Trapped with the Duke by Annabelle Anders

Honor

Addison clenched his fists at his sides as Miss Shipley promised for the umpteenth time that she’d have the entire school inspected beginning that very afternoon.

“I am terribly sorry, Your Grace. It won’t happen again. You have my word.” The pleasant-looking blonde woman seemed to be regaining her composure. “Are you quite sure you won’t stay for the evening. We’d be honored if you would remain as our special guest for dinner?”

The headmistress’s assistant was something of an anomaly in this school. As the daughter of a viscount, she ought to be married and reigning over her own home and children rather than dozens of other people’s daughters.

“I am certain.” He would return to the privacy of his chamber at the inn. “I’ll wish my sister goodbye in the morning.”

“But of course, Your Grace.” Her smile was proper and her countenance precisely as it ought to be.

She could not be more different than Miss Jones, who, after making a hasty escape, weighed heavily on his conscience.

Stepping outside the school’s front door and surmising he had an hour of remaining sunlight, Addison chose to walk the mile or so into the nearby village of Warstone Crossing, sending his carriage ahead. On those occasions when he experienced one of his episodes, fresh air was the most effective at resolving any residual feelings of being trapped.

Hell and damnation, he’d kissed her.

The only explanation he could make for himself was that he’d been out of his mind, and there had been something about her that had kept him grounded.

A shudder of shame ran through him as he recalled the utter lack of control and lack of dignity he’d exhibited. His father would be turning in his grave.

A deep breath and he catalogued the early autumn scents of the meadows around him. One would wonder at any sane person who enjoyed the faint scent of manure woven together with fresh green cuttings and the decay of early falling leaves.

It wasn’t as alluring as Miss Jones’ sweet vanilla scent, but neither was it as troublesome.

He would speak with her in the morning before bidding Fiona goodbye. No doubt, the teacher was certain that fleeing had eliminated the need for him to remedy what had happened.

It had not.

Because even though they had gone undiscovered, pretending it had not happened did not preclude the fact that he, a bachelor, had been alone with an unmarried lady of some gentility for over an hour. Or that he’d kissed her.

By the time he’d arrived at the small inn, he’d examined the situation from several different angles and, most unfortunately, arrived at the same conclusion every time.

He most assuredly had not seen the last of Miss Jones.

* * *

“I could not help noticing,Miss Jones, that you were not on hand when tea service commenced. Your absence left the other teachers shorthanded. Would you care to explain?” Miss Primm stared at Collette over her spectacles with pinched lips.

Collette inhaled. When she’d not been called into the headmistress’s office the evening before, she’d lain in bed conjuring a response in the event she was summoned come morning.

And so, ready with her explanation, she took a deep breath and did her best to appear uncomfortable and apologetic. “I… I… Something I ate did not set well with me. Unfortunately, I was quite indisposed for some time. I am very sorry, Miss Primm. I felt horrible to not uphold my duties—especially on such an important day. But there was nothing I could do…” She intentionally allowed her voice to trail off before peeking up at the stern headmistress.

Augusta Primm’s steely gray eyes bore into Collette as the woman considered her explanation. Fighting the urge to squirm under such intense regard, Collette forced herself not to look away. Doing that would be a sure way to indicate she was dissembling.

“I simply wondered because, as I’m sure you know by now, Lady Fiona’s brother, the Duke of Bedwell, was locked in the back stairwell. It was most unfortunate, and we are lucky he has not terminated his sister’s enrollment.” Miss Primm tilted her head questioningly. “You did not overhear him calling for assistance?”

Do not waver.

“I did not. Even if I had, indisposed as I was, I could have done nothing to assist him.” She winced. It really was an atrocious confession to make, even when one was lying about it.

Miss Primm nodded slowly and then directed her attention to some paperwork. “Well. I don’t suppose there was anything you could have done about… that. In the future, needless to say, I advise that you avoid whatever it was that made you ill to begin with. If you’d had an actual class to teach, I would have had to make arrangements for a substitute or teach it myself. I quite understand that one can have no control over when one becomes ill, but it is most helpful if my employees have strong constitutions. The classes at this school”—she pinned her gaze on Collette again—“are only canceled under the most dire of circumstances.”

Collette nodded and glanced at the clock sitting on the mantel behind her employer. Her first class, introduction to Latin, began in precisely seven minutes.

“You are excused.” Collette went to rise as Miss Primm waved her away, “And Miss Jones?”

“Yes?” Collette halted, half-sitting, half-standing as she hovered over the wooden seat.

“Good luck.”

One hour and seven minutes later, as her beginning Latin students flocked to the exit of her precious classroom, Collette realized why Miss Primm had wished her luck. Ten- and eleven-year-old girls did not have quite the same appreciation Collette had for Latin. In fact, most had seemed entirely unconvinced by her impassioned insistence that when one began comprehending Latin, one would begin to see the world differently.

“And that is a gift. Words have stories inside them,” she’d implored. “They travel from place to place. When a person comprehends Latin, they hold a secret key that provides them with a better understanding of science, math, history…”

This was the point where Charity Metcalf had suggested that if only the duke had known Latin, he might not have been trapped in the stairwell the day before. And the other students had dissolved into giggles.

Collette felt no small amount of relief in that her next period was set aside for planning. She needed the time to regroup.

Planting her elbows on her desk, she hid her face in her hands.

“It will get better.” Chloe Fortune, instructor of all things philosophical as well as dance, was peeking around the door frame. “I was ready to turn tail and run after my first class as well.”

The woman’s hazel eyes sparkled in encouragement and her brown hair, although pulled back into a tight chignon, still managed to frame her face with delightful curls. Having spent a good deal of time with Chloe, as the other woman insisted Collette call her in private, she’d learned that Miss Fortune was not only a teacher but had attended and then graduated from Miss Primm’s nearly a decade ago.

“Promise?” Collette smiled weakly.

“Would I lie to you?” Chloe’s eyes widened innocently as she grinned. “Honestly, don’t fret too much. I’d better get back to my classroom. I have two of the Metcalf sisters next hour. If anyone deserves commiserating, it’s me.”

“And you have it.” Collette shooed her away. “Don’t be late on my account.”

She’d had a few brief conversations with some of the other teachers and although she hadn’t gotten as well acquainted with them as she had Chloe, she hoped to forge friendships with them as well. Miss Shipley had told Collette, upon her arrival, that they were like a family here. Collette hoped she had not been exaggerating because although Diana was younger than her by two years, Collette already missed her sister’s ever-present companionship.

She missed having someone who knew her moods and cared about her thoughts and feelings and provided the ease of companionship one could only find with family.

Unexpected tears had her wiping at her eyes.

If Diana had been here, Collette could have told her about the kiss. She could have admitted to her that she was quite certain that even when she was old and gray, she would look back on those moments she’d spent in a duke’s arms as perhaps one of the great highlights of her life.

She felt her cheeks flush just from thinking about it now.

Collette slipped her tin of comfits out from one of the large pockets sewn into her gown and popped a mint in her mouth. The flavor reminded her of him.

She had tasted him!

The Duke of Bedwell had tasted spicy and warm and earthy all at the same time.

Knocking sounds had her hastily tucking the tin away, thinking Chloe might have returned to impart additional words of wisdom. But it was not her friend returning.

Almost as though she’d summoned him with her memory, he was here.