How to Claim a Governess’s Heart - Bridget Barton Page 0,48

bet, though. The upfront costs were more than his yearly income could manage while supporting himself at the same time.

His mind raced through the calculations. Could he support himself and commission publishing novels if he lost the bet? It might be hard at first, but he was sure he could make it work if it came down to it.

"Fine, I will take your condition. During the next year, I will write my novel and find a publisher who will confirm that my writing is worthy of sale."

The duke held out his hand, his face clouded in doubt that such a thing would be possible. Lord John took it, matching his brother's grip.

"I will even be overly generous," the duke said with a light-hearted spirit. "You may remain here in the townhouse for the duration of your work. Mother and I are soon to retire to the country. You will have this place all to yourself to work and make your publishing house connections."

Lord John studied his brother's sudden smiling complexion.

"You don't think I can do it," Lord John said flatly.

"No, I don't. When the year is up, you will take your commission. You may think you won't now, but I have no doubt you will change your mind at the prospect of poverty."

Lord John bit his tongue. He would have liked to tell his brother that he would live on the streets of London, a starving beggar before joining the military. He didn't want to jeopardise this chance. It wasn't ideal, but it was a path that could lead him to the life he actually chose for himself. In that respect, this conversation was a success in his mind.

"Fine, think what you will. But I can assure you, Your Grace, that I will be successful in a year, and then I will be free of your hold."

Chapter 16

Lord John was stirred from the memory that had gripped him by the sound of Betsy's laughter. It was late afternoon, and the three of them were spending several hours entertaining each other in the library.

"Could we go outside now, Uncle John? Maybe to the park? I miss the ducks at the pond," Betsy asked.

She crawled up onto her uncle's lap. He had seated himself in the very same alcove that had drawn him into the memory.

"I am afraid it is probably too late today," Lord John replied, adjusting her position on his lap.

He looked out of the window and studied the scene before him. It was the first day of the year that the sun had shone brightly all day long. Perhaps it was the sunshine that made the sprouting flowers in the garden more noticeable. The trees that lined the street outside his house had already started to unfold their small green leaves.

"But it is very warm outside," Betsy continued. "Miss Thatcher took me into the back garden to watch the cook prepare the kitchen garden. Cook said soon I can help her plant some seeds."

With the mention of her name, Lord John's eyes floated over to Miss Thatcher. She was seated in the chair just next to the hearth. She smiled at him pleasantly. Even that tiny gesture sent his heart to race.

He so desperately wished to tell her how he truly felt about her. There was very little he kept from Miss Thatcher. Though this was something he couldn't speak of right now, he hated having even a sliver of his life that she was not a party to.

"It may be warm in the afternoon, but the sun still sets rather early, and with it comes a harsh chill. I wouldn't want you to catch a cold," he informed Betsy.

"Could we tomorrow then?" Betsy pressed.

"If the weather is as nice as today, I see no reason why we couldn't take a stroll around the park in the early afternoon."

"I would be happy to take Betsy, sir. I am sure you are pressed for time."

"Actually, I am nearly finished with my manuscript," Lord John announced with an infectious smile.

Miss Thatcher clasped her hands together in her excitement. He watched her petite frame light up in excitement at the prospect of his completion. Perhaps she didn't feel for him as he did for her, but Lord John had no doubt that she was just as invested in his life as he was in hers.

"That's wonderful! What is there to do once it is done?"

Betsy, sensing that the conversation was turning from matters she cared about, wriggled down from her uncle's lap.