“May I ask why, Your Grace? You appear to be in perfect health, and your… aversion to the marriage mart has always been viewed as temporary selectivity. To forgo an heir of your body entirely is a grave decision for a man of your station. It leads to… I fear more unseemly questions about your activities…”
Ambrose felt a familiar, sharp pang in his chest, the ghost of a grief he never let speak. He thought of his brother, of the fire, and of the crushing weight of a duty he had never wanted.
“It is my decision,” Ambrose snapped, his eyes flashing. “And I do not require my solicitor to play the part of my confessor. Philip is the heir. End of story.”
Telford sighed, a long-suffering sound, and moved his papers aside as he gathered up his leather satchel. “Very well. If you are set on the boys, then we must look at the environment in which the future Duke is being raised. A bachelor’s household, however well-run, is no place for two boys of such… spirited temperaments. They need a proper mother figure. A Duchess would provide the permanence and social standing they require to navigate their future.”
“The boys already have stability,” Ambrose countered immediately.
Telford paused, his head tilting slightly. “Stability? Provided by whom? Your Grace, with all respect, you are often at the House of Lords or buried in these ledgers.”
Ambrose opened his mouth to answer, and the nameImogennearly tumbled out. He caught it just in time, the image of her, kneeling in the dirt with the boys, her face soft with a patience he didn’t possess, lashing vividly in his mind. He hesitated a fraction of a second too long, closing his eyes tight.
Telford’s eyes sharpened. He had served the Lockharts for forty years. Ambrose knew his silence spoke volumes, the truth of a man who was hiding a secret heart.
“You are thinking of the governess,” Telford said, his voice dropping an octave. “Miss Lewis, is it?”
Ambrose cleared his throat, leaning back into the shadows of his wingback chair. “She is more than capable. The boys are devoted to her. I have never seen them so settled.”
“Your Grace,” Telford said, his tone turning fatherly and stern. “I must warn you. Governesses are, by their very nature, transient. They marry, they move on to higher salaries, or they are dismissed when the children outgrow them. To allow the boys, or yourself, to form an attachment to a member of the staff is a dangerous game. It is an illusion of permanence. The boys need a woman of their own class who cannot simply pack a trunk and disappear when the whim takes her.”
The idea of Imogen Lewis packing a trunk and disappearing sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated dread through Ambrose. He got up from his chair with a huff and walked to the bar cart to pour himself a brandy.
Telford speaks the truth, damn it.
It was a possibility he had been carefully ignoring for weeks. The thought of this house without the sound of her voice in the schoolroom or the quiet strength of her presence in the corridors felt like a sentence of total isolation.
He was impossibly conflicted by his enigmatic governess and this made his blood boil.
He took a deep swig of the amber liquid.
“Miss Lewis is not here on a mere whim,” Ambrose ground out.
“Perhaps not to the boys,” Telford pushed, obviously emboldened by his duty to the duchy. “But the world will see it differently. And if your interest in her is…more than professional, you risk a scandal that would taint Philip’s path to the title before he even reaches adulthood. Staff are staff, Your Grace. Do not mistake a temporary comfort for a foundation.”
Ambrose started pacing the room abruptly, his feet heavy on the wooden floorboards. The sound echoed in the quiet room like a battle drum.
“That is enough,” Ambrose commanded. “You have given your legal counsel on the estates, Telford. Your opinions on my domestic arrangements and the hearts of my nephews are neither requested nor required.”
Telford stood and bowed deeply. “Of course, Your Grace. I meant no offense. If I crossed a line, it was not my intention?—”
“Good day, Telford.”
As the solicitor gathered his things and retreated without another word, Ambrose turned to the window. He watched the carriage pull away, but his mind was on the garden path.
He walked to the window and looked down at the street. As he gripped the windowsill until his knuckles turned white. He worked hard to protect the Welton legacy, but for the first time,the legacy felt like a cage, and the only person who held the key was a woman he was forbidden to keep.
He felt the weight of Telford’s words.
Governesses leave…
Chapter Thirteen
“Now,” Imogen said, tapping the chalk against the coast of Italy, “The Roman Senate was not merely a place for making laws. It was a place of immense oratory. Men had to use their voices and their logic to sway the course of an entire empire.”
The following Thursday, the schoolroom was filled with the scent of old parchment and the sound of the scratching of Philip’s quill.
Imogen stood by the large chalkboard, her sleeves rolled up just an inch to avoid the dust as she sketched a map of the Mediterranean.
