When a Duke Loves a Governess (Unlikely Duchesses #3) - Olivia Drake Page 0,3

you at work?

A wiry young man in a brown corduroy suit stepped into the room. Orrin Nesbitt removed his flat-brimmed cap to reveal a thatch of rusty-red hair. Although slightly older than herself, in his mid-twenties, he had a round freckled face that gave him a boyish mien. They’d become friends the previous year when he’d moved into one of the downstairs flats. Since he worked as a typesetter for a tabloid, he’d made a habit of bringing her the daily newspaper.

He held one tucked under his arm but made no move to hand it to her. “Put today’s rag t’ bed early, so I went t’ the shop. Sukie said you pelted off in a rush, leavin’ ole Blanchet with her britches in a twist.”

Tessa regretted having to abandon her co-workers. “Poor Sukie and Nell. I hope Madame didn’t take out her wrath on them.”

“Dunno. I hightailed it out o’ there and came straight here.” Orrin’s hazel eyes studied her with stunned curiosity. “Gorblimey, Tess. Wot happened? Tell me you didn’t just up an’ quit!”

Her stomach clenched. For the hundredth time since marching out of the millinery shop, she questioned her impulsiveness. What had she done? What if she failed to win the governess post? What if the Duke of Carlin saw through her deception? Worse, what if she was never even interviewed? The duke lived in a grand Mayfair mansion undoubtedly guarded by a staff of snooty servants. If she were refused entry, how would she support herself? Steady work was hard to come by, and it might be weeks before she secured another position.

A craven part of her was tempted to slink back and beg Madame’s pardon. The woman might be a tyrant, but at least she’d hired Tessa as a fourteen-year-old runaway and had taught her the art of hatmaking.

No. She mustn’t regret her decision. She couldn’t stay in a position that stifled her creativity and offered little chance of advancement. Her dreams for the future were at stake.

She met Orrin’s gaze. “Yes, it’s true. I’ve resigned and I’m not going back.”

“What’d the ole battle-ax do t’ you?” He shook his brown felt cap in the air. “I oughta go tell that harpy wot for!”

“You mustn’t. It wasn’t Madame’s fault, at least not entirely.”

“So you been plannin’ t’ leave?” He glanced past Tessa at the signs of her packing, the small trunk containing her few possessions. “Without sayin’ naught t’ me about it?”

His crestfallen face and puppy-dog eyes filled her with chagrin. In her haste to collect her things before proceeding to Grosvenor Square, she hadn’t spared a thought for Orrin. He deserved an explanation.

“I only just decided today,” she said. “Though I’d have left you a note, of course. You see, this morning I overheard two ladies discussing a lord who needs a governess for his little daughter. I mean to apply for the post.”

Orrin let out a hoot of laughter. “Wot, you, a governess? Are you mad?”

“At the foundling home, I watched over the little ones. So I’ve plenty of practice in dealing with children.”

He hastily sobered. “Didn’t mean you’d make a shabby one. You’re sharp as a tack an’ you talk much finer than the likes o’ me.”

“I’ve always listened closely to Madame’s customers as preparation for opening my own shop. And don’t forget, my mother worked for a time as a maidservant. She learned to mimic her employer, and then she taught me.”

At least until Tessa was six. Snippets of memory were all she had left. Mama’s clear voice singing to her at bedtime. Being cuddled to soft maternal warmth on a cold night. Playing with spools of thread as Mama sewed from dawn till dusk in order to provide for their food and lodging.

The most vivid memory of all was the last one. They’d been crossing the street to deliver a parcel of finished shirts when Tessa heard the clatter of hoofbeats and the rattle of wheels. In a flash, a carriage careened toward them at breakneck speed. Mama had given Tessa a push that sent her tumbling into the gutter. Her teeth rattled from the hard fall, but that wasn’t the worst part. It was seeing Mama lying on the cobblestones, utterly still, her face bloodied. As Tessa scrambled to her with a cry, Mama’s eyes had fluttered open. Her hand fumbled for her pendant, sliding the filigreed gold chain over Tessa’s head. “Hide this … find him … father … pain…”

Those halting words had been Mama’s final utterance. Pain,