The Duke's Marriage Mission (6 page)

Kit was clearly accustomed to playing with his Lilliputian figures and had no such qualms.

“Papa gave me some of them as a present on my birthday, then more for Christmas and more for my next birthday.” Kit plucked one of the figures from the box and held it closer for Leah to inspect. “This is Emperor Mully Ully Gue. See his gold helmet with the plume and his sword?”

Leah nodded and peered closer. The figure appeared to be carved out of wood and painted, with the addition of metal embellishments, which Kit had pointed out. If she had needed any further evidence that the duke would take infinite pains for his son, this thoughtful gift certainly provided it.

“The emperor looks just the way he is described in the book, down to his arched nose and olive complexion. Who else have you got there?”

The child rummaged through his collection and drew out two more figures. “This is Gulliver’s friend, Reldresal, and
this
is his mortal enemy, Skyresh Bolgolam.”

“He does have a very disagreeable look.” Leah squinted to make out the high admiral’s carefully painted features. His thick black brows were drawn together in an unmistakable scowl.

Kit chuckled. “Papa gets that look sometimes.”

“Indeed I do not!” the duke protested, which only made Kit laugh louder and Leah join in.

“You have it now, Papa!” the child squealed.

Leah nodded. “If you could see yourself in the mirror, Your Grace, you would be obliged to admit your son is correct.”

The duke dismissed them both with a gruff, “Humph! No wonder Bolgolam was vexed to have a giant suddenly wash up on the shore of Lilliput and turn everything in the kingdom upside down.”

Was he talking about Lemuel Gulliver in Lilliput or the new governess at Renforth Abbey? Leah wondered as Kit showed her more of his little figures. If he meant the latter, she could only observe that some things in his household needed to be turned on their heads.

She might not be a giant, like Gulliver, but she had the power of right on her side. What could stand against that?

* * *

Did his son truly see him as some sort of sour-faced petty tyrant like Gulliver’s enemy, who would tie him down with a thousand small, annoying threads?

Hayden had done his best to stifle that thought for the past week. But now, as he listened to Kit’s afternoon lesson, it ambushed him again.

Miss Shaw was reading part of the story about the ridiculously long list of restrictions set upon Gulliver’s freedom. Did the new governess consider
his
rules regarding her position equally restrictive? And perhaps equally ridiculous?

“‘If an express require extraordinary dispatch...’” she read, “‘the Man-Mountain shall be obliged to carry in his pocket the messenger and...’ what is the next word, Kit?”

“‘Horse,’” the child responded immediately.

“Very good.” Miss Shaw continued reading. “‘The messenger and horse a six days’ journey, once in every...’”

“‘Moon’!” Kit supplied the next word before she could even ask.

“Well done! ‘And return the said messenger back (if so required) safe to our Imperial Presence.’”

Let Miss Shaw think what she liked! Hayden crossed his arms tightly over his chest and shifted in his seat. The rules he had put in place were for his son’s protection, so Kit did not overtax his strength or get too excited. No doubt Skyresh Bolgolam believed he was protecting the citizens of Lilliput from the potentially dangerous actions of the giant castaway. Actions that might seem perfectly innocent to Lemuel Gulliver if he were home in England could have dire consequences on an island populated with inhabitants only a few inches tall.

Drat it all! He was doing it again. Hayden made a conscious effort to relax his scowling features.

By the time the governess finished reading the whole list, with some help from Kit, Hayden could no longer keep his thoughts to himself. “Perhaps the reason Bolgolam seems so disagreeable is because Gulliver gets to tell the story. The reader knows Gulliver’s intentions toward his hosts are entirely benevolent. But how could the high-admiral know that? Surely he was right to be wary of a creature that posed such a grave threat to the kingdom?”

The silence that greeted his outburst felt charged with ridicule.

“It is only a story, Your Grace,” Miss Shaw said at last.

Hayden could picture her exchanging mocking looks with his son. That added fuel to his outrage. Was Leah Shaw trying to turn Kit against him?

“I
know
it is a story,” he snapped. A story that contained unsettling parallels with his own life.

“Now, Kit, let’s see how well you remember your numbers.” Miss Shaw addressed the child in a tone of feigned cheer that seemed designed to exclude his father from their conversation. “How many soldiers has the high-admiral set to guard Gulliver?”

Hayden heard the rattle of toy figures being taken from their box, then Kit began to count, “One...two...three...”

On he continued, all the way to nine—a considerable accomplishment for a boy who had only begun learning his numbers the previous day. Hayden’s heart swelled with pride, though he could not stifle a pang of regret that he had let his son reach the age of seven without learning to count.

He tried to justify himself with the excuse that a bedridden boy had no need of such knowledge...except perhaps for the self-respect that came from mastering a skill other children his age took for granted.

“Very good, indeed,” Miss Shaw commended her young pupil. “Now what if Gulliver sneezed and three of the soldiers ran away in terror? How many would be left to stand guard?”

Kit considered the question for a moment, perhaps counting the remaining figures under his breath. Then he announced in a triumphant tone, “Six!”

“Correct! It seems you are naturally clever with numbers.”

Hayden knew Kit’s governess must be smiling down at him with warm admiration that no male could resist, be he seven years old...or seven and thirty. No doubt the boy was gazing back up at her with the eager devotion of a puppy, prepared to do anything she asked.

“Now try this one,” Miss Shaw continued. “If the emperor decided the conditions placed upon Gulliver’s release were too numerous and removed the last five, how many would be left on the list?”

Again Kit silently pondered the question. As the pause stretched longer and longer, Hayden grew increasingly anxious. It was not a fair question at all. How could a child who had only begun to count be expected to subtract such a sum? Was Miss Shaw deliberately trying to discourage him? Hayden began to mouth the answer, hoping it would somehow communicate itself to his son.

At last he could stand it no longer. “Four, Kit. The answer is four. Nine items on the list minus five. It was far too difficult a question for you.”

“No, it wasn’t!” the child protested. “I was about to say four when you shouted it out first. Truly I was, Miss Leah.”

“Of course you were, Kit. It is always a good idea to think carefully about a question before you give an answer. Your father was a trifle impatient, that’s all.” Mild as her words sounded, Hayden felt the sting of her reproach.

“Papa thought I could not figure it out on my own,” Kit complained bitterly. “He does not believe I can do
anything
!”

“Now, son.” Hayden rose and approached the bed. “You know that is not true.”

“It is!” Kit glared at him with stormy defiance that smote Hayden a cruel blow. “I wish you would go away and stop interrupting, Papa. These are
my
lessons, not yours.”

“Of course they are, son. I only meant—”

“Pardon me, Your Grace.” Miss Shaw cut him off. “But perhaps the two of you could settle this later, after Kit and I are finished our work.”

He would not be ordered about in his own house by this interloper!

“You
are
finished, Miss Shaw. At least, you should be.” Hayden stabbed his forefinger in the direction of the mantel clock. “This lesson has already run a quarter of an hour past its time. Every day this week your lessons have exceeded the time we agreed upon. Every lesson has gone on longer than the last. Keep it up and you will have my son working ’round the clock.”

Leah Shaw thrust out her pert chin. “I only extended my teaching time to compensate for
your
constant interrup—”

“It will not do.” Hayden broke in before she could finish. “Today’s lesson is over.”

“That’s not fair, Papa!” Kit pushed the box away, scattering his Lilliputian figures over the bedspread. A few tumbled onto the floor. “I enjoy my lessons. I don’t want to stop!”

“Hush now, Kit.” His governess tried to soothe the boy. “We can continue our work tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday,” Hayden reminded her. “At Renforth Abbey, we keep the Sabbath. There will be no lessons on Sundays.”

“Is that because of God?” Kit demanded. “Then I don’t like him! He made me a cripple and now he won’t let me have my lessons.”

“Kit!” Hayden was not certain which dismayed him more, his son’s rejection of the Almighty or his use of that horrible word.

“Now, Kit.” Miss Shaw persisted in her effort to calm the tempest she had provoked. “I am certain you don’t mean that.”

“I do! I do!” Kit pounded on the bed with surprising strength and his eyes began to fill with tears.

Hayden knew he was in for another tantrum. The prospect threatened to overwhelm him. “Please go, Miss Shaw.”

In spite of the
please
, it was not a request.

“No!” Kit wailed. “I want her to stay.
You
should go away, Papa, not Miss Leah!”

“But, Kit—”

“
Now
, Miss Shaw,” Hayden insisted as his son burst into angry howls.

With obvious reluctance, she obeyed.

He had hired the woman, against his better judgment, in an effort to prevent this sort of outburst, Hayden fumed as he struggled to settle his son. If it was going to happen either way, why should he bother to put up with Leah Shaw’s disruptive influence?

Chapter Four

K
it’s cries pursued Leah as she fled the nursery, even after she pulled the door shut behind her. Who would imagine such a delicate child could produce such a commotion? Vexed as she was with Lord Northam’s stiff hostility and smothering interference, she could not help but pity him for having to listen to those deafening shrieks.

“It is his own fault!” she muttered as she returned to the peace and quiet of her distant room. “If he would just let us be, Kit and I would get on perfectly well. I thought we had a bargain.”

She had assumed, when the duke agreed to hire her, it meant he was willing to give her a fair opportunity to teach his son. If she had known he intended to hover in the nursery, watching and criticizing her every move, she would never have consented to stay. Even when the duke was not openly finding fault with her, she was all too aware of his brooding disapproval.

When she reached her quarters, Leah shut the door behind her with a bang, but it did little to relieve her feelings. More offenses rose in her mind, stoking her resentment of the duke.

If he felt he
must
interrupt his son’s lessons, did he always have to sound so gruff? Not since leaving the Pendergast School had Leah felt so restricted in her actions or held in such severe contempt, no matter what she did. It made her respond the way she had at school—by employing impudent wit to lift the spirits of her fellow pupils and make them part of a covert rebellion against the forces of authority.

Another reason she’d made light of the duke’s behavior was to disguise the true severity of their antagonism from his son. Today she had not been able to hide her mounting irritation. She’d allowed the veiled hostility between Lord Northam and her to spew forth. The result had been to upset Kit, which was precisely what she’d been trying to avoid.

Leah flounced over to the window, where she planted her elbows on the sill and cradled her chin between her clenched fists. Perhaps if the duke was made to reap what he had sown, he might think twice about interrupting Kit’s lessons after this.

On reflection, she knew it was foolish to hope Lord Northam might recognize that
he
was responsible for upsetting his son. Instead he would likely blame her and redouble his interference. Could she remain at Renforth Abbey under such intolerable conditions?

No sooner had that thought blazed through her mind than Leah began to laugh at herself. “What would my friends think of me if I were to write them with complaints about my position here? I have been given a generous salary, an elegant room and the finest dining in exchange for two hours work a day and only a single pupil to teach. This is most governesses’ idea of paradise!”

Counting her blessings helped to take the edge off Leah’s frustration, though not as much as she wished it would. The trouble was, she did not care about creature comforts as much as some people. The cold and hunger she’d endured at school had mattered less to her than the tyranny of the staff and the deadly dull routine. Long hours of idleness were no boon, either. Much as she sometimes pitied Evangeline for having charge of such a full nursery, Leah would have gladly changed places with her friend. How swiftly the days must fly for her friend with so many duties to occupy the time. And Evangeline would never want for company.

Even the wretched Pendergast School had been superior to Renforth Abbey in that respect. There she’d had friends to commiserate with and younger pupils to defend from bullies. Here, she had no one to talk to for hours on end.

She’d tried making friends with some of the maids, but they always seemed too busy to chat with her and she did not want to interrupt their work the way Lord Northam did hers. Mr. Gibson firmly discouraged her attempts to socialize with his staff. Perhaps because of the fine room the duke had assigned her, the butler seemed to believe she should be treated as a guest of the house.

That left Leah with only two occupations to fill her interminable hours of leisure—writing letters to her friends and wandering the halls and grounds of Renforth Abbey. Though she had found many sights of interest during her rambles, she feared she would grow vastly tired of the place long before her position ended.

In an effort to vent her feelings, Leah took up her pen and began a letter to Grace, the most sympathetic of her friends, who now lived in Berkshire with her husband and three delightful stepdaughters. As she scribbled away furiously, Leah fancied she could hear her friend’s gentle voice, urging patience and forbearance. But those virtues were not an essential part of her character as they were of Grace’s.

Yet, by the time she had finished her letter, Leah’s raw indignation felt somewhat relieved.

A few hours later, as she finished her solitary dinner, Mr. Gibson inquired, “Will you be joining the rest of the household for matins in the chapel tomorrow, Miss Shaw? Or does His Grace wish you to attend the young master while he is at worship?”

Leah shook her head and tried to make a jest of the situation. “Lord Northam seems to feel it would be an offense against the Fourth Commandment for me to teach his son anything on a Sunday.”

The butler did not seem amused. “In that case, we will see you in the chapel tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

“Where would I find the chapel?” Leah asked, rather surprised she had not stumbled upon it during any of her explorations.

The butler provided her with directions then bid her good evening.

Perhaps she ought to see if she could find the place while Mr. Gibson’s directions were still fresh in her mind, Leah decided as she rose from the table. She wanted to be sure she knew her way so as not to risk being late for the service. Such a blunder would not impress the duke.

Hard as Leah insisted to herself that His Grace’s opinion of her did not matter, deep down she feared otherwise. She had grown accustomed to being respected and valued by her employers, though she knew she had been more fortunate than some of her friends in that regard. By contrast, the duke’s air of suspicion and ill will bothered her more than she cared to admit.

After only one wrong turn, Leah managed to locate the cloisters which led to the chapel. Long ago, when Renforth was an abbey, the cloisters had been an open, roofed walkway for the monks. At some point since then, the sides had been enclosed with tall, narrow windows installed between the stone pillars.

Her footsteps barely made a sound as she padded over the stone floor. When she reached the door to the chapel she eased it open with quiet reverence. Leah knew her friend Grace would urge her to pause and say a prayer for help and guidance. Communing with the Lord might give her a more charitable perspective on her troubles, and perhaps help her feel a little less isolated at Renforth Abbey.

Candles flickered within brass lanterns on the altar, casting just enough light for Leah to make out the vaulted ceiling and an intricately carved rood screen of dark wood. As she paused to get her bearings in the dim stillness, she realized she was not alone.

It was more than the abiding presence of God, though she sensed that, as well. The chapel had another mortal occupant, kneeling in one of the pews, so deep in prayer that he seemed unaware of her arrival. She had only to hear a few words he spoke aloud to the Lord, to realize that man was the Duke of Northam.

“Seven years ago, Lord, You spared my child’s life as I begged you.” His fervent words echoed through the small stone chapel. “I have never ceased to give You thanks for that blessing. But now I wonder if I was unpardonably selfish to keep my son from the joy of heaven to endure the trials of this world.”

The pain in the duke’s voice was so raw, it seared away all the resentment Leah harbored toward him, leaving only ashes of pity. Was it any wonder he clung so tightly to the child he had come so close to losing?

“Heavenly Father,” the duke continued, “grant me the strength and patience to do my best for Kit, to keep him safe, healthy and happy.”

Leah began to back away. She should not be here, eavesdropping on the most intimate communication between a man and his Maker.

In spite of her good intentions, the duke’s next words stopped her in her tracks. “Help me have patience with Kit’s new governess, Lord. I fear she is right that I should have found someone to teach him long before this. I know she thinks I am an unfeeling tyrant, but please do not let her turn my son against me.”

His words hit Leah like the stinging stroke of a switch across her palm. Before she had time to remember where they were, a fierce denial burst from her lips. “I am
not
trying to turn Kit against you! I would never do anything so wicked! It is
you
who are blighting his affection for you.”

Her outburst spun the duke around and brought him to his feet. “What are you doing here, woman? What right have you to spy upon a man at prayer?”

That was a charge against which Leah could not defend herself. Her conscience reproached every bit as indignantly as His Grace did. Part of her wanted to turn and flee, but that had never been her way. Now that she had glimpsed what lay behind the duke’s hostility toward her, she could not permit it to go unchallenged...no matter what the consequences.

* * *

Was it not enough that Leah Shaw had made his son view him as some kind of ogre? Now the woman had stolen into his private chapel and listened in on his prayers!

Never in his life had Hayden felt so dangerously exposed.

Like a lion tormented by a thorn in its paw, he reared up roaring accusations, desperate to frighten her away and perhaps make her forget what she had overheard. Any of his servants would have turned tail at once and not stopped running until they reached the village.

Miss Shaw flinched from his outburst, but held her ground until he paused for breath. Then, instead of bolting back to her room and barricading the door, she thrust out her chin and stepped up to confront him. “I did not mean to spy on you, sir. I came here to pray, as well. I had no idea anyone would be here until you spoke. I was going to go away quietly until I heard you say I was turning Kit against you. I could not let you go on believing anything so ridiculous.”

Hayden seized upon the word. “Ridiculous am I? Perhaps I seem that way to one who makes a joke of everything. You may be able to make light of my son’s condition and the measures I take to protect him, but I cannot.”

As he spoke, Hayden scuttled sideways toward the centre aisle where he would not be hemmed in by the pews. Miss Shaw continued to approach until they were nearly toe to toe.

“I do not
take
your son’s condition lightly.” She stared up at him defiantly. “I try to
make
light of it so he will not feel sorry for himself or use it as an excuse to do less than his best. Fortunately Kit does not seem inclined to do either. He is a fine boy. In a great many ways you have done an admirable job of raising him.”

She spoke in such a rebellious tone it was difficult for Hayden to recognize the praise her words contained. “I...have? Admirable?”

Leah Shaw gave an emphatic nod that made her dark curls dance around her face. “Very admirable. Even if you were not, I would never seek to turn a child against a parent. I beg you put that thought out of your mind at once.”

Hayden wanted to believe her. When she turned those wide hazel eyes upon him, it was difficult to resist her entreaty. But there were facts he could not altogether dismiss. “Before you came here, my son never spoke to me the way he has of late. We were perfectly content.”

“You might have been, but was he?” Though her tone and stance betrayed no hostility, her words challenged Hayden nonetheless. “Kit is no longer an infant and I am not convinced his health is as fragile as you believe. I suspect he would soon have begun to crave more freedom. My coming only set the spark to some very dry tinder.”

“That is not true!” Hayden spoke louder than he’d intended, perhaps to drown out the insidious whispers of doubt in his mind. “You set him a bad example by making me the butt of your jests, laughing off everything I say as if it is contemptible.”

At last something he said seemed to make a serious impression upon this infuriatingly lighthearted woman.

“Is that how it appeared to you?” She took a few unsteady steps and sank down onto the nearest pew. “Believe me, Your Grace, I never intended to mock you in front of your son.”

She sounded sincere, but Hayden had suffered too many pinpricks from her rapier wit to be easily persuaded. “Then why did you make me the butt of your fun?”

Kit’s governess hoisted her shoulders. “That is what I have always done when I feel oppressed.”

Something about the way she spoke suggested it had been a frequent occurrence in her life. That thought made Hayden feel strangely protective toward her, something he had not felt for anyone but his son in a very long time. Suddenly his grievances against her no longer seemed to matter so much.

With a flick of his hand he signaled her to budge over in the pew. Then he slid in beside her. “Is that why you only take governess positions for one year, because you have been mistreated by your employers in the past and fear it will happen again?”

She clearly considered him another such tyrant. Hard as Hayden tried to dismiss that possibility, when he looked back on his actions, he could not.