When a Duke Loves a Governess (Unlikely Duchesses #3) - Olivia Drake Page 0,96
her hand. Sinking beside Carlin on the chaise, she scrutinized him as if he lay at death’s door. “My dearest nephew, I just now awakened from my nap to such horrid tidings! How badly were you hurt? Where is the doctor? Oughtn’t you be in your bed?”
Carlin gave her a reassuring smile. “There’s no need to trouble yourself, Aunt Delia. It was merely a scratch. I’m perfectly comfortable now, thanks to Miss James’s superior nursing skills.”
Lady Victor gazed askance at Tessa. “This is most improper, Guy. What can a governess know of medicine? She belongs in the nursery!”
“Not if I’ve any say in the matter,” the marquess interjected.
“Why, Lord Marbury! Pray forgive me for failing to greet you. It is this shocking event that has me all aflutter.” Her overwrought nature even more pronounced, Lady Victor went on, “You oughtn’t be in the duke’s bedchamber, either. Roebuck should have bade you await me in the drawing room.”
“Fiddle. I didn’t call on you, Delia. I came to visit my granddaughter.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Miss James is my granddaughter,” he clearly delighted in revealing. “You’ll recall that my daughter Lady Florence ran away many years ago? Well, as it turns out she emigrated to Canada and married a fur trader by the last name of James. Upon the deaths of her parents, Tessa traveled to England and took the governess post here while she was trying to find me.”
Lady Victor’s jaw dropped. Astonishment momentarily banished her doleful expression as she focused her pale blue gaze on Tessa. “I do remember that scandal. But my lord, are you quite sure…?”
“Absolutely. She has the pendant I gave to Flossie on her eighteenth birthday. And she is Flossie reborn, except for the lighter hair.”
“Well! Aren’t you a sly one, Miss James, never breathing a word about your true identity? You simply must tell me all about your past!”
Tessa wanted to sink into the floor. How was she to speak intelligently about Canada and fur trading when she knew nothing of those things? If only she’d had the good sense to leave the moment Carlin had been bandaged, this awkwardness could have been avoided. Luckily, she was saved from any explanations by the arrival of another member of the household.
Mr. Banfield looked agitated, his silvering brown hair mussed as if he’d just come in from outdoors. He bowed, his gray eyes intent on the duke. “Do pardon my absence at such a critical time, Your Grace. I’ve just returned from Lincoln’s Inn, where I was filing the last of your legal papers. But never mind, what is all this about you being shot? And at Astley’s, no less!”
“A bullet winged me. I daresay I’ll survive.”
Lord Marbury thumped his cane again. “These blasted circuses ought to be regulated. Imagine, using guns around crowds of people! You may be sure I shall take up the matter with the prime minister.”
“It was not their usual practice,” Carlin pointed out. “The performers were issued toy pistols. The manager has promised to call in Bow Street to do a thorough investigation of the matter.”
“Bow Street?” Mr. Banfield questioned, one eyebrow raised. “Surely you don’t suspect foul play.”
A shiver tiptoed down Tessa’s spine. Foul play. To hear her own nebulous fears put into words made her skin crawl. It couldn’t be true. What possible reason could there be for someone to want Carlin dead?
“At the moment I scarcely know what to think,” the duke said testily. “But you may be sure I intend to get to the bottom of this.”
“Well, I know precisely what is to blame,” Lady Victor lamented. “I warned you once before, Guy. It is the Carlin Curse!”
Chapter 18
Guy was inclined to scoff at his aunt. Being prone to hysteria, she had a tendency to imagine problems where none existed. Only look at the way she always tried to stifle his cousin Edgar with her excessive worrying, conjuring up every possible accident that might befall him.
Yet today’s incident cast a different light on matters. Might there be a grain of truth to what she said? Was something sinister going on that he was missing? Even so, it could have nothing to do with hocus-pocus sorcery.
“There is no curse on our family,” he said, the dull throbbing of his arm making him irritable. “You must not go on about that, Aunt.”
“How am I to remain silent when so many have died?” she said, her downturned mouth quivering with distress. “Six family members in the past five years, including your dear Annabelle.