Chapter 2

"How are they?"

The Duke of Huntington leaned against the wall in the hallway of Huntington Estate. His eyes, shadowed with dark circles, were red-rimmed and bleary. His clothes were crinkled, his hair wild and matted—a stark contrast to his usually polished appearance.

"Your Grace…." Rosaria, the housekeeper, hesitated.

"Tell me. I can handle it," Christopher urged, his patience running thin.

"Your Grace, they haven't been sleeping well at all. They keep asking for their parents, and I am running out of excuses to tell them."

Christopher ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Have you tried reading to them?"

"I have, but it only works for so long." Rosaria frowned.

"And what about food? Have they eaten anything at all?"

"Your Grace, I managed to feed them a small piece of bread this morning. But they have quite particular tastes."

"What bread was it? Have the kitchen staff bake dozens of it, immediately," Christopher commanded gruffly.

Rosaria nodded and then bit her lip. "Your Grace, you should get some rest and eat something. Please forgive me for saying this, but you look as though you have not slept at all."

Seven days. That was how long ago Christopher had received the news that his brother, Peter, and his wife, Lydia, had died in a carriage accident by the river. They left behind two twins, who were far too young to be orphaned.

Christopher barely had a wink of sleep since. How could he? It felt criminal to think about himself when his nephews had just been struck by an awful tragedy that they were much too young to understand.

"No need to worry about me," he dismissed. "Please make sure the children eat something."

"Of course, Your Grace. I shall inform the kitchen staff now." Rosaria scurried away.

Christopher hesitantly walked to the children's room, and upon reaching the door, his hand hovered over the handle. The twins had refused to step out of their room all week, demanding that their parents come to collect them before they did so.

With a sharp exhale, he mustered up the courage to go in. He found the pair huddled up on the bed.

"Uncle Collin," Edwin whispered before nudging his brother, Ernest.

The two stared at their uncle, alert.

"Christopher," he corrected before taking a seat at the foot of their bed. "Uncle Christopher."

Christopher had been estranged from Peter for the last several years. He had not even attended his wedding, nor ever met his wife, Lydia. It was no surprise then that his children were not close to him, much less remembered his name correctly.

Ernest and Edwin exchanged a look. "Do you know when our parents will be back?"

The sheer innocence of the question broke Christopher's heart. The children had already been informed about their parents' demise, but they took it as if they had gone away someplace and would surely return.

At five years old, death was not a concept that one could easily grasp.

Christopher steeled himself. "It's going to take them a while, but let's not spoil our mood until then. You should consider Huntington Estate your new home."

"We already have a home," Ernest pointed out. "It has all of our toys."

Christopher went to pick up a wooden horse that lay on the ground. He had purchased it for his nephews from the town when they had arrived.

Unmarried at the age of thirty-five, Christopher had no children of his own. Still, he considered himself easy to get along with all ages. The grief of his brother's sudden death had dimmed his natural charisma, but he was not one to give up easily.

"What about this horse that I bought especially for you?" He offered the toy to the pair.

"We don't like wooden horses," Edwin stated, turning his face away.

Tough audience.

Christopher scarcely knew anything about their likes and dislikes, much less themselves.

He managed a strained smile, stretching the corners of his lips as he watched the twins' wary eyes follow every motion. They sat rigidly on the plush mattress, clutching each other's hands, their small fingers intertwined as a source of mutual comfort. The silence stretched between them.

"Wise choice, both of you. Once in my childhood, I tried to mount a wooden horse, only to fall flat on my face," Christopher said, attempting to inject a bit of cheer into his voice to lighten the mood. "You can imagine how embarrassing that would have been."

The twins glanced up, their expressions unmoving, and then looked back at each other, unimpressed. His attempt to lighten the mood had fallen flat, and the room lapsed back into an awkward silence.

Tough crowd, indeed.

"Shall we play a game, then?"

"Your shirt is unironed," Edwin commented, his gaze trailing down the front of his uncle's shirt. "Father always chides us whenever he sees us wearing a wrinkled shirt."

"What—oh." Christopher looked down. He had not been paying any attention to his appearance for the last several days, and others were beginning to notice. "Would it make you happy if I changed into a fresh one?"

Edwin shrugged. He did not seem to care either way. "Father always said that the mark of a gentleman is how he dresses."

"Then, my dear Edwin, your father would be correct." Christopher sighed, getting up. "I shall see you in a bit then, and you can tell me if you approve of my appearance."

He walked out of the room feeling defeated. He was not equipped for this.

What the children needed was a governess. In time, he hoped that they would get comfortable enough around him, but right now, they required dedicated attention from someone more experienced with children than he was.

"Your Grace…" Rosaria called out after him as he walked up to his room.

"Prepare a fresh cup of tea." He rubbed his temples, fighting off the tiredness. "I shall take a bath and head downstairs after."

"Your Grace, a letter has arrived for you." Rosaria handed him an envelope. "From the Dowager Duchess. It's the fourth one this week."

Christopher shrugged. "Toss it with all the rest."

Listening to what Teresa Grant had to say was the last thing he wished to do at this moment.

Without waiting for anything else, Christopher disappeared inside his room.

Within a week, his life had changed drastically. He had managed to avoid marriage all these years, settling instead for the short-lived romances.

And it was the makings of a good life for him. He had lived his life worry-free and to the fullest. But now, a heavy load had been thrust upon his shoulders: the task of taking care of his nephews.

Ernest and Edwin.

He caught himself before he began to feel too bad for himself. If his brother's passing has put him in a difficult place, then it was doubly so for his children. The cornerstone of his dukedom rested on his sense of duty, which had never been so pronounced until his moment.

As difficult as it was going to be, Christopher resolved to do right by his nephews.

Freshly bathed and dressed in a polished suit, he made his way to his study for his cup of tea. He had only brought the cup to his lips when Bennet, his butler, interrupted him.

"Your Grace…"

"If it's more letters, then I propose you throw them in the fireplace. They'll serve a far greater purpose there, I suspect," Christopher muttered dryly.

"Your Grace, there is a lady here to see you."

A lady?

Christopher wondered if it was one of the women he had dallied with in the past. It was not rare for them to show up at his manor, professing their love, which he had never once returned.

"Send her away," he instructed casually. "I am busy for the evening."

"Your Grace…" Bennet hesitated. "She is quite insistent. I think she is here searching for a job."

"A job?" Christopher's ear perked up immediately. Could it be that this was the governess he was looking for? "Why did you not say so before? Bring her here at once."

After a week full of unfortunate events, had his luck finally turned the corner and the woman he was searching for had landed at his doorstep by herself?

* * *

"Wait here."

That was what the man who greeted her at the door had told her.

Frances found herself outside of Huntington Estate. Coming here had been a great hassle on its own, as she had to lie to her mother and say she was going to town to purchase a new dress to impress her suitors.

She had made up her mind to do so ever since she had heard that it was the Duke who had possession of the children.

She had to make sure they were alright.

But now that she was here, her nervousness was beginning to creep up again. The estate was vast, and she was by herself about to meet with a complete stranger.

"His Grace will see you now," the butler returned to inform her.

She followed him inside the estate and then up the stairs.

When they reached the study door, Frances hesitated to walk in immediately. She took a moment to brace herself, remembering that she must overcome her fear of social interactions for the good of the children. She had to.

With sweaty hands balled into fists, she knocked on the door once.

"Just a second."

The door swung open to reveal a tall gentleman with damp blonde hair.

For a moment, she wondered if she had seen him before. But there was no flicker of recognition in his eyes, so she quickly discarded the thought.

"Your Grace," she greeted politely before walking inside.

"The Duke of Huntington," he introduced himself.

"Frances Cooper."

Their gazes met for a brief moment, and Frances felt heat rise to her cheeks. Except this time, she was not sure if it was the nervousness of talking to a stranger or talking to this particular stranger.

"Well then, do you plan on standing there all day?" the Duke asked, raising an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that you were here for a reason."

Without even realizing it, Frances had been caught gawking at him.

In her defense, it was difficult not to. He had a certain kind of rugged handsomeness to him that was difficult to miss. And he was young. Prior to coming here, she had envisioned him to be someone much older, given that he was the older sibling. There was a smattering of freckles on his cheeks, illuminated by the sunlight filtering through the window.

"Miss?"

His voice jolted her back to the present moment, and she straightened her back immediately.

"I am here to see the children."

"Yes, it is about time that someone did. It is quite a demanding task to take over the children, and I have nothing but the highest standards when it comes to finding someone for the job." He nodded.

"How are they doing?" she asked, concern coloring her voice. "I have been worried all this time."

"Not too well, I am afraid. But that is exactly why I have decided to hire a governess."

Frances took a step back, surprised. "A governess?"

No, no, no. He had misunderstood the reason for my visit.

"Why, yes. Isn't that what you are here for? I had put up an urgent advertisement in the penny paper for one," he said.

"Oh…" Color flooded over to her cheeks. She was just about to correct him when a knock on the door interrupted them.

"Your Grace, my apologies for interrupting your meeting." A woman poked her head around the door, a troubled expression on her face. "But I have tried everything, and the children are refusing to eat."

"Did you try feeding them that bread you said they are fond of?" The Duke raised an eyebrow.

"They spat it right out. It's been over a day since they've had a proper meal, and I'm worried about what will happen if this goes on for longer."

Christopher turned to Frances. "Well, it is a great stroke of luck that you are here. Come, prove to me that you are the right fit for this job."