Page 8 of Cinderella's Charade With the Duke
He must still miss him. His Grace had not been in his position for long from what she’d learned from the papers. ‘Then it is kind of you to have the door open, so everyone can view what he built over the years.’
His Grace crinkled his brow and considered what she had said. She couldn’t tell if he agreed with her words or not. ‘Shall we talk about your position here?’ he said, dropping their previous thread of conversation entirely. Had she offended him?
She didn’t even have a chance to reply before he turned and waited for her at the doorway to exit the room.
Drat.She’d already said and done the wrong thing. She nodded to him and stepped out into the hallway, unsure of where to even go but forward. He fell in step next to her. ‘My study is just here, Miss Potts,’ he said as she walked past an open door. She stopped, closed her eyes and reminded herself she was doing all right and not to panic. Not yet anyway.
She walked into the study and was surprised by the warmth of it. It wasn’t the typical dark wood, heavy furniture, masculine sanctuary she’d expected from the novels she’d read about such men of means possessing, but a mixture of what one might expect of such a study and…a nursery.
There was a large desk covered with a stack of what appeared to be open ledgers, several ink pots and quills, and an overflowing silver salver with unopened correspondence and calling cards. Next to it was an oversized reading chair and matching sofa in front of the fire. Each held a collection of rumpled blankets and a handful of dolls and teddy bears. She smiled at the sight of it. His daughter must be important to him. Her presence was everywhere.
He followed her gaze and at first attempted to straighten it and then stopped. ‘My daughter’s…’ he began and smiled, leaving the items where they were. It was the first smile that seemed natural and reached his eyes, which softened all his features and made him far less imposing and very…handsome. She decided she preferred viewing him as a father rather than His Grace.
She smiled in reply.
‘Please sit,’ he said, gesturing to the small pair of wooden chairs opposite his desk. To her surprise, he sat in the opposite chair closest to her rather than behind the desk where she’d expected. His proximity unnerved her, and she tucked her legs to the side and halfway under the chair to create as much distance between them as possible.
As much as she was loath to admit it, he frightened her, but most men did. She just wasn’t comfortable being around them. She’d had little practice and he was, well…a duke. And an unseemly young and attractive one at that. She had thought he might be old, grey, and bristly before she’d arrived. This man seemed on the younger side of thirty, quite handsome, and well…kind. He’d sent a carriage for her comfort and greeted her upon her arrival. She didn’t know what to make of him.
He studied her in silence. His blue eyes reminded her of his daughter as she’d peeked out of her chamber earlier when Hattie had passed and her dark-brown hair also seemed the same chestnut shade as his own, but without the curls. His face was far different, though. He had a strong nose and brow line and his chin was sharp, almost severe in its angle, offsetting his tall, lean frame. Her gaze caught sight of the portrait of a beautiful woman above the flickering hearth behind him.
‘Millie’s mother?’ Hattie asked, nodding to the painting behind him. ‘She is beautiful. Her heart-shaped face looks just like your daughter’s. I saw a glimpse of her when she peeked out of her bedchamber earlier.’
His features tightened and a muscle worked in his jaw. ‘Yes, that is the late Marchioness,’ he replied coolly, not even turning to glance at the painting.
Hattie pressed her lips together.Blast. Somehow, she’d blundered again. Perhaps her death was still too painful for him to speak of. She dared not say another word, so she sat frozen, waiting for him to continue.
He cleared his throat and pressed on, lifting his leg to rest on his knee. He appeared as uncomfortable as she felt, but why? He was a duke. Meeting with a governess to discuss the care of his daughter had to be one of the most trivial matters of his daily life.
‘I must confess that I have brought you here under rather dubious circumstances,’ he began.
Her stomach dropped, and she clutched her hands together tightly in her lap. Trudy and Ophelia were right. She was going to be forced into promiscuity. Her eyes widened. ‘I have no interest in being a…a…’ She finally sputtered out the word in lowered tones, ‘Trollop, Your Grace.’
He blanched. ‘Ah, no, no,’ he replied, uncrossing his legs and holding up a hand. ‘That is not at all what I was about to propose, Miss Potts. I would never…’ he said and then stopped, colour rising in his cheeks. He ran a hand through his hair and released a chuckle. ‘If only you knew how far from the truth such a request would be from me.’
She nodded, released a shaky breath and replied in a rush. ‘I am relieved to hear it.’
‘What I meant to say is my daughter needs perhaps more care than you might expect.’ He looked at her and paused. ‘And, well, I do not know your experience or if you are up to the task. I should have said more about the level of care she will require.’
She leaned forward. ‘What do you mean? She seemed healthy and happy from what I saw of her. Is she ill?’
‘Physically, no, but emotionally…’ He paused and stood before walking quietly over to the mantel. He was moving far from her, making his discomfort even more obvious. Hattie’s pulse increased. What could be wrong with the sweet girl?
Hattie clutched her skirts as she waited for his reply.
‘She has not spoken since the day her mother died.’
Hattie released her grip on her gown and relaxed against the chair back. It was not nearly as dire as she had feared. ‘And how long ago was that?’
‘A little over a year ago. I thought she would heal and recover, but she hasn’t. She has seen the best doctors and nurses and teachers, but nothing. She remains silent.’ He turned to face her. The agony in his features tugged at her sympathies. She knew what feeling helpless felt like. She wouldn’t wish such miseries on anyone.
‘I am so sorry, Your Grace.’
‘After my father passed, we moved here in hopes that the quiet and space away from the enquiring reporters, watchful gazes of thetonand noise of London might help her heal—helpusheal—but even after being here two months, nothing has changed.’
‘It sounds as if she needs a specialist, or at least someone far more experienced than I. Why did you offer me the position, then?’ she asked, insecure and puzzled by his invitation for employment now that she knew of Millie’s plight.
He hesitated and watched her for a moment before continuing. ‘When you mentioned your past as an orphan… I thought you might understand Millie’s loss and how not having a mother might impact her in a way another wouldn’t. And how you described your learning was…inspired.’ He shrugged. ‘I picked you on instinct.’
