Mari glanced ruefully at her dusty black skirts. Until the duke paid her, she’d have to make do with the one gown. It was a good thing she was plain and practical, with no reason for vanity.
Her bedchamber was two doors down from the nursery and Mari was glad of the proximity. If Michel had a night terror, she’d be the first to respond.
Was this really to be her chamber?
It was light-filled and airy, with blue silk on the walls and green trees outside the windows instead of dreary gray stone. There was even an adjoining sitting room furnished with a matching set of scroll-backed walnut furniture.
“Now, my dear, tell me how you find us thus far. Will we do?” the housekeeper asked with a twinkle in her eyes, accepting a tea service from a maid and setting it on the table in the sitting room.
“I shall be very happy here,” said Mari, joining her at the table.
As Mrs. Fairfield poured out, Mari settled against the cushioned chair back, easing the tension between her shoulder blades.
“You’ve certainly a much readier smile than any of the previous governesses, and that’s a vast improvement,” said the housekeeper.
Mari accepted a delicate teacup patterned with pink cabbage roses.
Mrs. Fairfield proffered a plate heaped with lemon-scented biscuits. Mari longed to swallow one of the delicate biscuits in a single bite, but instead she bit off a small, ladylike morsel.
Everything about her must proclaim refinement.
“Michel and Adele are intelligent, spirited children who only want proper encouragement and guidance,” Mari said.
“A very charitable way of framing the picture.”
“I try to be an optimist, Mrs. Fairfield.”
She’d had a reputation for efficiency and results at Underwood. A colicky baby? A girl who was unable to recall her lessons? Mari Perkins would take care of everything.
She’d made herself indispensable there, and she would do the same here.
“I’m so glad to hear it,” said the housekeeper. “I’ll have to personally thank Mrs. Trilby for sending us someone so cheerful and capable.”
“Please don’t! That is, she and I don’t always agree on... things. She prefers the Miss Dunkirk sort, if you understand my meaning?”
Mrs. Fairfield gave her a conspiratorial smile. “I understand completely.”
“Will you tell me more of the children’s upbringing?” Mari asked, to channel the conversation away from treacherous waters.
“I’m afraid I’m unaware of the particulars. All I know is that their mother gave not a fig for those children and they were raised by a nurse in a small seaside village in the Riviera of France. Can you imagine?” Mrs. Fairfield set her teacup down with an indignant clink. “A mother abandoning her own children? Though one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, I know.”
Mari had spent her whole life imagining a mother who might abandon her child, as Mari had been left at the orphanage. In her dreams her mother was still alive, and she hadn’t chosen to give her child away. There had been some mistake. Perhaps Mari had been stolen away.
In her dreams her mother had been searching for her all of these years.
“At least their mother engaged an English tutor,” said Mrs. Fairfield. “Otherwise they might only speak French.”
“Might I ask you a rather delicate question, Mrs. Fairfield?”
“Of course, dearie.”
“Are the twins... are they the duke’s legitimate issue?”
“The duke never married.” Her eyes clouded over. “I do hope you won’t think ill of us and leave?”
No chance of that, given her own uncertain origins. “The children had no control over the circumstances of their birth. I shan’t hold it against them. And I must say it was good of His Grace to acknowledge them.”
“He was fair livid when they arrived. Said if he’d known of them earlier he could have provided them with a proper British upbringing with no expense spared for their comfort.”