Gift-Wrapped Governesses: Christmas at Blackhaven Castle / Governess to Christmas Bride / Duchess by Christmas. Marguerite KayeЧитать онлайн книгу.
to be ruined by the lack of a chaperone, even given your reduced circumstances. A letter has left this morning asking for her presence here.’
Ruined? Sera looked up. There were some things the powerful Lord of Blackhaven had no notion of, after all.
‘Margaret is a stalwart for the correct and the acceptable. With her residence in the house your name shall stay safe.’
Safe? As in the same argument of shutting the gate after a rampaging stallion? At this moment all she wanted was to be in her sitting room at Moreton Manor, next to her beautiful mother, embroidery in hand. The way it used to be before everything changed. Instead, she was in the home of a duke who was as clever as he was dangerous, hiding from a miscreant who in all probability was even now prowling the streets trying to find her.
Time.
She was running out of it as fast as the Duke of Blackhaven was guessing every sordid detail. She couldn’t breathe with the worry of it all, the woman she had been once replaced by a stranger she barely recognised.
To her alarm tears welled in her eyes, pooling and rolling down her cheeks to fall upon the soiled bodice of her much-too-big gown, and she could not stop them as all the horror of the past few weeks came crashing in upon her. Here, she was safe for one whole long month, no questions asked and board and wages given.
It was a miracle.
‘Essex is a long way from London, Lady Seraphina, and the heavy snows of winter are making themselves felt. If it is security you are worrying about …?’
She shook her head as he went to stand by the window, the furthest point in the room from her. He was embarrassed by such a show of emotion, probably. He wanted a competent governess for his boys; instead he had got a watering pot of a woman who was not only a bland copy of her beautiful mother, but a pauper to boot.
She must not forget her station again, so she was careful in her reply as she gathered her lost composure. ‘I should wish for anonymity here if this is at all possible, my lord?’
‘You prefer to stay as Miss Moorland, then?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘Sense tells me that there must be a further reason for your flight?’
The clock on the mantel ticked loudly as he waited, the caution in his eyes illuminated by the windows. Because he did not press her as he was justly entitled to, she found some of the truth to give him. ‘Moreton Manor, the Banbury country seat, was lost by my father on a single game of cards, so he tried to retrieve it by offering another inducement to the man with the winning hand.’
She saw the exact moment he worked it out.
‘You.’
When she nodded he swore.
‘Lord Ralph Bonnington was not one with any sense or honour, you understand.’
‘Did he hurt you?’
‘I left before he could.’
‘So you would hide for the rest of your life because of the poor judgement of your parent and the disgraceful behaviour of a card sharp?’
Some plane of guilt shifted inside Seraphina at his interpretation of the whole conundrum. She was penniless and homeless, but her father’s demise had been of his own making and not of hers. Still, there were parts of her explanation that were missing and she had hit Bonnington hard.
‘No, my lord, but I would like a job that allowed me the time to consider my options.’ She felt stronger already, more in charge, her more-familiar hopefulness reasserting itself at his calm and measured sense.
When he smiled she felt her cheeks flush. Even with his ruined cheek he was easily the most beautiful man she had ever seen, the lines in his face angled to perfection. Thankfully, though, a movement outside the window caught her attention. Melusine approached the house along the drive, two pink ribbons tied to her tail and three small boys jostling behind her. As she came closer Seraphina saw she carried a bird in her mouth.
Every motherly instinct surfaced and she was out of the room and away, hurrying to save the tiny prisoner before Melusine tired of it.
Trey watched her, running again and almost tripping on the hem of a gown that looked as though it had been made for a woman a good six inches taller than she was and at least two stone heavier.
She was so damned alone, save for the mongrel dog with the crooked tail. That was it. And now it looked as though she was after another soul to rescue. Lord, there would be a whole menagerie of creatures at Blackhaven for Christmas, he thought, like some emptying of the Holy Ark at the very end of a bleak and frozen world. Despite meaning not to, he called to his man to bring a blanket and followed.
The shoes she wore allowed her little traction on the ice though she regained her balance as she almost lost it and pressed forwards, shouting instructions to the dog who seemed to have no mind to obey.
She shouldn’t have come outside in these satin slippers Seraphina thought, as she met the noisy incoming group, because already her feet were freezing and she was sliding on the ice.
‘Drop it,’ she said, her voice as gruff as she could make it, though her hound seemed to have no intention of obeying her. ‘Drop it,’ she said again, but Melusine simply ran the other way, the hysterical squawks of the bird egging the dog on. The boys tried to catch her, but missed as a flurry of snow from a nearby tree whitened the scene.
‘Stop.’ Blackhaven’s order.
For the first time ever the dog obeyed a command, sidling over to the voice of authority and laying the wet bird carefully at his feet.
‘Good dog.’ The duke’s hand came down to pat Melusine’s ears before he lifted the now-silent bird into his palm, his sons picking themselves up and gathering around him to look.
‘Melusine jumped into the pond, Papa. I think she was saving the bird because it was caught in the middle of the ice.’
‘There were no others there, either.’ The youngest child joined in David’s story. ‘And it was shivering and cold, like it is now.’
‘It … is … scared—’ Terence had his own interpretation of events ‘—because its mother … is dead.’
Like his own, Seraphina thought, and saw the duke reach out to bring his second son closer, his hand curling around thin shoulders.
‘We shall make certain then that she is fed when we are back inside,’ she said, ‘for all birds love mash, fruit and vegetables finely sliced. It is a known fact.’
Four sets of identical eyes fastened on to her own at this imparted knowledge.
‘Is she another girl, then?’ Gareth asked the question.
‘I am not exactly certain.’
The small bird struggled suddenly, then stood and spread its wings before flying up into the air and away. Heartfelt laughter rang around the bowers of pines and bare oak branches as they watched its flight, ungainly at first, but growing in competence with practice. Such mirth echoed the spirit of the season, amusement softened by the deep snow of December.
Like a real family, happy at Christmas. Oh, how Seraphina wished it could have been true!
Her feet came from beneath her as she took a step to watch the trajectory of flight; finding a hidden ditch, she fell into a soft snow drift. When the duke turned and smiled she rolled a ball of the whiteness before she could stop herself and sent it straight at him. The missile exploded against his legs and he stooped to make his own projectile. The boys followed. She was outnumbered and outclassed, but, as the sister of two older brothers who had perfected the art of martial attack, she was more than able to defend herself.
‘Do you surrender?’ she shouted as one of her snowballs hit Gareth in the chest.
‘No,’ he yelled back and came closer, rolling one huge missile. Both