“Of course,” Emmeline said promptly. “I wouldn’t miss it. My afternoon is entirely yours.”
Charlotte gave a little squeal and slid her small hand into Emmeline’s.
Oh, my heart. Emmeline blinked against the sudden stinging in her eyes. There was nothing to cry about, yet her emotions had surfaced only moments after being in the Ridout family’s presence. She smiled a smile she didn’t feel and kept her focus on the children as they walked with the captain out of the house and to the stables.
“Do you ride horses?” Andrew asked, always the curious boy.
“I do ride,” Emmeline said. “It’s been a while, though. Back at home, my brother was rather stingy with his animals. Said I couldn’t touch his horses.” She felt Captain Ridout’s gaze on her, but she still didn’t meet his eyes.
“Brothers are mean,” Charlotte declared.
Perhaps Emmeline had shared too much information. “Well, your brother is pretty great,” she said, as they walked along the graveled path leading to the stables. “You’ll always share with your sister, right, Andrew?”
He lifted his chin. “Of course.”
“See.” Emmeline squeezed Charlotte’s hand. “You’ll have nothing to worry about.”
Charlotte didn’t seem satisfied, though. “I want to kick your brother and tell him to let you ride his horse.”
Emmeline held back a laugh. “Well, in my case, I didn’t kick my brother.”
“What did you do?” Andrew asked.
Emmeline wasn’t sure how she’d gotten herself in this corner. But the children’s gazes were locked on her, and she had no doubt that Captain Ridout, walking only a few paces to the side, was listening to every word.
“I, uh, did something that I now regret,” she said. “If I tell you, promise to never do it to each other.”
Quickly, both Andrew and Charlotte crossed their hearts.
Had the captain slowed his step a fraction?
“One morning, very early, I switched the sugar bowl with salt,” she said. “I hurried back to my room. Since my brother is always the first one awake and the first one to break his fast, I knew he’d be affected.”
Andrew grinned, and Charlotte’s eyes rounded.
“What did he do?” Andrew asked, awe in his voice.
They’d reached the stables, and instead of going inside, Captain Ridout stopped and turned, his gaze fully upon her. Emmeline took a peek because she wanted to know if he was upset about her confession. On the contrary, he looked as if he were holding back a laugh. Perhaps this gave her the courage that she really shouldn’t have embraced.
“My brother did nothing, at first,” Emmeline said, drawing in her audience with her hushed tone. “About three days later, I climbed into bed to find something furry and quite dead between my sheets.”
Andrew groaned, and Charlotte gasped.
“Don’t worry,” Emmeline said. “The small fox wasn’t newly dead. It was one of my father’s taxidermy projects and had been in the library for ages. I even had a name for him. Mr. Red.”
The edges of Captain Ridout’s mouth lifted.
Charlotte looked horrified, but Andrew looked fascinated.
“I didn’t scream and wake the entire household up,” Emmeline said. “Instead, I took Mr. Red and set him right inside my sister-in-law’s dressing room. When she awakened in the morning and discovered the poor fox, she did scream.”
Captain Ridout chuckled, and Emmeline tried not to blush at his attention.
“When Martha found out what my brother and I had been doing, she railed on me and then him,” Emmeline said. “Apparently wives have plenty of influence over their husbands. My brother stopped putting furry critters in my bed, and I left the sugar and the salt alone.”
Andrew folded his arms. “Did he let you ride his horse?”
“No,” Emmeline said with a shrug. “It’s all right, though. Soon after, I came here, and being your governess is more fun anyway.”
She allowed another peek at Captain Ridout then. He was smiling at her, a knowing look in his eyes—knowing what, though?
Andrew took her other hand, which couldn’t have surprised her more. “You can ride any horse you want at Branhall.”
“Even the ponies,” Charlotte added.
“Thank you,” Emmeline said, truly flattered. “I think that would be up to your uncle, though.”
Finally, their gazes connected, and neither of them said anything as both the children begged their uncle to let Emmeline ride his horses.
“On one condition,” Captain Ridout said at last, his gray eyes gleaming with amusement.
Emmeline’s pulse couldn’t have raced faster if she’d just run around the stables three times.
“What?” both Andrew and Charlotte asked at the same time.
“That Miss Finch promises never to put salt into our sugar dish.”
Emmeline laughed. She couldn’t help it; it just spilled out of her. “I promise. I don’t even know where the salt is at Branhall.”
The captain lifted a brow. “Then we should shake on it, Miss Finch. Make it official.”
Both the children tugged her toward their uncle, then dropped her hands, leaving her free to shake with the captain.
So she reached for his hand at the same time Captain Ridout reached for hers. Soon her fingers were enfolded in his. The memory of being in the garden with him was so strong that Emmeline’s body warmed from her head to her toes.
“I promise never to swap your sugar with salt,” Emmeline said, in as solemn a voice as she could muster.
“And I promise, Miss Finch,” he rumbled with amusement, “to let you ride to your heart’s content at Branhall.”
Chapter 15
Hudson was bored.
He supposed that most landowners who were also eligible bachelors might enjoy a soiree such as this one, where every unattached female of marriageable age paid him attention, offered him leading compliments, and acted as if he’d both walked the sun and the moon.
“We were just discussing your height, Captain Ridout,” said the giggly woman before him. She had to be nearly thirty, and he’d been informed right away that she was a widow. Her name was Mrs. Rice? Race? Rade? “Does your tailor have to order extra fabric for your clothing?”
How was it that he’d arrived at a point in life where he had to entertain a question like this? “I’ve never given it a second thought. An extra inch or two of fabric shouldn’t be hard for any tailor to round up.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Mrs. R said, making no secret of perusing the length of him.
Perhaps it was time to ask someone, anyone, to dance. Except for the widow, of course.
“If you’ll excuse me, ma’am,” he said, stepping away as he spoke, “I’ve someone to greet.”
He threaded through the milling crowd surrounding the dance floor. The place was both larger than he’d anticipated yet too small for a comfortable evening such as this. He hadn’t expected there to be dancing. Or the women to drink so much. Was it a country thing?
Another hand on his arm brought him to a stop. What now?
“Captain Ridout,” a querulous woman’s voice said. “There you are. I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Miss Gwen Jones.”
He had to turn around now. He’d been introduced to the rather tall young woman when he first entered. Maybe they had short memories here?
He rotated to come nearly face-to-face with the tallest woman he’d ever beheld. As if to distract from her height, she’d roughed her cheeks a dark pink, reminding him of one of Charlotte’s painted china dolls.
“Good evening, Miss Jones,” he said, bowing. “Pleasure to see you again.”
“Likewise, Cap’n.” Miss Jones said.
A tall woman, a raspy voice. She took after her father, that’s what had happened.
And now, because both mother and daughter were staring at him in anticipation, he said, “Would you honor me with a dance, Miss Jones?”
Her rather long neck stained pink, matching her cheeks. “I’d be delighted, Cap’n.”
He wasn’t quite sure what was behind her mimicking an Irish brogue while addressing him. But he intended to leave right after this dance, having performed his duty, and make his friendly but firm goodbyes.
As he and Miss Jones danced, he couldn’t ignore the myriad of eyes watching them. From Mrs. Finch’s knowing gaze to Mrs. Jones’s hopeful one. Even the widow Mrs. R seemed to be watching with approval. When Miss Jones trod on his foot, the one attached to his bad ankle, he nearly bit through his cheek to stop from groaning.
“Very sorry, Cap’n,” she said in a rather cheerful voice. Cheerful and still raspy.
Would her children confuse her voice with her husband’s when they crooned to their babes in the middle of the night? He almost laughed at his inane thought. This told him he was truly tired. Thinking of odd scenarios at inappropriate times. Perhaps skipping out on an entire night’s sleep hadn’t been so wise. But were there ever good times to think up odd scenarios? Likely not.
Take Miss Emmeline Finch, for example. He’d peeked at one of the storybooks she’d been reading to the children only to discover that her storytelling was quite different than the printed word. Was she making things up as she went along? Or were the stories a little different where she came from?
And those rows with her brother that she’d filled the children’s heads about. Apparently telling them about switching the sugar and the salt had just gotten her started. There was a bit about her carefully stitching the bottom of his trousers together while he slept. He’d been about fourteen, and she’d been about eight. Clever minx already at that age.
Andrew and Charlotte had certainly enjoyed that story, and Hudson hadn’t been able to hold back his laughter either.
“What’s so amusing, Cap’n?” Miss Jones asked.
Oh no. Had he been laughing out loud? He quickly schooled his features.
“Just remembering something my niece said,” he replied. There, that was safe enough.
“They are beautiful children,” Miss Jones said, smiling.
This woman had no dimples. Not that every woman should have dimples, although they were rather fetching on Miss Finch.
“Do you know Andrew and Charlotte?” Hudson asked.
Miss Jones’s brow furrowed as if he’d asked an odd question. Was it odd?
“I’ve seen them at church,” she said. “Or at least I used to see them at church, before, you know . . .”
“Before I became their guardian?”
Her neck stained pink again.
Mercifully, the music came to an end, which meant all Hudson had to do was lead the young woman back to her mother and make his exit.
He hadn’t made it to the door before another hand tapped his arm. Perhaps he could ignore it, pretend he hadn’t felt anything in the crush of people.
“Captain Ridout,” a deep voice said. “I’d like to introduce you to my wife and two daughters.”
And so the evening went. He danced three more rather painful sets. Not because of his ankle bothering him, but because the conversation was tedious. The women uninteresting. The parents like hyenas, watching every move with hungry eyes.
Every man has his limit, no matter how well-bred or how much patience the Royal Navy taught him. He was pretty sure he uttered the shortest farewell in the history of England to his host and hostess before striding outside. Bless the cool air. And the wind couldn’t be sharp enough.
But now his ankle was bothering him.
He might have ridden his horse a little too fast for a moonlit night, but lady luck was with him, and there were no mishaps by the time he reached Branhall. He handed over the horse to the stable boy, then strode to the house and into the front hall. Well, his stride was more of a hobble, because apparently his ankle had taken a beating with all that dancing.
The lamps in the library glowed, and he didn’t think twice about it until he saw Miss Finch sitting near one of the lamps, reading a book.
“Oh, sorry, Captain Ridout.” She rose to her feet immediately. “I didn’t expect you to return so early.”
“Don’t get up on my account.” He waved her to sit down again. “You may continue reading.” Then he crossed to one of the sideboards, where the brandy was kept.
Miss Finch slowly retook her seat, although she didn’t start reading right away.
He felt her gaze on him even though his back was turned toward her as he poured himself a glass of brandy. He downed the glass in one motion, then he might have set it down a bit harder than he’d intended. The thump reverberated throughout the room. Next, he crossed to the credenza and shed his outer coat and loosened his cravat.
He was quite sure that he was shocking Miss Finch. Sweet, innocent Emmeline Finch. She’d probably never been around a grouch before.
Except her brother didn’t seem to be the most pleasant fellow, so Hudson would digress.
When he caught Miss Finch staring at him, he exhaled. “I didn’t mean to make so much racket. Please, proceed with whatever it was you were doing. Don’t let me interrupt you.”
He sank into the chair behind the credenza with a wince. His shoes felt like they’d grown a size too small.
But Miss Finch hadn’t returned to her reading. In fact, the woman was still watching him.
“Did you . . .” she began. “I mean, was it really that awful?”
“Was what so awful?” he asked, shifting his gaze to her person. She wasn’t wearing a nightgown and robe as she had worn in the garden the other night. Of course, the evening was still young. Not quite ten o’clock. And even a governess wouldn’t read in her master’s library in a nightgown. He should really stop thinking about Emmeline Finch in a nightgown.
“The soiree?” she asked, her voice filled with quiet curiosity.
“Let’s see . . .” He drummed the top of the credenza with his fingertips. “The food tasted like perfumed cheese, the room was at least thirty degrees too hot, Miss Jones could rival any sailor under my command, both in height and manner, and your aunt was so busy watching me that I don’t think she spoke to another soul.” Too revealing? “Oh, and my ankle was kicked twice. And I had one proposal. By a man. He was drunk, of course.”
The sound that emitted from Miss Finch caused Hudson to straighten in his chair. “Are you laughing at me, Miss Finch?”
“I can’t . . . help . . . it.” She covered her mouth with both hands and turned away. But her shoulders still shook, and laughter escaped through her fingers.
Hudson’s mouth twitched. “My terrible evening amuses you?”
“Not at all,” she gasped, but then she was laughing again.
“Pray tell, dear governess, what is so funny?”
It took her several moments to stop laughing. Not that Hudson was complaining. In fact, he quite enjoyed her display of uncontrollable behavior. Tonight she wore that faded-peach dress her aunt had criticized as being too plain for dinner. Hudson decided it looked quite well on her.
“Please accept my deepest apology,” Miss Finch said, her smile pushing against both dimples. “I couldn’t help imagining the austere navy captain meeting a disaster at every turn at a simple country soiree. It seemed you were quite undone, and that is never a laughing matter.”
“Apology accepted,” he said. It was a good thing that the credenza separated them. A safe thing. He liked the way her hair was in a less severe updo and softly framed her face. His most favorite style was when it was undone, hanging about her shoulders, but he couldn’t very well admit that.
“Now, Captain Ridout,” she continued, her tone devoid of all humor now, “what are we going to do about your ankle?”
Chapter 16
“What about my ankle?” Captain Ridout asked with genuine puzzlement.
“You’re in pain,” Emmeline said. “And don’t deny it. You’ve been limping ever since you walked into the library.”
The man shrugged, as if physic
al pain was the last thing he was going to worry about. And that was likely true. Emmeline set down her book, the one she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anyway. Not with the captain in the library with her.
“I’ve an idea,” she said, rising to her feet.
The captain watched her walk toward him, and that act alone made her heart begin a slow path to her throat. Did she dare suggest what she was about to? “In my village, there was a young boy who broke his foot. It never healed right, and he endured terrible pain. Mostly at night.”
“Was this your brother?”
“No, not my brother.” Emmeline reached the credenza. This close, she could see the pulse beating at the base of his throat since he’d cast aside his cravat, apparently finished with social conventions and formal wear for the night. “Take off your shoe.”
He dragged a hand over his shadowed jaw. Had he not shaved right before the soiree? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Emmeline rarely set her hands upon her hips, but this occasion warranted such an action. “I want to see your ankle. I won’t touch it if you don’t want me to, but seeing it will help me make some decisions.” About five different questions flitted through his eyes.
But then with a soft humph, he bent and tugged off one of his shoes and the accompanying stocking.
“The other one, too, please,” she said, hands still on her hips. “So that I can compare the two.”
His eyes narrowed, but then he bent again and complied with her request.
The lamps kept the room in a warm glow, casting plenty of shadows about, but those shadows were not enough to conceal the significant swelling of his injured foot. Emmeline tried not to show her dismay, but it proved impossible.
“Worse than you feared?” Captain Ridout’s voice rumbled. “Should I conceal the ugly thing now?”
Emmeline swallowed back any apprehension. “Not at all. Why don’t you sit in the chair closest to the hearth and prop your bad ankle on the stool? I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Where are you going?”
To Love a Governess Page 15