by Regina Scott
~~~
Rosemary Denby counted off the seconds. The new earl of Howland must grant her the position. Truly, what other recourse did she have near Grace-by-the-Sea? She hadn’t the ever-pleasant aspect of a spa hostess to serve in the Grand Pump Room in the village, and her highly competent sister-in-law Jesslyn held that position in any event. The local fathers were distressingly uneasy with a young, single woman teaching their sons, so she had yielded her place at the dame school in Upper Grace to her older, widowed sister, Hester. And she would never have the patience to work in a shop.
“I don’t understand why you must work at all,” her mother had lamented only that morning when Rosemary had begged the gig to drive herself to the castle. “Your uncle left us with enough income that we need never worry.”
“It isn’t the income, Mother,” Rosemary had tried to explain. “Hester has the school and little Rebecca; you have uncle’s properties to manage. I just want something of my own.”
Her mother’s face had bunched. “And a husband won’t do?”
The words were like a lash across her back. As if she hadn’t paraded herself at nearly every assembly the last four years, accepted the attentions of any number of shopkeepers and farmers in Upper Grace, the young officers stationed at West Creech. The one man she’d hoped, prayed, might be interested had made it abundantly plain she was not the woman for him.
“I’m not certain I wish to be a wife, Mother,” she’d said. “And there are few gentlemen here interested in taking a bluestocking for a bride.”
But perhaps a governess.
And so she had brazened her way into this interview, claiming an appointment the earl had never made. So what if she’d only ever cared for her niece, Rebecca? She remembered what it was like to be a girl whose world had suddenly upended. Her uncle had encouraged and supported her dreams of learning. She could pass that along to another.
“I can see you are passionate about your profession, Miss Denby,” the earl said. He looked so much like their magistrate, Mr. Howland—same golden blond hair waving from a strong-jawed face, the same piercing blue eyes. But the magistrate was all cool logic and determination. If she had been forced to find one word to describe his cousin, the earl, it would be…
Lost.
“I live to serve, my lord,” she assured him, leaning forward.
By the set of those impressive shoulders as he too leaned into the conversation, he was not convinced. “But Lady Miranda, I have been informed, can be a challenge.”
“A challenge I welcome,” she promised.
They were nearly nose to nose, and she caught herself holding her breath. Still he studied her. Would he see more than the fathers who had rejected her as teacher? Would he see more than Captain St. Claire when he’d refused to consider her as wife?
The click of the door sent them both upright in their seats. A blond-haired girl flounced into the room, ruffled pink muslin skirts dancing about her matching kid-leather slippers.
“There you are, Father,” she declared as if he were late for some state function. “You said we could visit Mr. Carroll’s Curiosities today and pick a new book. I’m ready.”
“So I see,” her father said with a fond smile. “I will take you when I finish my interview with Miss Denby.”
Lady Miranda glanced her way. Rosemary knew that set to her chin, that light in her eyes. On any given day, she might have seen such a look in her own mirror.
“But I want to go now,” Lady Miranda said.
Lord Howland looked to Rosemary. She did not so much as straighten a finger. This was a test. She had never failed one yet.
“Certainly you should go now,” Rosemary said. “All your father has to do is agree to hire me as your new governess.”
Her father frowned.
So did the little girl. “But I don’t need a governess.”
“Now, Miranda,” her father started.
She turned to put both hands on his arm and gaze at him beseechingly. At least Rosemary had never stooped so low, but then, she’d seldom had to do more than argue with her uncle. He had been one to appreciate logic.
“But Father,” Lady Miranda wheedled, “I only want to be with you. I love you.”
His face melted. Truly, it was an extraordinary sight. Any resemblance to their stern magistrate vanished. In his place was a man who cared: deeply, desperately. A man who would have done anything to see his daughter smile.
And the little wretch knew it.
“I love you too, Miranda,” he murmured. “And I want you to grow up into the accomplished woman your mother hoped for. That’s why I’m searching for the perfect governess.”
Such a creature did not exist. No one was perfect. But Rosemary knew she could do good in this house. Er, castle.
“I don’t need a governess,” Miranda repeated, and now her tone was mulish.
“Ah,” Rosemary interjected. “Then you know the difference between elephas and plesiosaurus.”
The girl turned her way. “No. I don’t know what they are.”
And didn’t like that. Good.
The earl was watching her. Rosemary tried to focus on Lady Miranda.
“I’d be delighted to teach you,” Rosemary told her. “My uncle, Flavius Montgomery, the famous geologist, taught me everything he knew. I can tell you why fossils appear in clays and where the ancient elephants lived in this area.” She leaned closer to the girl and lowered her voice. “I can even lead you to their last remains.”
Hazel eyes met hers, calculating, curious. “I’d like that. What about mathematics?”
“The square root of twenty and four is approximately four point eight nine eight nine eight.”
She swung her gaze to her father once more. “You didn’t teach me to do square roots. Is she right?”
“Yes,” he said, lips hinting of a smile. “And square roots might be a bit beyond your skills at this point.”
“Nonsense,” Rosemary and Lady Miranda said at the same time.
Lady Miranda beamed at her. “I like her. Hire her, Father, so we can go.”
“There’s a bit more to hiring than merely giving my word,” he explained to his daughter. “We must agree on when she starts, her salary, half days off, and requirements for room and board.”
“I’ll start tomorrow,” Rosemary said as fast as she could. “I’ll accept twenty-five pounds per quarter. Sunday afternoons off, and a bedchamber and sitting room here at the castle with meals with the family most days. And I dress as I like. No uniforms.”
“Done,” Lady Miranda said. She grabbed her father’s hand and gave it a tug. “Now, come along, Father.”
He rose slowly, but his gaze was on Rosemary. “Ask Jonas to fetch you a bonnet, Miranda,” he said, and she released him to scamper from the room.
He waited for Rosemary to rise, then closed the distance, and she had to stop herself from falling into the blue of his eyes.
“I am devoted to my daughter, Miss Denby,” he said, as if she could have had any doubts on the matter. “As you can see, I deny her little. So, I will agree to your terms, but only for the next fortnight. You will have to prove to me you can do this job. And I won’t be nearly as easy on you as I am on my daughter.”
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About the Author
Regina Scott started writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we know it, she didn’t sell her first novel until she learned a bit more about writing. Since her first book was published, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages, including Dutch, German, Italian, and Portuguese. This book marks her fiftieth published work of warm, witty romance.
She loves everything about England, so it was only a matter of time before she started her own village. Where more perfect than the gorgeous Dorset Coast? She can imagine herself sailing along the chalk cliffs, racing her horse across the Downs, dancing at the assembly, and even drinking the spa waters. She drank the waters in Bath, after all!
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Regina Scott and her husband of 30 years reside in the Puget Sound area of Washington State on the way to Mt. Rainier. She has dressed as a Regency dandy, learned to fence, driven four-in-hand, and sailed on a tall ship, all in the name of research, of course. Learn more about her at her website.