Page 38 of The Nanny’s Handbook to Magic and Managing Difficult Dukes

Wherein Night’s Plutonian Shore, Antidisestablishmentarianism, Calculus, Bottom-bums, Prickles and Tingles Are Briefly Featured; Followed by Heartfelt Hugs (But an Absence of Blubbing) and a Strong Desire for Defascination…

“?‘Quoth the Raven “Nevermore,”’?” said Miss Harriet to Horatio. “Now you say it, please.”

The raven was sitting upon one of the window ledges in the nursery, his head cocked to one side as he studied the duke’s ward. “Nevermore, nevermore,” he croaked, bouncing up and down. “Night’s Plutonian shore, Lenore. Nevermore!”

Harry groaned and dropped her forehead onto the book in front of her. “Grrr. I suspect Horatio is being uncooperative on purpose, Nanny Chase,” she said when she raised her head. “We both know he can say much harder things than the lines I’m trying to teach him.”

“Antidisestablishmentarianism nevermore!” cried Horatio before he fixed a wickedly gleaming eye on Emmeline. “Nevermore, nevermore!”

Emmeline laughed at the bird’s verbal antics.

Harry had been trying to teach the raven certain lines from Edgar Allan Poe’s famous poem “The Raven” for the last half hour.

But the cheeky bird was steadfastly refusing to cooperate.

“Perhaps he needs a little more of an incentive,” she said, putting aside the mathematical equations she’d been marking: Harriet had completed a series of calculus problems; Bartholomew was in the process of mastering basic addition; and Gareth had been matching geometric shapes.

“You could perhaps feed him a beetle or two. There are still a few left in the bottom of Archimedes and Aristotle’s aquarium.

Archimedes, who was sitting on the desk beside Harry, croaked as if in protest.

That would be a good start , replied Horatio as he looked directly at Emmeline.

“I think you should teach him more words like ninnypoop,” said Gareth with a giggle.

“Ninny-poop nevermore,” taunted Horatio. “Bottom-bum, bumpety-bump.”

Both Bartholomew and Gareth immediately began skipping around the nursery, clapping wooden blocks together and chanting, “Bottom-bum, bumpety-bump. Bumpety-bump.”

“Nevermore!” chorused Horatio.

Emmeline rolled her eyes at the raven. Now look what you’ve done, Mr. Ravenscar.

Oooh, Mister Ravenscar, is it? The raven fluttered over to the aquarium. You know what will make me stop? He sauntered around the glass tank, tail feathers wagging, then tapped on the side with his beak. Rat-a-tat-tat. Aristotle immediately retracted his head, legs, and tail into his shell.

I don’t know if I should reward such willfully mischievous behavior , admonished Emmeline. Rising from her seat, she addressed the still-chanting boys and their sister. “I think we should put on our coats and hats and go outside into the garden. It’s a lovely afternoon.”

“Aww, can’t we go to the park?” asked Bartholomew.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” replied Emmeline. In truth, she was a trifle reluctant to venture outside with the children at present.

Last time they had—the day before last they’d visited the private park in the middle of Belgrave Square—Emmeline had felt as though they were being watched.

Her skin had prickled with uncomfortable awareness, and she would be silly not to pay attention to that feeling.

Even the Parasol Academy Handbook stated that one shouldn’t ignore any preternatural sensations of apprehension such as prickles and tingles and raised hair on one’s nape or shivers down one’s spine.

At one point, she’d even thought she’d glimpsed her brother, Freddy, through the trees, just beyond the wrought-iron fence that enclosed the park.

But then she’d convinced herself that her mind was playing tricks on her.

Because surely Freddy would’ve said hullo.

They’d had words, but he was still her brother.

Seeing three sad faces, Emmeline added, “After a good run around, we could make a picnic of our afternoon tea. And as for Horatio”—she sent the raven a mock glare—“he can find his own beetles along with his manners.”

Spoilsport , returned the raven. But he didn’t look or sound the least bit repentant.

Outdoor clothes donned, Emmeline escorted the children downstairs.

After a quick visit to the kitchen to have a word with Mrs. Punchbowl, they continued on to the sizable walled garden at the back of St Lawrence House.

It was Fanny’s afternoon off, so it was just the children and Emmeline. Oh, and Horatio of course.

As for his enigmatic owner… Emmeline’s gaze strayed to the duke’s study on the second floor.

According to Bertie, His Grace had quit St Lawrence House at an early hour to attend to “some important business matters,” so that explained why she hadn’t seen him today.

Since their intimate encounter—their kiss —five days ago, she’d barely crossed paths with the duke at all.

Which was all for the best. Emmeline had meant every word when she’d suggested that they should both forget what had happened beneath her umbrella. Although, doing so was easier said than done.

When she did happen to see the duke—usually when she was in the company of the children—she donned a politely professional mask, when really, deep down, she was a confusing mixture of sharp yearning and even sharper schoolmarmish admonishment.

Though, putting aside all contrary feelings, Emmeline was pleased that the duke had taken a few of her recent suggestions on board and had begun to make a little time in his busy schedule for his wards.

In the last few days, Harry had visited his hidden Horology Room, and due to the finer weather, the promised astrolabe demonstration had eventuated.

The girl had been fairly bouncing with excitement when she’d reported to Emmeline that she was going to help Cousin Xavier repair a pocket watch.

The duke had also taken the children to the garden the day before, to discuss the construction of a special pond for Aristotle and Archimedes.

It had been Bartholomew’s idea that the frog and terrapin might like a holiday outside during the warmer months, and their guardian had readily agreed to the proposal.

It was heartening to witness a closer bond developing between the duke and his wards even if she, Emmeline, had to do the opposite and keep herself at a respectable distance.

Her duty, first and foremost, was to her charges after all.

When the children commenced an exuberant game of tag, Emmeline settled on a stone bench by a rose arbor. Ordinarily she would have joined in the game, but today she was feeling rather listless and despondent. For no particular reason she could fathom.

Little liar , she thought. Like a disgruntled child denied their after-dinner pudding, she was out of sorts because she hadn’t been spending any private time with the duke like she used to.

She hadn’t been summoned to His Grace’s study in the evenings, but then she’d nothing of note—no odd domestic incidents—to report.

Everything had been calm. Nothing had gone awry.

Well, aside from all the clocks not being able to keep time. That was still an ongoing issue.

The biggest lie she kept telling herself was that the kiss she’d shared with the duke had meant nothing.

It had been everything. It had been the sweetest yet most passionate kiss she’d ever experienced in her life.

Even now, she could still feel the warmth of the duke’s lips, the soft but sure caresses of his velvet tongue.

The delicious groan he’d made when she’d dared to taste him back.

The hard heat of his body crushed against hers.

Perhaps the most intimate detail, the part she treasured the most, was the fact the duke had whispered her first name, his tongue and lips curling around each sound, making it his own.

She sighed and idly plucked a pink rosebud from a nearby bush and brushed it against her cheek. The worst part was, she was the one who’d encouraged the duke to kiss her. It had been beyond foolish to do so. What he must think of her, practically throwing herself at him like that.

She’d also broken several Academy rules all at once.

Number one: She’d deployed the Cloakify spell in the presence of the duke.

Number two: She hadn’t cast the spell in order to protect her charges.

Number three: With malice aforethought, she’d taken advantage of the fact that she and the duke had been invisible beneath her umbrella, and because no one could see them, that had emboldened her to act on her wanton impulses.

Oh, she was a bad, bad nanny. The antithesis of prim and proper.

She had been prepared for anything though, and she’d successfully hidden both herself and the duke beneath her umbrella to keep them from harm.

The thugs that had pursued them had declared that they’d only intended to put the “wind up” the duke for their “guv’nor,” but what did that really mean?

If they’d cornered her and the duke, would they have attempted a physical attack?

The duke was armed with a rapier, and she’d been armed with her trusty umbrella, her fists, and her wits.

Emmeline liked to think that she and the duke would have emerged relatively unscathed from a confrontation with those men. But one never knew.

Despite the warmth of the sunny spring afternoon, an icy tremor slid down Emmeline’s spine and she wrapped her arms about herself. If anything had happened to the Duke of St Lawrence… If he’d been hurt. Or worse…

Emmeline’s heart contracted painfully. She couldn’t bear to think about such an eventuality. And that was another warning sign. Another alarm bell ding-a-ling-a-linging in her mind, telling her that she was beginning to care for the man in a way that she absolutely couldn’t afford to.

She didn’t know what to do. A sensible woman might ask for a transfer to remove herself from the situation. But she couldn’t abandon her charges, not when they seemed so settled and happy.