Page 95 of The Dueling Duchess

Guy stopped and turned, a querying expression on his face. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” she muttered, hurrying toward him.

Cecile delivered a silent scold to herself as they marched onward.

So what if he could lift her easily? He would have done the same thing for Cook or one of her maids or, indeed, the contumacious laundry woman, Mrs. Bascom.

He was a gentleman, bred to the bone to be honorable and thoughtful. It was as much a part of him as his melting brown eyes or perfect bone structure.

Until meeting Guy, Cecile had believed chivalry was a myth. But chivalry was a coin with two very different sides. After all, Guy’s chivalry toward his mother and sisters had meant rejection for Cecile, hadn’t it? Doing the right thing could often have uncomfortable results, as she well knew.

Guy stopped in front of a large two-story gray stone building. “This is it.”

Cecile studied the building, which looked fairly new—perhaps built in the last fifty years. The windows were without drapes, and she could see the orderly desks in the ground floor rooms.

“It is nondenominational,” he said. “Although the gentleman who founded it is a Quaker. The school operates six days a week and costs eight pence a month. I wanted us to walk, rather than take a hackney so you could see it is an easy distance, even in inclement weather.” He turned to her, his warm brown eyes strangely cool. “If you like, we may take a tour of the facility, although I have already done so.”

“And you approve of it?”

He hesitated and then nodded.

“What were you going to say?”

“If my situation were different, I would engage a governess, as we did for my sisters. But this is certainly better than nothing.”

“How much is a governess?”

He turned to face her fully. “It’s not only the wage; you must also house them.”

“I know that. How much?”

He pushed his hat aside and scratched behind his ear, his expression thoughtful. “I’m afraid I never paid the bills myself—I had a secretary. But I should think somewhere between forty to seventy-five pounds per annum, depending on the woman’s education and breeding.”

Cecilia chewed on that sum as she stared at the building across the street. She could afford it—even the high end of the pay—and she could always empty out one of the three remaining storage rooms to house the woman.

But such a step was . . . well, it smacked of permanence. But wasn’t that already the case? Cat had only been with her two weeks and already it was hard to remember what life had been like before her.

“What do you think?” she asked him.

“It might be better for her to be with other children,” Guy said. “And she’d—”

“What are we doing, Guy?”

He blinked and for a long moment Cecile thought he might not know what she meant.

He sighed. “She is already settling in, Cecile. It would be cruel to turn her out at this point.”

“I would never do that!”

“No, I didn’t think you would. I wanted to tell you that I would write to my mother about her if you decided that you can’t keep her here.” He gave a wry smile. “Although I can just imagine what she would think.”

“That Cat is your lovechild?”

“That is what everyone will think, Cecile—about one or both of us.”

“Disregarding the fact that she looks nothing like me, there is also the fact that I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

Guy smiled, and it was his usual smile, not the ghost of a smile he’d been wearing all morning.