Page 23 of The Trouble With Her Duke
“I don’t think I’ve seen you drink tea from a mug, Papa,” she said.
He brought the mug up and looked at it. “It was a present from your mother on our honeymoon.” He took another sip. “We get letters, but you say little about your life in Bath.”
Her father was waiting for her to talk; she recognized the ploy. He’d used it all her life. Where should I start? “Papa, I’ve lost my job but don’t plan to marry.” Or, “Papa, I’m a governess now to a duke.”
“Daughter, I can see waiting you out doesn’t work any better than it ever has.” He gave a gentle smile. “Let’s try this. How about you tell me what is going on in your life—I’d rather find out before everyone else—especially before your brothers’ commentary. We both know that, while they want the best for you, the needs of the business blind them.”
This was the father she knew—one with intuition and humor. “What gave me away?”
“The timing and length of your holiday, for starters,” he said. “With holiday parties and the like, you would have been very busy as the dowager’s companion.”
Lydia cleared her throat. “I’m no longer her companion. The day after Twelfth Night, I begin work as the governess for the Duke of Danforth’s children.”
Her father leaned back and studied her, steepling his hands. “This development pleases you.” It was a statement and not a question.
She nodded. “I believe so—the more I’ve thought about it. Everything happened so fast. And there’s a lot I don’t know—most notably, the children and the duke. But I’ve met with his staff—his most trusted staff. And I’m looking forward to it.” She told him what she knew, and he smiled when she finished.
“His children have rebelled against every governess, but you feel you’ll make a difference,” he said. “I believe you can.”
“Yes, I think so, too—although I’ve never met them. I only have what I observed in the tour of the rooms and the conversation with the housekeeper and butler. They were most informative,” she said quietly.
“They are looking for the right fit. Trust your instincts, daughter. You have my support.”
Lydia stood and hugged her father. “Thank you, Papa. I appreciate that.”
“Come. We will go to breakfast and face the lions together.” He chuckled.
A giggle escaped her. “You know them so well.”
“So do you, daughter.”
“There they are,” Miles said when Lydia and her father entered the dining room.
Papa took his usual seat at the head of the table, flanked by Miles and Preston, while Blake sat at the end.
“Save room for the sweet rolls, Lydia. The bakery in the emporium has been baking them, and they are delicious,” Bridget said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin.
“You’ve added a bakery? What does the Emporium not have?” Lydia asked as she ladled eggs and bacon on her plate. The rolls smelled heavenly, giving her no choice but to place one on her plate. “I’ve smelled nothing so divine.”
She took the empty seat between Bridget and Eliza, while a footman poured her tea.
“Tell us, sister, how you got the Dowager Duchess of Featherly to give you nearly a month of holiday for Christmas. Has she taken ill?” Blake asked.
Nothing has changed there. Blake goes straight to the core. Either he knows something . . . or he suspects. He knows the duke, so maybe . . . his aunt told Devereaux, who told Blake. What am I doing? Who cares how he knows? Lydia squared her shoulders and looked her brother straight in the face. “I no longer work for the dowager. She and her friends—they call themselves the Golden Duchesses—are all widows. They agreed years ago that if they were all widowed, they would move in together and be companions to each other—at least when not at their country estates. They get on well and are quite amusing.” She smiled, thinking about her last conversation with the ladies. “The timing works out for me. I have accepted a position as governess to the Duke of Danforth’s children, and I begin the day after Twelfth Night.”
“No,” Blake said.
Lydia set down her fork and met his gaze. “No? Begging your pardon, Blake, but you cannot say ‘no.’ I have accepted the position.”
“It’s time you married,” he said simply, taking a bite of his bacon.
Her father could jump in anytime now, Lydia thought. She glanced at him, but he wasn’t saying anything. He believed in her.
“I am not getting married. I plan to work and maintain my independence. So, please let Mr. Jacob Nichols know he is free to marry someone else,” she finished. “Do not place me in the uncomfortable position of refusing his suit, because I will do just that.”
“Now see here, sister. Everyone has to do their fair share in the business,” Miles interrupted. He smiled at Bridget from across the table. “My wife and I work in the business, and we have made sure there are more Hammonds to continue the emporium for the future generations.”
“And that’s lovely for you to have secured the emporium’s future. But I do not plan to marry Mr. Nichols or anyone else so that you can get a better deal on satins and silks.” She could feel her blood boiling. “Furthermore, I don’t see why this discussion needs to come up again. It ends now.”
