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“Nerves of steel. Stomach of iron. Eyes like a hawk. Brawny as a boxer.”
India chuckled. “Why don’t you put Robertson in a gown and have him double as the governess?” She grinned at the butler as he entered the room.
Robertson gave her a horrified look.
“For the salary I’m offering,” said Edgar, “there ought to be a line of broad-shouldered, steely nerved governesses at my door vying for the position.”
Robertson cleared his throat. “There’s just the one, Your Grace. And she’s not particularly broad of shoulder.”
“The one what?” asked Edgar.
“The one governess. At your door.”
Edgar squinted at him. “Dunkirk only left a few hours ago.”
“Nevertheless, there is a governess here.”
Edgar had allowed Mrs. Fairfield to screen the other governesses and they’d all been less than satisfactory. “Bring her to me, Robertson. I want to interview this one in person. Test her mettle.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” Robertson bowed and left.
Perhaps Edgar’s life could progress as planned, after all. “Maybe this will be the one, India. Maybe she’ll be able to calm the children and restore some order to this chaos.”
“At least she’s punctual,” said India. “That’s got to count for something.”
“Come in, dearie, come in out of this dreadful wind and rain. When will it ever decide to stop raining, do you suppose? Why, it’s nearly the middle of May!” A tall, gray-haired woman wearing an elegant black silk gown ushered Mari into a desert of blinding white marble, accented by bloodred carpets and enamel cloisonné vases set on carved wooden stands.
Did children really live here? Mari could see no evidence of them. No scuffmarks on the marble, no stray toys in the corners.
Those precariously perched vases, thin as eggshells, wouldn’t be safe around any children of her acquaintance.
“Oh bless me. I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Mrs. Fairfield, the duke’s housekeeper. Here, give me your bonnet.”
As she spoke, she bustled around Mari, untying her bonnet, handing her bag and umbrella to a liveried footman, and removing her gloves. “I can’t believe you arrived so swiftly.”
“Have the children returned?” asked Mari. “Miss Dunkirk intimated that they had run away.”
“I’ve sent the coachman to fetch them home. They’ll be in the park, I expect.”
The butler who had greeted Mari upon arrival returned to the entrance hall. “His Grace wishes a personal interview with Miss Perkins.”
“He does?” asked Mrs. Fairfield, her eyes questioning.
The butler nodded. “He said he wished to test her mettle.”
Tested by the devilish duke. Mari gulped. “Very well,” she said bravely. “I’m ready.”
“Let me have a look at you.” Mrs. Fairfield captured Mari’s hands and lifted her arms. “Why, you’re as rosy cheeked and fresh as a daisy. But you’re just a slip of a thing and your hands are freezing. After your audience with His Grace you’ll have a nice hot cup of tea.”
Couldn’t she have the teabeforethe duke?With an effort, Mari tamped down the rumbling of hunger and fear in her belly.
“Come along, dear.” Mrs. Fairfield tugged her toward a staircase bordered by mahogany banisters which gleamed so aggressively they appeared to be made from colored glass.
Mari had to trot to keep up with her. “Ah... silly me. I seem to have forgotten the children’s names and ages.”
“The twins, Michel and Adele, are nine,” said Mrs. Fairfield over her shoulder.
She pronounced Michel in the French way, softening thechand elongating theiinto ane, so he must be male.
