young and her father, the duke’s twin brother, was tragically lost at sea a year or so past.
But beware, my dear, for I must caution you…
Then again.
Three governesses have fled this employ but none have revealed their reasons for doing so. The last wrote that the mysterious Aberdare household gave her the collywobbles but refused to be drawn further, other than to impart that the brooding duke is secretive, his heir an unrepentant libertine, and that the housekeeper is a witch – with the latter, I fear our distressed governess was not straying into metaphor.
But Isabelle had not come this far in her profession without having dealt with a few troublesome housekeepers, her fair share of unrepentant libertines and the odd secretive aristocrat.
Besides, her current employ finished in September, positions were scarce at this time of year and the advert had alluded to a substantial wage.
I’d best end there, dearest,as my pupil Felicity – was ever a name less appropriate – is tying up the third footman with a tasselled curtain tie.
Best of luck. Do write soon.
Kind Regards, Miss Culpepper.
P.S. Though I’m sure of no consequence, the Duke of Aberdare also owns a villa in Italy with twenty-two bedrooms, a marble staircase and orange groves. You did mention in your letter the advert indicated extensive travel…
Which was why Isabelle was sitting within this dilapidated chair, in this rather shabby study. For so many years she had breathed in the damp London fog and become drenched in winter rain… And summer rain – this year more than ever. Now, she so yearned to feel the sun upon her face and a dry Mediterranean wind stir her hair.
“My niece…” The duke shuffled her references and Isabelle returned her attention to the prober in question. “Requires a competent hand as she has, on occasion, had some…problems.”
Isabelle displayed no outward response and waited.
Then waited some more.
“Such as?”
The duke’s ebony lashes lowered. “I’m quite sure a governess of your experience will be able to improve matters.”
Oh. Problems.
