At that moment, a grave-looking gentleman arrived at the table, carrying a tray of tea things, and they were silent for a moment as the duchess went about the task of pouring tea for the two of them.
The duchess took a sip from her cup, then said, “I presume you have references, Miss Henderson.”
“Oh, yes.” Megan handed her the list over which she had labored for some time.
It was, she thought, artfully deceptive, listing her own education at the St. Agnes convent school, then adding a stretch of two years at a small, progressive women’s college that she knew had gone out of business many years ago, and following that with several years of schooling the children of Mr. and Mrs. James Allenham, whose address happened to be that of her sister Mary Margaret.
After much thinking on the matter, she had decided that it would be better to go with a simple background that would stand up to the duchess’s checking into it, rather than a tissue of more elaborate lies that would sound impressive enough for the children of a duke but would dissolve under the least scrutiny. She could describe the classes at the New England experimental college quite well, as she had done an article about the men and women who had banded together with high hopes to provide a superior education for young women. Megan was counting on the duchess’s intellectual leanings, and the fact that the family was desperate to find a tutor, to get her a job.
“I am afraid that my references are all in the United States,” she said apologetically.
“Yes, I noticed that you are American. But, frankly, I think it would be an educational experience for the boys to have a teacher from another country. Could I ask why you chose to come to England to seek employment?”
Megan spun a tale of a lifelong desire to see the country about which she had read all her life. Unable to afford a tour of the country, she had saved her money, she explained, to sail to England, with the hopes of then earning her way while she stayed here. Fortunately, Megan had always been an avid reader, so she was able to intersperse her story with praise for, and even quotes from, Chaucer, Shakespeare, and the more recent poets such as Byron and Shelley.
When she wound down, she braced herself for a more thorough examination of her knowledge in areas other than literature. However, somewhat to her surprise, after a passing reference to the duke’s insistence upon a solid grounding in the classical languages, the duchess went on to a subject that clearly interested her more: the condition of workers in the United States.
Having written articles exposing the wrongdoings of a tenement landlord, as well as having investigated a factory that was notorious for its mistreatment of employees, Megan had no trouble fielding the other woman’s questions, and they were soon absorbed in a lengthy discussion of the plight of the working class.
The scrape of a boot heel against the flagstone walkway interrupted them, and both women looked up.
A tall, broad-shouldered man was coming down the steps toward them. His hair was pitch black and thick, a trifle longer and shaggier than was customary, and it was shoved back carelessly, a lock falling waywardly across his forehead. His eyes were a light color in his tanned face—it wasn’t until he was closer that Megan could make out that they were a clear, compelling green. He had a square jaw and prominent, sharp cheekbones, the strength of his face softened by the curve of sensuously full lips.
He was, Megan thought, the handsomest man she had ever seen. His gaze locked on hers, and a jolt shot through her.
She had never felt anything like this sensation before. It was stunning, paralyzing, slamming through her almost like a physical blow. Her nerves hummed, her muscles tightened, and for the briefest, strangest instant she felt as if she knew the man—not in the way she knew other people, even those she had known all her life, but in a deep, visceral way.
Even as she stared at him, the man halted abruptly and stood for a moment, staring back at her. Then, a little jerkily, he started toward them.
“Ah, there you are,” the duchess said pleasantly, motioning him toward her. “Come here, dear, I want you to meet someone.”
He reached them and bent down to kiss the older woman on the cheek. His eyes strayed almost involuntarily to Megan.
“Dear, this is Miss Henderson. She will be tutoring the boys,” the duchess said. “Miss Henderson, this is my eldest son. Theo.”
3
Megan continued to stare. This? This was the man she had hated for the past ten years?
“Miss Henderson.” Theo sketched a polite bow to her. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Megan murmured a polite reply, not even sure what she said. She was finding it difficult to bring her scattered thoughts together.
“So you are brave enough to take on the twins,” he went on, his eyes twinkling. If he found it odd that a woman was being hired as a tutor for his adolescent brothers, he concealed it well.
“I—I’m not sure that I am their tutor—I mean—” Megan glanced toward the duchess. Had the woman actually hired her? She could scarcely believe it, but the duchess’s words a few moments ago had certainly sounded as if she had given Megan the job.
“I am so sorry,” the duchess said. “I did not give you a chance to refuse, did I? I confess, I was so eager that I was rude. Will you accept the position as their tutor, Miss Henderson?”
“Yes, of course.” Megan could scarcely believe her good fortune. She had been certain that her father’s plan would fail. Yet here she was, ensconced in the bosom of the family.
She stole a sideways glance at Theo and found his gaze on her, subtle lines creasing his forehead. She had the sudden, frantic notion that he knew who she was and why she was there. She told herself that was impossible. Ludicrous. It was merely her nerves making her see things that were not there.
Theo looked toward his mother, a smile forming on his lips, and Megan breathed a little sigh of relief. She had to get rid of this edginess.
“Perhaps Miss Henderson ought to see more of the twins before she makes her decision,” Theo warned, grinning. “Has she visited their menagerie?”
“Theo, really,” the duchess said repressively. “Don’t scare Miss Henderson off. I have only just found her.”
“I like animals,” Megan replied sharply, aware of a certain resentment that Theo Moreland was not at all as she had imagined him to be. “And I found the twins quite polite in a difficult situation. Indeed, they are lively lads who—who doubtless need a challenge in their schoolwork.”
As soon as her sharp words were out, Megan regretted them. It was not part of her plan to antagonize Theo Moreland.
To her surprise, his dark eyebrows lifted in amusement. “Well done, Miss Henderson. I see the boys have a champion.” He turned toward his mother, saying, “Perhaps it has been a mistake to give Con and Alex male tutors all these years. Given the way Olivia, Kyria and Thisbe feel about them, as well as Miss Henderson, it is obvious that women have a soft spot for the rascals.”
The duchess let out an inelegant snort. “Not Lady Kempton and her daughter.”
“The devil take it! Are they here?” Theo’s face assumed a hunted expression, and he glanced around, as if the women might be hiding somewhere among the trees and bushes, about to jump out at him.
“Not any longer,” the duchess assured him. “I was quite rude to them, I’m afraid. But they made me angry—criticizing Alex and Con in my own home! I hadn’t even invited them. They simply came calling, hoping, no doubt, to surprise you at home—though, of course, they pretended that it was me they had come to call on. Abominable women.”
“Thank heavens you sent them packing,” Theo remarked. “I scarcely dare attend a party anymore for fear Lady Kempton will pop up with one or the other of her daughters in tow. Which did she have with her today—the