Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons #4)(16)

Mother rocked back on her heels, her hands clasped to her breast like a child pleading with Cook for the last tart. “You…how…when…?”

He snorted. “You erroneously assumed I was out carousing yesterday afternoon, Mother. In actuality, I was finding a governess for the girls.” In addition to all the carousing. He smiled as he thought about the dusting of freckles over the young lady’s cheeks. It wouldn’t do to point out that she had, in fact, found him.

The hopeful glimmer in Mother’s eyes dimmed with a world-wariness. “How did you find her? Did she come with references?”

“Of course, I have references,” he infused all the hurt he could into that pronouncement. Hopefully, she’d not delve too deeply into the first part of her line of questioning.”

One of Mother’s ice-white eyebrows shot up. “And how did you find her?”

“Through a friend,” he said automatically. He’d never consider Sir Albert Marshville any kind of friend, but for this, that would do. “Her references are splendid.” Non-existent, splendid, it was all the same.

After all, the previous six governesses had each come more highly recommended than the next. In the end, none of those highly recommended young women, or old women if one was to consider two of the frowning governesses, had managed to even do an adequate job in seeing to his sister’s proper deportment.

Mother planted her hands upon her hips. “What is her name?”

“Miss Marsh—”

“How old is she?” Mother tossed at him.

“Two and twenty.”

Her eyebrows dipped. “Her family connection?”

“She is the daughter of a now deceased baronet.” He picked up his port and took another long swallow, praying above all else that his mother ceased with her infernal line of questioning.

“When does she begin?”

Jonathan rolled his glass back and forth between his hands.

I want to begin immediately.

“I intend to send the carriage ‘round for the young lady shortly.”

His mother gave a pleased nod and started for the door. She spun back around. “And who was your friend?”

Jonathan’s mind spun. “Friend?” Some of the droplets of port spilled over the rim of his glass and landed upon the surface of his desk.

Mother’s eyebrows knitted into a single line. “You said you found this Miss Marsh through a friend. Who is the friend?”

Miss Marsh? He opened his mouth to correct the error but then thought better of it. Perhaps it was for the best if he withheld the lady’s true surname, lest his mother make the connection between Miss Marshville and a certain baronet.

“Jonathan?”

“Er, uh, Lord Drake,” he said quickly. “Miss Marsh is an old,” as in never was. “Acquaintance of Lady Emmaline.” He would have to pay a visit to his oldest and closest friend, the Marquess of Drake and his wife, Emmaline and just remind them of this particular acquaintance.

A pleased smile split his mother’s wrinkle-free cheeks. “The Marquess and Marchioness of Drake? Well-done, then, Jonathan. I look forward to meeting Miss Marsh.”

Once she sailed from the room, and pulled the door closed behind her, Jonathan released a pent up sigh. Now, he really needed to pay an immediate visit to Drake and Emmaline, and of course remember Miss Marshville was now to be referred to as Miss Marsh.

He took another small sip of port. She’d been skeptical as to how he’d come by Miss Marshville, that much was clear. Knowing Mother, she’d even now launched her own inquiry into Miss Marshville’s connection to Emmaline. Why, she’d probably sent ‘round a servant to speak to Emmaline and Drake’s servants who hopefully were a good deal more loyal than Jonathan’s, whose loyalty seemed pledged to his mother the countess.

Bloody hell.

Jonathan downed his port in a single swallow and set the empty glass down. With a sense of urgency he set out to see Emmaline and Drake. He all but ripped the door from its hinges and sprinted through the house, back down the corridor—

A small figure stepped into his path.

Penelope, his thirteen-year-old sister with her crop of black curls glared at him. She planted her arms akimbo looking entirely too much like another mother in that moment.

He sighed. “What is it, Penny?”

Her glare darkened. “Do not call me, Penny.” She gave a toss of her curls. “Why, I’m—”

“I know. I know. You’re thirteen, now.” These girls with their tendency for the dramatics would be the end of him. No wonder his father had died an early death. God rest the old earl’s soul. Jonathan made to step around her.

“Do not move another step, Jonathan Marcus Harold Tidemore,” she ordered. “What is this I hear of another governess?”

Which only reminded him of the utmost urgency in getting to Emmaline and Drake’s and remind them of their acquaintance with Miss Marshville…er Marsh.

Jonathan matched his sister’s stance and planted his hands on his hips. “Yes. I’ve found you a new governess.”

“I’m sure she’s horrid.”

Miss Marshville’s visage flashed behind his eyes, and a swift desire filled him. Enticing, entrancing, and captivating but never horrid. “She’s not horrid,” he assured Penelope.