The Duke's Marriage Mission Read online

  Once Kit got his way, his disposition became all sweetness again.

  “Thank you, Papa. Put it here.” The child gestured to his outstretched legs covered with bedclothes. It was impossible to mistake his rising excitement, which Leah feared would not please his formidable father.

  But the duke obeyed his son’s orders without a murmur.

  Kit quickly unlatched the box and threw back the top with a flourish. “These are my Lilliputians. What do you think of them?”

  “I think they are marvelous.” Leah reached to pick up one of the tiny figures nestled in the box, to examine more closely. At the last moment, her hand froze. The little people in that box were so skillfully crafted that they looked as if they might squirm or protest if she tried to touch them.

  Kit was clearly accustomed to playing with his Lilliputian figures and had no such qualms.

  “Papa gave me some of them as a present on my birthday, then more for Christmas and more for my next birthday.” Kit plucked one of the figures from the box and held it closer for Leah to inspect. “This is Emperor Mully Ully Gue. See his gold helmet with the plume and his sword?”

  Leah nodded and peered closer. The figure appeared to be carved out of wood and painted, with the addition of metal embellishments which Kit had pointed out. If she’d needed any further evidence that the duke would take infinite pains for his son, this thoughtful gift certainly provided it.

  “The emperor looks just the way he is described in the book, down to his arched nose and olive complexion. Who else have you got there?”

  The child rummaged through his collection and drew out two more figures. “This is Gulliver’s friend, Reldresal, and this is his mortal enemy, Skyresh Bolgolam.”

  “He does have a very disagreeable look.” Leah squinted to make out the high admiral’s carefully painted features. His thick black brows were drawn together in an unmistakable scowl.

  Kit chuckled. “Papa gets that look sometimes.”

  “Indeed I do not!” the duke protested, which only made Kit laugh louder and Leah join in.

  “You have it now, Papa!” the child squealed.

  Leah nodded. “If you could see yourself in the mirror, Your Grace, you would be obliged to admit your son is correct.”

  The duke dismissed them both with a gruff, “Humph! No wonder Bolgolam was vexed to have a giant suddenly wash up on the shore of Lilliput and turn everything in the kingdom upside down.”

  Was he talking about Lemuel Gulliver in Lilliput or the new governess at Renforth Abbey? Leah wondered as Kit showed her more of his little figures. If he meant the latter, she could only observe that some things in his household needed to be turned on their heads.

  She might not be a giant, like Gulliver, but she had the power of right on her side. What could stand against that?

  Did his son truly see him as some sort of sour-faced petty tyrant like Gulliver’s enemy, who would tie him down with a thousand small, annoying threads?

  Hayden had done his best to stifle that thought for the past week. But now, as he listened to Kit’s afternoon lesson, it ambushed him again.

  Miss Shaw was reading part of the story about the ridiculously long list of restrictions set upon Gulliver’s freedom. Did the new governess consider his rules regarding her position equally restrictive? And perhaps equally ridiculous?

  “‘If an express require extraordinary dispatch...’” she read, “‘the Man-Mountain shall be obliged to carry in his pocket the messenger and...’ what is the next word, Kit?”

  “‘Horse,’” the child responded immediately.

  “Very good.” Miss Shaw continued reading. “‘The messenger and horse a six days’ journey, once in every...’”

  “‘Moon’!” Kit supplied the next word before she could even ask.

  “Well done! ‘And return the said messenger back (if so required) safe to our Imperial Presence.’”

  Let Miss Shaw think what she liked! Hayden crossed his arms tightly over his chest and shifted in his seat. The rules he had put in place were for his son’s protection, so Kit did not overtax his strength or get too excited. No doubt Skyresh Bolgolam believed he was protecting the citizens of Lilliput from the potentially dangerous actions of the giant castaway. Actions that might seem perfectly innocent to Lemuel Gulliver if he were home in England could have dire consequences on an island populated with inhabitants only a few inches tall.

  Drat it all! He was doing it again. Hayden made a conscious effort to relax his scowling features.

  By the time the governess finished reading the whole list, with some help from Kit, Hayden could no longer keep his thoughts to himself. “Perhaps the reason Bolgolam seems so disagreeable is because Gulliver gets to tell the story. The reader knows Gulliver’s intentions toward his hosts are entirely benevolent. But how could the high-admiral know that? Surely he was right to be wary of a creature who posed such a grave threat to the kingdom?”

  The silence that greeted his outburst felt charged with ridicule.

  “It is only a story, Your Grace,” Miss Shaw said at last.

  Hayden could picture her exchanging mocking looks with his son. That added fuel to his outrage. Was Leah Shaw trying to turn Kit against him?

  “I know it is a story,” he snapped. A story that contained unsettling parallels with his own life.

  “Now, Kit, let’s see how well you remember your numbers.” Miss Shaw addressed the child in a tone of feigned cheer that seemed designed to exclude his father from their conversation. “How many soldiers has the high-admiral set to guard Gulliver?”

  Hayden heard the rattle of toy figures being taken from their box, then Kit began to count, “One... two... three...”

  On he continued, all the way to nine—a considerable accomplishment for a boy who had only begun learning his numbers the previous day. Hayden’s heart swelled with pride, though he could not stifle a pang of regret that he had let his son reach the age of seven without learning to count.

  He tried to justify himself with the excuse that a bedridden boy had no need of such knowledge... except perhaps for the self-respect that came from mastering a skill other children his age took for granted.

  “Very good, indeed,” Miss Shaw commended her young pupil. “Now what if Gulliver sneezed and three of the soldiers ran away in terror? How many would be left to stand guard?”

  Kit considered the question for a moment, perhaps counting the remaining figures under his breath. Then he announced in a triumphant tone, “Six!”

  “Correct! It seems you are naturally clever with numbers.”

  Hayden knew Kit’s governess must be smiling down at him with warm admiration that no male could resist, be he seven years old... or seven and thirty. No doubt the boy was gazing back up at her with the eager devotion of a puppy, prepared to do anything she asked.

  “Now try this one,” Miss Shaw continued. “If the emperor decided the conditions placed upon Gulliver’s release were too numerous and removed the last five, how many would be left on the list?”

  Again Kit silently pondered the question. As the pause stretched longer and longer, Hayden grew increasingly anxious. It was not a fair question at all. How could a child who had only begun to count be expected to subtract such a sum? Was Miss Shaw deliberately trying to discourage him? Hayden began to mouth the answer, hoping it would somehow communicate itself to his son.

  At last he could stand it no longer. “Four, Kit. The answer is four. Nine items on the list minus five. It was far too difficult a question for you.”

  “No it wasn’t!” the child protested. “I was about to say four when you shouted it out first. Truly I was, Miss Leah.”

  “Of course you were, Kit. It is always a good idea to think carefully about a question before you give an answer. Your father was a trifle impatient, that’s all.” Mild as her words sounded, Hayden felt the sting of her reproach.

  “Papa thought I could not figure it out on my own,” Kit complained bitterly. “He does no
t believe I can do anything!”

  “Now son,” Hayden rose and approached the bed. “You know that is not true.”

  “It is!” Kit glared at him with stormy defiance that smote Hayden a cruel blow. “I wish you would go away and stop interrupting, Papa. These are my lessons, not yours.”

  “Of course they are, son. I only meant—”

  “Pardon me, Your Grace.” Miss Shaw cut him off. “But perhaps the two of you could settle this later, after Kit and I are finished our work.”

  He would not be ordered about in his own house by this interloper!

  “You are finished, Miss Shaw. At least, you should be.” Hayden stabbed his forefinger in the direction of the mantel clock. “This lesson has already run a quarter of an hour past its time. Every day this week your lessons have exceeded the time we agreed upon. Every lesson has gone on longer than the last. Keep it up and you will have my son working ’round the clock.”

  Leah Shaw thrust out her pert chin. “I only extended my teaching time to compensate for your constant interrup—”

  “It will not do.” Hayden broke in before she could finish. “Today’s lesson is over.”

  “That’s not fair, Papa!” Kit pushed the box away, scattering his Lilliputian figures over the bedspread. A few tumbled onto the floor. “I enjoy my lessons. I don’t want to stop!”

  “Hush now, Kit.” His governess tried to soothe the boy. “We can continue our work tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow is Sunday,” Hayden reminded her. “At Renforth Abbey, we keep the Sabbath. There will be no lessons on Sundays.”

  “Is that because of God?” Kit demanded. “Then I don’t like him! He made me a cripple and now he won’t let me have my lessons.”

  “Kit!” Hayden was not certain which dismayed him more, his son’s rejection of the Almighty or his use of that horrible word... cripple.

  “Now Kit,” Miss Shaw persisted in her effort to calm the tempest she had provoked. “I am certain you don’t mean that.”

  “I do! I do!” Kit pounded on the bed with surprising strength and his eyes began to fill with tears.

  Hayden knew he was in for another tantrum. The prospect threatened to overwhelm him. “Please go, Miss Shaw.”

  In spite of the please, it was not a request.

  “No!” Kit wailed. “I want her to stay. You should go away, Papa, not Miss Leah!”

  “But Kit—”

  “Now, Miss Shaw,” Hayden insisted as his son burst into angry howls.

  With obvious reluctance, she obeyed.

  He had hired the woman, against his better judgment, in an effort to prevent this sort of outburst, Hayden fumed as he struggled to settle his son. If it was going to happen either way, why should he bother to put up with Leah Shaw’s disruptive influence?

  Chapter Four

  KIT’S CRIES PURSUED Leah as she fled the nursery, even after she pulled the door shut behind her. Who would imagine such a delicate child could produce such a commotion? Vexed as she was with Lord Northam’s stiff hostility and smothering interference, she could not help but pity him for having to listen to those deafening shrieks.

  “It is his own fault!” she muttered as she returned to the peace and quiet of her distant room. “If he would just let us be, Kit and I would get on perfectly well. I thought we had a bargain.”

  She had assumed, when the duke agreed to hire her, it meant he was willing to give her a fair opportunity to teach his son. If she had known he intended to hover in the nursery, watching and criticizing her every move, she would never have consented to stay. Even when the duke was not openly finding fault with her, she was all too aware of his brooding disapproval.

  When she reached her quarters, Leah shut the door behind her with a bang, but it did little to relieve her feelings. More offenses rose in her mind, stoking her resentment of the duke.

  If he felt he must interrupt his son’s lessons, did he always have to sound so gruff? Not since leaving the Pendergast School had Leah felt so restricted in her actions or held in such severe contempt, no matter what she did. It made her respond the way she had at school—by employing impudent wit to lift the spirits of her fellow pupils and make them part of a covert rebellion against the forces of authority.

  Another reason she’d made light of the duke’s behavior was to disguise the true severity of their antagonism from his son. Today she had not been able to hide her mounting irritation. She’d allowed the veiled hostility between Lord Northam and her to spew forth. The result had been to upset Kit, which was precisely what she’d been trying to avoid.

  Leah flounced over to the window, where she planted her elbows on the sill and cradled her chin between her clenched fists. Perhaps if the duke was made to reap what he had sown, he might think twice about interrupting Kit’s lessons after this.

  On reflection, she knew it was foolish to hope Lord Northam might recognize that he was responsible for upsetting his son. Instead he would likely blame her and redouble his interference. Could she remain at Renforth Abbey under such intolerable conditions?

  No sooner had that thought blazed through her mind than Leah began to laugh at herself. “What would my friends think of me if I were to write them with complaints about my position here? I have been given a generous salary, an elegant room and the finest dining in exchange for two hours work a day and only a single pupil to teach. This is most governesses’ idea of paradise!”

  Counting her blessings helped to take the edge off Leah’s frustration, though not as much as she wished it would. The trouble was, she did not care about creature comforts as much as some people. The cold and hunger she’d endured at school had mattered less to her than the tyranny of the staff and the deadly-dull routine. Long hours of idleness were no boon either. Much as she sometimes pitied Evangeline for having charge of such a full nursery, Leah would have gladly changed places with her. How swiftly the days must fly for her friend with so many duties to occupy the time. And Evangeline would never want for company.

  Even the wretched Pendergast School had been superior to Renforth Abbey in that respect. There she’d had friends to commiserate with and younger pupils to defend from bullies. Here, she had no one to talk to for hours on end.

  She’d tried making friends with some of the maids, but they always seemed too busy to chat with her and she did not want to interrupt their work the way Lord Northam did hers. Mr. Gibson firmly discouraged her attempts to socialize with his staff. Perhaps because of the fine room the duke had assigned her, the butler seemed to believe she should be treated as a guest of the house.

  That left Leah with only two occupations to fill her interminable hours of leisure—writing letters to her friends and wandering the halls and grounds of Renforth Abbey. Though she had found many sights of interest during her rambles, she feared she would grow vastly tired of the place long before her position ended.

  In an effort to vent her feelings, Leah took up her pen and began a letter to Grace, the most sympathetic of her friends, who now lived in Berkshire with her husband and three delightful stepdaughters. As she scribbled away furiously, Leah fancied she could hear her friend’s gentle voice, urging patience and forbearance. But those virtues were not an essential part of her character as they were of Grace’s.

  Yet, by the time she had finished her letter, Leah’s raw indignation felt somewhat soothed.

  A few hours later, as she finished her solitary dinner, Mr. Gibson inquired, “Will you be joining the rest of the household for matins in the chapel tomorrow, Miss Shaw? Or does His Grace wish you to attend the young master while he is at worship?”

  Leah shook her head and tried to make a jest of the situation. “Lord Northam seems to feel it would be an offense against the Fourth Commandment for me to teach his son anything on a Sunday.”

  The butler did not seem amused. “In that case, we will see you in the chapel tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

  “Where would I find the chapel?” Leah asked, rather surprised she had
not stumbled upon it during any of her explorations.

  The butler provided her with directions then bid her good evening.

  Perhaps she ought to see if she could find the place while Mr. Gibson’s directions were still fresh in her mind, Leah decided as she rose from the table. She wanted to be sure she knew her way so as not to risk being late for the service. Such a blunder would not please the duke.

  Hard as Leah insisted to herself that His Grace’s opinion of her did not matter, deep down she feared otherwise. She had grown accustomed to being respected and valued by her employers, though she knew she had been more fortunate than some of her friends in that regard. By contrast, the duke’s air of suspicion and ill will bothered her more than she cared to admit.

  After only one wrong turn, Leah managed to locate the cloisters which led to the chapel. Long ago, when Renforth was a real abbey, the cloisters had been an open, roofed walkway for the monks. At some point since then, the sides had been enclosed with tall, narrow windows installed between the stone pillars.

  Her footsteps barely made a sound as Leah padded over the stone floor. When she reached the door to the chapel she eased it open with quiet reverence. Leah knew her friend Grace would urge her to pause and say a prayer for help and guidance. It might give her a more charitable perspective on her troubles, and perhaps help her feel a little less isolated at Renforth Abbey.

  Candles flickered within brass lanterns on the altar, casting just enough light for Leah to make out the vaulted ceiling and an intricately carved rood screen of dark wood. As she paused to get her bearings in the dim stillness, she realized she was not alone.

  The chapel had another occupant, kneeling in one of the pews, so deep in prayer that he seemed unaware of her arrival. She had only to hear a few words he spoke aloud, to realize that man was the Duke of Northam.

  “Seven years ago, Lord, you spared my child’s life as I begged you.” His fervent words echoed through the small stone chapel. “I have never ceased to give you thanks for that blessing. But now I wonder if I was unpardonably selfish to keep my son from the joy of heaven to endure the trials of this world.”