“You are deep in thought.”
She focused on Dominic, noticing the mischievous glint in his eyes and the dimple carving a crescent in his stubbled cheek. The man had not even shaved this morning. He should not look so dapper, so utterly charming.
Biting back a scowl, which intellectually she realized he did not deserve because it stemmed from her own frustrations, she fixed a placid look upon him. “There are many considerations to be taken in my life, my lord.”
“You don’t have to call him my lord here,” said Louise.
Dominic turned to his niece, but not before Henrietta caught the unprofessional wink he slid her way.
“Although we are using our given names, it is not entirely appropriate for me to do so with your uncle.” Discomfited and yet feeling a strange urge to smile, she crossed her arms. “I must refine my mannerisms to reflect my current society. Such as the proper use of titles. Even you should refer to your uncle as Uncle Dominic or as my lord. That is what is proper.”
Louise snorted, an unlikely noise coming from her twelve-year-old self. “Stuff propriety. The Americans do.”
Henrietta’s eyes widened. Thus far, perhaps due to her accident, Louise had been amenable. Now a stubborn, persnickety note crept into her voice. Dominic’s expression grew stern. Louise ducked her head, an abashed look entering her eyes.
“Tell me more about these Americans?” he asked.
Louise shrugged, digging her terribly soiled slippers into the carpet. “They don’t have dumb rules.”
“Use your words,” Henrietta advised. She rather enjoyed being the teacher. “Dumb is not expressive.”
“On the contrary.” His lordship turned to her, obviously preparing to argue. She took a deep breath, fortifying herself for the smug retort which no doubt would roll off his precipitate tongue. “The word dumb expresses quite a bit. It is a small yet strong word. Why use fancy when simple will do?”
He made a legitimate point. Aware of Louise’s eyes upon her, she inclined her head in acquiescence. “For the most part, I do agree with you. But I would wish Louise to expand her vocabulary, for a command of language is a boon to any young lady. As well as deportment and good manners.”
“What about hygiene?” Dominic cocked an eyebrow and Louise covered her mouth, failing to hide her sniggering.
“We just came in from outside. Louise shall change shortly.”
“And you?”
Another snigger from Louise.
Of course this egotistical earl would care about his governess having a soiled hem. Feeling somewhat stiff and put upon, Henrietta jutted her chin. “Certainly.”
“While you are tending to your hygiene, you may want to consider washing your face.”
Henrietta schooled her features while calculating the sensations upon her face.
He was clearly laughing at her, his fine eyebrows practically wiggling like shaved caterpillars. “Your nose, Retta.”
“My name is Henrietta.” Oh, how she wanted to rub her nose. Now that he’d pointed it out, she did feel a dry crustiness upon its tip. She twitched, curling her fingers against her dress, resisting the quick itch that would dispose of the offensive mark. How long had it been there?
* * *
Dominic’s shoulders shook. His former nurse—now governess—had turned a surprisingly becoming shade of pink, her normally porcelain cheeks suffused with color and her dark eyes glinting. Not with anger, but annoyance. Perhaps even feminine embarrassment, which he was certain was a foreign feeling to her.
Such a smart and interesting lady.
The smudge of mud on her nose was not the only imperfection. Small splatters dotted her cheeks, and a long smear ran across her forehead. Henrietta fidgeted while his niece giggled. Forcing his grin into some semblance of sobriety, he moved toward her.
“There is no need to feel ashamed for playing in the mud with Louise. She quite likes getting dirty, and I’m sure no other governess has ever traipsed in the dirt with her. What do you call this lesson?” He raised a brow. “Geography? Soil-ology?”
The way she wrinkled her nose, one side of her pretty lip curling up with the movement, intrigued him unaccountably. Did she have any idea how pretty she was? How her intelligence glowed out of her small and fine-boned features, coupled with a soft compassion that stirred the hardest of hearts.
Namely, his.
He could not recall the last time anyone but Louise had made him laugh. Bending down, so that he and Henrietta’s eyes were level, he grinned. “I do not object to your lessons. They are quite...relevant.”
Her eyebrows narrowed and even with that disapproving expression, he realized she was quite pretty in an understated way. One had to look closely and pay attention to see the beauty. From the Cupid’s-bow lips to the slightly exotic shape of her eyes, all lost behind the serious expressions she often wore. Or perhaps her busy movements and constant opinions hid the quiet details of her loveliness.
And, he realized, still a little closer than necessary, she smelled good. Like summer. Like flowers and woman and sunshine.
“No more, Lord St. Raven.” She put emphasis on his title, as if that would deter him from his antics. “We will be observing English manners, and that is enough of the matter.”
“Ah, but you started this with your talk of the Americas.” He straightened, putting a little space between them. With a wide gesture, he said, “In this house, you shall be Retta. I shall be Dom. And Louise shall be...” He put his finger on his chin.
Jumping up and down, Louise circled them. “Lou, Lou. Call me Lou?”
“This is nonsense. Utter nonsense.” Poor Miss Gordon, with her smudged face and aromatic smell, looked flustered.
“Come now, surely you must know that pet names are signs of affection.”
She shook her head, mouth pursing as though she’d just sucked a lemon. “May I be excused, my lord?”
He held up a finger. “I called you in here for a reason, then you may go. I must know—how are the state of affairs between the two of you? Is Louise behaving as she ought?”
Louise’s face scrunched. “I shall behave just as long as Henrietta does.”
Dominic sent his niece a hard look. “That’s unacceptable, Louise.”
“I’m sorry, Dom. I shall do my best.” Her shoulders sagged.
“It is all I ask.” He touched her head, guilt churning his gut. He should have been here with her, but the St. Raven estate reminded him of Edmund. Even Louise, with her dark hair and stubborn chin. The looks she gave him sometimes...
If he left, then perhaps Old John would cease demanding money. After all, he’d be gone and if Louise had Henrietta, then perhaps Barbara would leave him alone.
“Go change, and we shall work on arithmetic next,” said Miss Gordon.
“Again?” Louise’s pitch soared.
“Would you rather sewing or singing or pianoforte?”
Glum, Louise kicked the floor with her toe. “No.”
“We shall be quick about the sums, and then you may choose the next lesson.”
“Really?” Her head shot up, a bright hope in her eyes that touched Dominic. It had been months since she’d shown any interest in learning.
“Really. But first I must speak to your uncle.”
His niece gave him one more hug, then skipped from the room while attempting, not very successfully, to whistle.
The earl crossed his arms. “You’re doing remarkably well so far.”
“There is still time to fail. I have not been here very long,” she replied. She paused, as though examining her next words before uttering them. “I think your presence curbs her anxieties. She is better behaved when she knows you are here. It is a security issue, I believe.”
“Did she say that?” A very real panic was filling his chest, ballooning inside, making breathing mo
re difficult.
“No, no, I have not spoken to her about this. It is merely an observation. There is another issue.”
Another? He just wanted to leave. Leave for north England and consign himself to hermitude until he could find a cure for his epilepsy.
Being here oppressed him. And Henrietta, with her practical, no-nonsense air, looking at him, demanding things of him. Making him feel emotions he was unwise to feel.
“Go on,” he said in a short tone.
“There is the matter of your estate.”
“My estate?”
She walked past him, gesturing to his desk, where papers spilled haphazardly across its surface. A small bust that he’d given his brother took residence in one corner. Dominic had a sudden and irrational urge to throw the thing. To shatter it.
Just as his family had been shattered when his brother died.
Henrietta trailed her fingers along his desk, her gaze fastened on him. Reproachfully, he thought. “While riding with Louise, we met a Mrs. Smith.”
“Who?”
Yes, most definitely reproachful now. “One of your tenants.”
“Ah, yes. The Smiths. No idea who they are.”
Her eyes flashed. “How can you be so flippant? These people rely on you. She came out and introduced herself. Her roof is in disrepair. Leaking. She has two young children.”
“Isn’t there a steward who takes care of these things?”
Her mouth moved, and then as though thinking better of saying whatever she had planned to say, she snapped it closed and glared at him.
“You’re furious,” he remarked. Perhaps he should be, as well. He had assumed these issues were being overseen by someone. He had put off meeting with his solicitors due to his illness. Unwise, he was beginning to realize. He moved closer to the desk, scanning the various papers. “Have they requested repairs? I would think Mr. Smith could handle a simple thatching.”
“They’re your tenants. Do you even have a steward?”
He waved a hand, studying the papers, seeing nothing about a roof.
“My lord, to be so unconcerned for your tenants is appalling. I realize it’s not my place to speak thus, but I have also noticed that the house is unkempt and the servants disorderly. Even lackadaisical and slow. Something must be done. Immediately.”
Chapter Nine
“By all means, do not mince words.” A knot was slowly growing inside Dominic, dark and hungry, eating a hole in his insides. His temples pounded as any trace of good humor fled. “Since this household does not meet your satisfaction, why don’t you devise a list of your perceived wrongs and leave it on my desk. I’ll get to it when I’m ready.”
Henrietta crossed her arms. “It does no good to be oversensitive about these matters, my lord. I am not attacking your abilities, nor do I intend this as a personal critique. I am merely drawing your attention to issues which require noticing. Pouting is unattractive,” she added, as though that tidbit would uncarve the lines he felt gouging his forehead.
He gathered up the papers, jamming them into a semblance of squared order. “You may leave your list here, Miss Gordon. Your concerns are noted.”
Though he was not looking at her, he felt her move from the desk. A small swish of air that told of retreat. He had spoken in a hard voice. One he did not care to use, but her prodding annoyed him. Everything about her annoyed him. He turned, and saw that she had not left after all. Indeed, she had moved closer and when he faced her, he caught again that flowery scent.
The aroma wrapped around him, twining like ivy, drawing him closer when he should be walking away. Her eyes widened, but she did not back away. An invitation. His senses sharpened, narrowing into a single focus, that of getting closer to her.
Only the sight of mud on her nose brought him back to reality. The reality in which she was his temporary governess. She was not of the society he kept and she would not take his flirtations lightly, if she took them at all.
Pulling in a deep, shuddering breath, he stopped inches short of her. Annoyance still traipsed through him, but that other feeling, the one he would do best to ignore, was fading beneath the bitter wipe of reality.
“Was there something more, Miss Gordon?” His voice remained unyielding. Good. She would not argue with him now.
Irises almost indiscernible within the black of her pupils, she nodded. “Yes, I would like your permission to treat Mrs. Smith for a rash.”
“Given.”
Unsurprisingly, Henrietta continued talking. Dominic was torn between several equally terrible urges: stomping out of the room like the pouting child she had accused him of being, great concern that his tenants had suffered due to his own, selfish negligence and hauling Henrietta up against him and stopping the talking in the most elemental way possible.
Her lips, pale rose, did not seem to realize the havoc they wreaked on Dominic’s thoughts as they moved, forming words. He struggled to bring his mind to the present.
“The apothecary has given her an ointment which is making her rash worse, in my opinion. I’d like to meet with him and discuss his medical training. He obviously has no idea what he’s doing.” Her foot tapped.
“Uh.” Dominic pushed his fingers through his hair. “The apothecary?”
“Your village doctor? Surely you know his name, though on the other hand, you probably do not.”
It made no sense that her peevish tone could make Dominic want to hold her, but it did. His arms ached with the sensation. His legs begged permission to move forward, to gather her in his arms and inhale the sweetness of her hair. He blinked, bringing her face into clarity. That foot of hers still tapped steadily against the floor.
“My lord, are you okay?” Before he could stop her, she closed the gap between them and pressed her palm against his forehead. As quickly as her cool skin met his, she removed it. A blush stained her cheeks, as though even she, impervious to societal dictates as she was, recognized the impropriety of touching him outside of a sickroom.
“Overwhelmed,” he said.
They stood quietly for a long moment that stretched thin and taut.
She broke the silence and said, “This dirt is making my face itch. I suppose I should refresh myself and carry on with Louise’s lessons.”
“Yes.” He rubbed his forehead. “I know I’m going to regret this, but this evening we shall take a ride about the property. Take me to the Smiths and I will see what needs to be done.”
“Why don’t you have a steward?”
His jaw tightened. He weighed her words. “I wrongly supposed that I did. Because I did not want this responsibility, I did not pay particular attention.”
“Did you ignore your responsibilities in hopes they would disappear?” The tease of a smile tugged the corners of her lips.
“Ignoring problems has been my chosen method of living.”
“That does not surprise me in the least.”
Now they were both sharing smiles, and in some odd way, he felt lightened. “Be ready at four.”
She dipped her head, then turned and left the room, her skirts swishing in that no-nonsense way she had about her. He turned back to his desk, went over to it and sat. The chair groaned beneath him. Had it done the same for his brother? He tried to imagine Edmund sitting here. Working. Keeping up an estate, raising a daughter, loving a wife.
And not for the hundredth time, he wondered why Edmund had left him in charge of Louise.
He sifted through the papers, going more slowly, until he found one with the name of Smith. Submitted a fortnight ago. His head dropped into his hands as he realized how greatly he was failing.
Perhaps he deserved to lose it all, but that didn’t mean he would go down without a fight.
* * *
Henrietta waited in the carriage promptly at four o’clock. On her lap she held a jar of ointment. Sh
e’d mixed it up earlier, moving slowly under Louise’s scrutiny, explaining each ingredient and its medicinal qualities. Now Louise sat across from her, swinging a foot.
“Where is Dom?”
Drawing her watch from her reticule, she said calmly, “He is only three minutes late. Be patient.”
“I can’t.” She threw back her head. “He is always late. It is his greatest downfall.”
“That is surely not true.”
“Whose downfall?” Dominic opened the door of the carriage and popped in. “Henrietta’s watch is probably set early to keep her from ever being late.”
She sniffed. How had he known that?
Grinning, he wagged a finger. “I know your type.”
“Fustian nonsense.” She slid the watch back into her reticule. “Let us be off.”
They bumped through the countryside, Louise’s chatter causing the earl to laugh in deep tones that rolled through Henrietta in bursts of awareness. He was a strange man in some ways. Difficult to dissect. Which made him all the more intriguing. Like an unknown illness. Familiar symptoms, but put them all together and she still could not make a diagnosis.
Turning to the side, she watched as the land flattened into emerald swaths of grass. Cottages peppered the land, little squares of ivy-laced homes, sometimes well-tended, mostly not. Gardens and rectangles of farmland speckled in neat order.
As they neared the Smiths’, Henrietta pointed out their cottage. Dominic gained the driver’s attention. The carriage rolled to a halt. When she placed her hand in the earl’s to step out of the carriage, it seemed as though he held her a millisecond too long.
Long enough for her to glance up at him, questioning, thinking he had something to say. But no, his face was shuttered.
Mrs. Smith met them at the door. She looked less haggard today, her hair neatly parted into a bun and her dress clean and pressed. Her home had been straightened, but the hole in the roof trickled afternoon sunlight.
“My lord,” she said, sweeping a deep bow.
“Mrs. Smith. It has come to my attention that you’re in need of thatching.”
The Unconventional Governess Page 8