Page 20 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

In Which There Is Discussion About a Particular Bottom; A Pilgrimage to a Park; Splishy-splashy Hopscotch; And a Disturbing Epiphany About Stone Age Men and a Non-Celestial Orbit…

Once they were well away from the Horology Room, Mrs. Chase remarked for Xavier’s ears only, “I shouldn’t say anything, but I cannot help it. What a horrid man Sir Randolph is, Your Grace.” She gave a little shiver of apparent disgust.

Xavier cast her a sideways glance. “Oh no. You’ve got him all wrong, Mrs. Chase,” he rejoined. “He’s really not a bad sort of chap. As long as you disregard his arrogance, his bad manners, and his bullish ways in general.”

She gave a short laugh. “Or his overly familiar manner. He reminds me of the sort of conceited clodpole who believes his attentions are desired by women.” She shook her head and muttered as though to herself, “What an enormous ass.”

“One could safely say Sir Randolph is a big-headed, braying blowhard who has more money than sense,” said Xavier. “A veritable Bottom.”

Mrs. Chase laughed again, her eyes dancing with merriment. “Sir Bottom seems very apt. One wonders if Shakespeare had someone like Sir Randolph in mind when he wrote the part for A Midsummer Night’s Dream .”

“Perhaps,” agreed Xavier, returning her smile. They’d reached the museum cloakroom and Mrs. Chase was suddenly caught up with helping the children don their wet-weather garb. The afternoon had grown dark and Xavier suspected the heavens would open up before too long.

Even though he’d pulled on his greatcoat, beneath his silklined clothes he shivered.

He had his silver-topped cane with him, but he’d left his umbrella in the carriage.

While he’d offered to accompany Mrs. Chase and his wards to the park, he dreaded the idea of getting soaked.

But he also didn’t want to miss the opportunity to converse more with the nanny.

Just to make absolutely sure she is the right fit for my wards , he told himself as they ventured outside into the museum’s forecourt where a mizzling rain was falling. It’s my duty. I can grin and bear a little rain in aid of a good cause.

“Where will we find your carriage, Your Grace?” asked Mrs. Chase, scanning Great Russell Street.

She’d donned a heavy wool cloak of navy blue, and her fair countenance was shadowed by the brim of her bonnet and her wide umbrella.

Harriet, Bartholomew, and Gareth stood beside her in their bright yellow mackintoshes, matching hats, and gumboots, like three little ducks all in a row.

Xavier turned up the collar of his greatcoat against a chill wind that was blowing a fine misty veil of rain across the puddle-strewn pavement.

“It’s a short walk away, down toward the corner of Montague Street.

It’s a shame we don’t have a key into the private garden in Russell Square around the corner.

I’m not sure if we’ll make it to Hyde Park or the park in Belgrave Square before it rains cats and dogs. ”

Mrs. Chase cast him an enigmatic smile. “I say let’s try our luck with accessing Russell Square, Your Grace. There might be another nanny out and about who’d be kind enough to admit us. And if it starts to pour, we can all beat a hasty retreat to your carriage.”

Xavier agreed and they all trooped down the street in the direction of Russell Square. “Is there some sort of secret nanny club we mere mortals don’t know about?” he asked as they paused to cross Montague Street. He could already see the Russell Square garden gates up ahead.

Mrs. Chase laughed. “Perhaps. I could certainly say that is the case for Parasol nannies and governesses. Our handbook clearly states that supporting one’s fellow graduates is a core responsibility.

We’re rather like a military corps in some respects.

Upon graduation we all swear oaths to not only protect the children in our care to the very best of our ability, but to always have each other’s backs. ”

“I must say, you’re very fond of this handbook of yours.”

“As a Parasol graduate we are duty bound to follow its rules. Anyone who does not risks expulsion from the Academy. And that is something I would never do.”

“I admire your commitment to the cause, Mrs. Chase,” said Xavier. And he meant it.

As Mrs. Chase accompanied Harry across the road—Bertie escorted the boys—Xavier had the oddest urge to take one of the nanny’s hands and tuck it into the crook of his elbow like any gentleman would when escorting a young woman anywhere.

But he didn’t. Mrs. Chase was an employee.

He was a duke. And never the twain shall meet.

Instead, he gripped his cane in one hand and thrust his other hand into his pocket.

It didn’t take long to reach Russell Square, and by the time they did, the light shower had stopped, a fact Xavier was rather glad about.

As luck would also have it, there was another Parasol nanny who was leaving the private park with her young charges who, upon seeing Mrs. Chase, was happy to admit them all.

Once Bartholomew, Gareth, and Harry were busy playing a spirited, very splishy-splashy game of hopscotch—Mrs. Chase had produced a piece of chalk from her pocket, which Bertie used to draw the hopscotch squares on a damp section of flagged paving—Xavier racked his brains, trying to think of a way to draw the nanny into conversation again.

Should he find out more about her background?

Her family? Chat about her father’s antique clock store?

Some of the auctions she’d been to? More about her own childhood?

Any other interests she might have beyond timepieces?

Or perhaps he should confine the conversation to his wards.

He was not one to take part in any sort of social chitchat, even at the best of times. Especially with a member of the opposite sex, let alone a staff member.

He barely conversed with his valet, Babcock, or his butler. Aside from his friend Lord Hartwell, Horatio, his raven, was probably the individual he spoke to the most.

Xavier grimaced. Good Lord. He was fortunate that no one had yet dubbed him Mason the Misanthrope .

He glanced at Mrs. Chase as she diplomatically settled a dispute between Harry and Bartholomew; apparently Bar tholo mew was sure that Harry had hopped out of bounds, whereas Harry was adamant she hadn’t because the chalk hadn’t smudged.

Egad, how he admired Mrs. Chase’s talent for reading people and situations and knowing exactly what to do and say. Whereas he was often lost for words.

Perhaps he should discuss the matter that was uppermost in his mind.

But in doing so, he might unsettle the nanny.

Although he had broached this particular subject at her interview, and he already knew Mrs. Chase wasn’t easily daunted.

In fact, she might even offer to help. She could easily knock a man off his feet.

Not only that, but she kept a sheathed, pearl-handled knife strapped to her ankle…

Agitated by his uncertainty—and a far too enticing vision of a black ribbon garter surrounding a slender lower leg encased in white hose—Xavier tapped the toes of his boots with his cane… until his circuitous, uneasy thoughts were interrupted by the nanny herself.

“I have a confession, Your Grace. It’s-It’s rather unfortunate. And more than a little embarrassing to be making such an admission so early in the piece. Although, you may have noticed the issue already…”

Xavier looked up to find Mrs. Chase regarding him with her large blue eyes. He tried to read whether her words matched her expression, but he failed. She could be worried, but she might also be teasing him. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said.

She drew a breath. “Despite our best efforts—both mine and Miss Harriet’s—the clocks at St Lawrence House keep slowing down and speeding up.

And I…” She released a small sigh, and a fine line appeared between her brows.

“I am utterly perplexed. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. Not that I can fathom.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” replied Xavier. “But rest assured, I do not blame you, Mrs. Chase. It is a mystery that seems quite unsolvable.”

The nanny nodded. “Yes, I’ve taken to calling it the ‘Great Clock Mystery’ in my own mind.

Miss Harriet and I will continue to set all the clocks to Greenwich Mean Time with my Parasol Academy pocket watch each week, but I suspect I shall have to find another project to occupy her.

Something a little more challenging or scientific.

Perhaps both.” She cast him a look from beneath her gold-tipped lashes that was a confusing combination of artful and coy—at least to Xavier.

“I do think Harry might be genuinely interested in learning about your French astrolabe, Your Grace. Her eyes fairly lit up when you mentioned the possibility.”

“And my offer was genuine,” returned Xavier as an unexpected feeling—an agreeable but odd sensation akin to warmth—spread through his chest. The idea that his eldest ward might be interested in the intricate workings of an astrolabe was…

pleasing? Was that the right word? Indeed, he was beginning to see glimpses of himself in Harry, and he suspected Mrs. Chase had seen that too.

The nanny’s ability to read him—to see past his dispassionate exterior and ofttimes awkward manner—was an altogether novel experience.

It was also slightly unsettling.

Xavier cleared his throat, suddenly feeling unusually self-conscious.

“I’m afraid we will have to wait for clearer skies though,” he added, avoiding the nanny’s far-too-perceptive gaze, squinting at the heavy clouds above them instead.

“In the meantime, perhaps that visit to Hatchards you mentioned is in order. Remember I have an account there and you can purchase whatever books you need.”

Mrs. Chase inclined her head. “I shall plan a trip for tomorrow. If you can spare a carriage, of course.”

“Of course,” said Xavier, acknowledging her reply with his own head tilt.