Page 28 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
Silas swore and strode up the staircase as Lennox’s laughter echoed through the foyer.
The deserted second floor did nothing to ease Silas’ annoyance at having missed a chance to converse with Miss Fernsby-Webb that evening. He stomped down the corridor, entered his chamber, and slammed the door with all the strength he could muster.
A moment later, a soft tap came at the door, and his heart leaped, thudding furiously as he traversed his chamber. However, when he flung open the door, disappointment waited on the other side.
“Have I displeased you?” Mr. Aylett asked, flinching as Silas’ mood instantly transformed from elated to exasperated.
“No, Mr. Aylett.” Silas yanked his jacket off his shoulders. “I’ve had quite an exhausting day, and I’ve lost a small fortune gambling.”
“Your luck will change, Your Grace,” said Mr. Aylett, entering the chamber and closing the door behind him. “I’ve never known you to quit a pursuit once you’ve decided upon the desired outcome.”
Although in this case, he very well may lose his chance with Miss Fernsby-Webb.
“Miss Sarah Gregory,” Mr. Aylett said, collecting the jacket and returning the article to the armoire, “will arrive precisely at ten tomorrow morning. She’s been told her charge is a nine-year-old girl and nothing more.”
“Has Miss Gregory previous experience?” Silas removed his waistcoat and cravat, then handed both pieces of clothing to Mr. Aylett.
“This is her first position. However,” he continued, speaking over Silas’ protest, “she seemed quite eager for the opportunity, and I knew a great man such as yourself wouldn’t hold her innocence against her.”
Silas’ eyes narrowed. “If you know my mind that well, you also know how much I loathe toad-licking.”
“A sentiment your daughter shares.” Mr. Aylett smiled as though amused by a private joke, took Silas’ trousers, and folded them before setting them inside the armoire.
“Something that I should know?” Silas leaned against the wing chair as he peeled off his stockings.
“Only if she wishes to share it with you.” Mr. Aylett bowed. “Have a pleasant evening, Your Grace.”
He didn’t. Consumed by thoughts of Miss Fernsby-Webb, Silas tossed in his bed, rolling over and over until the first warbles of the blackbirds and song thrushes predicated the coming dawn. Then he fell into a fitful sleep and dreamed of?—
“I hate you!”
Silas woke with a start as a deafening explosion vibrated the wall he shared with Juliette. The door opened and slammed. One moment after that, a soft tap came at his door, the handle depressed, and Juliette peeked her head into the dim chamber.
“Father?” She crept into the room and closed the door with a light click. “Are you awake?”
“I am,” he groaned and sat up. “What seems to be the trouble?”
She moved to the foot of the bed, clasped her hands in front of her waist, and said, “I don’t like Miss Gregory.”
“I heard,” he muttered, rubbing his aching forehead. “What did you break?”
“I may have shoved Miss Gregory.”
Ballocks! Miss Gregory hadn’t survived the morning.
“May have?” His eyebrows raised.
“It depends on who you ask.” Juliette shrugged.
“And if I asked Miss Gregory?”
“She would claim me to be a willful, disobedient child.”
Silas’ hand clenched into a fist. “That’s quite a moniker for a first introduction. Pray, what did you do to earn the title?”
“She wove in matching hair ribbons.” Juliette planted her hands on her hips. “And I informed her that was not how my braids were dressed. When I pulled out the ribbons, she threatened to spank me, so I pushed her into the wall and ran.”
“If you wish to sack her, you may,” he said, climbing from the bed. “I’ll not allow anyone to put one hand on you.”
And if Juliette doesn’t, I will.
“Will you accompany me?” Juliette asked, turning her back as he retrieved clothing from the armoire.
“Certainly.” He dragged a pair of trousers up his legs. “However, I expect you to find a replacement.”
“I choose Miss Fernsby-Webb.”
The name caused his heart to stutter.
“She’s not seeking a position.”
Yet…
He had promised to help Miss Fernsby-Webb secure a governess position after her sister’s wedding, and offering employment at his residence would prevent her from leaving Wiltshire—and him—forever.
Then he’d have the time to convince her that the merits of a marriage to him outweighed the detriments.
“Write down three qualifications you think a governess should possess,” Silas said, dragging his suspenders up his arms, “and I shall endeavor to find a woman who matches those attributes.”
“I can’t,” Juliette’s voice cracked.
“I cannot think of the qualities for you,” he replied as he pulled on a clean, white muslin shirt.
Juliette spun around, her hazel eyes welling up. “I-I can’t write.”
Hiding his shock at her revelation, Silas strode across the floor, dropped to his knees, and gathered Juliette in a tight hug. She sobbed on his shoulder, her little body trembling.
“Should I assume that you cannot read either?” he asked, keeping his tone gentle.
She sniffed and, rubbing her nose on his shirt, shook her head.
“Then, I suggest patience as one of the qualifications. However,”—he waited until she lifted her face—“if you think of three more, I will record them in an advertisement and submit that notice to the newspaper.”
Juliette chewed on her lower lip, then nodded, her head moving in a blur. She grabbed Silas’ sleeve and dragged him from the bedchamber, through the corridor, and into her room.
“Miss Gregory,” Juliette said, her voice clear, “your services are no longer needed.”
The young woman glanced at Silas, uncertainty hovering in her blue eyes, but he provided her no comfort. Instead, he bowed and gestured toward the open doorway.
“Mr. Aylett will pay you for the week and return you to town,” Silas said, moving behind Juliette and placing his hands on her shoulders.
“Have I done something wrong?” Miss Gregory asked, the whine in her breathy voice grating his patience.
“You’ve displeased my daughter.”
“I’ve had only an hour with her, Your Grace.”
“And within that hour, you managed to prove yourself unfit to be her governess.” His hands flexed protectively on Juliette’s shoulders. “Leave this moment.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Miss Gregory curtsied, collected a small, worn valise from the corner of the room, and departed without acknowledging Juliette.
Spinning around, Juliette flung her arms around his waist and squeezed him tight.
Then she dropped onto an exquisite cream rug, sorted through several papers filled with pastel scribbles, and unearthed a blank one.
After she retrieved a black pastel nub from a tiny wooden box, she handed both items to Silas, who took a seat beside her.
“My governess,” she said, pointing at the page, “must possess a desire for adventure, a kind heart, and an interest in the unexplained.”
Head bent, Silas scribbled his daughter’s requirements, added ‘patience’ at the bottom of the paper, then silently read over the list.
Juliette had just described Miss Fernsby-Webb.
“I will have Mr. Aylett place the advertisement in tomorrow’s newspaper,” Silas said, his attention pulled to a horrifying portrait fashioned from thick black lines.
Leaning over, he plucked the disturbing drawing from the floor. “Who is this?”
“Mr. Black,” Juliette replied as a shudder rolled through her. “I thought the picture would help identify him.”
His hand trembling, Silas stared at the portrait’s black eyes. “It does resemble someone I know.”
The man looked exactly like the Duke of Mansfield.
“He’s not here,” Juliette said, leaning against Silas’ arm and pointing at the picture. “I’ve studied all the guests’ faces last night.”
Silas exhaled a deep breath. He hadn’t suspected Mansfield of being a killer, but knowing his friend’s visage had the power to torment his daughter seemed a situation too complicated to be dealt with.
“You’ll advise me immediately if you ever see this man,” he said, turning toward her.
“I swear,” she replied and placed a solemn hand over her heart.
Three sharp raps echoed on the door.
“That will be the modiste,” Silas said, climbing from the floor and helping Juliette to her feet. “You may enter.”
The door creaked open, and Mrs. Aylett peeked her silvery-brown head into the chamber. “Your Grace, Mr. Neville Hollingsworth has arrived.”