Page 9 of The Trouble With Her Duke
“That’s true,” Damon recalled. “She thought they still needed a nanny—until my sister had children and she hightailed it to Scotland to help. She had been our nanny as children.”
“So . . . you expect to have a governess when you return?” Carlton asked, sipping his brandy.
“I expect nothing anymore,” Damon admitted. “Until I can find a governess that can gain respect from the children and teach them—I fear never finding one that works for longer than two months.”
“I’d imagine the Jenkinses will find someone who would like to care for a duke’s precocious children.”
“Yes, well. In the meantime, wish me luck. I’ll also need to sidestep my mother’s efforts to find me a Scottish lass for Christmastide. She thinks they need a mother; with each departing governess, her nagging increases.”
Carlton harrumphed. “Sometimes we meet people who affect our lives more than we realize.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t believe you have seen the last of a certain beautiful young woman.”
Damon went silent for a moment, thinking about his family and his twins. “Perhaps it’s the way we met; whatever it is, I cannot get her off my mind. But I’m certain she will fade into the background once I get the watch fixed and delivered.” He looked at his friend. “Has your food digested yet? I leave for Scotland in the morning, and right now, I need to punch something.”
Carlton grinned and stood. “Certainly. My sincere hope is that you’re distracted enough that my nose survives without incident. You almost broke it the last time!”
Chapter 3
Citrus blended with bergamot and a touch of sandalwood. Lydia had been hard-pressed not to think about the Duke of Danforth on the carriage ride back to Brock Street. The appealing masculine scent seemed to be embedded in the sleek burgundy leather seats. She couldn’t very well have held her breath the entire ride home!
Of course, her mind had also picked over her interaction with the duke, which continued to flummox her. She hoped the watch could indeed be repaired. The duke had seemed certain of it, and she would have to put her faith in his promise to do so.
She’d arrived back at Brock Street with just enough time to hide the dowager’s Christmas gift and change before teatime with the dowager. Hurrying down the stairs, she winced at the slight ache in her lower back from her tumble before entering the cheery parlor.
“Ah, there you are, my dear, I’ve arranged a tea with my friends, and you’re just in time,” Sophy Waters, the Dowager Duchess of Featherly, said as she lightly plucked imaginary lint from the bell-shaped sleeves of her periwinkle blue gown.
“The Golden Duchesses?” Lydia asked with a smile.
“Of course. Who else?”
Lydia had only been in the dowager’s employ for a year, but she could tell when the older woman was up to something. And it usually had to do with her three widowed friends. They called themselves the Golden Duchesses, a tribute to their lifelong friendship that had begun some forty years ago at their coming out. Quite by chance, the four friends had each married a duke and had spent their lives at the center of ton lives. “I’m certain you’d rather spend the afternoon with your friends without me hovering about.”
“Nonsense! You never hover, my dear. We want you here. Besides, I have an important announcement I wish to share with you and the girls—and you know how I hate to repeat myself,” the older woman said.
When she put it like that, Lydia knew there was no wiggle room. Something peculiar was going on, but the dowager was shrewd at being evasive. Lydia fought the impulse to pry and nodded. “Very well. When do you expect the ladies?”
“Soon.” The dowager smiled. “Oh, and I asked Cook to prepare those lovely lemon biscuits. The girls adore them.”
The door to the parlor opened, and a maid entered pushing a tea cart containing a tower of delicate iced cakes, biscuits, and various tarts, along with other assorted sweets. Lydia spotted the lemon biscuits, and her mouth watered at the delectable aroma that tickled her nose. Despite her curiosity about the dowager’s surprise announcement, she looked forward to indulging her sweet tooth. “Those are my favorite too, especially when Cook covers them in confectioners’ sugar.”
“Yes, I know.” The dowager smiled. “Dora suggested we have them for our tea.”
“Suggested?” From what Lydia had heard, the Dowager Duchess of Richmond had an opinion about everything. She wasn’t exactly contrary, but she was known for her bluntness.
The dowager gave a little shrug. “Yes. She has always been a tad assertive within the group. I think it’s because her son is a duke.”
A laugh escaped Lydia. “But you all have sons who became dukes.”
“Yes,” the dowager tittered. “I suppose you are correct.”
“Your Grace, your guests have arrived,” the butler said, stepping into the parlor.
“Excellent. Show them in, Charles.”
“Right this way, Your Graces,” Charles said a moment later, as the three widowed duchesses strolled in behind him.
