Page 20 of The Iron Duke’s Flaming Christmas
Chapter 20
“Wait, my lady,” called Selene, as she chased Lenore down the hallway. The little girl didn’t even turn to look at her, but rather, started running faster. “Please, wait for me!”
Lenore started giggling, then made a high-pitched squeal, zigzagging around a large potted plant, almost knocking a blue and white ceramic vase off a table. She didn’t stop, clattering down the servants’ stairwell, clearly deciding that she was playing a game of tag with her governess.
Selene sagged against the wall, trying to catch her breath. She had been chasing Lenore around the house for fifteen minutes.
The little girl was refusing to sit and do her work in the library—she had rushed out of the room, declaring that she was going to find Lady Gwen so that she could play and eat cake, rather than do schoolwork. Selene was at her wit’s end. They would never even start their day’s work at this rate.
“What the deuce is going on?”
Selene turned around, her heart jumping into her mouth. The duke was standing there, his brows knotted, not looking pleased. In the drawing room beyond, she could hear the sound of chatter, a burst of laughter, and the tinkle of the piano forte.
She knew that other people had arrived, and the duke was having some kind of morning tea party, for she had seen the carriages in the driveway, lined up in a row, like black beetles.
Her eyes raked over him. It was the first time she had seen him up close since their wonderful dance in the gardens. Her heart contracted and she felt a rush of desire, as strong as ever—if not stronger. He was so tall and handsome. And so commanding.
“I am sorry, Your Grace,” she said, reddening, trying not to picture him doing the same shocking, exhilarating things to her he had done that night in the library. “But Lady Lenore is very energetic today and is refusing to start her lessons. I am just trying to catch her.”
His frown deepened. “Well, you better find a way to get her into the library right quick, Miss Bomind.”
“I am trying, Your Grace,” she said, through gritted teeth. “But Lady Lenore is rather unsettled with having extra people in the house.”
He stared at her. There was an awkward silence. Her heart was pounding hard now at being in such close proximity to him.
It seemed unreal that they had been so intimate with each other such a short time ago—that they had shared a passion so great that she thought she had died and gone to heaven. And even putting up the Christmas decorations together seemed like a lifetime ago, as well.
Now, it was like none of it had ever happened. He was the master of the house again, remote and aloof. The Iron Duke had built up his steel fortresses again… even higher than before.
Suddenly, Lady Gwen rushed into the hallway from the drawing room. “Your Grace, I need you to accompany me on the pianoforte…” Her voice trailed away when she saw Selene. “Oh. I see you are busy with a servant.”
Selene’s face burnt. How she loathed the lady. But she wasn’t going to lose her temper again with her. There was simply no point.
“I am coming,” said the duke, smiling at the lady. “I will only be a moment.”
Lady Gwen nodded, her eyes narrowing for a moment as she looked at Selene, before returning to the drawing room. The duke turned back to Selene.
“Do you have an appropriate gown for the conservatory party?” he asked abruptly.
She was taken aback. “I… I was not expecting that I would be attending, Your Grace,” she stammered. “I would really rather not…”
“Of course you will attend,” he growled. “You are Lenore’s governess. As such, you need to watch over your charge, make sure she is not getting into mischief, and take her away when she becomes tired.”
Selene swallowed a painful lump in her throat. “I do not have a gown that is good enough for the occasion,” she replied, which was the truth, although she could always try to spruce up one of her old gowns. “So, you see…”
“I will have Mrs. Kittles bring one to you,” he interjected, his frown deepening. “It is important that you dress for the occasion.” He gazed at her steadily. “I will expect you there and will not tolerate if you do not attend. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” she said, through gritted teeth. “I will do as you command. You are my master, after all.”
His eyes flickered, darkening, resting on her lips for a moment, before he turned around abruptly, marching back to the drawing room.
Selene kept walking, barely able to breathe. She didn’t want to go to this party and watch him with Lady Gwen, or any of the other fine ladies who would attend, laughing and chatting with them, and ignoring her entirely.
It would only make her feel even worse about herself and remind her—like a boot digging into her neck—that she was not a lady, and never would be. That she could never hope to be enough for him, no matter how much she longed to be.
She took a deep, ragged breath. It was going to be torture watching him. But there was nothing she could do about it now. He was still her master, and she was his employee. She must obey him.
At that moment, she heard Lenore squealing. She sighed, picking up the skirt of her gown, and resumed her chase.
***
“My, you look as pretty as a picture,” said Mrs. Kittles, beaming at Selene, walking slowly around her. “I still cannot believe that His Grace told me to give you a gown to wear to the party, but I must say, it does become you, my dear.”
Selene flushed at the housekeeper’s praise, gazing at herself in the full-length mirror. She didn’t recognize the woman who gazed back at her, wearing this gown. She usually wore plain, coarse gowns, as befitted her station, and because that was all she could afford.
She exhaled slowly. This gown was a dream, even though it wasn’t frilly or fussy. It was a streamlined, elegant muslin gown in a pale musky pink, with a high bustline and short, puffed sleeves. The expensive fabric felt beautiful against her skin. Mrs. Kittles had done her hair, twisting it up into a chignon, rather than her usual tight bun, and had even given her a simple pearl necklace with matching earrings to wear, as well.
“I cannot wear it,” she burst out. “I… I do not look like myself. I look like someone else entirely.” She turned to Mrs. Kittles. “I look like I am trying to rise above my station.”
“Now, now,” soothed the housekeeper, patting her arm. “You are all in a dither, my dear, because you are about to attend a grand party with the nobility, and you are not used to it. No one will notice you. Just take your sewing basket and sit in a quiet corner, and you will be fine.”
“Where did this gown come from?” she asked, turning back to the mirror. “I do not understand.”
The housekeeper arched her eyebrows. “It belonged to the late duchess,” she replied, in an even voice. “It was not one of her best gowns. It was not special, so do not worry if you spill a drop of tea upon it, or anything like that.” She paused. “It is quite astounding that the duke kept all of the duchess’s gowns, but there you have it.”
Selene gasped, turning to the housekeeper. “This belonged to the late duchess? And he is letting me wear it?”
Mrs. Kittles nodded. “He can be a kind soul, beneath his frosty exterior,” she replied. “He told me that you said you did not have anything suitable for the party, so he gave me leave to choose a dress for you out of the trunks in the attic, and I thought this one would fit you well and is appropriate for the occasion.”
Selene shook her head in wonder. Mrs. Kittles had chosen well—the gown was elegant but understated. Her heart trembled. She still couldn’t believe that the duke would allow her to wear a gown that had belonged to his late wife. What could it mean?
But before she could grapple with that thought, there was a knock at the door. A maid entered, smiling at them, her eyes openly admiring.
“Oh, you look beautiful, Miss Bomind,” she said. “Just like a real lady!”
Selene reddened again, squirming where she stood. “Thank you, Rosie.”
“The guests are arriving,” said the maid. “I was told it is time for you to bring Lady Lenore to the conservatory to greet them.”
Selene took a deep breath. “Very well.”
She took one last look in the mirror, before turning toward the door. Her stomach was in knots—she couldn’t recall the last time she had been so nervous. And she was doubly nervous now that she knew she was wearing a gown that had belonged to the late duchess.
She looked down, noticing that her hands were trembling. How was the duke going to react when he saw her in this gown—even though he had insisted she wear it?
***
Ian stood at the entrance to the conservatory, brushing dust off the sleeves of his jacket, even though it had been brushed thoroughly by his valet. He adjusted his cravat. He always felt trussed up when he had to wear his better attire for parties and balls.
He put his hands behind his back, resisting the impulse to start pacing the floor. He despised social events, even those that he hosted himself. The only reason he was doing this was in honor of his houseguests. It was correct protocol.
He frowned. The guests were starting to arrive, but there was still no sign of Selene with Lenore. Had Mrs. Kittles misunderstood him and not given her a gown to wear? Or was she planning to plead a headache to get out of it? She hadn’t looked happy when he insisted she must attend.
Suddenly, he froze. Lenore was skipping into the conservatory. His daughter looked lovely in a pale green silk gown with matching ribbons, two circles of red in her cheeks, like apples. He couldn’t help smiling at her. She was as pleased as punch that she had been allowed to come to this party.
The next minute, Selene walked into the room. His breath caught in his throat, and he felt his jaw drop.
Was it her? Was it really the beautiful, yet humble, governess, who always wore prim, buttoned up gowns, with her hair tightly pulled back?
His heart started racing. She was wearing a pale pink muslin gown, her chestnut hair swept up into an elegant chignon, with pearls glistening at her throat and in her ears. It was a gown that he couldn’t recall Mary wearing often, but then, his wife had had many, many gowns. So many he couldn’t remember half of them.
She is so beautiful. Like a vision of loveliness.
But even more than that, she looked like a lady. It wasn’t just the gown and the jewelry. It was the way she carried herself, her back straight, her head high, looking around the room in an almost regal way.
Suddenly, she saw him across the room. Their eyes met and locked. His heart hit the ground with a crash.
He had resolved again to stay away from her, knowing it couldn’t lead anywhere, and not wanting to end up breaking her heart, or leading her to ruin… and it hadn’t been that difficult when he had been so busy this week.
But he realized, with a sickening lurch to his stomach, that it had been a pointless resolution—for staying away from her was simply impossible. He may as well ask the sun stop shining entirely.