Page 9 of The Governess and the Brooding Duke
She was silent, for her part, as they moved down the endless marble corridor. He had not been in many of these rooms in years. When he came to visit the children, he went straight to the nursery. Never to their bedrooms.
And never to any of the other rooms here.
Jane could have been hiding any number of lovers in these rooms, how would he have ever known?
He gritted his teeth.
It was, he thought, a strange thing, that a man in his position should have dominion over so much. Should be in charge of a massive estate, the safety and wellness of everyone who resided under his care, a seat in Parliament, and yet could be entirely ignorant of what was occurring in his own home. In fact, it almost necessitated he be ignorant of what was going on in his home.
He had accepted that fact. For all of these years. Because he believed in keeping things contained.
A fire, after all, was only dangerous when it left the confines of the fireplace. His father had been a wildfire.
Burning everything he touched.
Destroying it all.
He had vowed his own passions would never burn the innocent.
‘This is where the children spend most of their time?’
Miss Smith spoke for the first time since leaving his study. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The nursery contains the toys, and classroom. Their bedrooms are in the adjacent rooms. I like for them to go outside, at least once every day. It is preferable that they take lunch outdoors, weather permitting. Even if the weather is unpleasant, I feel that they should dress for it and go outside. It does no good to become soft, even if money and title would permit.’
He believed in trying to make a hardy constitution for his children.
If Miss Smith had an issue with this edict, she said nothing. Which likely meant she didn’t, as she had certainly not been hesitant to speak out when they had been in his study.
In normal circumstances he would’ve dismissed her. But these were not normal circumstances. He was desperate for a governess, and she was benefiting from his desperation. He did not like to admit weakness or vulnerability of any kind, but Mrs Brown was refusing to watch the children, as they more often than not resembled demons these days.
As if on cue, a large thump came from the room at the end of the hall.
‘And what was that?’
He stopped and turned to her. And he felt his lips move. Felt his mouth curve up into a smile, even though he did not feel any mirth inside of his chest. ‘The children.’
Then he strode forward, gripped the golden handles on the doors and opened them wide. Inside was a melee. Mrs Brown was standing in the corner observing the chaos as if it was a personal affront, not just to her but to all of society.
Elizabeth was standing next to a very lovely miniature version of the dining table that they had downstairs, which had been overturned onto its side.
A chair, robin’s egg blue, with gold details, behind her was turned over onto its back.
Michael was next to...
Well, the remnants of a stuffed bear. Ironic, considering that he had only just thought of the children as fraying toys.
Michael was howling.
There was always something inside of his chest that rattled when his son did that. Or his daughter.
He had never made a noise above a whisper when his father was present. He had not wanted to do anything to attract his wrath.
He wanted to stop them when they did things like this, and he wanted to protect them. It was the strangest sensation, fighting inside of him like two dogs fighting over a piece of meat.
Anger and fear. Two sides of a very similar coin.
‘You will be silent,’ he said.
The children obeyed him, immediately. They looked up at him, and he could not discern the expression on their faces.
