The duke paced to the window, his back to her as he gazed out over the grounds. "You believe you've made progress, then?"
"A beginning only," Lavinia admitted. "But yes. By the end of our session, she laughed."
He turned abruptly, surprise evident in his features before he schooled them back to neutrality. "She laughed?"
"Yes." Lavinia allowed herself a small smile. "It's an encouraging sign."
He returned to his desk, studying her with that penetrating gaze that seemed to see past all her careful composure. "You have an unusual approach, Lady Lavinia."
"I prefer to call it adaptable, Your Grace. Each child requires different methods."
"And how would you adapt your methods to better understand Sophia?" he asked, his voice carrying a new edge. "Would you, for instance, question her about her past experiences? About her mother, perhaps?"
Lavinia sensed a trap closing around her, though she couldn't quite see its shape. "Understanding a child's history can be valuable for?—"
"One condition of your continued employment, Lady Lavinia," he interrupted, "you will not mention my late wife or ask questions about her. That subject is forbidden."
The vehemence in his voice startled her, as did the flash of raw pain that crossed his face before being swiftly buried. Lavinia felt a surge of curiosity—what had happened to the late duchess that made the mere mention of her so forbidden? What shadow did she cast over this household, over the solemn child with downcast eyes?
But the duke's expression made it clear that pressing further would be disastrous. Whatever wound lay beneath his stern facade was still bleeding, still painful enough to transform his carefully controlled demeanor into something fierce and wounded.
"As you wish, Your Grace," she said finally, inclining her head in formal acceptance. "I shall respect your boundaries in this matter."
He studied her for a long moment, as though searching for signs of insincerity or rebellion. Finding none, he gave a curt nod. "Good. You may return to your duties. I expect a full report at four o'clock as originally planned."
"Of course, Your Grace." Lavinia rose, curtseyed, and turned to leave, feeling his gaze follow her to the door.
As she walked back toward the schoolroom, her mind buzzed with questions. What had happened to Lady Sophia's mother? Why was her memory so carefully guarded? And what effect had this silence had on the reserved, watchful child who'd briefly laughed over falling books?
CHAPTER 5
The absolute audacity of Lady Lavinia!
Tristan stalked back and forth across his study. She had been balancing books on heads when she should be drilling Sophia on proper etiquette!
She cannot possibly understand what she's meddling with,he thought darkly.Three governesses dispatched, and yet this one presumes to question my methods after mere hours in my employ.
His fingers tightened around each other until his knuckles whitened. There had been something in her eyes when he'd forbidden any mention of his late wife—curiosity, yes, but something more. Compassion, perhaps? He needed neither curiosity nor compassion from an employee, particularly one whose own circumstances were so clearly desperate that she'd stooped to accepting a position beneath her station.
And yet... she had made Sophia laugh.
This fact niggled at him, refusing to be dismissed with the rest of his grievances. His daughter, his solemn, watchful daughter who moved through life as though afraid to disturb the air around her, had laughed during a lesson with the impertinent Lady Lavinia.
The study door opened without a preliminary knock, interrupting his brooding. Only one person in England would dare enter his sanctuary unannounced.
"Brooding by the window again, Tristan? One might think you were auditioning for a Gothic novel." Henry Kingswell, Duke of Sappherton, strolled in with his characteristic quiet confidence, as comfortable in Tristan's study as in his own. Though younger than Tristan by several years, Henry carried himself with the assurance of a man who knew his place in the world and felt no need to prove it to anyone.
Tristan turned, his expression severe but softening marginally at the sight of his friend. "Henry. I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."
"Business in the area concluded early, fortunately." Henry moved to the sideboard where crystal decanters gleamed in the afternoon light. "I saw a woman departing as I arrived. Youngish, pretty in that quiet way some women manage, walking with the posture of a queen despite a dress that's seen better days." He glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised in inquiry. "Did you find Sophia a new governess?"
"Not a governess," Tristan corrected. "An etiquette tutor."
"Ah." Henry abandoned the decanter, turning to face Tristan with undisguised interest. "So you've finally found someone who meets your impossibly high standards?"
Tristan's posture stiffened as he moved to the sideboard, gently nudging his friend aside to pour two generous measures of brandy himself. "Lady Lavinia Pembroke was recommended by the Duchess of Neads. I'm merely giving her a trial period."
"Lady Lavinia Pembroke?" Henry accepted the offered glass, his eyes widening slightly. "The Earl of Fairwick's daughter? I thought she'd withdrawn from society after her father's death." He took a thoughtful sip. "Pembroke... wasn't there some scandal about debts?"
