Page 8 of The Governess Teaches A Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #34)

Chapter Seven

M aribel had decided to give lessons out in the gardens today.

Maybe some fresh air and flora would improve Clara’s mood.

Their first day inside at the pianoforte had been challenging and tiresome.

She had held her temper, which was sorely tested, more so than her impish younger brothers ever had.

Clara had refused any simple instruction of the keys, instead jamming them with her hands and making a most dreadful ruckus.

But Maribel knew the little girl was testing her.

Waiting for her to break like all the governesses who had come before her.

This knowledge only strengthened her resolve. She refused to be outwitted by a child.

They were sitting at a table in a garden filled with cheerful sunlight and well-manicured flowerbeds. Maribel read the myth of Pandora’s box from Hesiod’s “Works and Days” in an attempt to pique the child’s interest.

“What do you think of it so far, Lady Clara?”

“She sounds very hasty and selfish.”

Interesting that Clara recognised these traits, however, so clearly demonstrated them without repent.

“Indeed, but there is a lesson that can be learned here. Tempering curiosity, acting with caution and not haste. Heeding advice and listening .”

She had seen Clara’s eyes glaze over as she spoke, so she emphasised the word, hoping to regain her attention.

Instead, Clara got up and moved to the flower bed, pulling petals off the blooming hyacinths.

“You are ruining the flowers, My Lady, come back and sit down.”

Clara ignored her, and Maribel looked down at the book to hide her frustration. To her surprise, when she looked up, Clara was back in her seat watching her expectantly. Maribel gave her a warm smile.

“Thank you, let us proceed. This time, I want you to read out the next verse.” Maribel handed her the book.

Maribel took the opportunity to pick up her glass and have a drink and saw Clara watching her intently. Suddenly suspicious, Maribel held the drink out in front of her.

“Lady Clara, if I look in my cup, will I find something in there?”

“Yes, Miss Maribel, you will find the lemonade,” she replied with feigned innocence.

Maribel was not fooled. These were the same signs her brothers displayed when they were playing one of their tricks. Bringing the glass to her face, she peered inside and gasped.

A bee! A. Dead. Bee.

“Lady Clara!”

The little imp laughed so heartily that she clutched her belly. It was evident she considered this trick to be full of hilarity.

“What would have happened, Lady Clara, if I had drunk from this glass and the bee became lodged in my throat?”

Clara stopped laughing and stared at her with wide eyes.

“If I had begun to choke, do you know how you could have provided me with aid?”

She shook her head with regret.

Finally, remorse !

“I had considered today’s lesson out in the sun in the beautiful garden to be a treat, but you have shown yourself to be undeserving. I want you to return to the classroom and write an apology.”

Maribel was expecting resistance and steadied herself to stay firm, but instead, the child nodded.

“I am very sorry, Miss Maribel. I did not even think of that.”

Maribel knew she could easily say all was forgiven and comfort her, but then the lesson would not stick. She needed to be firm.

“You need to think about your actions. Actions have consequences.”

Clara nodded obediently and made her way back to the manor. Pleased with the outcome, Maribel inwardly congratulated herself. She had even turned the lesson into a test to gauge Clara’s writing skill.

* * *

Maribel watched Clara dutifully pen her note of apology with satisfaction.

The feeling was marred by the interruption of His Grace, who wanted her to join him for the evening meal to discuss Clara’s progress.

Progress? It had been two days. And Clara had been horrid.

Too distracted by his request, she ended her lesson with Clara and went to freshen up and use the quiet time to think of the evening ahead.

It was endearing how he had peeped over Clara’s shoulder and complimented her writing.

It was evident that Clara was not accustomed to this attentiveness from her father, and she had revelled in the kind words he had spoken.

The sweet moment had tugged at her heart, seeing the harsh man soften with fatherly attention.

Maribel ignored the voice inside her head that taunted her that this was the reason she was so concerned with her appearance—pinching her cheeks and tightening her stays to enhance her attractiveness.

All the thoughts were going back and forth in her mind, like a buzzing bee darting in and out of the flower’s centre in search of pollen.

Bee. Her thoughts travelled to earlier, and the contrite apology letter penned by Clara.

It was the first piece of work her young charge had produced where she had put in effort.

The writing was legible and neatly spaced.

There were a few minor spelling errors Maribel was already planning on using in their next lesson.

Things finally seemed to be improving with Clara, but what about the duke?

The man was maddening with the to-and-fro of mixed feelings he incited with his contradictory demeanour.

Cold as a winter’s morning frost one moment, and the next, warming her skin with a simple look as if she was naught but kindling.

She sat at her dresser and brushed her hair, dragging the brush in heavy strokes through her thick, brown tresses.

Thomas—as she referred to him in her mind—had asked her to eat with him later this evening.

The request had seemed casual, just an unassuming question as he had taken his leave.

But this did not abate the underlying tension this man had aroused, as she recalled what it had felt like when she was last in his presence.

It was the glint in his grey eyes and the tension in the air that surrounded them, like the humming of a bee you hear up close.

The moment had reverberated, making it visceral.

Egad, back to the bee again! She needed to stay calm, knowing he, too, would be baiting her.

Maribel had not anticipated that she would be required to strategically navigate her charge and her employer like a Roman centurion leading a legion of men to war.

Taking one last look at her appearance and giving her cheeks a final pinch, she decided she was ready to march.