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doing. Perhaps he was living his life according to The Duke’s Guide to Correct Behavior, but he was definitely not a parent. Not surprising, given that it appeared he had only become one a few hours earlier.
    Since she had never been a governess before, it seemed they had a lot in common. Not necessarily good things, but things in common.
    She would not be sharing that information with him anytime in the near future. Or distant future, for that matter.
    Thank goodness her father’s estate had come equipped with a vicar, and that she could draw on her own memories to recall her mythical employer’s family. She wished she could have pointed it out to him as an indication of just how clever she was, but then that would be counterproductive.
    It would probably be even worse than arriving without a reference.
    She felt herself start to smile, then realized she
was still walking. Really? All that thinking and she hadn’t gotten there yet?
    Maybe the duke should have hired a navigator instead of a governess. Should she have packed a snack for the journey? She really had to eat something, she did tend to get a bit . . . snarly if she was hungry.
    The Snarly Governess and the Dangerous Duke. She stifled a snort of laughter as she reached the room, opening the door to a scene that stifled any laughter altogether. Rose was sobbing on the carpet, looking as though her entire world had just fallen apart.
    â€œY our Grace, one of the gentlemen from earlier today has returned. Should I tell him you are at home?” Thompson ended his sentence with a disdainful sniff.
    Marcus heard that sniff often, and suspected his butler did not appreciate his master’s less dukelike moments. Which were most of his moments, if he were honest. But since Thompson was his servant, he didn’t care. Much.
    He waved a hand in response. “Certainly, send him in.” Which one would it be? he wondered.
    Within moments his question was answered as Smithfield strode in, an amused look on his face. “Your butler was not pleased to see me, I believe. And here I thought we had a bond, I do believe I gave him a coin when he returned with more brandy.” Smithfield had a dry edge to his voice, an acerbic wit that matched Marcus’s own.
    He’d made a good choice in new best friends, at least. Although— “I don’t have time for brandy today. Besides, aren’t you tired? I know I am, and I got a few hours of sleep in. I was going to go rest, but then the child arrived.”
    Smithfield ignored Marcus’s obvious hint and sat on the chair the governess had so recently vacated. Only instead of settling himself neatly down, he sprawled out in it and leaned back, balancing on two of the spindly pink legs. Hm. He should try that position sometime, he thought. It might be more comfortable.
    â€œShe is still here?” Smithfield sounded surprised.
    â€œYes.” He paused as he remembered what she said. “She has just arrived, she’s my cousin’s child, and now my cousin is dead.” He and Smithfield both knew it was a lie, but he had to start practicing. “What else should I have done with her?”
    Instead of replying, Smithfield just gave him a knowing look, a look that said everything in both of their minds—aristocrats didn’t usually take in their bastard offspring, they were far more likely to fling them out on the streets with a denial of their paternity, and what was he doing being responsible anyway, it wasn’t as though he’d ever shown an iota of responsibility in his life, except for being responsible to his own comfort and ease of living. That it happened to coincide with his staff’s ease of living was merely coincidental.
    Or perhaps, Marcus reflected, that was just going through his own mind.
    â€œI didn’t think you were planning on being
a—a cousin anytime soon,” Smithfield remarked, “at least not according to what you said