Page 31 of The Trouble With Her Duke
“Miss Lydia, you asked to be awakened early,” Annabelle said, lightly touching Lydia’s shoulder.
Lydia slowly opened her eyes. She had been absorbed in a dream—one so unlike her life—but so pleasant, she had wished it could be real. In the dream, it had been snowing, and she had been sledding down a big hill with two younger children. Now that she thought about it, they had looked very much like the twins she recalled from last night.
Her glimpse had been quick—only long enough to take the puppy in and see the cherubic smiles on their faces while they slept. The girl, Mandy, had dark wavy hair like her father, and long dark lashes. Michael had thick, unruly blond curls that that Lydia guessed must have come from his mother. She speculated about which of the children might have inherited their father’s arresting green eyes.
Noticing Annabelle was digging into the wardrobe, searching for something, Lydia dragged herself into a sitting position.
“You are awake,” the maid said without turning. “I was looking for the slippers that match the dress. I should have laid them out last evening.” She plunged her head deep into the wardrobe and pulled something out. “I knew I had seen them!” she said proudly, holding them up for inspection. “I cleaned them before packing them, so they should be good.”
“Thank you, Annabelle. I’ve never had a maid before, but you have surely spoiled me. And I will miss you. The Dowager Duchess Featherly will send her coach for you later today.”
“Aye. She sent me a note. The duchesses are eager to continue my training there. However, I have a feeling the fun will be here,” she said wryly. “From what I heard at the duchess’ house, both children are adventurous. No doubt you will have your hands full—but I think the surprise will be theirs. Your brothers have a great deal of respect for you, Miss Lydia,” Annabelle said.
“I fear my hair will also miss you. It has never known such beautiful styles,” Lydia said, slowly. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood, and hugged Annabelle. “In case I don’t see you when the coach arrives,” she added.
“Please allow me to arrange it this morning for your meeting,” the young maid suggested.
After completing her ablutions, she went to pick up her dress and noticed Annabelle had replaced it with the lavender one.
“Annabelle, I thought I had my grey muslin laid out.”
“Aye, but Miss Lydia, the lavender would be nicer.”
The girl could be stubborn—a trait that could be irritating. “I will wear the grey, Annabelle.”
Annabelle wrinkled her nose. “Aye. I meant no disrespect.”
Once dressed, Lydia sat at the small vanity and allowed herself the luxury of Annabelle’s help with her hair.
“Miss Lydia, I shall keep it simple but elegant,” the maid said thoughtfully. “If I may, I’d suggest a loose chignon with soft tendrils to frame the face, thus. If you anchor it with extra pins, it will stay in place.”
Lydia nodded and observed how skillfully Annabelle employed the narrow curling iron, wrapping the hair for mere seconds before removing the iron and allowing the curl to cool. No one had ever shown her how to style her hair. Having Annabelle this past month had indeed spoiled her. While she was loath to admit it, she enjoyed their spirited exchanges and would miss them.
Lydia withdrew the timepiece from her pocket and opened it. “It’s time to meet the duke.” Annabelle had insisted on fashioning pockets on her day gowns, telling her she may need them as a governess.
“You will do fine, Miss Lydia,” the young girl said, giving her a reassuring touch on her shoulder.
“Thank you, Annabelle.” Lydia stood from the vanity and shook the folds of her dress. There was no sense in delaying.
Damon Devereaux leaned back in his chair, hands steepled and feet on his desk, while he looked out the window of his study, pondering the morning ahead. Daybreak had finally shown so he could get this introductory meeting with her out of the way. Since running into her near the nursery last evening, her visage had so consumed his thoughts that Damon hadn’t been able to sleep. Lack of sleep had dispelled any good humor. He had nearly bitten the head off Hudson, his valet, when the man had come to wake him—at Damon’s behest. Luckily for Damon, the valet was made of stern stuff and ignored his irascibility. He couldn’t afford to upset the governess—nor did he wish to. That could lead to the Jenkins’ departure. A shudder shook him at the thought. They were much too valuable.
Cold realization struck him. My children caused this, and I allowed it. Surely, all the governesses couldn’t have been bad. Damon thought back to his mother’s advice. Ask for reports and listen carefully. Hold the children accountable. If not, you empower them over household staff at too young an age, son.
A tap on the door preceded Mrs. Jenkins. “Your Grace,” she said, closing the door behind her, “if I could have a word.”
He spun around in his seat and stood. “Yes, Mrs. Jenkins? What can I do for you?”
She wrung her hands almost prayerfully. “I wonder if you will allow me to state an opinion.”
“Yes, of course,” he returned and gestured for her to take the chair in front of his desk and once she took her seat, he sat.
“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, Your Grace. We should try something new. As you were gone, I took you at your word and spiffed up the governess’ rooms.”
“Rooms?”
“Well, er . . . yes. The one room was too small in our opinion. Mr. Jenkins and I had the room expanded from two smaller ones. I installed a larger bed, chairs, and a nicer wardrobe—that sort of thing. She came highly recommended. Miss Hammond is used to a finer existence. We felt it would be more welcoming.”
He inclined his head but noticed the wringing of her hands didn’t stop. “The Dowager Duchess of Glanville and her friends have invited you . . . for tea.”
