The words circled endlessly through Maggie’s mind, sung in a deep baritone, so low it was scarcely a singing voice at all. Her heart pounded, creating a sort of metronome for the music.
The song was meant to be cheerful—a counting-down tune, likeThe Twelve Days of Christmas—but now, in her head, it sounded sombre and grim. Almost like a warning.
A tap on her shoulder made her start. Maggie’s head snapped up, and to her horror she realised she had dozed off at her desk. Jenny stood over her with a wry smile, while Emma giggled behind her hand.
“You were almost snoring. I had to wake you,” Jenny teased softly. “Let us hope Mrs Thornton or the duke doesn’t catch you.”
Maggie paled at the thought. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I only closed my eyes for a moment while marking Miss Emma’s arithmetic, and I—”
“It’s quite all right,” Jenny interrupted, more gently now. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Emma was busy with her Geography, then leaned closer. “I daresay you were unsettled after yesterday.”
Maggie winced. “Unsettled is putting it mildly. I was certain I’d be turned out on my ear.”
“So was I. But his Grace didn’t seem half so angry as I expected. Still—perhaps no more exploring for a while.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Maggie muttered.
The reason she was so tired was that she had lain awake for most of the night, certain a summons would come at any moment to send her away. She had heard plenty of tales of such things—especially with governesses. A hard-hearted master ormistress might dismiss a servant without warning, even in the middle of the night. After what she had done, Maggie would not have been surprised to be turned out at once.
She had gone into a room that was known to be forbidden, played an instrument she had no right to touch—and, astonishingly, had seemed to escape unpunished. That could not be right. Surely consequences must come.
All evening, she had sat in a fright, waiting. The afternoon slipped away, then the evening; after supper she found herself in her room, in the dark, listening for footsteps in the corridor.
She had not changed into her night-things; she doubted she could sleep. Yet at some point she must have dozed off on top of the bed, for she woke rumpled and disoriented at Joan’s customary knock. No summons had come. Even now, with luncheon approaching, none had come still.
Perhaps I shan’t be dismissed after all. Still—best tread carefully.
Mrs Thornton had told her she would receive her wages with the rest of the staff, in a fortnight. If she could just keep her post until then, she’d have a month’s pay in hand.
Not that she meant to leave. It was a comfortable position, and the duke’s infamous reputation had worked in her favour. Every governess in England would have leapt at a post in a ducal household—if the master hadn’t been known asthe Gambling Devil.
A rustle of pages caught her attention. Emma was supposed to be using the globe to answer her questions, but instead she was peering down into a book spread across her lap, half-hidden under the desk.
“What do you have there, Miss Emma?”
Emma’s head jerked up, her face scarlet. “It’s a book,” she confessed. “I… I took it from Mama’s room yesterday.”
Maggie’s smile vanished. She rose at once. “Oh, Emma, you mustn’t! Your uncle would not like that at all.”
“She was my Mama,” Emma said, pouting. “Why can’t I look at her things?”
“Perhaps your uncle means to save them for you until you’re older. For now, he prefers us to stay out of her room,” Maggie said gently but firmly. “We were very lucky not to get into trouble before.”
Already, she was frantically considering how to put the book back. It wouldn’t be possible; she was sure of that. No doubt the room was locked now, and even if it wasn’t, she could not risk being caught inside a second time.
The book on Emma’s knees was not a novel or a story-book, as Maggie had expected. It was a big, old book with yellowed pages and a nick in the cover.
Maggie held out her hand, and Emma obediently handed over the book.
“Instructions For Courtly Dances,” Maggie read aloud, surprised. Opening the cover, she flicked through pages and pages of close-packed writing, interspersed with neat little illustrations of men and women. The dances were shown from various angles, from straight ahead as if one was watching the dance, and from above to show the directions the patterns should take. The book was clearly very dated, as it didnotshow the waltz, and the clothes the illustrated people wore were very old-fashioned.
“I would like to learn how to dance, one day,” Emma said wistfully. “Uncle says that I’ll learn my accomplishments when I’m older and have need of them. But why must Ineedto learn to dance or play music? Can’t I just do it?”
Maggie bit her lower lip. “I don’t see why not,” she murmured.
Jenny sucked in a breath. “Maggie—”
“One little lesson won’t hurt,” Maggie insisted. “We can push the tables back and try a few steps before luncheon.”
