Page 29 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

He shrugged a shoulder and brushed a piece of lint off his trouser leg.

“As an adult, the talk, all the cruel whispers, have never particularly bothered me either. Until now… Now that there seems to be a plot afoot to actively undermine me and to tear whatever remains of my reputation to shreds. The opinions of those that matter—men like the Astronomer Royal and Charles Barry, the architect of the new Palace of Westminster, and even Her Majesty—could very well affect whether I’m awarded the St Stephen’s clock commission or not.

Who would trust the plans of a madman?” He looked at Mrs. Chase.

“I want this commission so very badly. Not for the fame but for the deep satisfaction it would bring me. To see my clock at the top of that huge tower beside the Thames, proclaiming the precise time for all of London to hear, for years and years, now that would be marvelous. The dream of a lifetime made real.”

“It undoubtedly would,” said Mrs. Chase softly. “The talk about you being mad might stop too.”

“It might.” Xavier cast the nanny a cynical smile.

“One would hope so, but alas, I don’t think it will.

Not after all this time. And I’m very much set in my ways.

” Xavier sipped his lukewarm coffee then released a sigh.

“My father tried very hard to change me though. When I was nine, a few years before I was packed off to Eton, he hired an exacting tutor. A man by the name of Dickenson who was tasked with employing ‘any means necessary’ to make me behave like a ‘normal’ boy. One who looked at others the right way and spoke the right way—with inflection and not in the manner of an automaton. Who engaged in the right sorts of activities and didn’t obsessively study clocks and pull pocket watches apart to see what made them tick. ”

Mrs. Chase’s expression was grave. Xavier sensed that compassion and sadness weighted her words as she said, “That all sounds so horrible, Your Grace. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago. The odious Mr. Dickenson and my even more odious father are both gone now.”

“And your mother? You haven’t mentioned her,” said Mrs. Chase gently. “Of course, you don’t have to. My own dear mother passed away unexpectedly when I was sixteen—a virulent influenza claimed her—and even after all this time, I still find it difficult to talk about her.”

“No, it’s all right,” said Xavier. “My mother…” He straightened a seam on the back of his glove while he waited for a peculiar tightness at the back of his throat to ease.

Then he began again. “My memories of her are hazy at best,” he said, “but by all accounts she found my father to be an altogether unpleasant man too. She left him—absconded to the Continent with her lover in fact—when I was seven years old. My father, who was supremely annoyed with her rather than heartbroken—I gather it was a marriage of convenience and neither of them loved the other—eventually initiated divorce proceedings, but then I was told she died six years later. My father sent a letter during my first year at Eton to inform me of the fact.”

“Oh, Your Grace… She left you behind and you never saw her again?” Mrs. Chase bit her bottom lip, which had begun to wobble ominously. And good God, was there the shimmer of tears in her eyes? Xavier hadn’t meant to make her cry.

“You mustn’t feel sorry for me,” he said a little too gruffly.

“All of these youthful trials and tribulations are over and having never experienced affection, let alone love, I hardly missed it. And it wasn’t as though my mother could take me with her.

I was the heir to a dukedom and my father would have hounded her until he had me back. ”

“I know.” The nanny drew a shaky breath.

“But the thought of a child—of you —feeling so alone, with no one on your side, no one who truly cared…” The light in her eyes grew fierce.

“If your father were still here, I’d give him a piece of my mind.

I’d even consider giving him a thwack on his behind with my umbrella.

Of course I wouldn’t really,” she hastened to add. “But I’d be vividly imagining it.”

Xavier’s mouth twitched as he pictured the nanny wielding her umbrella like a weapon. “He deserved a good thwack or two at the very least. Believe me, my thoughts have been far less charitable.”

For the longest time, Xavier had avoided thoughts about his parents.

He’d never really thought of them in terms of being a “family.” One that was supportive and caring at any rate.

Looking now at Mrs. Chase, seeing her with his wards, he’d begun to catch glimpses of what a family could be.

How uplifting it could be to spend time with others who accepted you for who you were and made you smile.

When you didn’t have to hide your true self and pretend to be something or someone you weren’t. Perhaps not all families were the same.

Xavier released a sigh and shifted in his seat.

Mrs. Chase was effortlessly weaving her delightful joie de vivre through the life of his wards, and in turn, his too.

But at the end of the day, she was still his wards’ nanny.

Best not to think of her in an overly familiar way , he reminded himself sternly as he took a sip of his drink.

That path was undoubtedly fraught with danger, for both of them.

When he looked up, Mrs. Chase was smiling at him. “May I ask… is there a reason why horology has always fascinated you?”

Xavier hesitated. He rubbed his gloved forefinger and thumb together as he worked out what he wanted to say.

He didn’t want to burden Mrs. Chase with too much awfulness—he’d probably disclosed too much already—so he simply said, “There was, many years ago, a towering walnut longcase clock in St Lawrence House’s library.

It’s broken now and stored in the attic, but when I was very young—I was quite small for my age—I liked to use the storage cupboard at its base as a hideyhole.

I loved the sound of the chimes. The way they echoed through the case and made the very wood vibrate. ”

He didn’t add that he’d used the space to avoid his father when he was in one of his raging, thunderous moods and his parents were arguing, because that sounded far too sad.

“We didn’t always stay here in London though.

The family’s ducal seat in Kent, Kingscliff Castle, features a magnificent central clock tower.

And that tower was a place I retreated to…

when things were difficult. I used to watch the enormous clock’s cogs and wheels for hours and hours.

I can’t explain it, but I found the activity thoroughly absorbing. ” He gave a wry smile. “I still do.”

“Kingscliff Castle and its clock sound beautiful,” said Mrs. Chase. Her blue eyes were soft and warm and luminous. “It’s by the sea, isn’t it? At Kingsgate?”

“Yes… How did you know?” asked Xavier, his curiosity sparking. “Have you been there?”

“When I was a child, our family—my mother, father, and brother—used to holiday at the seaside. Usually at Margate or Ramsgate. But sometimes we would venture farther south to Kingsgate.” Mrs. Chase smiled.

“Just think, I might have been playing on the shore while you were watching from your tower, Your Grace.”

Xavier made himself smile back. “Perhaps.” Again, he’d omitted part of the narrative.

That his flint-hearted father had banished him to the clock tower on numerous occasions as a cruel and unusual punishment for any sort of “misdemeanor.” For complaining that his clothes were uncomfortable—that the fabric was scratchy, or his stockings were knobbly or that his shoes pinched.

Or for not eating particular foods at mealtimes because they didn’t taste or feel right and made him gag.

Or if he became upset when his clothes got wet or dirty.

Young Lord Westbrook was deemed fussy and ungrateful and stubborn.

At other times he was labeled irrational and infuriatingly difficult.

An impossible child. An incumbrance.

Xavier clenched his fist upon the arm of the chair as resentment and sadness rolled through him.

That clock tower had been cold and lonely and a terrifying place to imprison a far too sensitive seven-year-old boy.

Not only was it high above the ground, but there were no creature comforts—only a hard stone floor to sit upon.

Xavier’s only companions had been the gulls and the sea wind that blew straight off the English Channel.

In wintertime, that merciless wind wailed through the battlements, its icy teeth tearing at him until his own teeth chattered.

Little did his father know that in the end, the clock—its rhythmic ticking, its sonorous chimes, its synchronous movements—had become a source of comfort for Xavier. A refuge from turmoil. The clock was predictable in a way his father and the world around him had never been.

It was Mrs. Chase who broke the silence and drew Xavier away from his tumultuous musings. “I’ve been thinking, Your Grace. Does the St Lawrence House saboteur ever tamper with your electromechanical clock or any other timepieces in your Horology Room?”

“No…” Xavier frowned. “I’ve never really thought about it before, but you raise a very good point.

Aside from me, only a very small handful of staff are permitted entry into the room, namely Woodley and, twice a week, Mrs. Lambton, who oversees the maids who clean in there.

” He nodded toward the jib door. “Nothing has ever gone missing. The watches and expensive watch parts are all under lock and key. Woodley usually sets the clocks while I’m in the room, and many of the watches are dormant. ”

“I see.” The nanny gave him a quizzical look. “But you opened the jib door using a secret latch. So feasibly anyone who knows about that latch could open the door at any time.”

“Not quite,” said Xavier. “The jib door must be unlocked with a key for the mechanism to work. I’d unlocked it earlier this morning.”

“So only you, Woodley, and your housekeeper have a key?”

“No. Just me and Woodley. If I’m not here, he lets Mrs. Lambton and the maids in.”

Mrs. Chase nodded, seemingly satisfied. “So the saboteur is only meddling with the clocks in the main part of the house.”

“It would seem so,” agreed Xavier. “I employ a staff of thirty. Twenty-two reside in the house. It’s horrible to think that someone I trust wishes me ill.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Chase moved to the edge of her seat.

“I will let you know if I observe anything else unusual or untoward. I’ve been getting to know some of the maids and Mrs. Punchbowl and Mrs. Lambton.

Bertie, your footman, too. I keep hoping that someone will have a slip of the tongue, or I might catch them in the act of doing something they shouldn’t. ”

She’d been talking with Bertie? Xavier frowned. He shouldn’t mind. He had no business feeling chagrined. But he was. Jealousy pricked at him like a thistle.

“I’m glad that you have settled in here so well,” he said after a moment. “And I probably don’t say it enough, but you’re doing a marvelous job with my wards.”

“Thank you. Your faith in me means a lot considering how I behaved earlier.” Mrs. Chase stood and Xavier rose too. “I really should be getting back to the nursery.”

“Yes. I suppose so.” He didn’t want the nanny to go but he couldn’t think of a reason to make her stay.

“Well, thank you again for everything.” The nanny took a step toward him. “It goes without saying that I think you’re a marvelous employer.”

All of a sudden, she reached out and touched Xavier’s bare forearm, and before he could stop himself, he flinched and hissed as though he’d been burned. And perhaps he had been. Although not in the way Mrs. Chase probably supposed.

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry, Your Grace.” She snatched her hand away and clutched it to her breast. “I shouldn’t have done that. And to think that I came here to apologize for acting inappro—”

“No. No, it’s not that.” Xavier drew a steadying breath as bone-deep want clashed with his ingrained aversion to any sort of unexpected physical contact.

“You simply took me by surprise. I’m not used to others touching me.

If I initiate the interaction, or if I know it’s coming, I’m quite all right.

” He threw her a smile. “If you recall, I didn’t mind our sparring session when you demonstrated your self-defense skills. ”

She winced. “I also accidentally fell on you the first time we met. You couldn’t have expected that. It’s a miracle you offered me an interview at all.”

Xavier caught her gaze in his. “Mrs. Chase, you are perfect for this post in every way.”

You’re perfect for me…

Where the devil had that thought come from?

Xavier swallowed and tugged at his waistcoat.

Dropped his attention to the floor as a bittersweet ache stirred in his chest and heated his blood.

If he took a step closer to Mrs. Chase, pushed his legs against her stiff skirts, wound one of her coppery curls around his gloved finger, how would she react?

Would she draw closer? Tilt her face up toward his?

Would her eyes become heavy-lidded and her gaze unfocused and dreamy as her attention drifted to his mouth?

But then what, Xavier? Then what? You’re a virgin, for God’s sake, and she’s a widow who’d undoubtedly have expectations that you might not be able to meet.

Aside from all that, she works for you. As a nanny.

Pursuing a physically intimate relationship with Emmeline Chase—asking her to become your mistress—would be demeaning and she deserves so much more than that.

No matter how much you yearn for her, it is not an option.

The sound of the door softly snicking closed told Xavier that he was alone again with his prized watches and clocks.

Strange how for once that didn’t seem enough.