What the Duke Wants(14)

“You’re welcome.” Carlotta grinned at the girls. Their smiles were slowly returning and she hoped that the duke would overlook her incompetence so that she could watch their smiles return to their full brightness. Truly, she had no deeper desire than that.

But if he didn’t, if she were dismissed, then she would make the last memory she had with the girls one to remember.

****

“Mrs. Pott? Where is our little governess?” Charles asked, his temper only barely in check. He had asked Murray, a few maids and now the housekeeper in an attempt to locate the errant governess and his patience was running thin. Already he was testy from the previous incident leaving him in a wretched position with Lady Southridge. Not wanting to dwell on the miserable errand he was committed to doing, he wrote the damnable letter and gave Murray strict instructions to deliver it in the morning. Surely, that would give Graham enough time to escape his overbearing sister.

“I’ve not seen her for quite some time, your grace. But I know she was talking with Cook…”

“Cook? Would you please ask Cook if she has any information on her whereabouts?” Charles asked with clenched teeth. Was it truly that difficult to locate someone within his own home?

“Of course, your grace. I’ll be but a moment.”

Mrs. Pott left, leaving Charles brooding in the library. His anger over the girls’ interruption had dissipated, but with the inability to locate them or the governess, he found himself in a temper again.

“Your grace?” Mrs. Pott entered the library once more.

“Yes?”

“Miss Carlotta took the girls on a picnic in Hyde Park. They left a little over an hour ago.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course…” Mrs. Pott was hesitant, her expression concerned.

“Is there something more?” Charles asked tiredly.

“Well, your grace, I’m simply concerned about the children. The weather has gotten ever so severe since their departure and I’m—”

“What do you mean?” Charles growled then turned to a window. Sliding open the drapes he saw what his housekeeper meant. The blue skies of earlier that day were gone, replaced with an ominous and heavy cloud cover that was proceeding to gush water from the heavens. A stiff breeze rocked the window glass, causing it to shudder.

“Bloody hell. Get Murray!” Charles called.

Mrs. Pott didn’t respond, simply rushed out as fast as her plump body could carry her. A few moments later Murray arrived.

“Your grace?”

“I’ll need my greatcoat, and have my mount saddled.”

“Pardon, your grace, but wouldn’t you prefer the closed carriage in this weather?”

Charles paused. The carriage would be slower, but infinitely wiser. When he did locate the girls and governess, he’d not be able to do much on his mount, however a carriage could easily take them all back.

“Very well.”

“As you wish.” Murray exited quickly, clearly tuned in to the impatience in the duke’s voice.

“Just what was the chit thinking in taking those girls out in this weather?” He grumbled to himself. Though he knew the answer. English weather was unpredictable at best. It could have easily been beautiful an hour ago. With the many buildings and being so near the park, the trees also inhibited a view of the skyline, causing one to easily misjudge the conditions. Often a rain-filled cloud was just beyond the line of sight. But surely she could have made her way home after the first few raindrops!

“Here, your grace.” Murray came in the library with Charles’ greatcoat, gloves, and hat. After quickly donning them, he rushed out into the hall and out the front door to his awaiting carriage. The springs rocked under his weight as he entered into the cab and waited for the driver to urge the horses forward.

The clip clop of the matched bays’ shoes sounded on the cobbled streets of Mayfair, and soon the large park was in sight. Rotten Row was deserted, puddles of mud making it not only dangerous but also filthy for the next few days. The rain veritably pounded on the roof of the carriage and made visibility short sighted. The heavy cloying fragrance of rain and humidity hung in the air, making it thick.

After taking several paths, he tapped on the roof, causing the driver to halt the horses. There just under a weeping beech, or upside down tree, stood four women clustered together.

“Damn females,” Charles swore and opened the carriage door. Immediately he was in the deluge of rainwater and quickly became soaked to the skin.

He half jogged, half walked across the ground, his boots sinking in the soggy grass. As he reached the tree, he held out his hand to the soaked girls and sodden governess.

“Don’t just stand there! Let’s get going before we all catch our death!” Charles shouted.

Not needing any more encouragement, all four ladies ran to the closed carriage and tumbled in. Charles followed suit. Once all were seated, the carriage moved forward towards his home.

“Would anyone care to tell me whose brilliant idea it was to have a picnic in the park?” Charles asked as a rivulet of water trickled down his nose and dripped off, landing on his folded hands.

The girls all glanced to the floor, their little bodies shivering from cold and wet. Charles had an unfamiliar pang of sympathy.


“It was mine, your grace,” Carlotta replied, her head held high and jaw clenched in defiance. Or perhaps it was clenched in cold.