A governess to a duke might one day have her pick of gentlemen, when all the children grew past the age of needing her. If someone had the wrong idea about Mr. Gardiner’s interest in her—
“I make a report to his grace on my progress, almost daily. Last evening, I mentioned coming upon you and Lord James in the gardens.” He spoke slowly, as though she were a child incapable of understanding the situation. Horrid man. It was he who did not know what trouble this might cause Alice. “I told him I saw your sketches and the coloring you did of one subject. Your talent impressed me, and I mentioned that it might help my project to have someone like you to assist with the illustrations of plants. To check my work and color the designs.”
A tiny ray of hope entered Alice’s heart. “You did not suggest that I specifically fulfill that role?”
“I did not.” He glowered down his nose at her. Before she could feel relief, before she could retreat to the safety of the schoolroom, he spoke again. “The duke, however, suggested that I ask you to perform the task if it doesn’t interfere with your work as a governess.”
The duke had made a suggestion. Most in the kingdom would know well enough it may as well be a command. Alice, an orphaned daughter of a gentleman, penniless and dependent on her family or her ability to find employment, could not afford to do anything that might disappoint a man of such power. While the duchess had given Alice employment, Her Grace would expect obedience to the duke.
This left Alice rather stuck.
She handled the situation with as much dignity as she could.
“Then I suppose you have your answer, Mr. Gardiner. If His Grace wishes for me to assist you, I will of course make time to lend my skill to your work.”
Mr. Gardiner’s dark eyebrows pulled together, a sharp V appearing above his nose. “Miss Sharpe—”
Another voice said her name at nearly the same moment. “Miss Sharpe, Mr. Gardiner, have I arrived in time for tea?”
Mr. Gardiner moved aside, already mid-bow, revealing Miss Arlen standing behind him. When she had come upon them in the corridor, Alice did not know. She had been too distressed to give heed to anything other than the presumptuous gentleman standing before her.
How had she ever considered him charming?
“A pleasure to see you this morning, Miss Arlen,” Mr. Gardiner said, all politeness.
“Thank you, Mr. Gardiner.” Miss Arlen’s clever brown eyes darted to Alice’s, then back to Mr. Gardiner. Her lips pressed together a moment, as though she was making sense of the scene she had come upon. “Are you joining us for tea?”
“No,” Alice said before the gentleman could answer. “He has only come to speak to me about his insects, and now he must be on his way.” Although she did not precisely mean to sound upset, she did not sound approving, either. The rudeness of sending the man on his way made her feel momentary guilt.
Miss Arlen shivered. “Ah yes, the project for the duke. I cannot say it is a topic I know much about.” The well-mannered companion sounded apologetic. “But I do understand the importance of the subject.”
Mr. Gardiner’s smile tightened. He bowed again. “I thank you for that much, Miss Arlen. As Miss Sharpe has said, I must excuse myself. I have things to attend to before this evening.”
Alice caught a puzzled frown from him the instant before he turned away to walk down the corridor to the main staircase. She watched his retreating form for several moments until Miss Arlen shifted to stand beside her.
The two of them watched him for a beat before Miss Arlen spoke. “He is a handsome gentleman, to be certain. But can you imagine being married to a man who brings boxes of insects into his rooms?” She shook her head. “I would have nightmares of them escaping.”
Alice nearly snorted a laugh but kept it back. Barely.
Miss Arlen’s eyes danced, and she wrinkled her pixie nose. “You do not mind insects, I take it?”
“Not overmuch.” But the gentleman studying the crawling creatures had unexpectedly proven problematic. Alice gestured to the closed door behind them. “Our tea will arrive soon, and I made certain the kitchen knew to send up enough for a guest.”
Miss Arlen’s steps were light and buoyant as she walked into the schoolroom. She took in everything with an alertness she had not possessed the day before. “I realized yesterday,” said she, “that it has been ages and ages since I spent more than a moment in this room. Lady Josephine and I had another five years left of schooling when this room was opened to us, ten years ago now.”
Lady Isabelle and Lady Rosalind had apparently put away their things in preparation for tea. Lord James had left the table to set up a row of tin soldiers along one of the shelves.
“Emma,” Lady Isabelle said brightly. “I am glad you’re here.”
“As am I,” Lady Rosalind said chirpily, coming forward with arms extended for a hug. Obviously, Lady Josephine’s companion was well liked and most familiar with the family. The young noblewomen immediately set up a chatter, asking questions about the guests from the dinner the night before.
“Now, you know your mother does not like gossip.” Miss Arlen took a chair at the large round table. “You must put your minds at rest. The adults spoke about adult things, such as politics and matchmaking, and that is all you need know.”
“Matchmaking?” Lady Rosalind asked, batting her eyelashes. “Who is matchmaking?”
“Everyone, of course. If people are not talking about politics or fashion, they are speaking of marriages, which require both.” Miss Arlen’s laugh dismissed the topic at once. “I am not here to rehearse the dinner conversation with you. I wish to know Miss Sharpe better.”
Both girls blinked as though surprised, but their brother spoke the thought they obviously had. “But she’s just the governess.”
A flash of memories flooded Alice’s mind and heart, memories of aunts and cousins, grandmothers and uncles, all muttering something along the lines of, Oh, it’s only Alice.
She cleared her throat. And the sting of a hundred dismissals. It took her a moment to form words, to try and find what to say that would not sound like a weak defense of her position.
Thankfully, someone else knew precisely what to say.
Miss Arlen’s previously cheerful expression had changed to one of compassion, and no little amount of understanding. “I am just your sister’s companion, James. Not anyone of great importance, by many standards, and yet I have the ear of the duke’s eldest daughter. Miss Sharpe, though employed by your family, has your parents’ trust along with her solemn responsibility to tutor the three of you.” She gestured to include the silent sisters in the conversation. “Who do you think educates the ruling class in our society? Who teaches a king his letters or a duke his first sums? Governesses and tutors. Without them, I think you should turn out rather poorly.”
At that moment, Miss Arlen gained a firm friend in Alice. The elegant woman had responded better than Alice could have, and with such understanding and empathy. Her every word rang with truth and reason.
Lord James, his chin tucked against his chest, did not quite meet Alice’s eye when he mumbled an apology to her. “I am sorry for my thoughtless words, Miss Sharpe.”
“All is forgiven, Lord James.”
Thankfully, the maid assigned to the nursery arrived at that moment with a heavily laden tea tray. Once everyone had been served, Miss Arlen proved to be the perfect guest. She was lively, polite, and seemed genuinely interested in coming to know Alice better.
Despite the concern caused by Mr. Gardiner’s proposition, Alice tentatively hoped she had found a friend in Miss Arlen.
Chapter 8
Normally, Rupert could count on offering a smile and kind word as enough to win him favor from a lady. Not that he sought such attention often, given that his studies consumed most of his time. Most women viewed his interest in insects as a perplexing hobby at best, and a disgusting obsession at worst.
Conversely, Miss Sharpe had seemed intrigued by entomolog
y, but rather put off by him.
Curious.
Rupert lay stretched across the grass, sketching a leaf and the leaf-shaped beetle sitting upon it, while he considered the problem at hand.
In his attempts to soothe her concerns, Rupert had distressed her. How had that happened? She insisted his suggestion did not offend her, yet she resisted the idea of helping him. Perhaps he had completely misread her interest.
The shield beetle steadily climbed up his leaf onto the stem of the flower. Though he admired the insect’s ingenuity, he should report it to the head gardener. Agriculturally, shield bugs were pests, considering their voracious appetite for tender leaves.
He closed his sketchbook and crossed his arms upon the grass, resting his chin upon his forearm. His coat he’d cast aside somewhere behind him when he had first started hunting in the flowerbed for a different specimen to draw. It was too hot, and too impractical, to wear the coat while hunting insects.
As a man of science, he often wondered why so much of what humankind did had no practical reasoning behind it. While he bowed to convention most of the time, as one in his position must, Rupert bent the rules when they made little sense. Such as wearing stuffy, warm layers while spending time in the sun’s heat.
He had sent a note to Miss Sharpe to meet him in the gardens at her earliest convenience. It was nearing three in the afternoon and she had not yet appeared. Given his previous encounters with the governess, he had thought she might seek him out earlier.
Rupert rolled onto his back and tucked his hands behind his head, closing his eyes against the sunlight. Rather like a lizard, he enjoyed the warmth for several long moments while considering where to search for a new subject to draw.
A shadow fell across his face. Then a soft voice spoke.
“Mr. Gardiner? Are you sleeping?”
He opened one eye, then squinted upward with both. Miss Sharpe had arrived at last. Today she wore a wide straw bonnet, a gown of muted rose with a plain fichu tucked and gathered to cover every inch of skin nearly up to her chin.
“Ah, Miss Sharpe. Here you are.” He sat up, and she hastily stepped backward, putting an unnecessary amount of distance between them. “I had nearly given up hope of seeing you today.”
He noted that she clutched the handle of a basket in one hand and a book in the other. Her jaw appeared rather taut, and there were spots of color in her cheeks. “I am afraid the children were somewhat quarrelsome today, so our studies took extra time. Then I was required to join them in their music and art lessons, as their instructors needed assistance. But here I am at last, while the children take tea with their mother and grandmother.”
Quarrelsome children might explain her somewhat lackluster disposition. “I am sorry to hear about the children. I imagine it is difficult to remain inside at lessons with so many other amusements at hand.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps.” Then she squared her shoulders. “Your note did not say precisely what you wished to discuss, but as we are in the garden, I assumed you wished me to begin as your colorist.” She bent to put her basket down, then opened her book and took a pencil from inside it. “If you will tell me what you require, I will make note of it before we begin.”
Although he normally admired individuals who came straight to the point, as he much preferred to do the same, her manner bordered on brusque. Obviously, the woman still bore contempt for either his person or the project at hand.
Her gaze darted up from the page to his arms, then up to his eyes, before she dropped them again to the book.
Had his lack of coat offended her?
Although it would be an easy matter to slip the heavy cloth on again, Rupert did not move to find it. If they were to spend time together, she would have to accustom herself to how he went about his work.
“What I require, Miss Sharpe, is a meeting of the minds.” Rupert had the satisfaction of seeing her eyebrows lift, her eyes coming up to his filled with skepticism. “And while I have apologized multiple times for giving offense, it is obvious you still harbor some ill feeling toward me. If that is the case, I fail to understand why you are standing here at all.”
As he spoke, her eyes narrowed to slits and her chin lifted. “I am standing here, sir, because my employer expects it. Or do you think one as insignificant as I am can ignore the preferences of a duke?” The sharpness in her tone surprised him. As did her perspective of the situation.
“You truly have no wish to be a part of a scientific study?” Rupert dropped his arms to his side. “But you seemed so interested—and you have a natural talent—”
“Thank you.” She sighed and wrapped both hands around her book. “But the flattery is unnecessary. I am afraid I cannot spare more than an hour, then I must attend to the children again. Will you please tell me, sir, what it is you need me to do?”
Although uncertain as to why she was still upset, Rupert bent to retrieve his book from the ground. “As I said before, the process of preparing this catalog for the duke is more arduous and time consuming than I expected. I can render an insect in near perfect detail, and the coloration of the creatures is important to me. The flowers and plants where they make their bowers or their dinners are no less important. They need to be rendered in excellent detail.”
He flipped open his sketchbook and took a loose sheet of paper out, showing it to her. “Here is the plant from the pond where we met, the same one you were drawing.”
She looked from his picture up to him. “Yes. Your drawing and mine show similar skill.”
“But I haven’t the time to color it in while I am also working on producing the seven different insects I found living upon the loosestrife.” He stared hard at her, trying to convey his need through his stare alone. “I will draw everything, Miss Sharpe, and deliver the flowers to you. If you would lend me your talent of making them look real, with vivid and accurate color, I will forever be in your debt. The duke intends to publish what I am compiling into a book for himself, but we will also submit it for scientific publication.”
“Then what does it matter if my colors are correct?” she asked, arching her blonde eyebrows at him, one corner of her mouth pulling aside skeptically. “The publishing houses will have their own colorists—”
“And those colorists must copy from an original. Your work will be the original colors.” How could he help her understand how important it was to him? “Please, Miss Sharpe. Accuracy is of great importance, to His Grace and to me.”
She studied his drawing again, almost reluctantly. “What about the insects?”
Perhaps she was more bothered by multi-legged, miniscule creatures than he had thought. “I will color them in.”
“Very well.” She handed the drawing back to him, then scribbled in her book with her pencil. He assumed she wrote his instructions, but then she tore out the paper and handed it to him. “This is what I will need to ensure accuracy. If you will note where in the garden the flower is located, I can obtain a sample to work from. I have also written the hours I will be available to you. You may either send the drawings to me or I will collect them every day.” She pointed to the times she had written on the paper. “You can see that not every day is the same. Our schoolroom schedule has many variables due to the other tutors in residence and the duchess’s preferences.”
“Yes, I see.” He had not imagined that on some days she would not have time until after the dinner hour, at eight o’clock in the evening.
She continued on, completely matter-of-fact. “If anything changes, I will let you know at once. I understand more guests are coming next week, with children and a governess of their own. That might alter circumstances, too.”
Rupert’s rising disappointment almost surprised him. Miss Sharpe would not spend any more time in his company than necessary. A shame. He had found her conversation interesting, her candor refreshing, and her person as a whole rather appealing.
Another glance at the paper she had given him with her list of times and in
structions made his heart sink. “Suppose you have questions during the work, Miss Sharpe?”
“I will send a note.” She closed her book and bent down to pick up her basket. “I promise I will be as efficient as possible.”
Efficiency hadn’t been quite what he hoped for, but Rupert nodded in reluctant acceptance. “May I ask—” He cut himself off, realizing he had no way to politely inquire as to whether or not she disliked his company. Not now that he had her agreement to help him.
The governess tilted her head to the side, the brim of her bonnet shading her face. “Ask...?” She let the question hang between them, her expression curious.
He dropped his gaze to her hand. “What is in your basket?”
A ridiculous question, but the best he could come up with under the circumstances.
“Oh.” She removed the cloth covering. “Frogs. I think they must be ill. I found them in Lord James’s room, in a trunk. I do not think he meant them any harm but keeping them indoors has done harm. I thought to take them to the sunken pond.”
Rupert’s jaw had fallen slack at some point. Likely when she had first shown him at least six frogs lying still atop a folded cloth. They were all breathing but hadn’t made a single sound. They were likely lethargic from lack of food and water, as she had supposed.
He looked up at her. “Why—? How did—?” Then he shook his head, completely confused. Never had he spoken to a woman on the subject of insects without finding them bored or put off. But here was a woman, born and raised as a gentlewoman, who had rescued frogs from a little boy’s trunk.
“I realize it would be better for the boy to return them himself, but I found them after he went out riding with his father and I thought it prudent to act in haste. I will, of course, speak to him later about this.” She covered the frogs up again, and Rupert had the wild desire to swoop down and kiss her.
Mr. Gardiner and the Governess: A Regency Romance (Clairvoir Castle Romances Book 1) Page 6
