Jane Eyre 1. Chapter 1

_**Author's note:**_

_**Hi guys, this is my new story, a Jane Eyre inspired Regency romance. Please Read and Review, ANY feedback would be very very welcome and much appreciated. Thank you for making it to my story, hope you like it **___

_**AUTHOR'S EDIT:**_

_**I apologize for some mistakes when this chapter was published. I had decided to change Mr. Rochester's name to the more Regency-era friendly name of the Duke of Ashton, but the manuscript that I uploaded here hadn't been changed yet. In addition to that, I decided to leave Adele's name the same, simply changing it to the more English 'Adelina', another change that I forgot to make (after originally calling her Cecilia). **_

_**Thank you so much to everyone who has already read, liked and reviewed this story, pointing out my these oversights, but at the same time encouraging me so much… I am overwhelmed! Thank you once more.**_

_**Please let me know if there is anything else that I have to correct.**_

_**I hope I got them all… 3 **_

Chapter One

A Chaperone for a Young Lady of Fashion

November 1813

This was only the fifth governess he was interviewing, and by the looks of her, she appeared to be every part as unsuitable as the rest.

His grace the duke of Ashton brought a slender white finger to his temple. This was going to take longer that he had at first expected, upon undertaking the task. His headache was worsening by the minute.

He placed his hands on the heavy, oak desk that smelled of old paper and tobacco. Daylight was streaming through the spacious windows, and outside a bird was singing in the warm summer air. And still, the lady kept talking.

His grace stole a glance at the paper bearing the woman's credentials.

"Miss Devon, is it?" he asked politely. "Miss Beatrice Devon, of _shire?"

The girl, for she was scarcely more than that, nodded seriously. She hardly knew enough of him to be able to understand what one of these icy looks of his meant. She would, however find out soon enough.

Her appearance was rather pleasing to the eye, she was short and smallish looking, and a bit on the slender side, but her cheeks were blooming and her neck was long, slender and swanlike. Her dark curls were meticulously combed back on her head, and in general she gave an appearance of elegance without being dressed elegantly or, he marked as he took note of her frayed pelisse, even respectably.

"Miss Devon," he repeated, "I would be obliged to you if you were to stop wasting my time. You are clearly ill-suited for this position."

At that, he saw a spark of fire in her warm, clear eyes.

"You cannot have read my credentials," she answered with a touch of authority in her voice he hadn't heard before.

"Oh but I did," he retorted. "The question is, did you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

She looked perplexed. And, if he had to admit it to himself, she even looked charming wearing this particular expression. He tapped a long finger to the papers in front of you.

"Or, _can_ you read it, I should say?"

The girl appeared unfazed by his extraordinary question. She met his eyes unwaveringly.

"You appear to have doubts," she replied calmly, "as to my reading abilities."

"Well, how else am I to explain your presence here? I placed an advertisement for a chaperone for my ward, a young… miss of about sixteen years of age. I assume you are not much older than that yourself?"

"I will be nineteen this August, your grace," the girl answered with dignity. "And I humbly presume to tell you that I would be the best choice for a companion and chaperone for your young ward."

"Pray, enlighten me," the duke dripped with sarcasm.

She, however, continued as though he had spoken with true civility.

"I understand, your grace," she said gently, and for the first time his grace realized that the girl might be young –too young indeed- but she had more grace and true refinement in the way she spoke and the way she carried herself before him, that every other woman he had ever met. "I understand that the young girl in your care is in somewhat difficult… circumstances."

"She is unmanageable," he said simply.

The girl's eyes sparkled with appreciation at his simple statement.

"Would then not a chaperone closer to her own age be viewed as more of a companion, and therefore be more willingly listened to and taken into account?"

The duke considered for a minute. There was some truth in her words.

"And what makes you think, a mere child yourself, that you are the person she will listen to, even if _I_ cannot inspire her respect?"

The girl's mouth trembled as though with a secret laughter. Suddenly, the duke's cool exterior dropped like a cloak. Was she, a mere chit of a girl, laughing at him? But the expression left her face as soon as it was formed there, and he thought he had imagined it.

"You may take me on for a week, as a trial period," she pronounced majestically, as though she was the one doing him a favor.

His grace stifled a chuckle.

He hadn't laughed in so long, his throat was rusty with it.

"Wait outside," he waved to the girl, and she obeyed at once.

_That is more that the other ones have done so far_, he thought. _She is pleasing to look at, and witty, and obedient. Her age, appearance and birth, however, work so much against her, that it is, of course, out of the question that I employ her in my household._

A mere three days later, the young ward of his grace the duke of Ashton, Miss Adelina Halifax, was transformed from a spoilt, mischievous child, to an orderly, miss.

She still had a long way to go in order to make herself presentable for the season, which was to be in but a few weeks upon them, but the duke knew that, whatever his objections, he would be a fool to let such a miracle-worker slip through his fingers.

He, however let the 'governess' as he had taken to name her, wonder for many more days, before he confirmed her employment. Meanwhile, the governess was fast becoming friends with Adelina.

Adelina was a tall, beautiful, spoilt girl with luscious blond curls, accustomed to be entitled to everything the highest society could offer and tired of not getting her way in everything. Her father, the older and much more traditional-minded first cousin of his grace, had died but a few months ago, brotherless and friendless, and it had occurred to him before his death, that it would be a fortunate thing indeed if his poor, lovely daughter was to be brought to London and live with his morally depraved cousin after his own passing. Therefore, he left him his daughter in his will, like he did with all of his most prized possessions, stating that his 'poor motherless daughter' was to be entitled to the best that society and his fortune combined could offer.

Now his own fortune, though considerable, was nothing compared to that of the duke's, and, considering this fact, it was indeed a wonder that the duke even should consider taking on such a great encumberance as a young girl completely untrained in the ways of society, but still, that is what he did.

And now, a complete fortnight after his first interview with the governess, he called her once again to the library.

It was a crisp November morning, and Adelina was dressed in her smart new riding outfit, ready for a day spent riding at the park.

Miss Devon had spent many a painful morning, far earlier than the fashionable crowds appeared at the park trying to teach her proper riding etiquette, and so far she felt that her efforts hadn't seen the justice they deserved. Still, she put a smile on her face, and knocked on her charge's door.

Her charge was seated at her elegant vanity and was occupied with making her lady's maid cry.

Miss Devon took in the situation at a glance, and, approaching the girl, she nodded to the tortured maid to leave the room.

Then, while trying to avoid the girl's flailing arms, she set about the task of calming her. First, she touched her hair. Her half-finished coiffure was a thing to behold, but soon enough, under the dexterous and capable fingers of Miss Devon, the hair began to take form. In only a few minutes, the girl's hair was as beautiful as if a French maid, trained in the salons of France, had coiffed it.

"There," she said with a note of accomplishment in her voice.

Adelina looked at her reflection in the mirror with a dissatisfied gaze.

"Now, bring me my hat," she said, royally.

Miss Devon stifled the urge to sigh long and extensively.

"You will remember to speak with a manner appropriate for a young lady of society," she said, her tone gentle and firm all at once.

"I am tired of her incompetence," the girl spat.

"And yet," Miss Devon answered calmly, "speaking like a spoiled child not yet out of the nursery will not get her work done any sooner or with better quality."

Adelina tossed her pretty curls with indignation.

"I am ready," she declared. "Let us go."

"Not yet, my dear," Miss Devon said, letting the authority creep back into her voice. "Your uncle and guardian first desires an interview with me. And besides, there is the matter of apologizing to your maid."

At that, Adelina bristled.

"Let her apologize to me!" she said. "Whoever heard of a lady apologizing to her maid. And as for my uncle, we have not seen him inside this house for a fortnight, now that he finally wants to talk to you, you may tell him he is to wait. After our ride, you are welcome to talk with him to no end."

"In that case," Miss Devon replied quietly, "I with to inform you that you are in no way prepared to enter the park at this fashionable hour, your manner leaving for much to be desired in the way of civility and refinement, and therefore our ride is cancelled." And she took off her own hat, in a dramatic fashion.

Adelina turned on her, eyes ablaze. "What?!" she screamed, close to hysterics.

Miss Devon was almost at the door, her escape almost complete, when Adelina rush next to her and slapped her soundly on the left cheek.

"And," she said, to add insult to injury, "I am not even sorry for that."

With this, she slammed the door in her governess' face and went to throw herself on her bed with the commendable intention of spending the rest of the day in misery, crying her pretty eyes out.

Meanwhile, Miss Devon, cheek smarting and eyes fighting hot tears, rushed to her room to survey the damage. She would not admit it to anyone, but this act of violence from her charge had given life to most unwelcome and painful memories from her not so distant past, and as a result she found she needed more than a few moments to collect herself.

Then she dared look in her mirror.

The room she had been given for her temporary stay at his grace's London residence, was a cozy little corner overlooking the back gardens, with a simple tapestry of light green stripes covering the walls, a dresser, a small vanity and a luxurious bed. When she had been first shown in to it by a disgruntled maid, she had felt her eyes misting as though at a glimpse of heaven. Now, however, her tears had quite another cause.

On beholding her own visage on the mirror she cringed, and hastened to wipe her red-rimmed eyes and put a cool cloth dipped in water over the angry red mark that Adelina's violent emotion had left on her cheek. Her efforts were mostly in vain, as she had feared, and the little pocket-watch she kept fastened to her waist like an old-fashioned housekeeper, showed a quarter past eleven.

Miss Devon squared her shoulders, loosened a curl to drape over the mark on her cheek, and hurried down the stairs to the library.

A huge fire was blazing in the hearth, but the silence was complete, and for a moment she relaxed, thinking she was alone.

"You certainly took your time," said a bored voice from the general direction of the French windows.

"Your grace." Miss Devon hurried to curtsy before him.

He barely lifted his gaze to acknowledge her, so she apologized, simply and clearly for being delayed. Then she fell silent and watched him.

He was seated in a large armchair, his long, slender form sprawled elegantly across the silk tapestry. His white hands emerged from the folds of his white-lace sleeves to delicately hold a thick book, and the emerald ring he wore on the little finger of his right hand caught a ray of the sun and sparkled as he turned the page, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

He was, as always, dressed immaculately from the top of his dark, luscious curls to the shining tip of his Hessians –he was dressed for riding, Miss Devon surmised. His cravat was a masterpiece of human art, and his simply-cut dark blue coat had required a super-human effort on the part of his valet to put it on his person, so exactly was it made to fit his slim figure.

"I understand you to consider yourself a woman of no mean comprehension," he drawled at last. "Am I then to suppose that you have had no inkling what this interview was about?"

Miss Devon strove to keep the right side of her face in the shadows, which was no mean feat, since the room was flooded in sunlight, in case his grace decided to look up from his book.

"I fear you mean to unhire me, your grace." She answered simply.

"And why would you fear that?" he asked after a long-suffering pause.

She thought for a moment, what the correct reply would be. It would not do to show him how desperate she was to keep this post.

"Your grace…" she stopped to clear her voice, because an annoying tremor seemed to have crept into it. "Your grace appears to be a man of few words. And, if I may so add, even fewer appearances at this household. I surmised, therefore, that I had been summoned for no less important a reason than the one of my original interview with your grace."

At last, his grace had lifted his piercing eyes to her face, and seemed to fasten them on her own in a most disconcerting manner. She could not but lower her gaze, and hope that her previous distress was not entirely visible, although the fact that she appeared to be fighting a losing battle made her determination to appear at all costs brave in front of him, somewhat waver.

"I see," he said and stood.

He paced the carpet for a second, turning his back to her, but she did not let herself grow relaxed.

"Instead of pleading for your position," he went on, "you appear to be making an attempt at chastising me. So," at that he abruptly turned to face her, and she felt her knees tremble with the hostility of his gaze, "you mean perhaps to tell me I am not enough involved in my ward's affairs?"

_Oh dear_, she thought miserably, _this does not seem at all promising._

He lifted a slender eyebrow, waiting for her reply. She could apologize again, but his eyes seemed to already anticipate such a reaction and to mock her in advance for it.

"That was indeed what I thought, your grace," she said as quietly as she could, "but it was ill-mannered of me to hint at it, especially so soon after having entered your employ. And for that I apologize."

The duke of Ashton found himself at a rather odd position while listening to her answer. Namely, he found himself fighting back laughter. That was quite out of the expected sphere of his hitherto existence.

"I am to hire you then, am I?" he said, more softly that he had yet spoken.

"I thought you already had," Miss Devon replied demurely, thus securing her place in his household and his second vain attempt to suppress a smile that threatened to blossom on his lips.

Then he suddenly turned severe again.

"I trust you will not give me reason to regret my decision, Miss Devon," he said in such a serious tone, that she quaked before him.

She, in her turn, could do nothing but curtsy deeply in reply, for much though she desired to thank him wholeheartedly, she realized that what respect she had wrenched from him unwillingly at this point, would be entirely lost at the slightest show of emotion.

"I should also inform you," he added, "although I leave the details of your further actions to my housekeeper, that you are to immediately remove yourself and my ward from this household, which has already harbored you both for far too long."

She raised questioning eyes to his.

"You cannot possibly remain in the house of a confirmed bachelor for the Season," he explained firmly. "I have made arrangements with my aunt, the Dowager Lady Augusta Edgerton, an amiable lady of regrettable health, who lives in the most fashionable neighborhood, and who gracefully offered to house you both for the duration of the Season and beyond, supposing that your efforts in finding my ward a husband prove unsuccessful."

A pregnant silence followed this severe pronouncement.

His grace appeared to curl his lip in ironic amusement.

"You press your lips so firmly Miss Devon," he said, "that I cannot help but ask: which part of my speech has offended you?"

"Well," Miss Devon began, "I did not speak at once, for I was not certain you would wish for my opinion, but truly I cannot help but feel that the sentiments you just now expressed were deeply wrong. Indeed, every sensibility must be offended."

"My dear girl," his grace replied, his amusement turning fast to anger, "whatever can I have said that made you think that I wish for your opinion?"

"You cannot in earnest want her wed, sir?" she asked bluntly, looking straight into his eyes.

His grace froze for a split second.

Then, as abruptly as it had left him, his aloofness seemed to settle again upon him like a garment.

"Indeed I do," he said, once again bored. "What else am I to do with her, after all?"

"She is but sixteen years of age," Miss Devon insisted, "and very ill brought up, and indeed, from what I have so far gathered, she has had a most lonely and inappropriate childhood."

"Has she now?"

Miss Devon bent her head down, seeking to conceal her expression from the duke.

"I see," he said. "Before you were half in jest, but now you seriously disapprove of me."

"I do not disapprove, your grace," she replied. "I am merely disillusioned. I had thought of you as someone… quite different. Well, I suppose I must do my best to prepare her for the hardships of a married life. I trust you will want to approve of the bridegroom yourself?"

She had gone too far. She had let her tongue run away with her, one of her commonest faults, and had quite forgotten her position and spoke to him as an equal. This would not easily be forgiven her. She knew this with certainty, even as she saw the steel sparkling in his eyes.

In two long strides he was beside her, taking her arm in quite a painful grip and fixing her face with a scowl so cold that she felt the color leave her face.

"Madam," he spat, bending over her, his nose mere inches from hers, "do not presume to know me, or to tell me know I should conduct my affairs. This is the last time I have tolerated criticism from you. Is that understood?"

She could only nod imperceptibly, paralyzed by his closeness. He searched her eyes for a second, and then seemed to relax his arm on hers, although he did not distance himself from her or let her go.

He was fuming, angry beyond words at himself, for letting this mere slip of a girl wrench out of him more emotion than he had ever allowed himself to show to the world. He was angry at her, too, blindingly, passionately angry. An anger that made him feel more alive, more painfully present than he could remember.

She parted her rich, trembling lips and he watched them, mesmerized.

"Forgive me," she whispered and drew her brows together as though she was in pain.

He remembered his grip on her, and released her abruptly. She stumbled, then righted herself, and rubbed her arm wincing at the pain.

He turned aside, unable to watch.

"You can go now," he said at length.

She started towards the door, with small, uncertain steps, for her legs were still trembling, and he once again came to her.

"Miss Devon," he said, his voice unsteady. "Let me look at you."

He lifted her chin with one long finger and he ran his thumb along the red mark on her cheek.

"Did she hit you?" he said quietly, almost in a whisper, "I wonder what you did to arouse her temper. Were you as harsh on her as you were on me? I think… I think you cannot have been."

"I cancelled our excursion," she merely said.

Still he touched her cheek lightly with his thumb.

"Hmm…" was all he said, then he stepped away from her, moving to his abandoned book on the armchair, which he proceeded to tidy on the secretaire with very slow and deliberate movements.

Finally, he turned to her.

"Tell your charge," he said, with dangerous calm, "that the next time she lifts a hand on you, I will kill her."

Miss Devon stared at him.

"Rather a violent threat for such a small crime, your grace" she said with some bewilderment.

"Think you so?" was the only reply she received before he abruptly changed the subject. "You will, I trust, be satisfied with the further details of your salary, Miss Devon, but as I cannot be detained any longer, you must discuss these with Mr. Frost." He pointed to the door, where that worthy man had appeared, serious and forbidding within his secretary's habit.

"As you wish, your grace," she said with dignity, for the word 'salary' had left a bitter and lowly taste in her ears.

The duke regarded her with some faint surprise, which however he was soon able to overcome. Without a second glance, or other words of farewell, he left her and strode to the door.

"Miss Devon, I presume," said Mr. Frost with a serious, forbidding baritone as he approached her civilly.

She, however was not heeding him much. Her gaze was earnestly watching out of the window, and almost the next minute, her curiosity was satisfied, for she saw his grace in the distance, trotting away on his giant of a black steed, and guiding his mount with a touch of impatience that would only be visible to a trained and experienced eye.

"Mr. Frost, ma'am, at your service," Mr. Frost coughed.

She curtsied politely. He was a youngish-looking man, whose severity belied his years, and she detected in his eye a hint of genius which well satisfied her.

"Mr. Frost," she repeated. "If we are either of us to survive the changes that will no doubt descend upon his grace's household with the coming of the season, you must learn to call me Miss Beatrice and not stand upon so severe a ceremony with me. I confess I fear I will need a great deal of assistance."

"Miss Beatrice," he replied, "I am honored to be your guide and assistant in everything you may require."

She smiled at him, and two twin dimples appeared on her cheeks. "Thank you."

Mr. Frost, for once lost for words, stammered something intelligible.

That was the moment he lost his heart to her. From then on, he was to be her most devoted slave.

The very next morning Miss Devon along with her charge, Miss Adelina Edgerton, moved to the household of the Dowager Lady Augusta Edgerton, a lady, as Miss Devon soon was to discover, much inclined for any kind of company, for she was confined to a chair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Hi guys, just a quick note to thank everyone who read, reviewed and added my story, you are wonderful. **

**I hope you enjoy the next chapter!**

**Please let me know what you thought, I am very anxious to know your opinions of this story, since it's something I've never done before, and the language is a bit more complex than I'm used to writing…**

**Thanks again.**

**Enjoy…**

Chapter Two

An Invitation

They settled in the house of the Dowager nicely and from then on endeavored to pass their days in the most genteel of ways imaginable, namely, making an almost daily pilgrimage to the milliner's, sewing flowers on new bonnets, perusing through fashion journals and learning the infamous new dance, the waltz.

At the same time, little by little, Miss Devon managed to draw out of her charge the stories of her unhappy childhood and to attempt to mend what she could of her loneliness for a friend and her selfishness of nature. The first was easily done, the second required much hard work on her part, including long and tedious arguments and many insults to her person, which she all bore with patience for she had, in a short time, learned to love her young charge. Of his grace the duke, neither the young ladies nor the dowager saw anything for weeks, until a fortnight before Christmas, when he rode to the house in Camden Square and stepped inside, almost completey ignoring Lady Augusta's gentle-mannered butler who took his many-caped overcoat.

"Dominic! Is that you? Are you come at last to visit your poor, invalid aunt?" that worthy lady's accents reached him as soon as he had stepped away from the entrance, and he sighed but not entirely in displeasure.

He proceeded in the small parlour that he knew his aunt to prefer infallibly on such a gloomy winter's morning such as this, for it was the middle of December.

Perceiving her at her little invalid's chair by the window, her eyes aglow with the expectation of seeing him, her pale cheeks rosy with pleasure, he felt a momentary pang at not having had the impulse and the time to make his visit sooner. He approached her, and bending at one knee elegantly, he kissed her hand.

"Most excellent of aunts," he said, his lips rising in that mysterious, half-smile of his, "how entirely miserable I have been these past few months for missing your dear face."

Upon hearing this sentimental speech, his aunt burst into a much inelegant laughter and then thought it wise to slap his hand away, which was still holding her own, in a movement one uses to chastise a naughty but well-loved child.

"You know well, Domnic, as I do," she said severely, "that coming to visit me was the last thing that crossed your mind this last half year!"

His grace tried to look ashamed of himself, failed, and got up to sit in a small sofa across from her.

"I find you well, aunt," he said presently, abandoning his jovial tone.

"Better than expected," his aunt confirmed with an indifference to her condition that reminded him of himself, for he knew it to be feigned.

In fact, nothing else was much amiss with her, but for the rheumatism that forbade her to walk. She was a small, slender woman, with refined character and manner, and a goodness of disposition that made her much more of a mother figure for his grace as he was growing up than his own indifferent, fashionable mother had ever been. She was the sister of his father and, by her own choice ever present in his childhood, inasmuch as she was childless herself, having survived a harsh and uncaring husband who only wed her for the sake of her money, and then promptly abandoned her for various mistresses.

"I am glad to hear it," said his grace, speaking genuinely for once.

"Well, I can safely presume that you did not come here with the sole purpose of seeing me, my dear boy," said his aunt affectionately.

"No, indeed I did not," answered he without any embarrassment. "How does my charge?"

On hearing this enquiry, her countenance darkened and his grace saw with concern a shadow pass her visage.

"Do not tell me she has been giving you grief, madam?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"Then I shall not tell you," she replied. "However, as you have taken it upon yourself to enquire after her well-being, I will answer you as honestly as I can." Here she paused to take a breath, and she went on. "The best thing that you ever did for that girl was hiring Beatrice, although you being the one who did employ her, I suppose you know that already and have knowledge of this fact yourself. For a kinder, more intelligent and better refined person you would be hard-put to find…"

"Madam," his grace interrupted abruptly, "I will beg you to forbear singing that lady's praises. She is, after all, in no danger of losing her position, on that head you might be easy."

"I am pleased to her it," his aunt said, casting upon him an enquiring eye. "What I meant to say was, that charge of yours, is wearing her companion to the bone. She is constantly under attack for the smallest things… and she, the poor dear, is the gentlest being imaginable, armed with limitless patience and not with word or look has she ever shown any resentment towards young Adelina, whom she, I suspect, has begun to love. However, and this I have wanted for quite some time to say to you, dear nephew, a man's strong guiding hand will be required at work before the chit is ready for polite society."

His grace deigned to allow his eyebrows to meet.

"If I am not mistaken, aunt," he said, "you mean to recommend that I take a more active hand in her upbringing."

Lady Augusta impulsively took his hand in hers.

"My dear boy," she replied, "it was Beatrice who suggested it first, and I must say that I whole-heartedly agree with her, namely that the child's chief lack of a good character stems from a prolonged and thoughtless neglect on the part of everyone who should ever have been present in her life."

His grace stood.

"I see," he said. "So that is what Beatrice thinks, is it not?"

"It is also your aunt's humble opinion, Dominic," Lady Augusta said firmly, "and you need not laugh so at your young governess' opinions. I assure you she is one of the most well-read people I have ever encountered."

"Well, that is high praise indeed, coming from you," he said, raising a mobile eyebrow.

Whatever his aunt was intend on saying, was lost as the commotion of someone opening the door with forced restraint interrupted their quiet interview. They both turned to face the door and beheld Adelina, entering with a bouncing step and glowing cheeks, her riding habit a stark burgundy complimenting her golden curls. She was in the process of flinging her riding whip on the couch, when she stopped short, seeing his grace.

Immediately she was transformed.

She stood straight, holding her shoulders and chin with dignity and sank in a pretty little curtsy. Then, opening her lips she pronounced with great care:

"Your grace."

And stood there, in front of him, awaiting his pleasure.

His grace lifted a monocle to his eye. He took in her elegant appearance, the style of her bonnet, and the grooming of her hair.

"Amazing," he whispered under his breath. Then he strode to her, and taking both her gloved hands into his, bestowed a fatherly kiss on her cheek. "I trust I find you well, my dear?" he asked affably. "I scarcely knew you, so improved are your appearance and your manners since the last time I had the pleasure of meeting with you."

Adelina's eyes sparkled in delight.

"You think so, sir?" she asked childishly.

"Adelina, my dear," Lady Augusta interrupted this charming scene, "his grace your guardian has been so kind as to agree to stay for tea. Now, should I ring the bell?"

"No aunt," she hurried to the door, "pray, let me!"

"Is this the unmanageable child I had described to me but a few moments ago?" his grace bent and whispered in his aunt's ear.

"Ah," that lady said, as the door once again opened to admit Miss Devon this time. "Here comes the miracle worker herself."

His grace turned to look upon her, and hastily rose to his feet.

"Miss Devon!" he said, much astonished.

"Your grace," she curtsied, smiling. "We are fortunate indeed this day."

Immediately he took her elbow and led her aside to a small corner near the window, noticing as he did so, quite unexpectedly, the charming way in which the morning sunshine seemed to play in her hair.

"What," he asked in his most severe tones, "is the meaning of this?"

He now saw, which he had not noticed before, that she too wore a riding habit, although much shabbier than his ward's and slightly ill-fitting on her narrow frame. Her hair was in slight disarray from its austere bun, and the small dark tendrils escaping on her forehead and the nape of her delicate neck rather became her sharp little face.

"I presume you find much lacking in the manners of your ward, sir," she said in most dejected tones, and her whole figure seemed to droop from disappointment.

"You presume wrong," he answered fiercely. "You will sit down for a minute. Allow me."

He led her to a chair, for a pallor of most alarming intensity had stolen the color of exercise from her cheeks.

"Was then my aunt correct when she complained of that child wearing you to the bone?"

At his previous words her face instantly had brightened, and her dimpled smile appeared suddenly on her warm lips. She merely brushed his last comment aside with an eloquent gesture of her hand, not deigning to grace it with a reply.

"You find her then somewhat improved?" she asked eagerly.

"Improved? Madam, she is almost an altogether different creature."

"That, sir, is the greatest compliment I have been paid my entire life," she said, leaning back in a satisfied manner.

"I seriously doubt that it is," he murmured under his breath. Then he fell to watching his ward, who, with the utmost solicitude, if not excellent grace, was endeavouring to pour his aunt a clean cup of tea.

"Let me tell you a secret," Miss Devon's voice was whispering near his ear, "your grace. This is all a mere act." She raised her eyebrows in the direction of her charge.

"I do not doubt it is," he replied easily, "and yet you appear to have paid a rather high price for this 'mere act'."

She would have gotten up and gone to Adelina, but he detained her with a hand on her arm.

"Stay, if you would a minute," he said. "For I have an announcement which concerns you as well as my aunt and little Adelina." She stopped and turned to face him, the hem of her skirt brushing his boots.

"You do?" she said. "I wondered to what we were owing the happiness of your visit."

He lifted a white hand.

"There is no need for you to repeat my aunt's chidings, Miss Devon, I assure you," said he. "I have been thoroughly and entirely ashamed of my conduct."

At this she laughed aloud, a sound that sparked throughout the whole room. His aunt and Adelina lifted their heads, for they had been in much talk over the proper serving of the tea and scones, and smiled, as though accustomed to the sudden sunshine of that sound.

"She did not mean you to be ashamed, your grace, I am sure," she told him, lowering her voice. "Merely that you would bestir yourself a bit more on behalf of your ward."

"Prompted by your superior wisdom, I find," retorted he, taking snuff in a bored manner.

"Indeed the thought, though it finds me absolutely in agreement, was entirely hers," was the only answer she would give and again she moved away from him.

He watched her movement across the room silently for a while, and then he himself got resolutely on his feet.

"My dear aunt, you will be, I am sure, delighted to hear that I intend forthwith to amend the shocking neglect of which you to cold-heartedly have only just accused me," he announced and then paused for a dramatic second for effect. "You are hereby invited to my country seat in –shire for the Christmas festivities. I intend to form a party to journey there on the fifth, and of that I am determined, if you all agree, that you should be a part."

His grace stopped here, perceiving that the governess was looking at him with something akin to approval and his aunt also with a most beautific countenance. Adelina, however, appeared, to his terror, to be approaching him with the intent of embracing him, so great and unabashed was her joy and gratification upon hearing his words.

He took a step back, much alarmed, but thankfully Miss Devon was there to stop his ward's progress but a few steps before she reached him. She whispered a couple of phrases in her ear, and then, visibly practicing the utmost restraint on herself, Adelina made him a pretty curtsy and tried to express what was most proper in way of thanking him for his generosity.

"Oh, the gowns I must order," was mostly what she said.

"Yes, as to that," his grace replied drily, "I was afraid that both you and your governess," here he paused to run his displeased eye once again over that second lady's offending garments, "would be lacking in proper attire for a party such as this. I therefore propose repeating my visit on the morrow for the purpose of attending Mrs. White's and Madame Blumen's and every other shop that would afford you both with the appearance that you are expected to present, being my guests and family."

Adelina delightedly clapped her hands together, his aunt hastened to reassure him with feeling that his presence in her house was more than welcome whenever he felt in a generous mood, and Miss Devon pressed her lips together while the color once again left her cheeks.

After these proceedings, they had tea, and shortly thereafter he took his leave.

"Miss Devon will show me out," he said.


	3. Chapter 3: An Interview

_**Author's note **_

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading this story and encouraging me!

I am glad to say that I have finished it and published it on both in ebook and paperback. You can head over there if you like and take a look, its final title is Ruined, and my author's name is M.C. Frank.

I may have to delete the chapters I've put up soon enough, since amazon doesn't allow me to be published anywhere else, but I'll leave them up for a few months at least, I think.

I'll have a giveaway on goodreads for the physical copy of my book in a few weeks, probably, so you can enter that BUT, just because it's you guys, and I love you, and it's because of you that I am pursuing my dream of being a writer, if you just comment on this story, here on FanFiction, and ask me for it, I'll send you the book (physical or ebook, depending on whether you're comfortable with pming your address to me)

Also, to celebrate, I'll post a teaser chapter here!

**Thank you so much for everything, you are the reason for all of this and I don't deserve you!**

**Chapter Three**

**An Interview**

The footman handed him his coat and then Miss Devon was standing in the opening of the door, the cold wind playing with her curls in a most satisfying manner.

"I cannot myself credit what has come over me," his grace said to her, "but here I am again asking you a question which in the past has had a very dissatisfactory answer for me." He fixed her with his quizzical look again. "Am I in your displeasure?"

"No, indeed your grace," she replied hastily. "You have been everything amiable and generous to us all this day, and I deeply apologize if my manner has shown you otherwise."

"Are you well?" he asked her bluntly, his blue eyes penetrating hers.

"To be sure."

"Then what are these?" he pointed to the heavy shadows under her eyes, causing her to avert her gaze immediately. His skin burned where he had touched her, and his eyebrows met as he wondered what the devil had come over him. "Please, forgive me," he amended quickly. "There is no need for you to feel embarrassed. I did not mean to imply that your beauty is in any way diminished since I last saw you."

She raised laughing eyes to his face and he had the curious sensation of his breath being short. "Beauty?" she repeated. "Oh, you are too good, your grace."

"An offence I trust I will not repeat soon," he replied. "Now tell me, what is amiss? When I last saw you at my house you were blooming. Has that infernal child been working you so hard then?"

"I am a little tired just now, your grace, that is all," she replied after a moment's hesitation. "I suppose I slept ill last night. However, since you are so good as to solicit your concern for my comfort, a sentiment I am not sure I deserve, I wish to discuss with you a… a hesitation as to your Christmas plans."

"I see," he said. "You will follow me to the library then, Miss Devon, for this accursed wind has already made you tremble with cold."

They were shown into the cozy library where a small fire was burning and he insisted that they be seated close to it, before he would allow her to speak.

"I do not wish to be of the party going to Hartfield Park for the festivities," the governess stated plainly, as soon as she settled herself on the very edge of the red armchair he led her to.

"Is then your aversion to me so great?" Ashton asked without preamble.

"How can you say that?" she cried, getting up in her agitation. "How can you accuse me of such a feeling when I have repeatedly tried to apologize for my previous conduct? No, my reasons must be apparent to your grace, and they are of a far more delicate nature."

"They are, however, quite obscured from me," he replied in bored voice, fixing a wary eye upon her. If the girl started affecting complaints in order to garner his sympathy or God know what else, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions. "Please, be so kind as to explain," he added, trying to conceal his annoyance.

Miss Devon wrung her hands and then, as though remembering her position in his household, she made a visible effort to appear calm and collected, halting her agitated movement. He'd be amused if he wasn't so damn irritated.

"Your grace, have pity on me," she said softly. "Do you not see how I am situated here?"

"You are my ward's companion, if memory serves me well."

Miss Devon strangled a sound that was trying to burst through her lips. "You will compel me to laugh," she said and was seated across from him again. "It would be most inappropriate. Do not take my refusal to mean any disrespect towards your grace, your ward or indeed towards the regard with which your aunt and her entire household have surrounded me since the day I arrived here. No home could be warmer, no hearth more welcoming…" she ceased to speak abruptly, and turned her head aside.

He saw, to his horror, that there were silent tears running down her cheeks. Hardly knowing what to do, for he had a terror of female hysterics, he sat there quietly, waiting for her emotion to pass. He was surprised when, but a moment later, she brushed her cheeks and smiled up at him a watery smile.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I have never known such kindness as this, and it moves me deeply even to consider it. And that is exactly the reason why I must refuse to accompany my ward to Hartfield Park. Neither you nor she must be embarrassed by my conduct, should I…"

He stopped her with a violent movement. He'd reached the end of his tether. What did the woman want from him?

"Dare you speak of embarrassing my ward," he cried, "you whom _I_ have personally chosen to be her companion and her instructor in how to behave in polite society? Dare you accuse her and me of not wanting to be seen with you in public? Is this then your reason? Ah, but it is to me a far greater reproach than any other you could possibly have made."

She sat still, looking shocked by the vehemence of his answer, while he stood and began pacing the room. He wasn't a little shocked by it, himself, if truth be told.

"Do you deny, your grace," the governess said at length in a small, sad voice, "that I and my shabby outfit -_that_ is the reason you wish to accompany us to the shops tomorrow? You know Adelina's taste is trustworthy. It is I whom you fear, and you are quite right to do so. No, I refuse to ruin all these weeks' preparation with her, only in order to indulge myself."

Ashton turned to look at her. "Are you in earnest?" he asked. "I believed you to be a person of superior understanding and uncommon sense. I can see that it is _your_ taste and not Adelina's which had dressed her to a fault today. I can see that it is only your false pride that keeps you in garments fit for… for the _poorhouse_," he exclaimed with sudden disgust and she flinched, turning pale.

"And now you sit there, looking for all the world like a martyr," he went on, relentless, "a bloody wilted rosebud…"

He stopped abruptly, finding that the governess's face had turned white as chalk.

"No, your grace does not under-" she started to say, but her words were halted by a shortcoming of breath, and she appeared to be fighting against an emotion so powerful it overwhelmed her. She abandoned the effort to speak, and, with a small sigh, she leaned forward weakly, placing her forehead on her hands. The next minute her whole figure was drooping, lifeless.

Ashton acted quickly. He was on his feet and next to her in two long strides, taking her arm and trying to lift her.

"You are unwell," he said, bending on one knee beside her and supporting her head with his hand. "Shall I call for help?"

"No," she tried to say, but her lips were trembling violently.

"Tell me how to assist you," he whispered, shocked at the sudden pallor of her skin.

Miss Devon tried to lift her head, but she couldn't. Ashton could see her cheeks turning deathly white, her eyes drifting closed. His heart thudding, he placed a hand on her back and lowered her head over her knees so that the blood would flow more easily.

He shook her gently but she did not stir. He felt her slipping out of his grasp, her slender hand falling lifeless to the side.

Seized by a sudden urgency, he raised his voice: "Miss Devon!" he commanded her sharply, at which she opened her eyes with difficulty and blinked rapidly into the light of the flames.

"I shall be well in a minute," she said and raised her head with visible effort.

He quickly stood and went to the corner to pour her a glass of Madeira, which he then watched her drink. A little color returned to her cheeks, and she averted her gaze in shame. "Forgive me," she began to say, but he stayed her.

"There is nothing to forgive," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "do not apologize."

He was panting slightly, and a lock of hair had fallen on his forehead in disarray, which was almost enough to put him in a foul mood.

"If I were to find any fault with you," he said, standing over Miss Devon's head, "it would be a denial of all your needs to the point where you are not taking care of yourself. Do you, my dear Miss Devon, fancy yourself a nun?"

"I thought…" she hesitated. "I thought that by devoting myself wholly to a worthy cause I would pay for past offences that I fear will never be forgiven me."

His grace found himself once more on one knee in front of her.

"Look at me," he said as though speaking to a child and the governess obediently raised her honest gaze to his. "I cannot pretend to imagine what past offences a mere girl like you could speak of, but I assure you that making yourself ill over the whims of my stupid ward will not serve any purpose save to bring to you and to those who care about you infinite pain and distress."

"There you are wrong, your grace, for there is no one who cares about me," she answered matter-of-factly.

"Silly child," he admonished, "have I not this day invited you to my very home?" She kept looking at him and he had the strange sensation that she could see all the way to his heart. "And how great do you imagine my aunt's and Adelina's disappointment would be if they were to be informed that you wished to desert them?"

She wiped her eyes once more, daintily, and murmured: "This is not how I supposed this interview to go at all."

His grace, hiding a smile, got up to give her space to compose herself. "The reason I wish to personally attend your shopping expedition tomorrow," he went on, "is that I want to make sure you will choose what you care for, and not consider the price. This was as far as my motives went."

"I suppose," she said in a calmer voice, "that after today's display, I am once again to consider my place here precarious?"

He regarded her curiously. Despite the mixed feelings of irritation and pity that she evoked in him, he was increasingly becoming certain of one thing: he'd never met another woman like her in his entire life.

"What I wish to know," he said, in a voice he once had to work hard to make sound detached, "is what evils of your childhood still haunt you, that you should think thus disparagingly of yourself. And, moreover, what kind of person has beaten all optimism and kindness out of you. Do not mistake me, you are most solicitous in the needs of others. It is yourself you are out of charity with." Miss Devon looked up at him in surprise. "Am I safe in the supposition," he added, getting up and striding to the door, "that we need not elaborate on the subject of Christmas any more, Miss Devon?"

She merely shook her head in the negative.

"Very well," he approved and in a few moments he was once more taking his leave of her.

He was on the first step already, his carriage waiting down the steps and the footman half-closing the cold outside, when he turned and spoke to her once more.

"Miss Devon," he called, for she had walked away from the door, and she turned and hurried back to him. "Do oblige me," he spoke quietly and warmly, his face close to hers, so that the footman would not overhear, "by taking better care of yourself in the future. I would be loath to find you in a similar state again." He took her hand in his gloved one and pressed a light kiss on her palm. "I take my leave of you," he said and was gone.

_**Beatrice**_

Miss Devon was torn between feeling absolutely mortified and succumbing to an idea of flattery which the duke's last gesture faintly had suggested to her mind. Swiftly recovering her good sense, she decided to laugh both feelings away and admonished herself to remember that his grace was rumored to be an accomplished flirt and that not a small number of women had fallen prey to his charms. Indeed, he was said to have run off with an heiress at one time, and at present to be involved in a liaison with a married woman.

It was just his way: it didn't mean anything.

There was no reason for her to further delve into his grace's morals, which appeared by general admission to be severely lacking, but there was indeed ample reason for her to guard her heart and her behavior.

Before that shocking display in front of his grace in the library, she had caught herself not once but twice noticing the way the firelight glowed off his raven locks, and the way his muscles flexed inside his breeches as he moved. This would not do at all. She must stop herself immediately.

"My dear Beatrice, is that you?" Lady Augusta's voice called her, and she hastened to go to her, for she had already tarried long with his grace.

She was a few steps away from the parlor, when with a sudden pang his grace's words came back to her, seemingly out of nowhere.

'…_a bloody wilted rosebud…'_

Suddenly she was short of breath again and had to lean against the wall for support. He couldn't have known, of course, what painful cord his words had touched.

'I can see that it is only your false pride that keeps you in garments fit for the _poorhouse_.' She shuddered again. It was true, she had abandoned herself to that fate. She knew that upon leaving Lady Augusta's abode on the morrow, as she had planned to do before her interview with his grace, she would in no more than five days find herself precisely there: in the poorhouse -or worse.

She didn't know what she should reproach herself for more: letting herself be dissuaded from her plans by the duke or thinking of the scheme in the first place?

The circumstances of her birth and upbringing were simple enough, although not in the least as lowly as the duke had divined.

Her father and mother, both God-fearing people, had instilled in her a deep respect of others, and a strong sense of following what was right in spite of how difficult or rare that path might seem to her or others.

Her father had been a member of the English peerage, but she had buried his -and her own- title away, trying not even to remember it herself, for by assuming the guise of a chaperone, she had to also take on a humble and unassuming manner which ill-suited her, but to which she was increasingly becoming accustomed.

Her existence had been one of laughter and warm affection until, right after her sixth birthday, tragedy struck. Her mother had died of a sudden fever, and her father had never remarried, staying true to her memory until his own death, three months prior to her arrival in London.

It did not seem that growing up motherless would be such a great ordeal, after all: she still had her beloved father, taking her for rides, for picnics, and ensuring that his smart daughter received the best education in mathematics, Latin and philosophy, no different than if she'd been a boy.

And yet, in the years that followed, she had endured a hellish existence, with evil and abuse lurking at every corner in her father's house, a house she'd fled a mere week after his death.

That night she lay awake for hours thinking back on the fateful day of her escape and wondering, as she often did, how long it would be before danger followed her even here.

The reason for her thinness and pallor was not as simple as the duke and his aunt had surmised. For sure, Adelina had almost driven her mad these past few weeks, but she was a dear girl and Beatrice was certain she wouldn't have let her insults and temper tantrums wear her to the bone if it hadn't been for her own fears.

With every day that passed, she was becoming more and more uneasy. Was today the day she would be discovered? Was that a step in the dark hall, after all the servants had gone to their beds? No, she was being silly beyond reason. There was no way for him to have found her. She'd changed her last name, her appearance, everything.

Yet, her hand trembled every time she opened a closed door. At night, she often woke up drenched in sweat from nightmares, and for the past two days she had eaten almost nothing, her appetite gone.

And she bolted the door to her room when the lights went out -she knew it was futile, but she couldn't help herself.

A couple of days ago, she'd finally made a decision.

This was no way to live. She'd drive herself mad and put everyone close to her in severe peril. Let alone that she might become so weak that she'd give away the entire ruse -for if Adelina was a bit naïve and unworldly, Lady Augusta's eyes were as shrewd as a cat's, and as for his grace… well, little, if anything, ever escaped that ice-blue stare, she was certain. That would ruin all, if nothing else did. They'd make certain to send her back where she rightfully belonged.

No, she must leave before actual danger threatened. Adelina was on her way to becoming a decent member of the _ton_, and whoever her own successor was would have a much easier job preparing her for her come-out than hers had been.

She'd made up her mind: the next time the duke came to visit, she would hand in her notice. She'd put them all in danger long enough. She couldn't live with herself if anything happened to the girl or Lady Augusta.

The Christmas invitation was the perfect excuse. She'd seen the distaste clearly formed on the duke's handsome features as soon as she'd walked in, and if her circumstances had been different she would have smiled to herself. Yet, for some reason, she found herself sinking further into despondency at the thought of her imminent departure. How long had it been since she'd felt the warmth and safety of family surrounding her? She hadn't felt it since her mother was alive. No wonder she was loath to abandon it.

When his grace had mentioned the poorhouse, her heart had drummed painfully within her. That's where she'd end up for sure; she wouldn't be lucky enough to find a position similar to this again. She'd wander around, sleeping out of doors on an empty stomach until she'd die on the streets like a stray dog, or be sent to the poorhouse with the beggars.

Thankfully the duke didn't for a moment suspect her of hiding anything; she was already in his displeasure, she couldn't risk his wrath. How he'd persuaded her to abandon all thoughts of leaving, at least for the present, she hardly knew. Yet, he'd most definitely done it. She'd stay until New Year's, God willing. She'd stay with Adelina, and what's more she'd stay safe and stay alive. At least, for all his haughty manners, the duke had shown more kindness to her than any man she'd ever known, including her own father.

Beatrice stared at the ceiling of her room and concentrated on the soft, rhythmical sound of a nightly bird outside her window. The London streets did not completely quiet down even in the midst of the night during the Season, but since it had not yet started, it was only the fierce December wind that howled at her windows in tandem with the rapid beating of her heart.

The wind lulled for a second and all was still. Something knocked against the door, and Beatrice bolted upright on her bed. She flung her braid behind her shoulder, and, panting in fright, she got up, flinching as her bare feet met the cold floor.

Again, a scratching sound on the wood.

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Calm yourself, she thought. You're being unreasonable. She inched toward the door, picking up a candelabra in her trembling hands and holding it out like a weapon. Outside, the wind picked up again, slapping the window-frame with violence, and she could hear nothing more.

Grabbing the door handle in her left hand, she swung it round, thrusting the candelabra forward. There was nothing there. The hall outside her room was pitch-black, only illuminated by a thin ray of moonlight coming from the servant's stairs. She walked for a few steps, merely to ascertain that it was clear too.

She barely made it to her room before she collapsed on her knees, shaking like a fish. Then she abruptly got up and bolted her door. She lay on her bed, freezing, and swaddled herself in her covers. It had finally happened; she had lost her mind.

She spent the remainder of the night staring at the ceiling and thinking. Tomorrow she would have to go shopping. And then to Hartfield Park.

She turned on her side and hugged the bedcovers to herself, along with her secrets. At times she felt like holding her head for fear that all those things she had to keep inside would fall out, or explode in an inopportune moment. Such turmoil amid such joy and relief… Had any woman ever found herself in a similar position?

In books they certainly did. But this was real life.

"God help me," she whispered. "Give me peace. And courage to chase all bitter thoughts from my soul, courage to stay alive." A single tear traveled from her cheek and wet her pillow at the thought of how many nights she had lain awake like this, with no warm bedcovers or goose-feathered pillow to comfort her loneliness. The Almighty was surely far too good to her. Far better than she deserved.

She planned to let neither the Almighty nor the duke regret saving her for one single day. At least, no more than they already did. She must be far more careful, far more guarded in the future. No look, no word, no move must betray her to the blue, astute eyes of her employer.

She must try harder.

With that comforting thought she finally drifted to an exhausted, anxious sleep just as the dawn painted the heavens pink outside her window.


End file.
