CHAPTER ONE
“Oh, would you look at that! My Lady, I believe there is a coachman across the road wearing a bright red… tunic! Oh my, I have never seen quite a sight!”
As the carriage trundled down the winding country road, it jostled its two passengers as it approached the grand Dunmore Estate.
Seated inside, Evelina smoothed her pale blue satin gown and adjusted her bonnet, determined to maintain a composed and dignified facade despite her inner trepidation.
Beside her, the Countess of Claymont chattered away excitedly about everything and anything, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort. At fifty-two, Clara Jones cut a striking figure in her elaborate emerald silk gown and overwhelming towering feathered headdress.
The eccentric aunt of the Duke of Dunmore was renowned among the London Society for her flamboyant attire and penchant for meddling in others’ affairs.
“Now, my dear, there is no need for such nervousness,” Clara said, patting Evelina’s gloved hand. “My nephew may seem a bit stern, but I assure you he is quite reasonable once you get to know him.”
Evelina forced a polite smile. “I appreciate your reassurances, Lady Claymont. I only hope His Grace will find me a suitable tutor for his daughter.”
In truth, Evelina’s anxiety stemmed not only from meeting the notoriously reclusive Duke but also from the desperate nature of her current circumstances.
At five-and-twenty, she was fast approaching spinsterhood, her chances of making an advantageous match dwindling with each passing Season. More pressingly, her father’s gambling debts threatened to leave her sisters destitute if she could not secure more income.
This position as tutor to the Duke’s young daughter was her best hope of providing for her family while maintaining some semblance of respectability. Evelina was determined not to let this opportunity slip through her fingers.
As the carriage rolled to a stop before the grand manor house, Evelina took a deep, steadying breath.
You can do this,for Margaret and the girls.
A liveried footman assisted them out of the carriage, and Evelina followed Lady Claymont up the sweeping marble steps to the entrance. The massive oak doors swung open, revealing an austere butler who regarded them impassively.
“Lady Claymont and Miss Balfour to see His Grace,” Clara announced grandly.
The butler bowed stiffly. “If you would be so kind as to wait in the blue parlor. I shall inform His Grace of your arrival.”
He led them to an elegantly appointed sitting room decorated in shades of cerulean and cream. Evelina perched nervously on the edge of a brocade settee while Clara bustled about, examining the various ornaments and artworks adorning the walls.
“Hmm, I see Gabriel has redecorated since my last visit,” she mused. “Though he could do with some livelier colors. Perhaps some yellow curtains to brighten the place up a bit.”
Before Evelina could respond, the door opened, and a tall, imposing figure entered the room.
She held her breath, her eyes widening as she watched him walk in.
The Duke of Dunmore cut a striking figure, with his broad shoulders, chiseled jawline, and piercing green eyes. Thoughonly five-and-thirty, there was a hardness to his features that spoke of a man who had known his share of trials.
His eyes assessed the scene before him until they landed on her. It felt as though he was looking through her, inspecting her down to her very bones.
Evelina nearly broke eye contact, if not for the sake of manners. Something about the situation made her feel… odd. Her feet were rooted to the carpeted floor, yet she felt like bolting out the door.
Stifling the odd feelings, she rose and bobbed a perfect curtsy. “Your Grace,” she murmured demurely.
“Gabriel, my dear nephew!” Clara exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace him. “How wonderful to see you again. You really must visit more often, you know. You’ve grown even more handsome since last I saw you.”
The Duke endured his aunt’s effusive greeting with stoic forbearance. “Aunt Clara,” he said, his deep voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”
“Why, I’ve brought you the perfect tutor for little Eliza, of course!” Clara gestured dramatically towards Evelina. “May I present Miss Evelina Balfour. She comes highly recommended, I assure you.”
The Duke’s sharp gaze raked over Evelina assessingly. She once again fought the urge to fidget under his scrutiny, keeping her posture erect and her expression neutral.
“Miss Balfour,” he said at last, inclining his head slightly. “I understand you seek the position of tutor for my daughter.”
“Indeed, Your Grace,” Evelina replied, striving to keep her voice steady. “I would be most honored to undertake the education and moral guidance of Eliza.”
