The Secret Pearl by Mary Balogh Read Free Book Online

world.”
    Yes. It had been. He had grown up with a conscious awareness that it would all be his one day. And his love for Willoughby was deeply ingrained in him. It had stayed with him during his years at school and university and during his years in the army. He had insisted on buying his commission in an infantry regiment despite the fact that he was the elder son and heir and despite the opposition of his father and just about everyone who knew him.
    But Willoughby had remained in his blood. It was what he had fought for—Willoughby, his home, England in miniature.
    And yet now he hated to go back there. Because Sybil was there. Because life could never be what he had grown up dreaming that it would be.
    And yet he must go. And something deep in him was perverselyglad that he must. Willoughby in the late spring and summertime—he closed his eyes and felt that deep surge of longing that he always felt for his home when he was away from it and allowed himself to think of it.
    And there was Pamela. Sybil did not care a great deal for her despite her protective attitude, despite the fact that she hated to allow him near the child. She spent almost no time with their daughter. Pamela needed him. She needed more than a nurse.
    She had more than a nurse. She had a governess.
    Fleur.
    He had put her from his mind after salving his conscience by finding her employment. And Houghton had assured him that she seemed qualified to be a governess. Houghton would have interviewed the girl thoroughly.
    He did not want to think of her. He did not want to see her again. He did not want to be reminded. He had only ever been unfaithful to Sybil that once, though there was precious little to be unfaithful to.
    Why had he had Fleur sent to Willoughby? He had other properties. He could have sent her to one of them in some servant’s capacity.
    Why Willoughby? To be in the same house as his wife. As himself. To teach his daughter.
    A whore teaching Pamela.
    “That’s enough, confound it,” he said, opening his eyes. “Are you trying to put me to sleep?”
    “That I was, sir,” Sidney said, smiling cheerfully. “There is less of your temper to contend with when you are asleep, sir.”
    “Damn your impudence,” the duke said, sitting up and rubbing at his eye again. “Fetch my riding clothes.”
    F LEUR DID NOT MEET either her new charge or the duchess during the day of her arrival at Willoughby Hall. They hadapparently gone visiting during the afternoon, taking the child’s nurse with them.
    “Mrs. Clement was her grace’s own childhood nurse,” Mrs. Laycock explained. “They are very close. I am afraid she will resent you as much as the duchess will, Miss Hamilton. You must just keep in mind that it is his grace who pays your salary.” She spoke briskly, so that Fleur got the impression that she was not the only servant who must keep such a fact in mind.
    His grace was, apparently, from home. It was likely that he was in London for the Season if the Mr. Houghton who had interviewed her was his personal secretary. Mrs. Laycock did not know when he was to be expected home.
    “Though he will be here, no doubt, if he gets wind of the fact that her grace is planning another party,” that lady said, “and a grand ball.” Her tone was disapproving, though she said no more on the topic. She would take advantage of the absence of her grace, she said, to show Fleur something of the house abovestairs.
    It was so magnificent and built on such a massive scale that Fleur could only trail along behind Mrs. Laycock, gazing in awe and saying almost nothing. All of the state and family and business apartments were on the
piano nobile
, the schoolroom and the nursery and the servants’ quarters in the smaller rooms above. Fleur had already seen her own room, small and square and light and airy, next to the schoolroom. It overlooked back lawns and trees. It looked rather like heaven in comparison with her room in London.
    The tour of the house