What the Duke Wants

Charles Evermore, Duke of Clairmont, glared at his solicitor, narrowing his eyes until he could no longer see the small framed man before him. There had to be a mistake. There was no other explanation for the words coming from the man’s mouth.

“Your grace, if you’ll simply read the documentation for yourself…” Mr. Burrows spoke with practiced patience.

Charles stood and stalked around the desk, ripping the papers from his grasp. Mr. Burrows leaned back, folding his hands and watching Charles with unaffected impassivity. Not for the first time, Charles thought the man looked like a praying mantis, all long and lean with exceedingly large eyes and a patient demeanor that was all too deceptive.

But he was the best solicitor available.

He had better be for what Charles paid for his services.

“If you’ll start on the second page…” Mr. Burrows suggested.

Charles read the endless prattle of legal terms until his eyes focused on the chilling phrase.

Wards.

Three girls, to be exact. Ranging from ages seven to sixteen.

And, as heaven stood by laughing, he was to be their guardian.

Charles stared at the words, willing them to disappear. He hadn’t the time, the energy, or the inclination to take over the raising of three insufferable miniature females! He could hardly tolerate his mistresses, and they were full grown and low maintenance! He studied the rest of the document, searching for any other names that might take this plight away from him.

“You’re likely curious as to why you were chosen,” Mr. Burrows suggested.

“The question had crossed my mind.” Charles remarked sarcastically.

Mr. Burrows wisely ignored the duke’s surly attitude. “It was a tragedy, to be sure. The poor girls lost both parents in a carriage accident—”

“And there were no aunts or uncle to take them in?” Charles interrupted.

Mr. Burrows simply blinked, raising his eyebrows slightly and waiting.

“Carry on.” Charles waved his hand, somewhat chagrined at his idiotic question. After all, if there were a spinster aunt or bachelor uncle, hell, any relative at all, they wouldn’t be given to him as wards.

“As I was saying…” Mr. Burrows shot Charles a pointed gaze. “The girls were left quite without any family. Only providence connected them with you, your grace. You see, they are actually your mother’s second cousins, God rest her soul.”

“So I’m the urchins’ cousin? Bloody perfect.” Charles mumbled under his breath.

“So it would seem.” Mr. Burrows stood, collecting the papers from Charles’s outstretched hand. “You’ll not need to worry about a dowry or any such things for the young ladies. Their parents left them quite a bit of wealth. However, I would suggest you begin a search for a proper governess.”

“Bloody hell, another female in my house. Exactly what I need.”

“Yes, well, that female might be your salvation in helping you train the children into young ladies. After all, they’ll need to someday make a match.”

“That’s the only way I’m ever going to be rid of them, isn’t it?” Charles combed back his jet-black hair with his hand, feeling a miserable headache beginning at the base of his neck.

“Perhaps.” Mr. Burrows nodded and turned away, but not before Charles saw the slightest hint of a grin. “The young ladies will arrive in a few days, I expect. If you need anything more, you know where to reach me. Good night, your grace.” Mr. Burrows paused at the door.

“Good night, Mr. Burrows.”

Charles strode over to the fire, studying the orange and red flames. Truly, this was the worst sort of news. At three and thirty, he wasn’t necessarily old, but he was quite accustomed and comfortable with his way of life. Oh, he knew eventually he’d have to suffer through a woman’s presence enough to marry her and produce an heir, but he still figured he had at least five years before that would be necessary.

And to be sure, he was waiting until it was absolutely necessary.

A few days, a mere forty-eight hours and his entire existence was going to be in upheaval. To think, only four hours ago he was looking forward to a cozy evening with Céline, the opera diva he had sequestered in a little townhouse not far away. Under the present circumstances, he no longer was looking forward to anything. Rather, he was quite content to stand before the fire and feel sorry for himself.

Of course! He could take the girls to the country and leave them there with a governess.

Why hadn’t he thought of it before? It was a stroke of brilliance. He needn’t have his life interrupted after all! Surely the young ladies wouldn’t want him around anyhow. Why, he’d only be in the way. A governess would be infinitely more suitable for them. He needn’t interfere!

Suddenly the evening was brighter, even the fire cast a cheerier glow about the room. All he had to do was secure a governess. And that couldn’t be hard to do. He’d simply inquire about and interview prospective persons. Better yet, Mrs. Pott, the housekeeper, could interview. She’d be far more capable and wise in knowing what made a good governess.

Charles congratulated himself on his brilliant plan and to celebrate, strode over to the liquor cabinet, and poured himself a glass of amber-colored brandy.

“Cheers,” he murmured.

Already those girls were as good as gone.