“Hattie,” he repeated, newly frustrated over his mind’s refusal to completely restore itself. “All she needs to know is that I’ll be marrying the governess as soon as I’m able. I’ll return in the morning to speak with the both of them about it. At the moment,I think it best if I leave my future wife in peace.”
“If there is any peace to be had for her after this night,” the duke drawled wryly. “You needn’t fear. Hattie will see to our unexpected guest’s comfort. You’ll be leaving her in excellent hands.”
For now, he thought grimly.
Because soon enough, the only hands in which his governess would be placed were his own. Literally and figuratively.
But he didn’t give voice to any of his misgivings. Instead, he nodded. “Thank you, Monty. I owe you a debt of gratitude for allowing me to call at this late hour, bearing a stranger for you to give shelter.”
Monty gave him a strange, sad smile. “You’ve been like a brother to me, and nothing shall change that. Not time, not an accident, and certainly not this evening’s antics.”
Torrie wished he could return the sentiments, but the duke’s words—far from providing the sense of comfort he had no doubt intended—left his chest tight and his gut heavy with dread. The expectations of others, he’d discovered, could eat a man alive.
“Thank you,” he forced out, rising from his chair abruptly. “The hour is late, and I should let your household settle. I’ll return tomorrow for an interview with the governess, if that is acceptable to you.”
“Of course,” Monty said, rising as well, still frowning. “You know you’re always welcome here at Hamilton House, Torrie.”
Perhaps he had been once, but he didn’t know that any longer.
Grimly, Torrie took his leave.
* * *
“There you are,my dear Miss Brooke,” the Duchess of Montrose said, smiling brightly until her gaze traveled over Elizabeth and the serene expression faded to a frown. “Why are you dressed as if you are taking your leave?”
The Duchess of Montrose was as beautiful as she was kind.
Elizabeth found herself newly grateful for the duchess’s hospitality by the gray light of yet another rainy morning. It was difficult to believe that the lovely, soft-spoken woman who was often accompanied by a fat white cat named Sir Toby bore any relation to the handsome scoundrel who had ruined her life the night before.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace,” she said earnestly, her valise held in a tight grip and Lady Andromeda’s redingote once again firmly tucked around herself. “I am dressed as if I am taking my leave because I have imposed on you for long enough. I do not know how I shall ever repay you for your generosity.”
Particularly since she had scarcely any funds at all, and the meager amount she had would need to be put toward affordable and respectable lodgings for the foreseeable future.
Following a hearty breakfast with the duke and duchess, she had excused herself and retreated to her guest chamber to pack her meager belongings. She’d swallowed her pride enough to accept the bath her hostess had sent to her room that morning, and to partake of the meal since she knew not when or where she might find the next. But she didn’t dare linger and take advantage of the duke and duchess for another moment more.
“But you are staying here with us,” the duchess protested.
“I don’t dare,” she countered firmly. “I’ll need to find another situation, and the sooner I am able to do so, the better.”
“Another situation? Has my brother not told you?”
The mentioning of Lord Torrington made unwanted, traitorous heat creep over her slowly. Her recklessness where he was concerned knew no end, it would seem.
“Has his lordship not told me what, Your Grace?” she asked, confused.
After he had delivered her to the duke and duchess’s town house, Lord Torrington had entrusted her to his sister’s care and with an elegant bow, he had promptly disappeared.
The Duchess of Montrose tilted her head, then rolled her lips inward as if she were contemplating her response with care. “Precisely what did Torrie tell you yesterday before he brought you here, Miss Brooke?”
Torrie.
The familiar name, an abbreviation of his title presumably used by those closest to the viscount, suited him. She found herself wondering what Lady Worthing had called him. But a question had been asked in regard to Lord Torrington, and she must attend the conversation of her generous hostess instead of dwelling within her own whirling thoughts.
She pinned a polite smile to her lips. “His lordship told me that he would take me to you for the evening, that he would explain the…unfortunate incident which occurred, and that I wasn’t to impose on you for long.”
Thatwaswhat he had said, wasn’t it? Elizabeth could admit to herself that she had been in an odd state quite removed from her ordinary impenetrable composure. Ever since she had been left orphaned and penniless as a girl when her parents had died in a carriage accident, she had been living at the mercy of others. She wasn’t meant to offer a difference of opinion. She was meant to make herself useful, and if she could not be pretty to look upon, and if she could not land herself a match, then she had to seek employment. And as a governess, she was meant to be useful in an entirely different manner. She was meant, rather like a child, to be seen and not heard. She had failed abysmally at that post, thanks to the viscount.
“Did he say nothing of what he intended to do to make amends for what happened?” the duchess was asking of her.
