What the Duke Wants(5)

“I’m Bethanny,” the oldest spoke next, her voice clear and pure.

“I’m Carlotta but you must call me Lottie. It’s ever so much easier than Carlotta,” she said with a grin.

“I like you,” Berty stated.

“Well I like you as well.” Carlotta reached out and patted the girl’s shoulder tenderly. “So, why don’t you tell me a little about yourselves? Bethanny? Would you start please?”


“Well, I’m sixteen. I’m fond of reading and have done quite well with my embroidery.”

“How ladylike.”

“Thank you. Momma—”

She stopped, her eyes darting to her lap as she bit her lower lip. The two other girls took similar postures.

“Your mother? Was embroidery important to her?” Carlotta went out on a limb, hoping she wasn’t hurting their fragile relationship.

“Yes,” came a low whisper.

“You know, I lost my parents as well when I was about your age, Bethanny,” said Carlotta, keeping her voice gentle.

All three girls gave her their rapt attention, pain and understanding clear on their faces.

“Really?” Beatrix asked.

“Yes, they took ill. My mother died of pneumonia and my father took to his bed shortly after. I think perhaps, he didn’t know how to live without my mother. He died about a month after her. “

“That’s horrid.” said Berty.

“It was indeed.”

“What did you do?” asked Beatrix.

“I wept…a lot. Tears clean your soul, you know. They help wash away the pain. And with time, the pain becomes less and less. You forget how sad you are and remember how happy you were when they were alive.”

“I miss Momma and my father too,” Berty confided.

“I’m sure you do.” Carlotta reached up and smoothed a stray lock of chestnut hair on the child’s head. “But you’re not truly alone. You have your sisters. And together you can all remember all the lovely things about your parents that made them so special. And as you get older, you can share the most delicious secrets together, and encourage one another.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Bethanny said, a thoughtful expression flitting across her beautiful face.

“It is true.”

“Do you have sisters, Miss Lottie?” Beatrix asked.

“No. I always wished I did. So you see how lucky you are?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Now. Tell me about yourself, Beatrix.” Carlotta coaxed.

“I’m eleven, and I hate to read. I’d much rather be outside. I love riding but…” She leaned forward as if to impart some great secret.

Carlotta leaned in, an indulgent smile tickling her lips.

“I hate sidesaddle. Father let me ride astride, like a boy!”

“Heavens!” Carlotta feigned shock, her lips spreading into a grin.

“Truly! But he always said as I grew older I’d need to learn sidesaddle.” She pouted.

“That’s wise.”

Beatrix regarded Carlotta with a curious expression. “Do you ride sidesaddle?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then you can teach me.” She nodded.

“I’m sure there will be a great many things we’ll learn from each other.” Carlotta replied. “Now then, little Berty, your full name is Roberta, correct?”

“Yes, but I hate it. Roberta.” She said the name in a whine. “It’s just a boy’s name with an ‘a’ at the end. Honestly, couldn’t Mother think of a proper girl’s name for me? They said they were glad I was a girl but I think they wanted a boy. You know, to name him Robert. They were stuck with me so they just added an ‘a’ to the end.”

“My.” Carlotta blinked, not quite sure how to address such a statement. “I’m sure your parents were thrilled to have another girl. And, I’ll have you know, Roberta is quite a popular name for a girl. You’re parents didn’t just make it up on a whim.”

“That’s what I keep telling her.” Bethanny rolled her eyes.

“I still don’t like it. Call me Berty, please.”

“Fine, Miss Berty. You know, you even look like a Berty, now that I think of it.”

“I always thought so too.” The seven-year-old nodded sagely.

“Now then, shall I tell you about myself?” Carlotta asked the girls.

“Yes!” Berty shouted while the other two nodded.

“Well, I’m a bit older than your oldest sister, so I’ll have plenty to teach you. I’m versed in Latin, French, and all the other studies you’ll need to learn. But also of equal importance, I’ll be teaching you how to be ladies of quality. Was your father titled?”

“Yes, he was a baron,” Bethanny said.

“So was my father,” Carlotta spoke before thinking.

“Then why—” Bethanny’s expression was confused.

“It’s not important. You are now the wards of a very powerful and influential duke. You’ll need to be properly trained in the ways of the London elite.”

“Will we go to balls?” Beatrix asked, her eyes alight.

“I’m sure you will.”