Page 2 of It's a British Christmas

After a moment, he settled back in his chair, his fingers clutching a quill pen he tapped on the desk. “I trust you had a pleasant journey?”

With all the liquid in her mouth dried up, she merely nodded.

“I understand from my solicitors you’ve had sole charge of the girls since their parents passed away a month ago?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Good. She was finally able to pry her mouth open.

“And you find it so difficult to control your charges that they do not sit as proper ladies?”

Heat rose to Merry’s face and anger washed through her. The arrogant arse! “They’re confused and a bit distressed. And, might I point out that there are only two chairs and we are three people.” She bent and whispered furiously to the girls. “Please move to the other chair. You can sit together. His Grace is not happy with you on my lap.”

“No.” Two voices piped up, murmuring to their knees.

She smiled slightly at the duke and shrugged. If possible his eyebrows rose further, disappearing underneath the wave that rested against his forehead.

“It appears to me, Miss Chambers, that Lady Charlotte and Lady Clare have arrived into my keeping just in time.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “I arranged for a governess to train them in proper behavior. She will instruct the girls in the skills necessary for a lady of their station.” He waved his hand. “Sewing, French, watercolors, manners, rules of Society, and so forth.”

Merry stared at him, her jaw slack. Well over six feet, David, Duke of Penrose, was a sight to behold. Every inch the lord of the manor, his coat fit him as if it had been painted on. His white-on-white waistcoat hugged his impressive body above well-fitting tan breeches tucked into shiny black Hessian boots. A snow white, intricately tied cravat stood in stark contrast to his lightly tanned skin.

His Grace slowly rounded the desk like a lion stalking its prey and rested one hip on the edge, peering down at her, his foot swinging back and forth. “I shall allow a bit of transition time for the young ladies. You may stay on for a week or two. Then I will see you receive a generous stipend to tide you over until you can secure another position.”

Two young faces looked up and shook their heads in disagreement. “No!”

Penrose studied the two tiny anxious girls in front of him. So these were the children that might have been his, had Eleanor chosen him instead of Bedford years ago. He stopped his thoughts from wandering in that direction. He’d gotten over the defection of the lovely Lady Eleanor, but found it ironic that it was he who would raise her daughters, see them presented to Society, and married. Life takes interesting twists and turns.

Miss Chambers presented a whole other issue. Although pretty in a common sort of way, with her huge blue eyes and less than tidy golden blonde hair, her inability to handle the most minor directives to his wards did not bode well. In fact, it appeared he was about to face a mutiny before he’d even had the chance to speak to the young minxes.

“So you do possess faces. And voices.”

“Girls, curtsy to His Grace.”

Studying him with suspicion, they did a quick bob, then took the chair next to Miss Chambers. The older girl studied her lap, and the younger one began to chew on her fingernail.

Penrose’s gaze shifted to Miss Chambers, who had the grace to blush.

“They’re not usually this shy, Your Grace, but it has been a difficult month for them.”

“Take your finger from your mouth.” The order, coming out a bit stronger than he’d intended, had two sets of young eyes peering at him in terror.

“Young ladies do not chew on their fingers or speak to their shoes.” He shifted his gaze to Lady Charlotte. “And girls who will one day be presented to the queen do not mumble or refuse to look in the face of the person addressing them.”

Both girls returned to staring at the floor.

Penrose sighed. “Miss Chambers.”

The woman raised her chin, eyes flashing, and regarded him. “Yes, Your Grace.”

He chose to ignore the sarcasm in her voice. “I would be remiss in my duties as guardian to allow you to continue to supervise their activities. It is clear to me you have no control over them. They do not possess even a hint of good manners, and certainly not the demeanor required of their station.” He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to speak.

“As I mentioned before, you will be permitted to remain here at Penrose Hall for a week or two until the girls are settled in. I will be more than generous, so you will be able to take time in securing a new position.” He slid off the desk, and moved to return to his chair.

“Wait just a minute, Your Grace.”

Penrose came to an abrupt stop. No one in his life had ever addressed him with such derision. And to think it came from a governess. Horror gripped him as he swung around. “You are an American!”

Miss Chambers stood. “Yes. I am an American. And you, Your Grace, are an arrogant Englishman.”

Blood rushed to his face, his heart thumping at the insolence. Then, without thought, he threw his head back and roared with laughter. This sprite of a woman−this American–had just insulted him as no other in his entire life. Used to bowing and scraping from his peers, and flirting and admiration from women, he felt as though someone had opened a window and let in fresh air. However, as amused as he was at her behavior, she would still have to go. His charges needed a good, English governess to bring them to right.