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The duke’s eyes broke their stare and flitted to the papers upon his desk, the faint hue of a dawn horizon to those cheekbones.
“Why?” he asked gruffly. “Because then you wouldn’t have bothered with the journey of a sennight to get here.”
Presumptuous man!
Her temper rose…
Un, deux, troi– “Not at all, Your Grace, but I would not have suffered a near apoplexy at finding her wandering the corridor gone midnight. Or thought a growling mad dog skulked the shadows. And Mrs Pugh might not have withheld the cinnamon biscuits.”
“Biscuits? Mad do…” He planted a fist to his mouth.
Was he…laughing?
Un, deux– “If I were indeed to flee this post, it would not be due to Mari, Your Grace, but my employer not treating me as a professional governess with ten years’ experience. No wonder your last governess fled.”
The Duke of Aberdare’s eyes darkened to cauldrons of oil and Isabelle at once knew she had overstepped her remit – anger at being considered lily-livered and not told the full truth had caused her to…berate a peer of the realm in rather a strident manner. She shuttered her eyes for she adored Mari, was coming to appreciate Wales but–
“I apologise,” the duke rumbled low.
Her eyes snapped open. “I beg your pardon?”
“I apologise, Miss Beaujeu. My reasons were…” He rubbed his brow, appeared wearied, and all of a sudden, a different man sat before her. One who’d lost a brother, gained a daughter and doubtless struggled. “After our last governess fled, as you seem to know, Mari did not walk during the night for weeks and so I thought, or hoped, it might have ceased, and I…” But it was clear he cherished his niece. Did the best he could. The duke sighed. “I thought if you’d met Mari, had spent time with her, seen how it affected her not in the day, then, with all your experience and fine references you might stay with us. Could perhaps help her.” His fingers crunched to fists. “She needs more than I have to give.”
He appeared so forlorn that thoroughly inappropriate compulsions arose… to soothe that furrowed brow with…
Isabelle quashed such compulsions.
“I can understand, Your Grace,” she said softly, “and I value your apology. Have no doubt though that Mari adores you, appreciates all you do for her, but…” She paused. “I must also tell you that your niece is…scared.”
The furrows deepened. “Scared?”
“Of your intentions. For I’m led to believe that your last governess also expressed the notion that Mari should be installed in…an asylum.”
The chair scraped as he abruptly stood and shoved palms to the leather baize.
In such a stance, he appeared quite…draconic.
Isabelle shivered.
“I expressly forbade that lady from speaking of this. Paid her well.”
“And I’m sure that lady kept her word but…” Isabelle brushed her thumbs back and forth, unsure how to explain… “But nonetheless your niece knew of this and furthermore, she…glimpsed a letter addressed to a certain doctor and… Well, a concern has also been expressed that this doctor might persuade you that an asylum would be best. Or other similar methods of…cure.”
He re-took his chair with a flip of coattails and steepled his blunt fingers. “And what do you yourself consider the best course of action, Miss Beaujeu?”
“Me?” No nobleman had ever asked for her opinion before. She fiddled with her shawl and inhaled deeply, the air scented with beeswax and leather-bound books. “For myself, I believe time and compassion is all she needs. I also believe, perhaps, it is a consequence of her father’s death. At such a delicate age, I imagine the mind capable of curious acts to cope with loss.” She almost thought to tell him of her own nightmares but he would no doubt ask…questions.
The duke cast her a penetrating gaze. “That is what the doctor believed also.” He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, appeared exhausted and worn. What kept him awake in the early hours? “To put your mind at rest – and doubtless Mrs Pugh’s – it was a letter to an eminent doctor who has interviewed many night-time walkers. He too does not believe it to be possession or any diabolical intervention but, as you suspect, a temporary upset of the mind. It seems to be prevalent in the young and he believes it will lessen with time. Yes, I admit he suggested some…cures but for myself, I am convinced to delay a year or so when she can decide for herself. Mari has caused no harm to anyone and has good health in all other aspects.”
“Oh… I see. In that case… Well, that is all then, Your Grace. All I wished to say. Thank you.” Isabelle gathered her shawl. “But if I may also suggest, perhaps Mari would be reassured if you could speak to her?”
He nodded. “And you will…remain with us?”
“Of course.” She rose. “As I have said, Mari is delightful and considerate.”
His gaze flickered over her features. “As are you, Miss Beaujeu.” Then his ebony lashes swept downwards as he cleared his throat. “To want to help her, I mean,”
Isabelle had never been flummoxed for words before but there had been something in the duke’s dark eyes that… She shook her head; the lack of breakfast was surely affecting her wits. “I believe Mari and I are to attend the upcoming Autumn Ball?”
