Before Yvette could stop herself or talk herself out of it, she was out of her bed and limping across the room. Then she was doing the same down the hallway, down the stairs, across the foyer, and toward the drawing room.
The sound of arguing grew with each step taken, and she now had no doubt who it was that had come to see the Duke. This was confirmed a second later when she approached the drawing room to find the doorway open.
Yvette slowed her pace, unable to comprehend what she was both seeing and hearing.
“… I do not see why you are so upset.” It was Yvette’s father, of all people. He stood in the middle of the room, and she noticed immediately the way his body swayed as if he struggled to stand.
“I am sure you do not.” The Duke paced the room angrily. “But I would not expect someone in your physical state to understand much of anything.”
“That is not…” Her father burped. “I am not here to talk about me.”
“Of course you are!”
“No…” Her father slurred with each word spoken, and his cheeks were blotched red. “I am here to speak of the boy. Which is what you wanted. Remember, Your Grace, you came to me. You were the one who sought my help.”
“That is less than half the truth.”
“It is most of it.” Her father burped again and then hammered his chest with his curled fist. “I might have come to you, yes. But you were the one who used me.”
“As you used me,” the Duke snarled. “We had a deal.”
“A deal that I still intend to honor.” Her father stumbled back and had to hold his hands out to keep his balance. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “I want to honor it, Your Grace. I yearn to.”
The Duke scoffed and started pacing again. “For a price.”
“Do not make it sound as if I am doing this for me,” her father complained as he stumbled forward and regained his footing. “Everything I have goes to my parish. That is what the money is for. All I ask is for a little more. Not for me. Never for me.”
The Duke turned on him and curled his lip in disgust. “And what happened to the money I already gave you? No, do not waste your breath with lies.” The Duke sniffed the air. “I can smell well enough where the money has gone.”
“That is not true!” her father cried, only to burp again. “I… only a fraction of what you paid me… less than that. For my health!”
“You drank it away,” the Duke snarled at her father. “And now you come here begging for more.”
“Can you blame me?” Her father stumbled back, this time catching himself on the couch by the wall. There, he struggled to push himself up, his legs shaking with the effort. “I never wanted this. When I first sought you… I did not think you would do this to me.”
“To you?”
“My daughter,” her father pleaded. “Without her, I have struggled like you cannot know. As I told you that I would!” He scowled at the Duke, only to turn it into a bereaved pout. “But you would not listen. You were insistent.”
“I paid you for her services.”
“And now I require more.” Her father folded his arms, but the way he swayed and the redness of his face made the action appear far less assertive than he likely intended. “Half what you paid me last time. For that, I will continue to keep your secret, and you can keep my daughter for as long as you require.”
Yvette was paused a few feet from the doorway, not willing to enter, and not wanting to be seen. Her heart raced, and her mind whirred as she tried to take in what was being said – as she tried to understand it!
The Duke paid my father so that I would be his governess? Why would he do this? And what secret are they referring to? What is going on?
She looked between her drunken father and the furious Duke, and a sense of foreboding steadily grew in her stomach because she knew that whatever it was, she would rue it.
The Duke groaned and rubbed his eyes; his anger faded, left instead with clear annoyance. “I am tired, Vicar. So very tired. Do you remember when I came to see you yesterday? Or were you so drunk that you have forgotten?”
“Of course I remember.”
“Did you stop to consider why I came to see you? No…” He snorted. “Likely, it just reminded you of what you think I owe you.” He looked flatly at her father. “I am going to tell her.”
Her father balked. “You are?”
“I am,” the Duke said. “I am sick to death of the lies. They eat away at me, wearing me thin. I…” He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “She deserves to know the truth. As does Hugh. As does everyone.”
