As for marriage... Well, he’d been alone so long the state had become habitual. And leg-shackling himself to some innocent likely to be awed and deferential and obedient, but never able to mean more to him than Penelope, did not seem fair, although an heir was, of course, an eventual necessity.
He shifted his thoughts to a more comfortable vein—specifically, the unearthing of mysteries, the solving of conundrums…
He paused to survey the rear of the castle, sweeping his gaze across the kitchen gardens, to Alicia’s rose bushes, and then, to the more distant cedar labyrinth.
Allconundrums were in want of solving, were they not?
Large conundrums. Small.Domestic, even...
Like a mysterious new nursemaid who appeared through some loose charity connection and immediately and intimately ingratiated herself into the household of his once infamously reclusive friend.
Nowshewas a conundrum ready to be solved. And investigating her past a worthy effort...certainly less complex—and disturbing—than the contemplation of love and marriage.
* * *
“Lady Felicia!” Miss Hera Bythesea, or, as her charges knew her, Mrs. Montrose, sing-songed her youngest charge’s name. Then, she paused in the doorway and huffed under her breath, “Fee!”
Felicia-sized footprints appeared in the muddied grass just outside the castle kitchen. Hera followed them through the herb garden.Shestopped at the freshly tilled earth’s edge…the footprints, however, continued onto the more elaborate grounds.
Grounds where Felicia’s ducal parents and their glittering guests mingled, enjoying the rare experience of coastal sun.
On any other day, Hera would have forced herself to look on the bright side. She might have evencelebratedthe cleverness behind Felicia’s subterfuge. But for Felicia to disappear on the day of the Duke and Duchess of Ashbey’s grand garden party?
Hera caught her lip between her teeth.
Disaster.
On a shaky inhale, she considered her options. If she continued into the gardens, she might happen on someone she recognized.
Or worse, someone who recognized her.
Fretting, on the other hand, would not keep Fee from harm. She forged onward, sidling toward the rose bushes. At least her frock had a greenish tint. With any luck, her white cap, if seen from a distance, would be mistaken for a cluster of roses.
“Fe-li-cia!”
She listened but heard only undulating peals of incoherent society gossip. As a small child, Hera had found the sound of finely dressed gentry chattering amongst themselves comforting, even pleasant.
Now she knew what they really represented—inherent threat.
She looked away from the party, scanning the hedge for any sign of her youngest charge. How,howhad the duchess convinced her taking over the position of nursemaid in the Duke of Ashbey’s household was the answer to her desperate prayers?
Well, there was her answer.Desperate.Nothing good ever came from a decision made in desperation, as she, of all people, should have learned by now.
She rested her forehead against her fist.
You just feel like you’re going to break apart. You won’t. You can’t.Swelling panic was nothing more than a wave in the ocean. She breathed in deep, imagining the wave cresting, breaking, and then fizzing back into gentle swirls.
When she’d taken on Lady Felicia and her nine-year-old brother, Lord Delmare, she’d assumed she could manage them much as she had her half-brother’s offspring, and, after them, the children of Prince Karl Wilhelm Albert of the Electorate of Heinenberg.
She’d seen herself taking the duchess’s little lord and lady under her protective wings and lavishing on them all the unused care that had been festering inside of her like a neglected wound since the night she’d had to make the most difficult choice of her life.
A night just a few weeks prior to the duchess’s appearance as her slightly tardy guardian angel.
The duchess had assured Hera she’d make every effort to assist—including providing a position and then the necessary glowing reference to prove Hera had “reformed.” And she’d also promised Hera, on successful resolution of their combined efforts, a small stipend.
If all went well, by summer’s end, Hera would be living in rented rooms in the village near the Wisterley estate, healed, safe, and with her prize.
Sound reasoning, that.
