Chapter 3

Three

"A wise man does at once what a fool does finally." The new governess's' voice rang through the hallway as Victor approached the schoolroom.

Miss Peversly, who had been with them for four days, had already begun to impose her strict regimen on the household. Perhaps teaching the children Machiavelli's wise words would do them some good. He stood in the schoolroom doorway, and his brows rose in surprise when he saw all four children diligently writing, while Miss Peversly dictated to them. The sight was almost too good to be true.

Miss Peversly paused in her instruction and curtsied upon noticing him. He thought her movements were slightly exaggerated, but he did not dwell on them. Victor gestured for her to continue, not wanting to disrupt the rare quiet moment. His daughters were focused, their heads bent over their papers, the only sound the scratching of quills.

He entered the room and watched as the lesson concluded. "Lady Agnes, allow the ink to dry before closing your book," the governess instructed. Agnes cast a doleful look in his direction, seeking sympathy, but he remained impassive.

Cassidy rose from her chair, her face brightening and eyes gleaming. "May we take a short walk now that we have finished our lesson, Miss Peversly?"

"No, you may not," the governess replied, her face devoid of expression.

Amelia's brows furrowed, and she exchanged a look with Cassidy before asking, "Why not?"

Miss Peversly was quiet for a moment, her dark eyes focused on the girls until they squirmed. "The sun is not favorable for a lady's complexion. Now, put away your books and leave the room in an orderly manner."

Pouting, Agnes carefully inspected her book to ensure the ink had dried. Victor nodded in approval. The girls quietly placed their books on the shelf and filed out of the room. Victor could scarcely believe that days ago, they would be running, tumbling over one another.

Miss Peversly curtsied to him, and he gave her an approving nod before she followed the children out. Satisfied with her strictness, he felt some certainty that the governess might indeed succeed in straightening his daughters. He had just turned to leave the schoolroom when a crash sounded from the direction of the children's room. Hurrying toward the noise, he found Amelia standing over a vase shattered on the paraquet, her face pale with guilt.

Miss Peversly was already reprimanding her. She turned to Victor and explained, "Lady Amelia picked up the vase from the mantle to replace the flowers with fresh ones."

Victor remained silent, and Amelia glanced at him, her eyes pleading for understanding. He did not relent. This was necessary for their benefit, and they will understand one day.

Miss Peversly continued, "For allowing your father to witness such carelessness, you will write a letter to him, apologizing and promising to be proper."

Victor considered this, nodding in agreement. It was a good idea, one that would teach the girls' manners and improve their writing. "Step away from the broken pieces, Amelia," he said before turning and leaving.

Miss Peversly was capable, however, he was more certain now that his daughters needed a mother to reinforce discipline. He needed to marry Lady Christina.

Christina stared at the clock on the fireplace mantle, willing it to stop. The ornate hands moved with an unforgiving precision, each tick a reminder of her impending doom. The relentless ticking matched the frantic beating of her heart. She was to be married to the Duke of Kilton in an hour, and she could barely breathe, or think.

I am not supposed to be here! Alas, her parents had been watching her since the start of her engagement, not allowing her a moment to consider how she would run away. Every step she took was shadowed by their watchful eyes, every letter she tried to write scrutinized.

Her mother, Helen, swept into the salon, her presence as commanding as ever. "Are you ready, Christina?" she asked, her voice the perfect example of composure.

"It is not yet time!" Christina replied immediately. Her voice trembled slightly.

Her mother nodded, her expression unreadable. "Indeed, it is not. The Duke is yet to return." They were in his manor on the outskirts of London where the wedding ceremony was to be held.

Christina felt a spark of hope ignite within her. "What manner of groom does not bother to be present when his bride arrives at his home for the wedding?" she quipped, trying to mask her desperation with humor. "Is he reconsidering his decision to marry me? Surely, that is to be expected, for we are yet to be introduced." Her attempt at levity was a thin veil over her growing panic.

"Christina!" her mother scolded sharply. "Do be quiet and aim for perfection. Do not curse yourself with such foolish thoughts." Her mother's eyes flashed with irritation, and Christina felt the sting of her rebuke.

Christina clenched her fists, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. She moved to sit in a chair, but her mother stepped forward, blocking her path. "You will wrinkle your dress." Helen's gaze was stern, her posture rigid.

Christina looked down at the pale blue silk and lace, feeling something sour within. The dress was beautiful, but it felt like a prison. The fabric was heavy and suffocating, despite its delicate appearance. She sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping with the weight of her impending fate. The door opened again, and Joanna, Juliette, and Annie entered. Their presence was a welcome relief.

They all hugged her, and Joanna asked, "How are you, dearest?"

"I feel as if I might cast up my accounts any moment now." Her voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes wide with anxiety.

"Sit down, then," Joanna urged.

"Mother warned me not to wrinkle my dress," Christina replied, glancing at her mother, who nodded—not to give her permission but to reassert her point. The silent command was clear, and Christina felt the noose tighten around her resolve.

Juliette surreptitiously rolled her eyes but maintained her supportive smile. Her rebellious spirit shone through, offering Christina a glimmer of solidarity. Christina held Annie's hand, feeling a pang of sorrow for her sister's quiet demeanor. Annie's silence reminded Christina of her own desperate need for freedom. She could not allow this to happen. She will not marry the Duke!

"I need a moment alone," Christina announced, placing her hand on her stomach and feigning a look of discomfort. "I must use the retiring room." Her heart pounded as she waited for her mother's response.

"Someone should go with you," Helen said.

Joanna smiled and addressed her. "My Lady, surely a bride requires a moment alone to compose herself. We all felt this on our wedding day." This seemed to convince her mother to allow her to leave, and she nodded.

"Thank you," Christina mouthed as she left the salon, closing the door firmly behind her. The instant the door clicked shut and she was by herself, she broke into a run.

She hurried down the hallway of the large manor, her pulse quickening with every step. Her breathing grew rapid, her chest tight with anticipation. She glanced at every open doorway she passed, searching for an escape. She passed a drawing room, then suddenly halted, her mind racing. A plan formed in her mind, fueled by desperation and hope.

Retracing her steps, she slipped into the drawing room. Glancing over her shoulder to ensure there was no one around, she bolted through the open glass doors that led out onto the terrace. The cool air hit her face, invigorating her resolve as she ran across the terrace and into the garden beyond.

Christina almost leaped with joy when she found stairs that led from the terrace to the gardens. Her heart soared with the thrill of freedom. No more marrying the Duke! she thought to herself as she ran, uncertain where she was going. The lush greenery of the gardens provided a labyrinth of escape routes.

When she heard giggles some distance away from the manor, however, she slowed and looked around. There were two girls trying to climb a rather slender tree on the edge of the gardens.

She had half a mind to continue her escape, but she saw the tree bend slightly as one of the girls attempted to climb. The thin branches creaked under the weight, and Christina's concern grew. They might injure themselves, and she could not allow that to happen. Chrstina approached them, thinking she had a moment to spare. "I do not recommend climbing that tree," she called.

One of the girls, with golden curls and bright green eyes, tilted her head and asked, "Why?"

Christina reached them and smiled. "Take a look at the tree, my dear. Does it look sturdy to you?"

"No, it does not." The girl shook her head.

"Then perhaps you might be able to guess what could happen if you climbed it." Christina looked around the gardens, wondering if the girls lived in the manor and whether they were related to the Duke. "Why are you here climbing trees anyways?"

"We are not supposed to be here. We snuck out of the manor."

Christina immediately felt a sense of kinship with the girls. "What are your names?"

"I am Cassidy," she replied, and the other girl with chestnut hair said, "And I am Amelia." She grinned, and added, "I love how bright your hair is."

Christina laughed. "I spend a lot of time in the sun, that is why."

Cassidy's eyes widened. "How do you not have freckles?"

"It is a secret." Christina winked. "I hope you have abandoned your plan to climb the tree, it would be a shame to ruin such pretty dresses."

Amelia nodded. "We will not climb for now. If our father sees us, he will be furious. He hates it when we do not behave like proper ladies."

Christina's heart tightened. "He sounds quite like my father," she said with a rueful smile. Then they laughed together.

"It is his wedding day, you see, and we will try not to make him angry," Cassidy said, pushing her curls from her eyes.

Lord, help me! Christina's stomach knotted. The Duke is their father! Her mind reeled with the sudden realization, her escape plan faltering. She did not even know he had children because she had never cared to know anything about him. All she had been concerned about was how to prevent her wedding. Just then, she heard a voice behind her.

"I hope you are not planning to climb that tree."

Christina turned, thinking she was being addressed, and her breath caught when she saw the Duke. His presence was commanding, and his aura exuded authority. In daylight, he was ridiculously handsome with dark hair and inscrutable hazel eyes. The sunlight played off his sharp features, making him appear almost statuesque. Everything about him was cold and distant, yet she found herself taking a step toward him.

Cassidy's voice halted her. "We were considering climbing the tree, but this kind lady told us it is too dangerous."

The Duke's mouth curved ever so slightly, but Christina was unsure whether that was a smile. His expression remained enigmatic, stern, yet subtly amusing. He looked at her, and their gazes held. Christina tried to breathe. "I trust you will continue to discourage them from such endeavors. After all, it is what a good mother does."

Amelia gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Is she to be our new mother?"

The Duke nodded without taking his eyes off Christina. The weight of his acknowledgment settled heavily on her shoulders. The girls squealed and ran toward the manor, Amelia saying, "We must tell Kitty and Agnes."

"Order!" the Duke shouted, and the girls immediately slowed to a walk. His voice was sharp, cutting through their excitement like a blade.

Christina frowned. What manner of man spoke to his children with such a tone? Her heart ached for the girls, subjected to such rigidity. "Who are Kitty and Agnes?" she asked.

"My daughters. I have four."

"Do you run your home like a military base with all four daughters?"

"Every man is the commander of his realm," he replied coolly. "My children are under my command. After today, you will also assume a position of authority and discipline them." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if this was the most natural expectation.

Christina's fury simmered. "A commander, indeed. Shall I also march in formation and salute?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm, her anger barely contained.

The Duke's eyes glinted. "Only if you wish to impress," he retorted. "Though I doubt you need such theatrics to command attention." His gaze was unwavering, challenging her resolve.

Christina raised her chin defiantly. "I have no wish to impress anyone, Your Grace." She stood tall, refusing to be intimidated.

The Duke regarded her from the top of her head to the hem of her dress, tilting his head slightly. His scrutiny was intense, and she felt exposed under his piercing gaze. She tried not to squirm under his scrutiny. "What are you doing out here?" he asked, his voice measured.

"Someone must look after your daughters when you are not around," she replied immediately. Her tone was firm, her words carrying an unspoken challenge.

Something sparked in his eyes, but she could not decipher it. Was it admiration, or something else entirely? He held his arm out to her. "Come then, we mustn't keep the parson waiting."

Christina's heart sank as she realized that she could no longer prevent this marriage. The finality of the situation crashed over her like a wave. She took his arm, her mind racing. I cannot allow those sweet little girls to remain under his tyranny. Her resolve hardened with each step they took. She thought of herself and Annie, how they were never accepted as they were. Their parents constantly tried to mold them into society's ideal.

No, Amelia and Cassidy needed her. She would keep the Duke from stealing their good spirit, just as she wished someone had done for her and Annie. Determination surged within her, and she silently vowed to protect the girls' innocence and joy.