Page 33 of The Secret Life of the Elusive Governess
“My Lord, this incident happened over fifteen years or so ago, no one can or would care to remember an orphan from that long ago that has no family connection to them,” Mr. Barton spoke slowly. “Secondly, in major towns, orphans are sent to orphanages, ward houses, or factories but there are no establishments of the kind that far out in the countryside. There are only cottages, one or two haberdashers’ stores, and pure farmland. The closest church is where the Institute of the Virgin Mary is housed.”
“Have you checked the workhouses, brothels in between the towns, or even any manor houses?” Peregrine pressed, “Think man, where is the first place she would go upon knowing her parents are dead? She would seek out a home, a family. I know for a fact that the Barony of Rowe is there. Someone has to remember. Go door-to-door if you have to! Just find me something!”
Mr. Barton unfolded his tweed-clad arms and bowed. “Consider it done, My Lord.”
“Hmph.” Peregrine snorted and waved him out dismissively, “Do your job, one that I am paying you for, and do it right. You have three days to get me something concrete!”
Caught up in his musing, the Earl did not see the eyes rolled at him or hear the exasperated huff of blatant disrespect. He only heard the door close and felt angered that this history of this Miss Robins was eluding him.
He needed to find something, big or small, to discredit her. There had to be something!His mind kept recalling the scene in the hallway at his son-in-law’s house and grimaced again.
That look! That look was danger! A love affair between the two of them, a Duke and a wretched governess, would be a scandal of the highest order. That stupid boy would destroy his family’s good name and disgrace my daughter for a hussy!
Peregrine needed to get them apart. “I will not allow thisservantto usurp my daughter’s, alady’splace. Not if I can prevent it.”
* * *
The bittersweet hollowness of unrequited love was the definition of Caroline’s reality. She woke up every day knowing there was no chance of her affection towards the Duke ever being returned. At least there was no rejection. That was her only tiny light, a miniature beacon of comfort flickering in the darkness of her hopelessness.
She also felt guilty.
What right do I have to harbor affection for a married man? A man that defended my cause just a few days ago…
The memory of that exchange was prodding her to believe that something had changed between them. That she knew, but to what level it had changed, she was not sure. What she did know was that whenever she and the Duke crossed paths, mostly in the early mornings, his face instantly shifted from a tense expression into a soft smile. His greetings, though cordial, were curt as he had to go into town every day, sorting out one or another workers’ issue and when that wasn’t needed, he worked all day in his study.
This morning was no different. The hall-boy had just snuffed out the lights and candles and had rushed past her with a hasty greeting to go polish the shoes of the staff members.
Caroline had barely gotten a word in edgewise before the Duke came striding through the hall, wearing a formal suit. In the low light she squinted, something was different this time. Instead of sobering black, his suit looked blue, a dark shade of blue that nearly merged with the dimness around him.
A curious shade but a handsome one.
She could see he was in a rush as his cravat was crooked, and his hair was disheveled. Seeing him slightly unkempt made a small pulse run through her chest.
He looks like a rakehell.
He was dragging on his coat and clearly, had not remembered his necktie.
“Your Grace!” Caroline called in haste. “Please, wait a moment, your cravat is crooked.”
He spun in his place as she rushed to him, “Miss Robins?”
“Your cravat is untied, Your Grace,” said she as she neared him, “Please, allow me.”
It was solidly discomfiting with his eyes on her as she righted the silky cloth, admittedly with shaky fingers, and then tucked it into his waistcoat. She even reached up and grasped the lapels of the coat to help shrug it on and smoothed the collar, “There, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Miss Robins,” His voice had sunk to a husky, deep tone.
She suppressed a shiver. Daring herself, she looked up and instantly regretted it. An unruly lock of his already disheveled hair had fallen into his eyes. With heavy lids over deep eyes, Caroline felt her image of him as a rake could certainly be justified. Just thinking about it, imagining the Duke as one, felt both extremely tantalizing and tremendously wrong.
He would have wild hair, falling carelessly over his shoulders, a starched shirt open and flowing with the wind behind it, and his handsome visage sporting a smug smirk.
Her head dropped as a flush threaded to darken her cheeks. I have readtoo many fanciful novels.
Stepping back, she looked up briefly to see Miss Orville, the Duchess’ lady’s maid, standing on the landing of the grand staircase before turning away. There was a curious look on her face, but Caroline had no time to deliberate about it and dismissed it.
“Have a profitable day, Your Grace,” she uttered, as the unmistakable sound of a trundling carriage sounded just outside.
The Duke’s head snapped to the window and then back to her and there was a slight hesitation on his features. However, he nodded, bade his farewell, and left the foyer. Watching the carriage rumble out, Caroline smiled to herself and walked away.
