Page 25 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

In Which Drawers Catch on Fire; Jib Doors and Jabs and Jibes Are Featured Along with Cursory Curtsies, Codfish, and Grenades…

Emmeline’s breath hitched as she stared at the duke. Did he really want her to place her hand in his?

He must. When she looked into the duke’s ice-blue eyes, there was an unmistakable spark of challenge there again. And she couldn’t very well refuse her employer. Could she?

Despite her earlier resolution not to be affected by the duke, Emmeline’s heart began to pound.

She reached out and as soon as the duke’s leather-clad fingers engulfed hers in a warm grip, a ripple of unwanted yearning slid over her skin, raising gooseflesh beneath her clothes.

Making the tips of her breasts harden and push in the most unseemly manner against her linen chemise and corset.

Clearly, the errant lust she’d locked away not five minutes ago had not been subdued at all.

It had opened one eye and was stirring restlessly, muttering curses at her while rattling the door handle, trying to escape.

Blast and bother! This was so very dangerous. Even though she’d sternly reminded herself that she shouldn’t “fraternize” with the duke, it seemed that when push came to shove, she was prepared to capitulate and dive right in.

But maybe she was being fanciful and reading things into the situation that simply weren’t there.

Taking the duke’s hand means nothing at all.

It’s no different to any man offering you his arm.

It’s what gentlemen do all the time, she told herself.

But then another voice whispered, Liar, liar, drawers on fire.

Dukes don’t usually offer nannies their arms, do they, Emmeline Chase?

“Where are we going?” she managed as the duke tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as though he were about to escort her into a ballroom or into dinner. “I might need to get back to the nursery…”

“You’ll see,” said the duke matter-of-factly. As though what they were doing was completely de rigueur. “Besides, I’m sure Fanny can cope on her own for fifteen minutes.”

Any additional protest or excuse that Emmeline could think to mount quickly dissipated as the duke led her across the plush Turkish rug to a towering pair of mahogany bookcases on the other side of the room.

The dust-free shelves contained row after row of leather-bound volumes, their spines all perfectly aligned.

Emmeline didn’t have much of an opportunity to peruse the titles as the duke reached into one of the shelves with his free hand and slid out one of the books.

All at once, the bookcase closest to the desk began to move.

It was a secret door. A jib door!

Emmeline gasped as the whole bookcase swung silently inward on well-oiled hinges, revealing another room beyond—an enormous chamber not unlike a museum gallery.

The next thing that struck Emmeline was the ticking.

The very air thrummed with the soft rhythmic sound of countless timepieces, diligently marking the passing of endless seconds and minutes and hours.

“I thought you might like to see my personal horology collection,” said the duke as he ushered Emmeline into the room.

After relinquishing her hand, he added in a manner that seemed to be both diffident and proud, “I also wanted to show you the electromechanical clock prototype I’ve been working on for the upcoming exhibition at the Crystal Palace next month. ”

Personal horology collection? Now that was an understatement if Emmeline had ever heard one.

This hidden room was like a horological treasure trove.

Unlike a pirate’s den though, this chamber was ordered and neat and stunningly beautiful.

It was filled with tiered gilt and glass display cases that were teeming with watches.

The burnished oak-paneled walls were lined with every kind of clock imaginable.

There was a row of impressive longcase clocks standing to attention along one side of the gallery.

Another shelf-lined wall showcased innumerable carriage and ormolu mantel clocks.

Sundials, chronometers, and a magnificent brass sextant upon an ornate stand dominated one corner. There was even a German cuckoo clock.

Wherever one’s eye fell, there was the glow of brass and gilt and polished wood, and the sparkle of crystal and glass, and enamel, and jewels. This homage to horology was nothing short of breathtaking.

Emmeline’s mouth must have been hanging open in wonder because she had to close it in order to speak.

“Your Grace,” she murmured, her voice laced with awe.

“I had no idea this room was here. I feel like I’ve been transported to a magical domain.

And yes, I’d love to see your electromechanical clock. I’d consider it an honor.”

She spun around slowly, trying to take in every single detail of the magnificence surrounding her.

The floor was white marble veined with fine lines of green and gray.

The soaring vaulted ceiling, which was supported by four fluted marble columns, was a tribute to the night sky.

It was painted a deep velvety blue, providing the perfect backdrop for depictions of the sun and the moon and various constellations, all exquisitely rendered in gold and silver.

A gilt banner above the jib door proclaimed Tempus Rerum Imperator : Time, the Ruler of All Things.

In front of a row of tall casement windows stood a long oak desk-cum-workbench that ran along the entire length of the room.

As Emmeline drew closer, she could see that its surface was covered with a variety of metallic tools of all shapes and sizes, tools that she immediately recognized as paraphernalia associated with watch- and clock-making; the sorts of tools her father had used in his own Cheapside workshop.

A pewter-handled magnifying glass and a jeweler’s eye loupe lay at the very end of the bench beside a gilt pocket watch; it lay open, its delicate insides exposed.

“I like to tinker,” explained the duke as Emmeline, still openly gawping, wandered the length of the workbench. “While I love collecting rare timepieces, bringing my own designs to life is even more fulfilling.”

As Emmeline touched a fingertip to a razor-sharp steel wheel—the cutting disc—of a topping machine, she laughed.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “This seems to be a bit more than tinkering to me. This looks like a serious occupation. I’m wildly curious though, Your Grace.

You’re a nobleman. A duke, no less. How did someone like you learn so much about the art of watch- and clock-making? ”

The duke pushed his hands into his trouser pockets and shrugged.

“I hired a master affiliated with the Worshipful Company of Clockmakers guild to train me. Privately of course. For several years, I was very much the apprentice. But now I like to think I know enough to create my own timepieces that are both sophisticated and unique. And beautiful.”

This last word was uttered as he looked directly at Emmeline.

Oh. My. Goodness. Trapped in the duke’s piercing blue gaze, Emmeline’s toes curled in her boots.

Her face was as blazing hot as a furnace.

He couldn’t mean that she was beautiful.

Because she wasn’t. Oh, she knew she was attractive- ish .

She had a pleasing enough figure (at least Jeremy had told her so before he’d grown bored with her and moved on to other women) and regular features.

She had all her teeth and they were relatively straight.

But she also had an unfashionably freckled countenance (that no amount of lemon juice would repair) and garish copper-red hair.

She was not a conventional “beauty” by any means.

And then, of course, she was a nanny, not an accomplished, gently bred, aristocratic (virginal) young lady, the sort of woman a duke would pay court to.

Unless the duke wanted to pursue her for other reasons…

which hardly seemed likely. His Grace didn’t seem like a rakish, lecherous sort of man—the type of odious employer who waylaid maids in stairwells and pressured them for favors.

Someone like Sir Randolph Redvers for instance.

Now, if a man like the baronet ever propositioned Emmeline, she would not hesitate to jab him sharply in the nether regions before she told him to roughly self-insert his nannying post where the sun doesn’t shine.

But Emmeline firmly believed that the Duke of St Lawrence wasn’t like that.

Moreover, his praise and interest were not unwelcome.

Even though Emmeline didn’t understand why the duke wanted to spend so much time with her—she’d be a fool to deny that he didn’t— she was the one in danger of developing a ludicrous infatuation with the man.

She certainly wouldn’t do the unthinkable and fall in love.

Now that would be a disaster of epic proportions.

To break the wire-taut silence that followed the duke’s pronouncement, to encourage the duke to shift his unnerving focus onto something else, Emmeline gestured helplessly at a nearby display—a magnificent carriage-style clock—sitting atop a marble pedestal that was at least three feet tall.

The clock itself appeared to be about the same height.

“Did you make this clock by any chance? It is exquisite.”

“Ah,” said the duke, drawing closer. His gaze moved to the clock. “I did. And it’s actually my electromechanical prototype. It’s a smaller version of what I have in mind for the Westminster Palace clock.”