The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(4)
“Caroline Grey,” she said as briskly as she could with water running down her face. “Mr. Benedict is expecting me.”
The manservant didn’t trouble to hide his grin of amusement at her appearance. But at least he stood aside to admit her. She took a deep breath and crossed the threshold.
“One moment, Miss,” said the servant, after he’d swung the door closed behind her. He crossed the wide, wood-paneled hall to what seemed a very distant door. Despite his unconventional dress for a butler, he had a straight, vaguely military bearing.
Clearly, she wasn’t meant to follow him, so she used the time to squeeze what moisture she could out of her hair, cram some loose pins back in place, and drag her bonnet from her neck back onto her head. That way, she could pretend she was not staying, that there was still some alternative to this situation.
At least the inside of the house looked less dilapidated than the outside, although the wall panels and the table beside her could have done with a dusting.
The manservant didn’t vanish for long. He reappeared outside the distant door only moments later and beckoned to her. Feeling as though she took her life in her hands, she walked toward him. She tilted her chin for courage and sailed past him into the room.
It appeared to be a dining room, the table set for luncheon. A girl of perhaps nine or ten years old sat there gazing at Caroline, an angry lady of perhaps forty winters at her side. A gentleman, presumably Mr., Benedict, had his back to the door, standing about halfway between Caroline and the table.
As Caroline halted just inside the door, the angry lady sprang to her feet, snatching up a whole cake from the table. She hurled it with force and fury, straight at Mr. Benedict.
Caroline gasped, for the woman’s aim was true, and she was sure the cake, plate and all, must hit him. But he simply ducked, and the plate flew over his head, shattering against the wall only inches from where Caroline stood.
Cake dripped down the wall and landed among the rest of the crumbs and broken china on the floor.
In the silence, Caroline turned her bemused attention to the scarred face she recognized. His gaze lashed her. Then he turned his back and walked to the table, his stride uneven as she remembered from their first meeting.
“Marjorie,” he said quietly.
The lady glared at him in defiance, her chest heaving. And then, muttering, she stalked around the table until she stood beside him. Together, they walked directly toward Caroline, who stepped smartly aside—away from the cake.
The lady, misery rather than fury staring out from her face, didn’t so much as glance at her. She seemed to be held together by a very fine thread.
Mr. Benedict deigned to flick another glance in Caroline’s direction. “I’ll be with you directly. Please sit down. Eat, if you wish.”
At least he didn’t comment on her disheveled appearance. Perhaps he was hindered by the cake dripping down his wall.
Chapter Two
Fighting a strange sense of unreality, Caroline crossed the room to the table. The child stared at her curiously.
“You must be Rosa,” Caroline observed. “I’m Miss Grey.”
The girl nodded but said nothing. She was a pretty child, with thick, black hair and large, brown eyes.
Caroline hesitated. She had had nothing to eat all day and was ravenous after her long walk. “May I join you?”
Again, the girl nodded.
Very conscious of her rain-soaked cloak, Caroline sat on the edge of a chair, and taking an unused plate, helped herself to cold meat, cheese, pickles, and bread and butter.
“How old are you, Rosa?” she asked pleasantly, between mouthfuls.
The girl didn’t answer. Perhaps she didn’t hear, so concentrated did she appear to be on Caroline’s face. Caroline let it pass, and since her companion was not inclined to talk, she merely ate and hoped the child would get used to her. After that, she could teach her good manners.
The girl picked up the bread on her own plate and began to nibble.
When she heard the approaching footsteps that heralded Mr. Benedict’s return, Caroline hastily swallowed the food in her mouth and rose in time to see him limp into the room.
“Miss…Grey, is it?” he said, unexpectedly offering his hand.
“Yes.” Her hand seemed to vanish inside his large fingers. They felt rough in texture and strong, though his grip was brief and firm rather than harsh. His eyes betrayed no recognition that they’d met before.
“Javan Benedict. This is Rosa.”
“So I gather.”
Gesturing for Caroline to be seated, Mr. Benedict casually ruffled his daughter’s dark head as he passed and sat beside her.
He frowned at Caroline. “Take off your wet things, Miss Grey. Did the Braithwaites not provide you with a suitable conveyance?”
“I chose not to take up the offer. It wasn’t raining when I set off.” With difficulty, she untied the wet ribbons of her bonnet, then stood to remove her heavy cloak. Unexpectedly, Rosa took them from her, and with a quick smile at her father, ran to the door.
“Make sure they’re dried off,” he called after her.
“Thank you,” Caroline murmured. Stupidly, without the cloak and bonnet, she felt defenseless, vulnerable.
The man who sat opposite her and controlled her future might have been better dressed and groomed than on that first encounter, but he still seemed alarmingly harsh. And large, in a way that had less to do with his height than the force of his sheer presence. His hard, grey eyes pierced hers, searching. She wondered if he were recalling her insolence only a few weeks ago.