Strathmere's Bride. Jacqueline Navin

       Chapter Two

      Jareth turned to greet Miss Pesserat as she came into the room.

      She looked much different than she had earlier, which was an improvement, for her hair was neater and her dress clean.

      And then again, it was not an improvement. Her face was plain, devoid of expression, and that fascinating mobility he had seen when she was with the children was gone.

      She sketched a neat curtsy for him. “Your grace wished to see me?”

      “Yes. Please have a seat, Miss Pesserat.”

      “Thank you.”

      She sat, folding her hands on her lap, and waited. The picture of decorum.

      Jareth pulled himself up straight, clasped his hands behind his back and began to speak. “Miss Pesserat, I believe you know why I have asked to see you today.”

      “Yes, of course. You disapprove of me, non?”

      Jareth stopped. Chloe just stared back at him with wide, innocent eyes. They were so pale. Haunting eyes. Eyes that could look clear through a person.

      “Those are your words, not mine. I prefer to use my own, for they will convey my meaning more directly, so if you will be patient, please.”

      He was satisfied with the demure expression she donned. He continued, “Principally, I am distressed at your behavior. It has come to my attention that you are leading my nieces in daily activities that are filled with far too much play.”

      “Children should play.”

      “Of course, Miss Pesserat. Please do not think to twist my words to put me at the defense.” Her lashes swept down, betraying her. Oh, Miss Pesserat knew exactly what she was doing. And she was very good at it. “Play is essential, but not the only thing that must be present in a child’s life. Discipline, for example, must serve to balance.”

      “I quite agree, your grace.”

      “What I have observed since I have arrived home is a deplorable lack of discipline in the children. They are allowed to romp about most indecorously—”

      She held up a slender hand in one of those gestures that seemed as light as air. “Pardon, your grace. I do not understand, in-dec-roos-ly.”

      “Like urchins in the streets of London, mademoiselle,” he explained impatiently. “I observed them today gadding about in a most unseemly fashion out on the lawn. Their behavior would have disgraced this family should a visitor happened to have seen such screeching and laughter as was taking place.”

      “I am sorry we disturbed you.” She looked up, as if troubled. “You dislike laughter?”

      Jareth narrowed his eyes. “When appropriate, I do not, Miss Pesserat, disapprove of laughter, of course. However, hysterics are a different matter.”

      She smiled and nodded. Her smile lit up her face, transforming it and warming the room. “That is good, because the children need to laugh. It is joy that will chase their sadness away. They need to learn how to live again, your grace. To enjoy what life can give them.” Frowning slightly, she asked, “Do you not agree that life is to be enjoyed?”

      Despite her disconcerting remarks, Jareth countered without hesitation. “Yes, I do indeed. In its proper place, enjoyment is essential to a satisfactory existence. But there are other things that make for a complete life. Duty and responsibility, for example, and conducting yourself with dignity and self-respect. And all things in moderation, Miss Pesserat.”

      She wrinkled her nose. “You English put much stock in all of that mod-a-ray-shon.”

      Was she mocking him? “Are you saying you think it useless to know how to hold oneself with dignity?”

      Her spine stiffened visibly. “The French have dignity.”

      Now she had made it sound as if he were insulting her heritage. He sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. “If you wish to misunderstand me apurpose, I can do nothing to stop you, but I suggest you listen closely to my words to avoid unpleasantness. I believe I am being quite clear. We—my mother and I—would like you to alter the haphazard way in which you perform your duties. The children must be schooled in their manners and appropriate decorum befitting their station. You have an obligation to instruct them in these things, Miss Pesserat, as is your duty as governess.”

      “I agree with you, I do.” Chloe paused, seeming troubled. “But not at this time, your grace. They are recovering from an unspeakable event—”

      “More the reason to establish normal routines,” he interjected forcefully, “to help them recover and enjoy the security of a structured environment.”

      “I disagree,” she countered. Jareth couldn’t help a grudging admiration at her courage, for as much as he did not appreciate it, he couldn’t fault her for it. She was fighting for what she believed in, fighting for the sake of the children.

      But she was, of course, wrong.

      “They need love and joy,” she insisted.

      “In measure, Miss Pesserat, in measure.”

      She stood in a breathtakingly fluid movement. “No, in abundance, sir.”

      He stared at her, donning the careful languid laziness those of his class cultivated to handle such vulgar outbursts of emotion. After a long pause, she sat back down. He said in a clipped, precise voice, “If you have reined yourself under control, we can resume our conversation.”

      “But there is nothing to discuss. You and I disagree. You are in charge, but I am the one with the children in my care. What precisely do you suggest we discuss?”

      Surprisingly, she had summed the situation up quite succinctly. They were at an impasse.

      However, before Jareth had ever dreamed he would inherit the dukedom from his brother, he had spent eleven years in the business world. He had started a shipping business with an adept young commoner, a man by the name of Colin Burke, who had won a sturdy vessel in a game of cards. Jareth’s infusion of capital created Burke and Hunt Shipping. They started with one ship. The fleet grew over the years. Colin captained his own vessel and dealt with the local merchants in each port of call, but Jareth had been the one to move among his peers, culling investors and striking deals among the aristocracy.

      He was a duke by birth, but a deal maker by trade. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?

      “We should discuss a compromise, Miss Pesserat,” he said at last. “Since we both have differing views, as you so aptly put it, but both sincerely want what is best for my nieces, then I suppose we must find some way to meld our ideas together.”

      He could see she was suspicious. “A truce?”

      “A compromise. Meeting halfway.”

      “I know what compromise means.” She wasn’t ready to give in. “What do you suggest?”

      “A parceling of time, as it were.” He sat down across from her and leaned forward, wanting to meet her eye-to-eye. When he had wanted to intimidate her, he took the advantage of having her seated and him standing, but now they were going to compromise and so should meet as equals. Or so it would appear.

      “What I suggest, Miss Pesserat, is that the children’s