Page 4 of The Trouble With Her Duke
They shook their heads in unison.
“That’s the sum of it, Father, “ Michael said. “All perfectly innocent, as you can see.”
“Mrs. Tartan had it in for us,” Mandy said.
“And we tried our best,” Michael added.
Damon arched a brow. “We will discuss later what trying your best truly means. In the meantime, go upstairs and pack your things.”
“Pack? Are we going somewhere?” Mandy’s eyes widened.
Michael took her hand and squeezed it.
“P-please don’t send us away, Father,” Mandy pleaded in a shaky voice.
“Whatever do you mean?” Damon asked.
“Mrs. Tartan said you would send us far away to school because we were evil.”
“For the love of . . .” Damon bit off a curse and expelled a deep breath. He suddenly felt an appreciation for Bully’s treatment of Mrs. Tartan’s shoes.
He knelt in front of his children and gathered them in his arms. “You are not evil. I repeat—you are not evil. And I am not sending either of you away. We are going to Scotland for Christmas,” he soothed.
How did I miss the woman’s meanness towards my children? Jenkins had contacted each of her references and they’d all been legitimate. “One day, you will go to school, Michael—the same one I attended. You’ll make great friends, and you’ll enjoy the experience as much as I did. I promise. And you, Mandy, will have governesses and teachers that will refine the good qualities you already possess.” Impulsively, he hugged his children close.
“Now, run along and pack. And no funny business. Mrs. Jenkins will check your trunks before we leave.”
“Yes, Father,” they said in unison as they scampered up the stairs.
Damon sighed and returned to his study.
“Mrs. Jenkins is contacting the agency, Your Grace,” Jenkins said, entering a few minutes later.
Damon took a sheet of vellum from a drawer and scribbled a quick note, dripped hot candle wax on the folded missive, and pressed his signet ring into the wax to seal it. “Very good. See that a messenger posts this message to my family in Scotland—immediately. Have him wait and see that it makes it on today’s mail coach.” Hopefully, his mother could locate a temporary nanny before they arrived.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Jenkins said, closing the study door behind him.
Damon leaned back in his chair and combed his hands through his hair in frustration. The children needed someone they could respect and someone who could not be easily intimidated. Someone with a pleasant voice, he thought, remembering Mrs. Tartan’s whine. Someone kind with the spirit to keep up with Michael and Mandy . . .
I need a miracle waiting for me when I return.
Chapter 1
December 4, 1815 Bath, England
The bookstore is just ahead. If I hurry, I can make it back to the dowager’s townhouse in time for tea at eleven. Slowing down from the hectic pace she had set for herself, Miss Lydia Hammond stopped to check the time. She fished in her reticule for the timepiece Grandfather Hammond had given her. Child, you forever wrestle with time. Perhaps this will help you, he had said, handing her a small, wrapped package. It was my father’s before he passed it to me.
Lydia had adored her grandfather and loved the watch more than anything else she owned. Although it was endlessly frustrating that she had to keep it in her reticule rather than wear it on her person as men did. Perhaps I should sew deep pockets into my gowns to keep the pocket watch close to hand? But then it would clickety-clack whenever she walked.
Feeling it in the bottom of her reticule, she withdrew it and flipped it open. Ten o’clock. I have thirty minutes and one more errand to run. Biting her lower lip, she looked behind her and quickly scanned the distance from the dowager’s townhouse located three streets over, to the bookstore.
It’s doable if I hurry. Besides, she knew the book she wanted to get the dowager for Christmas. It was displayed in the window. Deciding, she spun around to dash to the bookstore, but her foot slipped on a patch of ice near the edge of the path. Flailing, she tried to catch herself and reached out to grab the closest thing at hand, the door handle of the carriage that had just come to a stop.
Unfortunately, the carriage door opened at the same moment. Losing her footing, she let out a yelp as her grandfather’s watch flew from her hand. Falling, she landed in a mound of slushy snow on her derriere.
“Horse feathers!”
She braced her palms on the muddy path and sat up.
