Page 13 of An Offer by the Wicked Duke
Hudson nodded, apparently satisfied with her response. “Cassie rises at seven. Breakfast is at eight, followed by morning lessons from nine until noon. Languages, mathematics, history, and geography primarily, though she has tutors for music and dancing twice weekly.”
His tone was matter-of-fact, as though he was reciting from a ledger.
“Afternoon is for exercise: walking, riding when the weather permits, occasional visits to the museum or botanical gardens. An hour of music or drawing before dinner, which she takes with me at six. After dinner, she is permitted to read or pursue quiet activities until eight, when she prepares for bed.”
It was a more structured day than Augusta had anticipated—not the relaxed schedule of a country house but the regimented routine of a young lady being prepared for society.
She nodded, mentally adjusting her expectations.
“Your salary will be sixty pounds per quarter,” he continued, watching her face. “Paid on the first of January, April, July, and October.”
Augusta’s eyebrows lifted before she could stop them. Sixty pounds per quarter was more than generous, nearly double what she would have expected for a governess’s position. It was enough to live on comfortably, enough to save, enough to?—
She stopped the thought before it could form completely.
She would not be here long enough to need savings. Once she located Olivia, once she was certain her sister was safe, she would?—
“I trust that’s acceptable?” Hudson asked, his tone making it clear that the amount was not open to negotiation.
“More than acceptable,” Augusta said, meeting his gaze. “Thank you.”
His expression softened almost imperceptibly. “I think you and Cassie will get along well,” he said. “She needs someone who understands that rules exist for a reason.”
It was the closest thing to approval she had heard from him yet.
Augusta felt an unexpected warmth at the words. “We will.” She nodded. “I already admire her spirit.”
Their eyes met, and for a minute she couldn’t breathe. Her heart was racing furiously, and blood rushed to her cheeks. It felt as though a knot tightened in her stomach.
Before either of them could say anything further, a brisk knock sounded at the door. After Hudson’s permission, it opened to reveal Mrs. Beale, her posture as correct as ever.
“Miss Norton’s room is ready, Your Grace,” she announced. “I’ve had a fire lit and water sent up for washing.”
Hudson straightened, his demeanor shifting subtly, the intensity of the moment giving way to practical matters. “Thank you, Mrs. Beale,” he said. “Miss Norton… I believe you are tired.”
It was a dismissal, clear and final.
Augusta rose, smoothing her skirts with hands that were not quite steady. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
He nodded, already moving back to his desk. “Good night, Miss Norton.”
Augusta followed Mrs. Beale up the main staircase. The carpet beneath their feet was thick enough to muffle all sound, the banister polished to a gleam that caught the light from the wall sconces.
Mrs. Beale stopped before a door of dark, polished wood and opened it with a flourish that seemed at odds with her restrained demeanor. “Your room, Miss Norton.”
Augusta stepped inside, momentarily speechless. The bedroom was larger than the entire cottage she had shared with Reverend and Mrs. Leighton, and so beautifully appointed that it might have been lifted from the pages of a fairytale.
“I’ve had a supper tray sent up,” Mrs. Beale said. “It should arrive shortly. Cook’s made a nice lamb stew, with bread still warm from the oven. And there’s an apple tart for after, if you’ve room.” She paused, her expression making it clear that this bounty was not her idea. “Breakfast is served at eight in the family dining room. His Grace values punctuality.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Beale,” Augusta murmured. “This is all very kind.”
Mrs. Beale gave her a short, appraising look—not unkind, but thorough, as though trying to determine exactly what sort of woman had arrived on her master’s doorstep with no warning and no luggage. Whatever she saw seemed to satisfy her because she nodded once, decisively.
“Good night, then, Miss Norton,” she said. “Ring if you need anything. The bell-pull is by the bed.”
With that, she was gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click that seemed to seal Augusta into her new reality.
She stood alone in the center of the room for a moment.
