He observed the encouraging smile she gave to Clara—it brightened her face with a soft warmth he found alluringly attractive. Realising his thoughts were again slipping in a dangerous direction, he threw her a dismissive look, wiping the smile from her face.
“I shall leave you both to your lesson.”
Is there anything I can do for you, Your Grace?”
Mr Jones stood at attention, ready to attend to his every whim.
“A glass of claret while I write this letter to Lesterwich.”
He had initially planned on heading into London to see his friend in person, but the arrival of Miss Lewisham now urged him to remain. However, being at the estate meant he had no friends to divulge his deepest thoughts to, so a letter would need to suffice. And there was no one he trusted more than his friend and fellow duke’s.
Lesterwich,
I have chosen to write to you as I am not yet certain when I will return to London. I have acquired a new governess, and we now wait and see if my angelic child will drive her off in the upcoming days. Speaking of the governess, she is certainly a horse of another colour. She is quite unlike any governess I have ever met, and as you know, I have had my fair share. Her name is Miss Maribel Lewisham. She is young and hails from a nearby town with a middle-class upbringing. However, unlike the dowdy, sour, and plain women that have been coming in and out of employ, Maribel is honied sunshine. Her hair sheens vibrantly, a dark and rich brown. Her doe eyes are the colour of roasted chestnuts and equally as warm. Her skin is alabaster, as if she bathed in milk each night. And underneath her plain clothing is a body ripe with sensuous curves that beg to be caressed. I know what you must thinking—this fool is besotted. Fear not, I am only putting my thoughts to paper to rid the musings from my mind. A tryst with my daughter’s new governess would only mean disaster, but the chit is tempting indeed. Her personality is haughty and indifferent, which captivates me. I am in a fit of rage at her impertinence and equally bewitched by her nerve. I would like nothing more than to take my hand to her bare bottom and be the one who teaches her a lesson.
By the time this letter reaches you, I will most likely be headed to London, as I shall know if the appointment is progressing without a hitch. And by that point, my loins will surely be at their bursting point and only will I find release without burden at some fair establishment of ill repute.
My letter is not all musings on my depraved thoughts, but my interest in the last venture you spoke of. I am happy to contribute 200 pounds to this mining expedition. You have made it sound promisingly profitable. I will arrange the funds to be delivered to you.
Until we meet next my friend, stay in good health and wealth.
T. Denby
Feeling slightly more relaxed about the impact his new employee was having on him, he sipped the rest of his claret slowly, savouring the depth of the berries and tannins as he pondered his next few days spent at the estate. There were ledgers to keep him busy, and he could indulge in a hunt. There was no need to be distracted by the governess. No need at all.
Chapter Seven
Maribel had decided to give lessons out in the gardens today. Maybe some fresh air and flora would improve Clara’s mood. Their first day inside at the pianoforte had been challenging and tiresome. She had held her temper, which was sorely tested, more so than her impish younger brothers ever had. Clara had refused any simple instruction of the keys, instead jamming them with her hands and making a most dreadful ruckus. But Maribel knew the little girl was testing her. Waiting for her to break like all the governesses who had come before her. This knowledge only strengthened her resolve. She refused to be outwitted by a child.
They were sitting at a table in a garden filled with cheerful sunlight and well-manicured flowerbeds. Maribel read the myth of Pandora’s box from Hesiod’s “Works and Days” in an attempt to pique the child’s interest.
“What do you think of it so far, Lady Clara?”
“She sounds very hasty and selfish.”
Interesting that Clara recognised these traits, however, so clearly demonstrated them without repent.
“Indeed, but there is a lesson that can be learned here. Tempering curiosity, acting with caution and not haste. Heeding advice and listening.”
She had seen Clara’s eyes glaze over as she spoke, so she emphasised the word, hoping to regain her attention.
Instead, Clara got up and moved to the flower bed, pulling petals off the blooming hyacinths.
“You are ruining the flowers, My Lady, come back and sit down.”
Clara ignored her, and Maribel looked down at the book to hide her frustration. To her surprise, when she looked up, Clara was back in her seat watching her expectantly. Maribel gave her a warm smile.
“Thank you, let us proceed. This time, I want you to read out the next verse.” Maribel handed her the book.
Maribel took the opportunity to pick up her glass and have a drink and saw Clara watching her intently. Suddenly suspicious, Maribel held the drink out in front of her.
“Lady Clara, if I look in my cup, will I find something in there?”
“Yes, Miss Maribel, you will find the lemonade,” she replied with feigned innocence.
Maribel was not fooled. These were the same signs her brothers displayed when they were playing one of their tricks. Bringing the glass to her face, she peered inside and gasped.
A bee! A. Dead. Bee.
