Merry Christmas, My Love

Apparently her sore body had needed the rest, for she had fallen asleep. Lady Charlotte and Lady Clare raced into her room, with Miss Jennings following behind. “Ladies always walk,” she scolded.

“His Grace wished for the girls to call since you won’t be able to join them for afternoon tea.” Miss Jennings’s lip curled and she looked so far down her nose, Merry thought the governess would become permanently cross-eyed.

“Thank you very much for bringing them.”

“It was His Grace’s wishes.” She sniffed, all her displeasure in the sound.

“What happened, Miss Merry? The duke told us you were injured in a spill from your horse.”

Merry sighed. “No, pet. I was not injured. I did fall from my horse, but aside from a few aches and-mostly in the area where I sit down-I’m fine.”

At Miss Jennings’ sharp inhale, Merry glanced at her.

“This is not proper conversation for young girls.”

Merry raised her eyebrows. “What did I say?”

Miss Jennings drew herself up. “A properly brought up lady never mentions any part of her body.”

Biting back a retort, Merry returned her attention to the girls, encouraging them to tell her all about their lessons.

After about fifteen minutes of visiting, Miss Jennings reminded the girls the time drew near for their tea. Hugging Merry fiercely, they left to return to the nursery. Their governess remained behind.

Once the latch on the door caught, Miss Jennings moved closer to Merry’s bed. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Her eyes grew to slits. “I thought you claimed to be an experienced rider?”

“And if I did?”

“Then how is it you came to fall from your horse?”

Merry’s jaw muscles worked. The nerve of this woman! “Not that it’s any of your concern, but my horse unexpectedly reared and threw me.”

“Right into His Grace’s arms?”

Stunned into speechlessness, Merry didn’t move a muscle as the governess hissed.

“You can forget what you’re thinking. The Duke of Penrose will never stoop so low as to marry a foreigner. And from America, no less,” she sneered. Pacing in front of the bed, she slapped a fist into her hand. “If he were to select a wife not a member of the haut ton, he would surely choose me. I’m English. My father was a member of the gentry.”

Recovering her voice, Merry said, “How exceedingly pleasant for you.”

“Don’t condescend to me. I see the way you look at His Grace, and he may be attracted to you. But be assured, a quick tumble in his bed is all he is interested in.”

Merry drew in a sharp breath at the woman’s crudeness. “From what I understand, His Grace is not in the market for a wife. In fact, if you are wishing to secure a husband, I advise you to look to his brother. Lord Brandon has been named the duke’s heir.”

“Nonsense. No duke would ignore his duty. And Lord Brandon is sorely wanting in so many ways.”

Merry thought of the young man with the sparkling wit and charming ways. The man who befriended her from the first. “Miss Jennings, you are unpleasant and rude. Please leave me.”

“I will. As soon as I finish.” She came to stand directly over Merry, her face in a vicious snarl. “You may have cajoled Her Grace into hiring you as a companion so you don’t have to leave, but you’ll never get your hands on her son. He is a duke, and you are a nobody.”

Quelling the unladylike desire to rip out the governess’s hair, she gave a tight smile. “Thank you for your kind words. Now please leave me in peace.”

Miss Jennings patted her hair, and tugged on the sleeves of her gown. Turning on her heel, she headed to the door. She gripped the door latch and viewed Merry over her shoulder. “Just remember what I said. I can assure you if anyone in this house is to be the next Duchess of Penrose, it will be me.”

Merry blew out the breath she held. Miss Jennings was more than welcome to the duke. His arrogance was something she would never put up with.