The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(7)

“With Rosa,” he said in surprise. “And me.”

For some reason, her stomach tightened. It wasn’t displeasure or even fear, for he intrigued her, and she wanted to know more about him as well as Rosa. He didn’t wait for her acceptance, merely limped off into the bowels of the house.

*

Since she made Rosa put on a clean dress for dinner—a demand that appeared to surprise Rosa but which she obeyed—Caroline changed her own mud-splashed, workaday garment for her Sunday gown, the only other she possessed. This was a slightly newer but equally drab brown dress. It wasn’t precisely evening wear, but she doubted Mr. Benedict was a stickler for etiquette. She did wonder about the lady who’d thrown the cake at him. But when she and Rosa entered the dining room, the table was set only for three.

Rosa obviously noticed, for when her father arrived, she went and looked at him in silent question.

“Marjorie isn’t dining with us tonight,” he said briskly. “You may go and see her after dinner.”

Although the food was surprisingly good—thanks no doubt to the cook who had once worked at Braithwaite Castle—it was rather an odd meal. Since Rosa didn’t speak, and Mr. Benedict appeared to be silent by nature, Caroline didn’t feel she should be the one to break the silence. Rosa did smile at her encouragingly a couple of times, so she smiled back and continued eating her soup.

The soup was eventually removed and a dish of chicken brought in. As she helped herself to vegetables, Caroline was aware of Rosa nudging her father and staring at him significantly.

He picked up his knife and fork. “My daughter wishes me to make conversation, so that you don’t desert us for some more civilized family. Ouch,” he added with amusement as Rosa clearly kicked him under the table.

“I’m happy to converse on any subject you wish,” Caroline replied, refusing to be put out. “Although, I have never been in favor of simply filling silence with noise if one has nothing to say.”

“You see?” Mr. Benedict said to Rosa. “Miss Grey is clearly a lady of superior understanding. On the other hand, Rosa and I are both curious, so I hope you won’t consider it mere noise when I ask you about your life.”

She met his gaze. “Sadly, I have nothing to say. My life has been largely too dull for conversation.”

“But you give us hope in the word largely. When has your life not been dull?”

“I did not say it was dull to me,” she retorted. “But it would most certainly be so to you and Rosa.”

“I think you must allow Rosa and me to judge for ourselves. I know you have a sister. Do you have other siblings?”

“No.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“In a country vicarage in Yorkshire.”

His eyebrows flew up. “You are a vicar’s daughter?”

She inclined her head. “The fact does not usually elicit so much…astonishment.”

“I am adjusting my preconceived ideas,” he said obscurely. He chased his food around his plate for a little bit. Then, just as she shot him a surreptitious glance, he looked up. “So, were you good children, as a vicar’s should be? Or naughty like Rosa?”

Rosa grinned at both her father and Caroline. Caroline couldn’t help smiling back.

“I’m sure we were both,” she replied lightly. “Perhaps it’s my mother you should consult on the subject.”

“Perhaps I will.”

Her gaze flew back to his, and he set down his fork. “Interesting. You don’t like that idea at all.”

“I have never had an employer interview my mother before,” she retorted.

“It would be outrageous, wouldn’t it? You must learn to tell when I’m jesting.”

Caroline pronged her chicken with unnecessary force. “Must I?”

“For your own peace of mind. What of your sister? Is she a governess, too?”

“No. She has a child.”

“And no means of support but you?”

Caroline flushed. “Sir, my sister is not your concern.”

“But she is yours. I find that does concern me.”

“Why?”

His glass froze in midair. A short bark of laughter escaped him before he raised the wine the rest of the way to his lips and drank. “Good question,” he allowed, setting the glass down again and pushing once more at his food. “You’re not afraid of me, are you, Miss Grey?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. She swallowed. “I apologize for my rudeness.”

“Oh, don’t spoil it,” he mocked. “You weren’t rude. And if you were, I am impervious to such things. Eat up.”

It was advice he would have been better taking than giving. Caroline’s plate was almost cleared, Rosa’s all but polished, while Mr. Benedict’s remained nearly untouched. She recalled his soup plate had been removed still half full and he seemed disinclined to eat more than the couple of forkfuls he’d already taken of the chicken.

She raised her eyes to his face. “Are you quite well, sir?”

“Quite.” His fingers curled around the stem of his glass, his expression unchanging.

It was Rosa who looked suddenly anxious, her large, scared eyes fixed on her father’s face. Caroline’s question had inspired that fear.