The Duke of Defiance (The Untouchables #5)(30)

He decided to plod forward as if it had never happened since it seemed she was keen to do the same. “Shall we review the candidates before they arrive?”

She nodded, clutching her reticule tightly. “Yes, please.”

A few hours later, Bran freed his throat from the confines of his cravat. He’d tossed his coat aside as soon as they’d finished the last interview, but he’d managed to keep the rest of his clothes on until after Mrs. Shaw had gone. It had been no small feat. All in the name of avoiding that awkwardness they were both doing a good job of ignoring. Or pretending to ignore.

“Papa?” Evie came into the office, her gaze darting about the room. “Is Mrs. Shaw still here?”

“No, sweetling. She left after we finished interviewing potential governesses.”

She sat down on the chair Mrs. Shaw had used. “Is one of them going to be my new governess?”

Bran suppressed a groan of frustration. “No.” He hadn’t cared for any of them, and neither had Mrs. Shaw. Which meant he had to conduct more interviews. Plus the ones he would need to conduct for the numerous gaps in his staff he was about to encounter. Bran dropped his head toward his desk and massaged his suddenly throbbing temple.

“Why don’t you just hire Mrs. Shaw?”

He snapped his gaze to Evie’s. “She isn’t a governess.”

“No, but why can’t she be? I like her ever so much, and I think she likes me. I’m certain she could teach me how to be a lady.” Evie swung her feet as if to provide a visual reminder for why she needed a governess.

Bran frowned. She was still so young. He wanted her to swing her feet. “I’m not sure you need a governess right now.”

“But Papa, Becky is going to have one. I shall need one too.”

“That’s no reason to have one. Becky also has a little brother. Are you going to ask for one of those too?”

“No, but maybe a little sister. Becky says her mama is having another baby.” Her eyes narrowed. “She says it better be a sister.”

Bran stifled a laugh. As if they could choose. He thought of Mrs. Shaw and instantly sobered. She couldn’t even choose to have a child, apparently. He felt bad for her. Observing her with her niece and nephew, and with Evie, she seemed naturally inclined toward children.

Then maybe she’d actually like to be a governess, his brain suggested.

Evie jumped off the chair and came around the desk to where he sat. “Please, Papa?” She blinked at him, and her mouth formed a small pout. “Please ask Mrs. Shaw?”

An image of her bustling about his house, offering opinions about his staff and arranging marzipan lessons for his daughter, burst into his head. He leaned back in his chair and let the fantasy take hold. Having her near would test their attraction. He’d almost certainly want to kiss her again. Which would be bad. He might be somewhat ignorant about being an earl, but he was fairly confident one did not kiss one’s governess.

He focused on his daughter’s pleading face. “Evie, I really don’t think she’d be interested in being a governess. She doesn’t need employment. Her sister is a duchess.”

“But maybe she’d want to. Can’t you just ask?”

He could… “What if she said no? Would you accept that?”

She raised her chin a notch. “I would. I’m quite grown up, Papa.”

He chuckled at that and drew her onto his lap. “Not so fast, sweetling.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and blew air against her soft skin, making a rather impolite sound. She loved that.

Evie giggled. “Papa! Does that mean you will?”

“Yes.” How could he refuse his very heart? Or her logic—indeed, what did it hurt to ask? “But I’ll remind you not to get your hopes up. Promise?”

She rested her hand over her heart. “I promise.”

“Very well.” Now Bran just had to work on not getting his hopes up.





Chapter 7





“Any news from Lucy or Aquilla?” Nora asked their guest, the Duchess of Clare, who was simply “Ivy” to them.

Ivy set her teacup down on the table. “Nothing yet. They both write to me nearly every day.” She let out a brief laugh. “Indeed their correspondence has increased along with their bellies.”

Nora nodded knowingly. “Because they have to sit more than normal—at least that’s how I felt. And at this stage, it’s especially frustrating because they likely have spurts of energy.”

Ivy rested a hand on her round midsection. “Yes, I’m beginning to feel that way too.”

As usual, Jo felt disjointed from the conversation, having no experience to add anything of value. She ate another cake and mused that it was the only way her belly would ever grow. Ugh, what a depressing thought. She turned her mind to all the bad things that could happen, up to and including her own death in childbirth. It was a merciless tactic, but the only one she had to combat the disappointment and depression.

“It’s much different from last time,” Ivy said quietly.

Jo snapped to attention, not certain she’d heard her correctly. She glanced over at Nora, who smiled warmly at her friend.

“Are you nervous at all?” Nora asked.

Ivy nodded, taking a moment to answer. “I try not to think about it too much. As I said, things were so different. I never had enough to eat, and I was ill.” She looked over at Jo. “I don’t mind sharing my secret with you, but very few people know. I had a child about ten years ago. She was born early and didn’t survive. At the time, I was living in a workhouse.” She stroked her belly, and Jo wondered if she even realized.