Marquesses at the Masquerade(97)
Giles was even handsomer than he’d been as a youth. Lucy was doubtless plainer than ever, and sweeping her off her feet would be the work of a few weeks’ courtship.
*
Miss Fletcher had insisted that she and Tyne dispense with the bow-and-curtsey ritual. Tyne had wanted to object—a gentleman extended courtesy to everyone, not only to the people he sought to impress—but she’d pointed out that he did not bow to the housekeeper and would feel ridiculous doing so.
“You asked for a moment of my time,” Tyne said. “I trust Sylvie and Amanda are well?”
This was all Tyne knew to do with her—discuss the girls, be polite, keep his questions to himself. Freya’s comments came back to him, though: How was a woman to know Tyne esteemed her if he never gave voice to his sentiments?
Miss Fletcher was nothing if not tidy, though today her hair was arranged more softly about her face. Her dress was a high-waisted blue velvet several years out of fashion, and the color flattered her eyes. If he said as much, she’d likely box his ears with her book.
“Lady Sylvie and Lady Amanda are in good health, my lord. Both, however, could stand to improve their equestrian skills.”
Tyne had ridden like a demon almost before he’d been breeched. He missed that—riding hell-bent at dawn, his brothers thundering along beside him. Josephine hadn’t had much use for horses, or the stink, horsehair, and mud that inevitably resulted from time in their company.
“Did you or did not you,” Tyne said, “recently scold me into buying Amanda a mare to replace the equine sloth she was previously riding? If she can ride a pony, she can ride anything.”
“With the pony, she was on a lead line most of the time. A lady should be in command of her own mount.”
Miss Fletcher wore a lovely scent, not one Tyne had noticed previously. Minty with a hint of flowers.
“What were you reading?”
She edged to the left two steps, putting herself between Tyne and the discarded book. “I was merely browsing, awaiting your arrival.”
He reached around her. Myths, Fables, and Ancient Legends of the North by Roderick DeCoursy.
“Are you in want of adventure, Miss Fletcher? Looking for an exciting tale or two?”
She took the book from him. “And if I am? Do you suppose because I am a governess that I don’t enjoy a light dose of excitement from time to time? We can’t all be devoted to ledgers and parliamentary committee meetings.”
She was in fine form today, very much on her mettle. “Regardless of my boring proclivities, I will not subject my daughter to unnecessary risks. You are working up to a demand that I take the girls riding in the park.”
Ah, he’d surprised her. She didn’t retort until she’d turned to the shelves. “Most children on this square are taken for regular outings in the park on horseback. My request would have been reasonable.”
She was trying to reshelve her myths and fables, but the library had been arranged for Tyne’s convenience, and she was petite, relative to him. He came up behind her, took the book from her, and slipped it onto the shelf above her head.
She turned, and abruptly, Tyne was improperly close to his daughters’ governess. She regarded him steadily, neither affronted nor welcoming.
“What is that scent?” Tyne asked, leaning down for a whiff of her hair. “It’s delightful.”
She apparently found the toes of his boots fascinating. “Did you just pay me a compliment, my lord?”
He had the odd thought that she’d fit him much as Freya had were he to take her in his arms—which he was not about to do. He did, however, treat himself to another sniff of her fragrance.
“I did, and now that I know the heavens do not part, nor the end times arrive as a result, I might venture to pay you another. I’d take the girls riding, except I have no notion how well Amanda’s mare would deal with such an outing.”
He stepped back, though he wished he knew which myth or fable Miss Fletcher had been reading.
“Surely you bought a quiet mare for your daughter?”
“Shall we sit? I’ve been running all over Town today, and last night went later than planned.”
Miss Fletcher had fixed notions about what constituted excessive familiarity between employer and governess. She joined the family for informal meals, always arriving and leaving with the girls. She attended services with them. If Tyne took the young ladies to call on family, Miss Fletcher did not go along.
And yet, the girls were blossoming in her care. Tyne had no doubt she would give her life for them, and surely her ferocious loyalty excused Tyne’s vague fancies regarding a woman in his employ. He tugged the bell-pull and prepared to embark on a small adventure of his own.
“You’re ringing for tea?” she asked.
“Am I to starve for the sake of your etiquette, Miss Fletcher? Supper is hours away, and I’m peckish. Perhaps you could stand some sustenance yourself.”
She looked tired to him, as if an afternoon spent curled up with that blasted book wouldn’t have gone amiss. She perched on the edge of the sofa, like a sparrow lighting on an unfamiliar windowsill. Had some loss or heartache made her so careful with social boundaries? The idea explained much, including a love of fairy tales masked by a brisk lack of sentimentality.
“A cup of tea while we discuss an outing for the girls would be permissible,” she said.