The Art of Stealing a Duke’s Heart by Ellie St. Clair

Chapter 10

Calli did her utmost to carefully ignore the duke.

She could feel his gaze upon her as she re-entered the carriage, her heart still pounding from the game of chase — a game that had ended very differently than she ever could have expected.

He had nearly kissed her. There, in a field in the middle of nowhere, and in front of his niece and nephew, no less.

Calli brought a hand to her lips, wondering what it would have felt like had they not been interrupted. Would he have kissed as intensely and as purposefully as he seemed to do everything else? Would he have been cold and refined, or rough and demanding?

It was hard to know who he was deep within, as opposed to the façade that he presented to the world.

He had been correct that Wyndmere, his estate in Kent, was not particularly far from their luncheon location, and it was impossibly too soon that he was holding out a hand to help her down from the carriage. She had to will every ounce of courage she possessed to look him in the eye as he did so.

Much to the children’s chagrin but to her delight, once they were inside he soon took himself deep within — likely to his study, Calli supposed — and they were left alone with the housekeeper, who greeted them enthusiastically.

“Hello! You must be the governess. And you, Mary and Matthew, have grown considerably since I last saw you.”

The children looked up wide-eyed at the plump, spirited housekeeper who beamed down at them as they tried to make out what she was saying through her thick Scottish accent.

“Thank you?” Mary said, scratching her head.

“Come now, let’s take you up to your rooms and then you can be off exploring.”

They followed her up the huge front stairway, which had even Calli looking around in wonder. The curving bannister with its mahogany handrail was polished near shining, and everywhere she looked it seemed there were portraits and landscapes staring down at her. Were these the work of masters or had they been commissioned for the family — perhaps both? She wished she was better educated, but from what she could tell they were all done with a hand that certainly possessed great talent.

She sighed, wishing she could remain and study the work at length, but when she looked up, it was to find that the children were already at the first landing. She hurried up after them, the paintings reminding her of her own and the importance of keeping it from any prying eyes. She had been so rattled from her encounter with Jonathan that she had forgotten to fetch her things herself, and was now looking around desperately for her bags.

“Mrs.…”

“McDonald.”

“Mrs. McDonald, do you know where our bags might be?”

“I imagine one of the footmen will be delivering them to your rooms around the time we get there,” she said, looking back at her. “Is there anything you need? I’m sure we can come up with something.”

“It’s fine,” Calli said, knowing that there would be no reason for any footman to go through her things. She took a breath at the children’s quizzical expressions and followed them up, eager to continue on the tour.

The nursery was most certainly designed for young children, and when she pushed open the door, it creaked from disuse.

“Apologies,” Mrs. McDonald said with a shrug. “There hasn’t been much need for the room in many years. But we’ve cleared away the cribs and rockers, and moved in a couple of beds for the children. Miss…”

“Donahue.”

She truly hated to use the name of another woman as her own, but it wasn’t as though Calli had much choice.

“Your room is just across the hall. There’s an adjoining sitting room as well.”

“Thank you, Mrs. McDonald.”

“Of course. Anything you need, just ask. Now, as much as I would love to stay with ye for the rest of the day, I best be going.”

Calli smiled warmly at the woman who had been more welcoming than the rest of the staff thus far.

With relief, she saw a footman approach, carrying their bags, and she had to stop herself from running down the hall to take hers from him.

“Well,” she said to the children with a smile, “what do you say we do a little exploring?”

They eagerly agreed, and they spent the rest of the day looking down corridors and finding hidden rooms, the children taking great delight in playing underneath sheets that had been draped over furniture in parlors and in bedrooms that hadn’t seen guests in obviously quite some time. Calli, who had always been used to a house — a smaller house of course, but a house still — that was practically bursting with people, found it rather sad. Lonely. How long had the duke been by himself? Where was his mother? Did he have any other siblings besides Mary and Matthew’s mother? Cousins? Or had he always been alone?

It would explain a lot if he didn’t, Calli mused, as she followed the children down the hall, catching up to them when they stopped by what was apparently a locked door.

“It won’t move!” Matthew grunted as he tried to open it. Calli attempted herself, wondering if it was just stuck, but it was most definitely locked.

“Hmm,” she said. “I’m not sure what it could be.”

“What could Uncle have hidden away?” Mary asked, her lips turning down as though her uncle had purposefully hidden something just from her.

Calli crouched beside her and squeezed her hand.

“I’m sure it’s just because there is something unsafe in there. Or something valuable.”

Valuable. Calli considered the make up of the house and where they were situated. She didn’t know particularly much about large estates such as this one, but she would have guessed there would be a room like a large gallery up here. It was what she had been hoping for, anyway. Was Jonathan hiding more priceless paintings up here?

She bit her lip. She had no wish to steal anything further from him. And yet, if Arie ever found out and knew she had been here…

“We best get back to the nursery,” Calli said, deciding she would think on it later, not having the heart to do so now. “It must be near dinner time.”

“Do you think we can dine with Uncle?” Mary asked eagerly. “Maybe it’s different here in the country.”

Calli wasn’t so sure.

“I don’t know—” she began, but they had just reached the stairwell and found Mrs. McDonald bustling by. “His Grace asked me to share that dinner shall be at eight o’clock.”

“For all of us?” Calli asked her as she continued on.

“For all of you!” Mrs. McDonald called over her shoulder with a smile, and Calli turned to find the children beaming up at her.

“Well, then,” she said to Mary. “I suppose you were right after all.”

Now she just had to get through dinner without throwing herself at the duke. Surely that shouldn’t be a problem. Should it?

* * *

Jonathan knewthis had likely been a bad idea.

But there was something about this big empty house out here in Kent that made him lonely. Even lonelier than usual. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was, in truth, the reason he spent most of his time in London. Kent held too many memories — happy and unhappy. Of his father, who had left him far too young. His mother, who’s interest in his life was negligent at best. His sister, the only person he had left in the world, who had abandoned him with her two children.

Besides, what was he supposed to do with himself in this lofty home alone?

At the very least, he wouldn’t have to entertain the children himself over dinner. For the truth was, he had no idea what to do with them, what to say to them. He cursed his sister anew, wishing he knew where she was so that he could tell her exactly what he thought of her decision to leave the children with him. She had said in her note that she hoped he would provide for them.

Of course he would provide for them. Of that, there was no question. He would have done so even had his sister not left.

He heard them down the corridor before he saw them, their footsteps pounding over the carpeted hardwood before Miss Donahue called after them to slow down and mind their manners. She stopped them before they reached the dining room, and he heard her remind them in hushed tones to be polite and mind their uncle.

He smiled to himself. Miss Donahue had been a rare find indeed… for more reasons than should matter.

Jonathan sighed. He was just going to have to wrest control of himself. He knew from the past that he couldn’t fully trust just anyone — not even a governess who had come highly recommended.

He stood from the end of the table when they walked into the room.

“Uncle!” Mary exclaimed, even as Miss Donahue placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to curb her enthusiasm — although she wore a slight smile as well, and Jonathan could sense that she somehow approved of his invitation to them this evening.

“Mary. Matthew. Miss Donahue,” he said, nodding to each of them in turn. “Shall we?” He swept his hand out to the table in front of him, and all three of them became rather wide-eyed at the elaborate settings.

“I’ve never seen so many spoons,” Mary said, her voice just above a whisper as they took their seats, and Jonathan chuckled.

“Well, this will be the perfect opportunity for your governess to school you in table manners, then, would it not?”

He looked over at Miss Donahue with a smile, surprised when what seemed like panic crossed her face, although she quickly covered it with a nod.

“Of course,” she said as the footmen entered with the soup, placing a bowl down in front of each of them.

“How have you found Wyndmere?” he asked as he picked up the soup spoon, after which the rest of them followed suit.

“It is ginormous!” Matthew exclaimed, to which Miss Donahue let out a slight laugh.

“Gigantic or enormous, Matthew,” she said softly, although not critically, before she turned the force of those violet eyes up at Jonathan, eyes that tonight matched the dress that she wore, as reserved as it was. Jonathan was no great expert in ladies fashion, but he had the impression that she was not the first owner of the dress — it did not seem to fit her properly and was worn in a few places. He had a sudden urge to see her in the finest silks and satins — silks and satins that he commissioned himself to drape her in. “You have a beautiful home, Your Grace,” she said. “We are lucky to see it.”

He shrugged self-consciously as Mary chimed in.

“We were exploring, and we found a locked room,” she said, her voice just above a whisper as though she was sharing a great secret, her soup spoon clanging against the side of the bowl. “What have you hidden away, Uncle?”

“Mary,” Miss Donahue admonished, but as her eyes flitted over him, he could tell that she was just as curious as the children were.

“Nothing,” he said with a shake of his head. “A few valuables, is all, to be kept away so that they cannot be damaged.”

“Is it art?” Miss Donahue asked, raising one eyebrow in what he could tell she thought was a nonchalant manner. “You have a fine collection adorning the walls. I cannot imagine anything even grander.”

Jonathan remembered the sketchpad he had found in her possession the one evening in London.

“Are you interested in art, Miss Donahue?”

The footmen cleared away the soup course and brought in the beef. Jonathan looked down the table, seeing the salad and cheese still in the center, and asked if Miss Donahue would pass it around.

“Of course,” she said, her cheeks reddening. “And I would say that I appreciate beautiful paintings, but I know not much about them.”

“Do you paint yourself?”

“As an idle pastime,” she said, waving a hand in the air as though it was nothing. “My sketches and paintings are nothing exemplary.”

“I should like to see them sometime.”

“Oh, that would only embarrass me,” she said, looking down at her plate, “for I’m sure you have seen the very finest.”

“All art has something to offer, Miss Donahue,” he said, looking at her curiously, now more interested than ever seeing her work. “It is why I find it difficult to answer the question of just who is the greatest master painter. For each has something to offer, and it is all a matter of taste.”

“There is much truth in that,” she agreed, but her attention wavered when the footmen appeared again.

“What is that?” Mary leaned in and whispered in her ear, though loud enough that Jonathan could hear.

“I’m sure it’s quite tasty,” Miss Donahue whispered in return, and Jonathan had to work hard to keep his laughter in check.

“I hope you enjoy the artichokes,” he said with a nod, and Miss Donahue looked up in some relief.

“Of course, I know we will,” she said, and their gazes held for a moment until Matthew caught her attention from the other side of the table.

“Which fork to do we use, Miss Donahue?”

“Which fork?” she repeated, before looking down at the array remaining. “Ah, I would say…” her gaze flickered over to Jonathan, seeing the smaller fork in his hand. “This one,” she said holding it up.

“Miss Donahue,” Jonathan said, suddenly curious and a slight bit suspicious about her lack of knowledge in one of the subjects every governess of noble children should be well versed in. Collins had highly recommended her, as had the additional references he had contacted. “Just where did you say you had your education?”

“Oh, I don’t think I ever said,” she said with a demure smile that wasn’t fooling him.

“Then do tell,” he said, waving out a hand in front of him as though clearing the air for her words.

“I wouldn’t want to bore you.”

“Bore away,” he said, hearing the slight edge in his tone. He didn’t enjoy it when people tried to evade him.

“Very well,” she said, placing her utensils down in front of her, looking around the table at each of them. “Most of my education was taught to me by my brothers and sister.”

“You have brothers and sisters?” Matthew asked eagerly.

“I do,” she said with a small nod. “Three brothers and one sister.”

“Lucky,” Mary said, stretching out the word. “I would like a sister.”

“You have me,” Matthew said, crossing his arms over his chest with a frown.

Miss Donahue nodded. “That is right. You are fortunate to have your brother.”

“Who is your family?” Jonathan asked, needing to know more.

“We do not have noble blood,” she said quietly. “I hope that does not preclude me from this job?”

“I am not that conceited,” he said indignantly, “as long as you provide the children with what they need to know.”

“Of course,” she said with a slight nod. “My family is in… trade.”

“Trade.”

“Yes.”

“Interesting. I do a great deal of investments in shipping myself,” he said.

“I didn’t realize that many noblemen did.”

“Most don’t. They find it beneath them. But it makes me a good deal of money.”

She nodded as the dessert course was brought in, much to the children’s delight.

Miss Donahue laughed, a sound that Jonathan found he rather enjoyed.

“This is one course it doesn’t look like we shall have to explain,” she said with a grin toward him, and he shook his head.

“No, we do not.”

She picked up one of the cakes to pass it to him.

“Would you like some?” she asked, and he shook his head, holding a hand up. He tried to keep himself from such enticements.

She shrugged and served herself enough for two. She dug in a spoon and at the taste of sugar on her lips, she closed her eyes and sighed, before licking off a spot of whipped cream that had remained on her plush upper lip.

Jonathan stilled, unable to remove his eyes from her.

She was sensual without trying to be, had stirred his curiosity for no grand reason other than she was different from anyone he had ever met.

Jonathan enjoyed certainty. He preferred to know what to expect, from himself and from others.

But at the moment, only one thing was certain.

He was in trouble.