Page 24 of The Governess and the Brooding Duke
‘I believe, Your Grace, that a lecture is only a lecture by the interpretation of the one who hears it. I do not seek to lecture you. Merely to explain my position. And as you have rejected my thoughts on what might help them feel that sense of stability, I must do the job myself.’
‘That is what you were hired for.’
She looked past his head, at the shelves behind him, the dark wood absorbing all the light around them. The study was meticulously cleaned, but full, with centuries of history all right there. His family.
He was Attingham. He was Westmere.
He had told her this. She’d felt it last night. But now it pressed down upon her, made her feel small. Inconsequential. As if he had roots that went deep into the earth while she could fall at the slightest wind.
He was entrenched in his position. And she had fashioned hers from the air.
It was so very different.
And it was little wonder she did not know how to speak to him.
He was a man who had never had to concern himself with these things, because his wife had not only managed the governess, she’d managed the children. And now it was up to him. And yet none of his other responsibilities had abated. And she had to wonder just how much his own grief was closing him off as well. How much of this was the same as his son sitting in the middle of the floor and holding tightly to his feet, as if to try and contain every feeling inside of his body.
It gave her a measure of sympathy for him that she had not felt before.
He was a man surrounded by constancy. He must not know his life now. How had the world dared to go against him in this way? She wondered if it ever had previously.
She, in contrast, had never had stability of any kind. Whatever she had now, she’d created for herself, with this persona that she had made. She knew how to weather change. She knew that not all change was bad. And she knew that even when things were bad you could come out of it stronger.
He was a duke, yes, a man in charge of much, but she wondered if he knew these things.
For he was the estate, and the very history all around him and the busts that lined the halls were his kin. Unchanging. Set in stone.
‘I think I might understand where we are conflicting with each other,’ she said.
His eyes met hers. ‘Do you?’
‘Yes. Your Grace, your life has been a constant. I am now truly appreciating the depth of the history of your family. The traditions that are passed on, and how fixed it all must feel. When you were a child, did you have your mother?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Though I fail to see...’
‘And so you never saw anyone navigate such a situation. You do not know what the loss of the mother, wife, looks like. I wonder if you even know what change looks like. I do. I have changed countries. And I understand what it means to start a life that feels entirely new. You are in need of a new perspective. Yes, before, you had to keep your focus solely on the estate. Because your children had a mother. And yes, before, your contribution was sufficient, but now I feel you must change your approach. Your life has changed, and therefore you must.’
And she could see then that she had miscalculated. She had thought to appeal to his heart, but what she saw burning in the depths of the blue in his eyes was frightening. Foreign and terrifying. And quite unlike anything she had ever experienced before. And it did something to her that was also outside of the realm of her knowledge. Her stomach tightened, and something low inside of her began to quiver.
She trembled.
But she was not cold.
He stood from his position behind the desk, as she had enticed him to do every night now. His presence filled the room, his great height nearly overwhelming.
He was physically imposing.
Terrifying and starkly beautiful all at once. And she was immobilised by it. By the perfection in the lines of his face, the grace with which he moved.
And the rage that radiated from him.
‘I am the Duke of Westmere. What I am, what I am responsible for, does not shift with time. It is not built on sand. It is not something that will change with the wind. It is a rock. And though a piece has fallen away, I stand firm. You do not tell me what needs to be done in my own household. Have I not paid you sufficiently to manage these things for me? Do you not report to me that you have set my children to rights?’
‘I got them to do what I needed them to today, but that does not mean...’
‘Enough.’
He drew closer to her, so close that she could smell the scent of him. His skin, and something smoky. Tobacco, perhaps. He was clean, soap mingling with another scent, something masculine and raw.
