Page 9 of It's a British Christmas

The Duchess of Penrose greeted Merry as she started up the massive staircase with the girls. “Miss Chambers. When the young ladies are settled, may I have a word with you, please?”

Merry curtsied. “Of course, Your Grace.”

“Excellent. I will be in the morning room. You may ask any of the staff to direct you.”

What was that all about?

If she hadn’t witnessed the woman’s pleased expression and mirth-filled eyes, she would expect another dressing down. Whatever Her Grace had to say, it didn’t appear to be of an unpleasant nature.

She and the girls chatted as they ascended the stairs and headed down the corridor. A patterned Brussels carpet underfoot silenced their journey. They passed through the main part of the house, and climbed another flight of stairs to where the nursery rooms were located. The girls grew quiet as they approached the end of the corridor.

Once more she had to almost drag them into the room to meet the new governess. Merry’s heart bled for her charges. Prior to the carriage accident that had taken their parents so abruptly, they’d both been happy, lively young girls. After the tragedy, Merry comforted them, sang them to sleep, and held them when they sobbed. They had just reached a point where their normal exuberance for life had returned when the summons from the duke arrived, and the girls were yet again thrown into chaos.

Now they would be forced to accept a new governess, who from the look of her, had all the softness and warmth of an iceberg. Miss Jennings stood erect, hands cupped together in front of her body as if she stood on a stage about to sing an aria. Her lips were pursed in disapproval, and her hair so tight it pulled her eyes back, giving her an oriental appearance.

The governess eyed the two girls, but her stare displayed a strong censure for Merry. Her dislike was palpable. Goodness, what had the duke told her that caused the woman to dislike her so upon sight?

“Miss Jennings?” Merry smiled, attempting to make this easier for her charges. Her stomach muscles clenched. Wrong. No longer her charges.

Miss Jennings inclined her head.

Merry decided not to extend her hand since the woman would probably view it as a breach of manners. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Indeed.”

The governess’s gaze scanned Merry from the top of her head to her shoes, tightening her lips all the while.

Merry felt her face flush. Who was this woman to judge her? Drawing herself up, Merry said, “May I introduce you to Lady Charlotte and Lady Clare.”

Both girls peered at Miss Jennings from Merry’s skirts.

“They are a bit overwrought at the moment. All the changes.”

Under Miss Jennings’ relentless gaze, Merry’s anger grew. “Perhaps if you read them a story to start, it would ease them a bit.”

Much to Merry’s amazement, Miss Jennings walked up to the girls and bent. “Would you like to hear a story? I see His Grace has plenty of books to choose from.”

“May Miss Merry read it to us?” Charlotte mumbled.

Miss Jennings smiled tightly. “Of course. Why don’t you both pick a book from the shelf, and Miss Merry and I will join you at the table.”

The girls released their grip and hurried to the bookcase. Miss Jennings turned to her. “Perhaps it would be of assistance if you read them a story. It’s important for them to adjust to my direction since His Grace wishes to make the transition quickly and smoothly.”

Merry nodded, the pain at losing her girls tugging at her. If she had not argued with the duke, perhaps he would have allowed her to remain their governess. But then she remembered he mentioned having engaged a new governess before she’d had a chance to even meet him. She sighed and wandered to the table, then pulled out one of the child-sized chairs and sat.

Two stories turned into four, but eventually the girls seemed to relax enough to allow Merry to leave them in Miss Jennings’s care. Merry assured them she would be in the house, and would join them for luncheon.

The young maid she summoned escorted her to the morning room. The duchess sat behind an escritoire, a stack of pressed paper at her elbow. The soft ticking of a delicate white and blue china clock on the corner of the desk was the only sound in the room.

As Merry entered, the duchess put her quill pen down and smiled. “Thank you so much for joining me, Miss Chambers.”

Merry curtsied. Her Grace caused her to feel welcome, so unlike the duke, who made no secret he could hardly await her departure.

“Please, have a seat.” The woman indicated a chair near the fireplace, where a low table held a teapot, flowered cups and saucers, and a plate of biscuits. Rising gracefully, she left her desk and joined Merry. The bright sunlight reflected off the rings on the woman’s fingers as she poured tea. “Milk and sugar?”

“Yes, please.” Merry studied her, wondering the reason for this meeting. The duchess was as cordial as she was graceful. Her startling blue eyes looked out from a face that had seen a few years, but still remained youthful in its expression. Her dark brown hair, sprinkled with gray, gave her countenance a mature loveliness.

The duchess sipped her tea, and closed her eyes, relishing the bracing liquid. “No doubt you wonder why I asked to see you.”