Page 21 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

They lapsed into silence again as they watched the children play, and Xavier wondered if his tone had been too gruff.

Or his lack of eye contact had offended the nanny.

But after a few minutes, Mrs. Chase ventured, “I take it there have been no other untoward happenings at St Lawrence House over the past two weeks, Your Grace? I haven’t heard anything.

But then, I don’t know the other servants all that well yet.

Naturally it takes time to build up the sort of rapport that invites confidences.

” She bit her lip and dipped her head so her bonnet shielded her face.

“Oh dear. It sounds like I’m the sort of servant who indulges in idle gossip.

I’m really not. But if I do hear anything useful… ”

“I understand. I know what you mean,” said Xavier. “And I especially appreciate that you are so willing to help me get to the bottom of whatever is going on in my house.” His attention flitted away and settled on the bronze statue of the Duke of Bedford at the far end of the square’s garden.

Out of the corner of his eye, he registered that the nanny nodded. “My duty, first and foremost, is to you and your wards. So if I do hear or see anything suspicious—such as anyone tampering with the clocks, or anything else at all that doesn’t seem quite right—I shall let you know straightaway.”

“Thank you. Actually”—Xavier made himself catch the nanny’s gaze—“there is something I need to tell you.” He drew a steadying breath, not because he was worried about what he was about to disclose.

No, he had to steel himself to not get distracted while he maintained eye contact with the young woman.

“Early this morning, I was informed by Mrs. Lambton that St Lawrence House may have been broken into.”

“Oh my God! I mean goodness ,” breathed Mrs. Chase, her face paling. Then she frowned. “But you said, may have. There’s doubt?”

“Yes, there is. Apparently the cook, Mrs. Punchbowl, noticed that the door into the kitchen was unlocked and slightly ajar when she commenced her usual duties—she lights the stove in preparation for the day at six o’clock sharp.

Woodley swears that the entire house was secure last night before he retired at eleven p.m. And the night footman claimed the kitchen door was locked when he did a round of the house three hours later at two a.m. So some time in the next four hours, someone unlocked and opened the door.

However, it appears that nothing has been stolen or tampered with or broken in the house. ”

“I take it that includes the lock on the kitchen door? It wasn’t broken?”

“No, it’s fine,” said Xavier. “A key is needed to both unlock and relock the door.”

“Who in your household has a key for the kitchen door?”

“Aside from me, Mrs. Lambton, Mrs. Punchbowl, Woodley, and whoever is rostered on as the night footman until three a.m. When he’s done his final round, the set of keys is left in the cloak room adjacent to the entry hall.”

“Hmmm, so really anyone at all in the house could have accessed that set between three and six a.m.?”

“Yes, you’re right. For what reason, I have no idea.”

Mrs. Chase tapped a gloved finger against her chin. “Could it have been one of the servants stealing outside and returning in the early hours before dawn—like a maid or footman—sneaking off for a tryst?”

Dragging his gaze away from the nanny’s mouth ( I. Must. Not. Stare. ) Xavier said, “I have no idea.” Which was true. “It’s never happened before though. Which doesn’t mean one of the servants hasn’t recently found a sweetheart.”

“Hmmm. The only other explanation I can think of is that an outsider—a would-be thief or saboteur—picked the lock to the kitchen door. Which is entirely possible.”

“Can you pick locks, Mrs. Chase?” Xavier wouldn’t have been surprised at all if the woman could.

“Oh no. Parasol nannies and governesses have many talents, but lock picking isn’t one of them.” Mrs. Chase’s expression grew serious. “But why would anyone break in and not take anything? Unless…” Her brows dipped into a deeper frown.

“Unless it was another instance of someone trying to unsettle me in a new way?”

She gave a nod. “A rival horologist perhaps? Someone like Sir Randolph?”

Xavier shrugged. “I have no way to tell. I don’t know much of anything at all.

I feel like I’m stumbling around in the dark, tripping over things that have been deliberately placed in my way to unnerve me.

And I can’t find a dashed candle or lamp that will shed light on the situation.

” Then he sighed. “I haven’t involved the local constabulary because there would be nothing much to report.

My cook discovering an open door is hardly a crime.

All the other doors and windows throughout the house were secure, too. ”

Mrs. Chase’s expression changed. Xavier thought it might be her “pensive” look. “At my interview, Your Grace, you mentioned someone followed you home after a Royal Horological Society meeting not that long ago. Have there been any other incidents of that nature since then?”

“No…” Although, Xavier couldn’t shake the odd feeling that maybe they were being observed right at this moment.

The hairs stood up on the back of his neck as though a chill wind had blown past, and again, his gaze drifted around the enclosed park of Russell Square.

As far as he could see, they were ostensibly alone in the gardens, but beyond the black wrought-iron fence surrounding the square, there was an endless parade of passersby and trundling carriages and carts and hansom cabs.

Even the occasional omnibus rumbled past. No particular individual stood out.

No one appeared to be watching him or his wards or Mrs. Chase or Bertie.

It was clear his imagination was playing tricks on him.

But still… Xavier’s grip tightened on his cane. Inside was a sheathed rapier. With one click of a button on the silver handle, he could release the weapon. And he was an excellent swordsman, if he did say so himself.

Mrs. Chase broke into his thoughts. “Perhaps you should have hired me to be your bodyguard or private investigator, Your Grace.”

She was joking of course. Xavier could definitely see the sparkle in her eyes. “I’m starting to think I should have,” he replied with a wry smile.

It was Mrs. Chase who looked away this time. At that moment, there was a cry.

Young Gareth had tripped and fallen. He was sitting in a puddle, clutching his leg and wailing.

“Nanny Chase, Gareth needs a plaster,” called Harry as the young woman rushed over to her injured charge.

“I have one here,” said Mrs. Chase calmly.

Heedless of the wet, muddy ground, she dropped low and began to tend to Gareth’s skinned knee.

Once the plaster was applied, she gave the boy’s head a pat.

“It looks like you get a piggyback ride back to the carriage, my brave young man. If Bertie will oblige.”

She looked up at the footman and he grinned down at her. “I will, Nanny Chase,” he said. And then he winked.

Was Bertie flirting with the nanny? Was there something in the air today that was making men wink at Mrs. Chase? Something catching, like a cold?

Of course not, you dunderhead. Mrs. Chase is an attractive widow with a bright friendly manner. It’s inevitable that men will notice her. You’ve noticed her.

Deep down, Xavier knew that he was being an ass.

However, recognizing that he was an ass while experiencing some hitherto unknown emotion—something sharp and hot and dangerous—did not make it any easier for him to crush his primitive Stone Age instincts to dust. Not when they were stomping around inside him like a troglodyte, giving him the insane urge to unsheathe his rapier and skewer the strapping young footman—or at the very least, whack him on the arse with his cane—for daring to flirt with Mrs. Chase while on the job.

Right under the nose of his employer! The cheek of the man.

And then Xavier was struck by an even more insane thought.

He was jealous of the footman. Since when had Xavier Mason, the Duke of St Lawrence, turned into the sort of man who was afflicted by jealousy? And over such a trifling incident?

Of all the things that had happened today, perhaps that was the most sobering, astonishing event of all. Along with the fact that no matter how hard he tried, Xavier could not stop wanting to be in the orbit of Mrs. Chase.

By the time they got back to his carriage, Xavier had identified what his problem was and he told himself so.

Mrs. Emmeline Chase, once noticed, cannot be unnoticed.

Of course, you engineered this whole outing, hoping her allure would dissipate.

Hoping her magnetic pull would dwindle the more accustomed you became to her presence.

Except his plan hadn’t worked at all. Ignoring Mrs. Chase—waiting for her shine to fade so she became ordinary or unremarkable or mundane enough to blend into the background—was like trying to ignore the sun or the stars or the moon in the heavens.

Mrs. Chase was the opposite of ordinary. She was endlessly fascinating.

Oh, it was then that Xavier knew he was in deep, deep trouble.

It would be a miracle if he’d be able to concentrate on his work now.