A Governess for the Brooding Duke(64)

Taking a final deep breath and silently praying that her courage would not fail her, Georgette opened the door and marched out through it. She picked up the tray and made her way to the back stairs.



Knowing that the children would be making their way to the schoolroom at that moment, Georgette decided that she would take a slight detour when she reached the ground floor to let them know that she would be with them shortly. Ever since they had been left for a full night wondering if they would ever see her again, Georgette felt most dreadfully protective of them and would not leave them wondering for five minutes together ever again.



When she reached the ground floor, she came out into the great hallway and began to march in the direction of the schoolroom. She was pleased that her courage still seemed to be very much glowing in her breast, and she hoped that her positive and forthright demeanour would be enough to convince the children that there was absolutely nothing wrong.



“Miss Darrington.” Suddenly, the Duke was in front of her. He had rounded the corridor from his study, and the two of them had come face-to-face.



Georgette had been so startled that she almost let go of the tray.



“I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I should have been looking where I was going,” she said, not really knowing what else she ought to say to him.



The moment she had been dreading had arrived, and she could hardly look at him for shame. She knew she did not want to look upon his face and see the disgust that must surely be there. She had shouted angrily and accused and then cried like a child. She dared not even imagine what it was he must think of her.



“Not at all, Miss Darrington,” he said and gave a rather awkward smile. “Good heavens, whatever is that?” he said, suddenly distracted by the tray she was carrying and peering at it quizzically.



“In truth, Your Grace, I could not say conclusively. It would appear to be almost entirely unrecognizable as any foodstuff I myself have ever eaten.” Georgette was strangely relieved for the distraction of the tray, feeling it had taken a little of her embarrassment from her.



“Is it toast, Miss Darrington?” he went on, his confusion absolutely apparent and, if she were honest, just a little amusing.



It was clear to her that he had never chosen to look upon the spoiled meal sent to any one of his previous governesses. And whilst this particular meal was extreme in its presentation, Georgette did not feel particularly inclined to enlighten him with that fact. Rather, she would prefer him to suspect that every meal she had been served under that roof had been thus. Whilst it was bending the truth, she had been the victim for far too long to let her scruples stand in the way.



“Unfortunately, Your Grace, today it is charred beyond recognition, and I should not like to confirm its identity.”



What are these crumbs?” he went on, almost as if he had not heard her. “This plate! It is simply a little plateful of crumbs.”



“Ah, now that I think I can identify, Your Grace,” she said, beginning to enjoy herself a little.



In truth, her relief that the dreaded meeting between them had finally occurred was immense, and she rather thought that he might also have been just a little grateful for the diversion of the scorched breakfast.



“Really?” he said, looking at her doubtfully.



“Yes, I think it is pound cake, Your Grace,” she said and winced. “Or rather I believe it was before it was so brutally ground into submission.”



“By the cook?” he said, looking at her rather horrified.



“I have no idea, Your Grace.”



“And where are you going with the tray now?” he said, finally wrenching his eyes from the awful food.



“I am calling into the schoolroom to tell the girls that I shall be a little late, and then I am going downstairs to speak to the housekeeper.”



“You believe it was the housekeeper who did this?” he said, his eyebrows knitting together.



“I do not know who physically did this, Your Grace, but I am under no illusion that if it was not the housekeeper or the butler, then it was a member of staff doing their bidding, quite likely not willingly,” she said, not wanting to get the cook into trouble. “I rather think that the cook is in an awkward sort of position, Your Grace, and so I would not like to upset her. That is why I am going directly to the housekeeper or the butler with my complaint,” she said decisively, clearly letting him know that she expected nothing from him.



“Miss Darrington, please hand me the tray,” he said firmly.



“Your Grace?” she said, hearing the disappointment in her own voice.