“Is that so, my lord?” Pritchard asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “I have sold my commission and will be living in the country. Since I have spent my entire adult life in the military, I literally have nothing to wear. I have borrowed some clothes from His Grace, who was kind enough to outfit me until I saw you. We served as officers together in the army for several years.”

  “Any friend of His Grace and a man who served our country is certainly one I want to help outfit,” the tailor said. “Let me measure you, my lord, and then the boys.”

  Pritchard assisted Devin in removing his coat as Miss Birmingham wandered the store, looking at materials and pointing things out to Charlie. Freddie remained behind, clearly fascinated by the process simply because it involved measurement, which meant numbers.

  The tailor would call numbers out and then lower his measuring tape to record them on a chart. Eventually, Freddie asked enough questions, so many that the tailor asked if he might take over the pencil. Freddie happily did so, continuing to ask questions.

  When Pritchard finished with Devin, Charlie was called over. This time, Freddie asked if he could be the one taking the measurements. Pritchard agreed and supervised the young boy as Devin and Miss Birmingham looked on.

  “He picks up things rather quickly,” Devin pointed out.

  “If it involves numbers, Freddie is happy. They are his friend and tell a story to him,” she said. “Just as much as the ones Charlie likes to have read to him. He wishes to write stories, you know. Told us this morning.”

  “He clearly has a very active imagination. That will serve him well if he becomes an author.”

  “His Grace is most supportive of his nephews,” the governess said. “In a way, I believe it’s fortunate that they are so different from one another. That way, they will never truly be in direct competition with each other, as so many siblings are.”

  He heard something in her voice and asked, “You never answered me when I asked before. Do you have brothers or sisters? Were you in competition with them?”

  She was silent a long moment and Devin thought she was refusing to answer his question. Then she said, “I have a half-brother. He is seventeen years my senior and wanted nothing to do with me or my mother after my father’s death seven years ago. Though he inherited the title and everything that went with it, he was jealous of how close I was to our father.”

  She bit her lip and shook her head, as if she had said too much.

  She had.

  In a few, brief sentences, he had learned that Miss Birmingham had a male relative who should have taken care of her after her father’s death. One who had deliberately chosen not to. A man who had been jealous of a girl half his age, forcing her into the world to earn her living—when she could have continued to live in comfort on the estate where she grew up. Quickly doing the math, he figured she had been on the verge of making her come-out. With her unusual beauty, she would have been snatched up by a peer of the ton. Instead, this spiteful half-brother punished her. His gut told him she never had that come-out Season. That she had gone to work to earn her living when she should have wed a titled gentleman and be a mother now.

  Devin wanted the name of her half-brother—so he could kill the bloody bastard.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Devin shook hands with Mr. Kepler and said, “Thank you for your time today, sir. It has been most enlightening.”

  The older man smiled. “You had excellent questions, my lord. I hope you were satisfied with all my answers.” He paused. “I do believe you have the makings to be a fine steward if this is the path you choose. I assume you know that I will be retiring from service to Woodbridge and the Duke of Woodmont at the end of this calendar year. If you truly are interested in taking over for me, we could spend the next few weeks together. You could shadow me as I move about the estate. If you felt comfortable, I might even be able to retire a bit early,” he finished, a twinkle in his eyes.

  “If I do choose to come to work for His Grace,” Devin said, “I would not want to run you off early.”

  “You wouldn’t be doing so, my lord. I would look upon it with favor. You see, I plan to retire on the estate. His Grace has already offered me a cottage. I am happy to get to it sooner rather than later. If you ever have any questions, I would be close by and be able to help you.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” he said. “Again, thank you for spending this afternoon with me.”

  Devin left the steward’s office, three ledgers under his arm. He had always enjoyed learning and had found out quite a bit today, so much that he thought his head might explode. His father had not had a heavy hand in running their family’s estates, leaving that management to his steward. Win, on the other hand, seemed to be quite active in the goings-on at Woodbridge, though many day-to-day matters were handled by Mr. Kepler.

  Devin thought what it would be like to work with his good friend over the years to come and knew what his answer would be.

  He would accept this position.

  He had already missed tea because he’d spent so long with Kepler. Heading to his bedchamber, he decided to study the ledgers until dinner. Two hours later, he made his way downstairs to the drawing room, where Win and Sera were sipping a glass of wine. A footman offered him one, as well. Devin took it, joining his friends. He wouldn’t tell them tonight of his plans to remain permanently. One barrier still stood in his way.

  Writing.

  He feared not being able to write with his left hand. After today, he knew keeping records was one of the larger responsibilities of the position. Before he could accept it in good faith, he must know that he could conquer this hurdle.

  “Good evening, Devin,” Sera said. “We missed you at tea but Win said you were closeted with Mr. Kepler.”

  “How did it go?” his friend asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.

  Giving nothing away, Devin said, “Kepler was a fount of knowledge. Obviously, he has given many years to this estate. No matter who replaces him, your steward will be difficult to follow.”

  Win turned the conversation to other things, seeing that Devin was not going to make a commitment at this point.

  They moved to the dining room and he wished that Miss Birmingham could join them. Mentally, he chastised himself. He really had to stop thinking about the governess so much.

  As the soup course arrived, he said, “I have something to share with you that happened today. Charlie was quite concerned about you being ill, Sera.”

  “I thought I assured both boys that I would be fine.”

  “They spoke of their mother,” Devin revealed.

  Win whistled. “They have not said a word about her since I took them from London.”

  “Charlie, in particular, seemed worried that Sera would grow ill as their mother had and leave them. Miss Birmingham and I tried to assure him otherwise. It is obvious that the boys are worried and that they do miss their mother.” He paused. “Miss Birmingham did an outstanding job in comforting them. She spoke of losing both her own parents and how the good memories of them remain with her. She also told the boys that her parents—and their mother—look down upon them from Heaven and are proud of them.”

  “She is a remarkable woman,” Sera said. “And not merely a governess.” Her gaze met Devin’s briefly before she looked away.

  “I think we should tell them about the babe,” Win said. “I don’t want them fretting over your health. We can explain to them how long it takes for one to grow in your belly. I think that would be better than having them anxious and upset.”

  “I agree with you,” Sera said. “The nausea is not going to subside anytime soon. If they are going to see me become sick frequently, I want them to know it is a good thing and nothing like the illness their mother suffered from.”

  Once dinner was complete, Devin excused himself, saying he wanted to go back and study the ledgers which Kepler had provided to him. They were to meet again tomorrow afternoon at two so Devin could ask any further questions that came to him.

  In his room, though, he became anxious, thinking about learning to write with his left hand. He decided there was no time like the present and he needed to start as soon as possible. Miss Birmingham had set their first lesson for tomorrow morning but he wanted to start now.

  He left his bedchamber and went upstairs to the schoolroom. He knew the boys’ room was on one side of it and Miss Birmingham’s on the other. He didn’t know how she would feel about him coming to see her so late but he knocked on her door anyway.

  She answered it quickly, still dressed in the gown she had worn to Marston this morning, but she had a hairbrush in her hand and her hair was loose about her shoulders. His fingers itched to touch the silvery-blond hair. He had to fight to keep his hands at his sides.

  “Yes, my lord?” she asked, her tone firm—and irritated.

  “I know we were to wait until tomorrow morning to begin my handwriting lessons but I would like to start tonight. If we could. I apologize. I know that it is late.”

  “Your meeting with Mr. Kepler went well, I assume.”

  He smiled. “Extremely well. I would tell Win now that I wish to take the position but in order to do it properly, I must be able to write clearly and with confidence. Is it possible we could have a brief lesson now? I will admit I might be a little shy, especially with the boys around to watch my progress.”

  Understanding lit her eyes. “Please go to the schoolroom. I will join you shortly.”

  He did as she asked, taking one of the small chairs as he looked about the room until she arrived a few minutes later. Her hair was no longer unbound. Instead, it hung in a long, single braid over her shoulder.

  “Much of this will be physical,” she told him. “But a good part of it will also be mental. You must keep a positive attitude throughout. I know there will be times you become discouraged but as the old saying goes, ‘Rome was not built in a day.’ You learned to write so many years ago that you do not recall the struggles you faced in that process.”

  “I understand. I know it will require many hours of practice.”

  “It will. That practice must be consistent and performed daily. Not merely with forming your letters, either,” she explained. “One thing you will need to do is strengthen your left hand. It is much weaker than your dominant one. You should do strengthening exercises. Picking up heavy books would be a start. Besides that, you must change your entire way of thinking. You, being righthanded, always lead with your right—and not just your hand. I want you to start doing everything with your left hand.”

  “I already try to eat with my left,” he said.

  “Yes, I did notice the night I dined with you and His Grace’s friends. Like anything, every task will take practice. The more you repeat it, the more comfortable you will become. That means combing your hair and opening drawers with your left hand. I also want you to lead with your left in all you do. Open doors with your left hand. When you climb up stairs, begin with your left foot. The more you do with the left, the more natural it will become.”

  She licked her lips and Devin’s focus immediately went to them.

  “It is going to take many, many hours of repetition in order for you to become proficient, my lord. Your hand will cramp. You will be using muscles you have never used before. You will struggle. Accept that now and know that you will need to push through it.”

  “I have never been one to back down from a challenge,” he stated. “I understand how difficult this is going to be. Franky, I dread it,” he said, chuckling.

  She smiled. “I think you already have a good attitude, my lord. Let me tell you now, briefly, what my philosophy is in guiding you through this process. We will start with a slate and have you write the alphabet, over and over. Capital letters first and then once those are mastered, lower case letters. You want to apply a light pressure. I think that a heavy hand would be a mistake. Once we move from a slate, I would like you to use a pencil. Ink would smear.”

  Devin had never thought of that but he did now, thinking as he formed letters and words, his left hand would brush across and smear the ink on the page.

  “I see. A pencil it will be.”

  “We will do the same thing as you did on the slate. You will write both sets of letters, over and over, until you are comfortable forming them. Then we will move to cursive writing. The first thing you must master is signing your name. I will also make a list of often used words, such as the, and, and certain verbs. Ones that you would use over and over, to help your muscles learn common letter combinations. We will begin writing those words and eventually move to creating sentences.”

  “Numbers,” he said. “We have not discussed them. As an estate manager, I will work frequently recording numbers into ledgers.”

  “You are correct. We will need to incorporate numbers into this process, as well. I think also that we might try a few other things to hopefully work different parts of your brain. Drawing shapes, such as triangles or squares. Anything to challenge you and change things up a bit might be good.”

  “You have given this a great deal of thought, Miss Birmingham. Thank you for agreeing to work with me in this endeavor. I will see that you are compensated for these lessons. This is not what His Grace pays you to do.”

  “There is no need for that, my lord. I am here. So are you. You need my help. I am happy to give it.”

  Devin thought to push the stiff boundary between them. “Since we will be working so closely together, I would ask a favor of you, which I hope you will grant.”

  Suspicion filled her eyes. “What favor?” she asked cautiously.

  “Would you please call me Devin?”

  She shook her head sadly. “No, my lord, we are not of the same class. There should be no familiarity between us.”

  Anger surged within him. “But you are of my class. You mentioned a half-brother who inherited your father’s title. That makes you the daughter of a gentleman. A lady.” He paused and boldly placed his hand over hers. Electricity sparked between them.

  “If you will not accept compensation, that means you are doing this favor to me as a friend. Please. Call me Devin.”

  “All right,” she acquiesced. “Devin, it is.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze and then said, “And what I might call you in return?”

  “Why, Miss Birmingham, of course.” She smiled. “After all, I will be your teacher.”

  He removed his hand from hers, willing to take half a victory at this point.

  “Shall we begin?” she asked.

  She rose and retrieved a slate, chalk, and a cloth to erase his writing. For the next hour, Devin worked on both capital and small letters, insisting he do both at the same time instead of waiting to master the capital ones first. She was right. He was using muscles he never had and noticed also how weak his hand seemed. It took a great deal of concentration for him to form a letter. At one point, she even remarked how much he would have to focus in order to form letters. He complained that he did that with his right hand with barely a thought before his injury.

  She chastised him, telling him that his right hand was no longer an option as far as writing went.

  “You are a stern taskmaster, Miss Birmingham,” he told her, admiration in his voice.

  She took the slate from him and erased what was on it. “I think you have done enough tonight, my lord. Are you comfortable coming to the schoolroom tomorrow and being with the boys? Or would you rather take your slate to your room and practice there?”

  “I will take a slate for additional practice but I expect my lessons to occur here in the schoolroom.”

  He rose and offered a hand, helping her to her feet. For a moment, they gazed into one another’s eyes and he hoped they might kiss. Then he realized how inappropriate that would be and released her. She gave him a slate and chalk to take to his bedchamber.

  “I will see you tomorrow morning, Devin,” she said, using his Christian name as he had asked.

  Miss Birmingham disappeared through the door linking her room to the schoolroom, closing it quietly behind her.

  Devin returned to his own room and put in more practice until his had cramped so badly that he had to stop. He rang for Larson, who helped him prepare for bed. Once tucked beneath the bedclothes, he fell quickly asleep, the scent of violet haunting him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Devin flexed his left hand as Larson shaved him. He had spent almost two hours last night using the slate Miss Birmingham had given him, writing letters and erasing them, over and over. He had taken a brief respite each quarter-hour or so, spreading the fingers of his left hand wide and balling them into a fist. He would need to work on strengthening the hand but he already felt good about the progress he had made so far. The chalk glided against the board and was rather freeing. It would be more difficult, though, once he held a pencil in his hand. Controlling it would be harder than the chalk he now used. Still, for the time he had put in, he was pleased.

  As Larson dressed him, Devin made a conscious effort to lead with his left, as Miss Birmingham suggested. He held out his left arm first to slip into his waistcoat and coat. He lifted his left leg and had the valet place that boot on first. Every time he began to walk, he made certain he stepped left first.

  He joined Win and Sera in the breakfast room. Sera seemed as washed out as yesterday and he wondered when they were going to tell the boys of the upcoming babe.

  “Are you going to go out on the estate again today, Dev?” asked Win. “If so, you will see some activity.”

  “No, I hadn’t planned on doing so. I am meeting Kepler again in his office this afternoon to discuss a few other matters. After looking at the ledgers he provided to me, I have some questions. As for this morning, it is back to the schoolroom for me.”