How to Tame Your Duke by Juliana Gray Page B

understand his pupil’s motivations, in order to better design the course of study.”
    Ashland’s eyebrow arched. Emilie resisted the urge to fidget, to push her spectacles up the bridge of her nose; to tug at her whiskers, which grew steadily itchier under the duke’s gaze.
    At last Ashland reached for the fountain pen in its holder at the top of the blotter. He shook it with a single brisk stroke, set the nib to the paper before him, and began to write, with his left hand curled awkwardly around the pen and his empty right cuff braced at the side. He spoke without looking up. “Your
business
, Mr. Grimsby, is to prepare my son for his entrance examinations in five months’ time. You shall conduct this
business
as you see fit. The staff and conveniences of this house are entirely at your disposal. Do you ride?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “A horse shall be provided for your use. I encourage you to enlist a groom in your explorations, however, as the surrounding terrain is notably treacherous. Is there anything else you require?”
    “No, sir.”
    He looked up. His gaze was hard. “Then you may go, Mr. Grimsby. I shall be upstairs later today to observe your progress.”
    Emilie’s back straightened. She was perfectly prepared to make allowances for the duke’s misfortunes, which might make anyone hard and abrupt, and for the subservient relationship she bore to him.
Remember
, Miss Dingleby had said, schooling the three sisters in Olympia’s attic last week,
that you are not princesses anymore. You are commoners. You are employed to perform tasks to your superior’s satisfaction. You will be subject to his demands and his unvarnished opinions, and you must submit to them.
Emilie had repeated those words to herself last night and again this morning, as she attached her whiskers to the sides of her face with the special glue Miss Dingleby had given her.
    You must submit to him.
    Still, she didn’t have to enjoy it.
    “There is one thing, sir,” Emilie said stiffly.
    “Yes?”
    “Apart from my duties, may I consider my time my own?”
    Ashland fingered his pen. “I suppose so.”
    “I may, for example, venture into the village from time to time?”
    “As you wish. I regret there is not more to entertain you.” Ashland’s voice grew a touch silkier, a touch more pointed.
    The blood began to simmer in Emilie’s ears. “As for entertainment, I require very little, sir, other than a book. But I do have affairs of my own, which require my attention from time to time.” She stood and stared down at Ashland’s white head. “If you will excuse me, I believe I shall begin work at once.”
    “Admirable, Mr. Grimsby. Good morning.” Ashland returned his attention to the desk before him.
    The scratch of pen against paper dismissed her.

FOUR

    F rederick Russell, Lord Silverton, sauntered into the schoolroom at half past ten o’clock, dressed for riding. “What ho,” he said, flinging his scarlet jacket on a nearby chair. “You’re up early, Grimsby.”
    Emilie removed her spectacles, wiped them, replaced them on her nose. She took out her pocket watch and tilted it toward the window. “It is half past ten o’clock, your lordship. Your lessons began at nine. I regret you have missed them all.”
    Freddie’s eyes popped wide behind his own spectacles. His hair was askew, clearly unbrushed, and the bones of his thin shoulders propped up his white shirt like tent poles. “I beg your pardon?”
    Emilie slid her watch back into place. “Have you broken fast, sir? Before we begin each morning, I require you to have eaten. One cannot properly concentrate on an empty stomach.”
    “I say, Grimsby . . .”
    “
Have
you, sir? Eaten?”
    “Why, yes, but . . .”
    “Then sit down and we will discuss your plan of study. I understand you drink coffee. I have instructed Mrs. Needle to have a tray sent up at eleven. And Lord Silverton?”
    Freddie slumped into the chair. “Yes, Grimsby?”
    “It is
Mr.
Grimsby.