Page 27 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

To distract herself from imagining the duke as a sad and lonely and distressed little boy—the sort of child she’d been trained to both nurture and protect—Emmeline took out her pocket watch.

She should get on with setting the duke’s clocks.

But her vision had blurred, and she couldn’t make out the position of her watch’s hands.

All of a sudden, Lord Peregrine’s booming baritone invaded the room. “What do you mean you don’t have them here, boy?”

Boy?! Emmeline stiffened with anger. The Duke of St Lawrence was not a child. How dare—

The duke’s voice cut through her thoughts. “I might be your nephew, but you will treat me with respect in my own home, sir. Otherwise, I shall have you thrown out into the street along with my cousin.”

There was a snort. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, believe me, I would dare, Uncle. And I don’t care who sees.

Now”—the duke paused as though he was drawing a calming breath—“if you hadn’t so rudely interrupted me, I would have been able to inform you that the St Lawrence sapphire and diamond parure that you wish to borrow for your wife is in a locked safe at my bank, Coutts and Co.

I can send a message to the bank manager, asking him to release it into your care for the period it is required. ”

“Humph…” The duke’s uncle was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Your Grace, wouldn’t it be simpler if you handed all the St Lawrence jewels over to me for safekeeping? Then my lady-wife can wear them whenever she pleases. And I won’t have to come begging.”

“I’m not as curmudgeonly as Ebenezer Scrooge, Uncle Peregrine, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Lord Peregrine emitted a low grumble. “That’s not what I’m implying at all. The point is, you’re not the marrying kind. You’ve told me that yourself often enough. And even if you were, you’d have a hard time convincing any woman of sound mind to accept your suit given your… reputation.”

“Well, thank you very much, Uncle.” Bitterness laced the duke’s voice.

“You cannot say it isn’t true. You know as well as I that if you don’t wed and produce an heir, the dukedom will eventually pass to my son.”

“No doubt you and Cousin Algernon would both like that.”

“It has nothing to do with liking it,” returned Lord Peregrine hotly. “It’s the way it is. You should hear the rumors flying about the clubs.”

This time the duke snorted. “Let me guess. Everyone is whispering about Mad Mason again? Or have they come up with some new insult now that I’m the duke? Insane St Lawrence perhaps? Or St Lawrence the Lunatic?”

“You have no idea how embarrassing it all is,” returned Lord Peregrine, his tone scathing.

“The pitying looks I receive whenever your name comes up in conversation. And your aunt and cousin too when they’re out and about.

You’re the albatross of the family, Xavier.

Your father, God rest his soul, should have had you committed to an asylum for your own good years ago.

And I told him so, on more than one occasion I might add.

Your obsession with horology is more than unhealthy, it’s bizarre.

Not only that, but your plan to design the Westminster Palace tower clock is utterly nonsensical.

As if someone like you—a man who’s clearly crackbrained—could ever come up with—”

Emmeline had had enough. Without thinking, she pushed through the gap in the jib door and marched into the study. “Oh, pardon me, Your Grace,” she said, glancing between the duke and his vile visitor. “I had no idea that I was interrupting you and your…”

Tilting her head and narrowing her eyes, she directed her attention to the duke’s uncle—a tall gray-haired man with a high forehead and a long beak of a nose—then waited for an introduction that she was in no way entitled to.

Oh, she was being so very insubordinate, and breaking every single etiquette rule in the book (and not just the Parasol Academy Handbook ), but she didn’t care.

Her employer—a good man with a brilliant mind—was being grossly insulted, and she would defend him, come what may.

“This is Lord Peregrine,” supplied the duke, his expression inscrutable. “My uncle.”

“Nevergrin Nevergrin,” chanted Horatio as he fluttered back into the study and landed on his perch. His black eyes gleamed with wicked glee as he regarded his master’s uncle.

Ignoring the raven’s shameless but amusing taunts as best she could, Emmeline murmured, “My lord,” and bobbed the most cursory of curtsies to Lord Peregrine. As she boldly met the man’s gaze, she could see that he was bristling with irritation.

And then it struck her. This was the monocled, hawk-nosed gentleman whose portrait had been knocked askew on the stairs. She had a mind to keep knocking that painting sideways when no one was looking, simply to spite the horrid aristocrat.

As though he’d discerned her less-than-agreeable thoughts, Lord Peregrine made a scoffing sound in his throat before returning his attention back to his nephew. “For God’s sake, don’t bother with an introduction, Xavier. I have better things to do than to meet the hired help.”

“Yes, thoroughly insulting one’s relatives is such a worthwhile endeavor,” returned Emmeline.

“And far be it from me, the hired help, to deny you the opportunity to continue to do so, Lord Peregrine. I’m sure His Grace appreciates your unvarnished candor and unstinting concern for his well-being.

Because we all know how salubrious a prolonged asylum stay would be. ”

“Well, I never,” exclaimed the ignoble nobleman. Outrage transformed his features; his countenance turned an alarming shade of puce while his mouth snapped open and shut like a landed codfish gasping for air.

Giving Lord Peregrine her back—Emmeline didn’t give a jot that she’d upset the man—she curtsied to the duke. “Your Grace. I shall return to your charges.”

And then she quit the room before her simmering anger made her do something else reckless like upending the duke’s coffeepot over Lord Nevergrin’s head.

Bertie, still stationed at the door along with Woodley, called a faint farewell, but Emmeline didn’t stop. She merely gave a brief wave as she hastened down the hall.

Brava, Nanny Chase. Brava! Horatio had followed her. When Emmeline reached the main staircase, the raven landed on a newel post and she halted.

She drew a calming breath. I hope I haven’t lost my job. Regret and worry had started to seep in, dampening her fiery indignation.

Oh no. You won’t have , replied the raven, his cultured voice reassuring. There’s no love lost between His Grace and Lord Nevergrin. My master does not like him. Not one little bit.

Emmeline clasped her hands together. Unease continued to gnaw away at the pit of her stomach. All the same, I wonder if I’ve made myself an enemy. In hindsight I feel it was unwise of me to cross His Grace’s uncle.

Horatio fanned out his tail feathers. Pfft, I wouldn’t worry. Lord Nevergrin is full of bluff and bluster and not much else. His Grace is your employer. His opinion is the only one that matters.

Emmeline knew Horatio spoke sense. Loyalty to her employer had sparked her outrage and surely the duke would see that. She was fretting unnecessarily.

Probably.

At least, she hoped so.

This wasn’t the first time that her unruly tongue had gotten her into trouble.

Her gaze wandered along the stairwell. Lord Peregrine’s painting was still askew. Even though it was petty of her to think so, she’d like to leave it that way.

Emmeline tapped her chin as she studied the peer’s sneering portrait.

Evidently, the duke had two potential enemies with motive and considerable means.

His uncle, Lord Peregrine, and Sir Randolph Redvers.

Of course, there might be any number of rival horologists aside from Sir Randolph who might want to discredit the duke in order to win the Westminster Palace clock contest. Algernon Mason, Lord Peregrine’s son, would eventually inherit a dukedom if his cousin Xavier, who had neither wife nor heir, was declared non compos mentis and committed to an asylum.

She sneaked down the stairs to the first-floor landing to catch a glimpse of Lord Peregrine’s son.

He was sitting rigidly on an overstuffed wingchair in a nook in the entry hall.

Even a screen of cascading fronds from a pedestal-mounted palm couldn’t hide the tight look of impatience on the hawk-nosed gentleman’s face, or the fact he was tapping his polished leather toe on the tiles.

Well, whoever it was that bore the duke ill will must have deep enough pockets to be paying one of the St Lawrence House staff members to do their dirty work.

Emmeline didn’t think Fanny was involved in the most recent incident of sabotage, even though she had been in the hallway outside the nursery.

The maid’s distress had seemed genuine. But for the right price, another staff member might very well be creating mayhem.

He or she might also be spreading rumors about a ghost being responsible for the mysterious goings-on.

It was a clever ploy that would divert suspicion away from the real culprit.

If the staff were frightened of the idea of a malevolent phantasm roaming the halls, they’d be less likely to investigate anything that went bump in the night, or any time at all for that matter.

Emmeline regarded the duke’s raven again. Horatio, you fly about various parts of the house throughout the day. Have you ever noticed anyone on staff behaving oddly or doing something they shouldn’t?

The raven cocked his head to one side as though giving due consideration to the question. No, I haven’t seen anything, I’m afraid.

Hmmm. Emmeline ventured another question, one she probably should have asked weeks ago. Have you ever observed anyone tampering with His Grace’s clocks?

Again no , replied the raven. Woodley and the head footman usually set the clocks about the house.

Unless you and Miss Harriet have done so instead.

Various housemaids polish and dust them.

But I cannot tell the time so I wouldn’t know if anyone was setting the correct time or changing it to an incorrect one.

Emmeline sighed. Well, if you do notice anything strange occurring—anything at all—you’ll be sure to tell me, won’t you?

Horatio bobbed up and down. I certainly will, Nanny Chase.

Emmeline thanked the raven, then she started to climb the stairs, heading back to the nursery. She would ask the duke later on this evening about who could access his hidden Horology Room and if those clocks had been losing or gaining time.

As long as Horatio was correct and the duke wasn’t upset with her for overstepping…

What if the duke didn’t summon her for their usual evening consultation?

Oh, hell’s bells. Emmeline knew she’d be useless—a tangled bundle of frayed nerves—for the rest of the afternoon and evening, fretting about whether or not she’d be dismissed. She wouldn’t be able to do her job properly. She wouldn’t be able to give her charges the care and attention they deserved.

She stopped, then spun around on the landing, reversing course. Then stopped again and put a hand to her forehead.

Double hell’s bells. She was whirling about so much, she was getting dizzy.

The only way to find out what the duke was thinking was to go right back to his study. She must not lose her job. Why, tomorrow was her first day off and she was so looking forward to visiting her father and sharing all her good news with him in person.

She must apologize to the duke for eavesdropping and for her boldness. At once.

Although it would probably be best to wait until Lord Nevergrin left.

Horatio , she called.

The raven, who was still perched upon the newel post be low, stopped preening his feathers and looked up, his expression inquiring. Yes, Nanny Chase?

I have a favor to ask.

With a few flaps of his enormous wings, Horatio soared up to the next floor, then landed on the railing close to where Emmeline waited.

His dark eyes glinted as he strutted toward her.

Do you want me to spoil Lord Nevergrin’s clothing with a well-aimed guano grenade after all? I’d be more than happy to do it.

Despite her concern about being sacked, Emmeline couldn’t stifle a laugh. No, but when the man leaves, perhaps you could fly up to the nursery to let me know. I need to speak with your master again and I’d rather do so when the coast is clear.

The raven’s reply, a short croak, could have passed for a snort. Spoilsport. But very well. I’ll do it. As long as you share some of Archimedes’s and Aristotle’s crickets with me. A bird cannot live on shortbread and puff balloons alone.

Done , returned Emmeline. There might even be a few worms and snails thrown into the mix too.

You certainly know the way to a raven’s heart, Nanny Chase. Before long, I have no doubt you’ll have found your way into His Grace’s as well.

Even though Emmeline felt a blush rising, she quipped, Does your master like worms and crickets and snails too then?

No, but he does seem to have developed a penchant for feisty freckled redheads. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed the way His Grace looks at you.

And with that, the raven took off, heading in the direction of the duke’s study, leaving a flabbergasted nanny in his wake.