Rules For A Proper Governess (MacKenzies & McBrides #7)(19)
Author: Jennifer Ashley

“Good on your dad.” Even Bertie’s father had never made her go hungry as punishment, knowing what it was like to be hungry in truth. Her grandfather, dead before Bertie was born, had spent all his money on drink while his wife and son starved. “Even so, sounds like your dad spoils you a bit.”

“He gives us anything we want,” Andrew said, his voice getting louder again. “Anything, anytime we ask.”

“But he’s never home,” Cat said quietly.

Bertie thought about how late Mr. McBride had come in last night and how early he’d rushed off again this morning. “My dad stays out all the time too,” she said. “But I’ll nip home and make sure he’s fixed, and be right back here before you know it.”

Cat looked down at her doll again. “You won’t come back.”

The words were quiet, nearly drowned by Andrew bouncing in his chair and yelling again that he wanted to go with her.

Bertie leaned down to Cat until she could look her in the eye. “Now, Miss Caitriona, you put that idea right out of your head. Of course I’ll come back.”

“If you go, we’ll climb out the window and come after you,” Andrew said.

Bertie grew alarmed, realizing Andrew might do just that. “No, you won’t,” she said firmly. “I want to come back here and live with you a spell. Now, we just have to convince Aoife or Macaulay that you’ll be fine with them while I’m gone.”

“Aoife says naughty children in Ireland get dropped down a well,” Andrew said. “But she laughed when she said it, so I don’t believe her. And Macaulay gets so mad. Mrs. Hill doesn’t—she goes all cold and stares at me until I think a ghost has grabbed me. Except she sneaked us cakes when Miss Evans was here.”

Bertie’s respect for Mrs. Hill grew. But it sounded as though the rest of the household had grown wise to the children’s ways and wouldn’t be welcoming a chance to watch over them.

“We could stay with Aunt Eleanor,” Cat said.

Andrew jumped up on his chair, even more animated than before. “Aunt Eleanor! Say we can, Bertie. Say, say.”

Bertie regarded them warily. “Who is Aunt Eleanor?”

“She lives in Grosvenor Square,” Cat said. “She’s a duchess. She’s married to the brother of Aunt Ainsley’s husband.”

Bertie didn’t bother to follow the line of relationship—families in the East End could be extensive and convoluted. As long as you said someone was “our Mary” or “our John,” outsiders didn’t waste time figuring out exactly who was related to whom. “She a real duchess?” Bertie asked, her interest piqued.

“Uncle Hart is a duke,” Andrew said. “The Duke of Kilmorgan. A Scots duke.”

“An English duke too,” Cat corrected him. “Fourteenth duke of Kilmorgan in the Scottish line, second in the English.”

Bertie had no idea what any of this meant, but her interest grew. “I think I’d like to meet a real duchess,” she said. “I say we try that.”

The real duchess lived in a mansion not far from Mr. McBride’s house. Mrs. Hill, who’d thought taking the children to this duchess a good idea, offered to have Richards bring the coach around, but Bertie saw no reason not to walk. The December day was crisp but bright without many clouds, and the house was only a block or two away.

When Andrew pointed out the house in Grosvenor Square, however, Bertie thought it might have been wiser to roll up in some style. The place was much bigger than Mr. McBride’s house, taller and twice as wide. Its grand door was positioned between two columns, and arched windows rose up the walls to a dormer roof far above.

The door was opened by a very stiff and slender young man who didn’t grin like Peter at Mr. McBride’s house did. He knew Cat and Andrew, though, and ushered the three of them into a wide foyer.

A sweep of stairs with a carved wooden railing wound upward through a lofty hall, large windows on each landing pouring in light. Bertie craned her head to look all the way to the top of the stairs, where a painting on the ceiling showed clouds and flying creatures.

Andrew, next to her, exploded into sound. “Aunt Eleanor! We’re staying with you, so our new governess can go home and fetch her things before her dad gets into a right state!”

A door shut somewhere above them. Bertie heard light footsteps, and then a lady, so extraordinarily lovely she might have stepped from a fine painting, started down the stairs, her face alight with curiosity. Her dress rustled as she descended—its skirt had stripes of lighter and darker blue green, with a solid blue green overskirt pulled open to fall in ruffles down the back. Her shining red hair was all braids and curls, probably the latest fashion, though Bertie had no idea, and her long-sleeved bodice hugged a body of curves, not pencil thinness.

Bertie had supposed a duchess would be stout and gray, stern and commanding. Not so this woman. She was young and robust, and she moved with an animation that Bertie found fascinating.

The duchess stepped off the stairs and gave Bertie a stare of frank interest from eyes of delphinium blue. “New governess, are you?” she asked.

“Her name’s Bertie!” Andrew shouted. He took a deep breath and threw his head back, so his voice could reach the ceiling many stories above them. “We’ve come to play with Alec!”

“Well, he’ll be awake now, that’s for certain,” the duchess said, her smile widening. She held out her hand to Bertie. “How do you do, Miss Bertie? Quite an unusual name, I must say. You may call me Aunt Eleanor, as everyone in the family does. The grace-ing and duchess-ing can become a little complicated, so within the family, I am simply Aunt Eleanor. Except to my husband, but one never knows what will come out of his mouth. Fortunately for you, he is not home. What did you say your full name was?”

Chapter 7

Bertie hadn’t said, and she cleared her throat, suddenly nervous under the duchess’s shrewd gaze. “Miss Roberta Frasier,” she said, taking the offered hand. She remembered Sophie’s teachings and made a brief curtsy, as gracefully as she could manage. “Ma’am.”

Eleanor’s grip was strong. She kept hold of Bertie’s hand and pinned her with a very thorough stare, her blue eyes bright and assessing. “The governess, yes? You never answered.”

Andrew was already halfway up the stairs. “She’s the best governess in the world! She’s going to stay with us forever!”