And . . . he hadn’t spoken a word of welcome but was staring straight at her.
What he was thinking behind those gray eyes?
She rose to her feet, propelled by some unexplainable urge to stand in his presence. His gaze cut to her aunt.
“Ma’am?” he said. “What is the nature of your visit, Mrs. Finch?”
His manner of speech was formal, yet direct.
“I’ve brought someone to meet you,” Aunt Julia said. “This is my niece, Miss Emmeline Finch.”
Again, his gray eyes landed on her. Emmeline swallowed. A sip of water might be nice right now. “Pleased to meet you, sir.” Her voice sounded so faint, it was a wonder anyone heard her.
Ridout didn’t nod, didn’t answer, but turned his gaze on her aunt once again. “What is the purpose of this introduction?”
Something thumped overhead, likely in the room above the parlor. Emmeline flinched. Had something fallen upstairs? Ridout glanced up at the ceiling, the edge of his jaw tightening.
Aunt Julia seemed oblivious to the sound. “I’ve brought my niece to meet you and inquire about the governess position, of course.”
Another thump.
This time Emmeline looked up. What on earth was happening?
“I’ve no need for a governess,” Ridout said, his tone tight. “I’m sorry you went to the trouble of coming here.”
“Don’t be so hasty, Captain Ridout. I understand that—” Aunt Julia started to say.
“Thank you for your time,” Emmeline cut in. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
Someone wailed. It sounded like a little girl, and it was getting louder by the instant.
“Excuse me,” Ridout said and strode out of the room.
He didn’t get very far, because Emmeline had a perfectly clear view of a young girl with cascading blond hair barreling toward him.
“What happened?” Ridout asked, crouching to grasp the child’s shoulders.
“Andrew stepped on my nurse,” the girl sobbed. “And he broke it.”
Ridout took something out of her hands and held it up.
From her perspective, Emmeline thought it looked like a wooden toy.
“That’s too bad,” Ridout said. “Perhaps we can glue it back together?”
“No,” the girl wailed, tears falling fast. “It won’t be the same. She’ll be broken forever. Like mama.”
Emmeline’s chest ached. The girl’s heartbreak was making it hard to stand by. Emmeline eased herself across the room, closer to the hall entrance.
“Very well,” Ridout rumbled, his tone ever patient. “We can carve another nurse for you. How does that sound?”
Ah, a nurse.
The girl sniffled, then she wiped at her nose. Ridout promptly searched for a handkerchief in his jacket. Nothing came up, so Emmeline stepped forward and handed over her own handkerchief.
The girl’s blue eyes widened at the sight of Emmeline.
She took the handkerchief and, after wiping her nose, said, “Who are you?”
Emmeline bent so she was more at eye level with the blond girl. “I’m Emmeline Finch.” She gave her a soft smile. “Who are you?”
“Charlotte,” she said. “Are you . . . the governess?”
“Well, I . . .” Emmeline’s neck heated. “I’m not quite sure . . .”
Charlotte’s eyes shifted back to her uncle. “Tell her about my broken nurse.”
Captain Ridout’s brows rose, but he straightened and opened his palm. Sure enough, there lay a very small carved wooden doll, broken clean in half.
Emmeline didn’t know what to say. Or what she was expected to say. So she said the first thing that came to mind. “I think a doctor could fix her. Do you have one?”
Immediately, Charlotte’s gaze went to her uncle’s.
Captain Ridout’s gray eyes settled on Emmeline, and while she couldn’t quite read his expression, a flutter erupted deep in her belly regardless. “I think we can remedy that,” he said.
Chapter 5
If someone had announced this morning that Hudson would be spending an hour in the back garden with two visiting women while he carved a doctor figure from a piece of wood, he would have declared them positively batty.
Yet here he was. Carving in front of a captivated audience. Well, Mrs. Julia Finch was off somewhere examining the rose bushes. At one point he’d seen her instructing the gardener, Mr. Pratt, on how to cut back the rose bushes. But her niece had remained at the table and now sat between the children.
Andrew had been sufficiently contrite, which was good enough for Hudson not to make such a big deal out of the nurse-breaking incident. And Charlotte was grinning like she’d never shed a tear in her young life. Because both she and Miss Finch had talked him into not only carving a doctor figure, but another nurse to be a sister to the first nurse, along with a cook, who would follow along with Andrew’s soldiers and fix meals for everyone.
Hudson had to hold back a chuckle at that one. Laws, it had been a long time since he’d laughed. The late morning had warmed, and the bees were out in full force, perusing the flowers near the patio at their leisure. Strangely enough, Hudson felt quite content.
Having a woman—er, a potential governess—in the house wasn’t as disconcerting as he had thought. Perhaps it was because this, uh, governess was nothing like the stodgy ones he’d interviewed over the past couple of weeks. This governess was young . . . twenty-three, he guessed, quite pretty if he were to overlook her freckles and habit of offering her unending opinion on every detail—
“I’ve never seen a cook without an apron,” Miss Finch said now. “Don’t you think she should be wearing an apron?”
“Yes!” Charlotte clapped. And even Andrew nodded his agreement.
Hudson turned the carving this way and that. How to represent an apron?
“I know,” Miss Finch said. “How about we make an apron out of a scrap of cloth? Then we can tie it on.”
Was this woman daft? It would have to be the smallest apron known to mankind. “I don’t see how—”
“Here.” Miss Finch inserted her opinion again and pulled out a ribbon from her handbag. The same place she’d produced the much-needed handkerchief from earlier. “I have this old ribbon in my handbag. I keep forgetting to remove it when I’m at home. We can use this.”
“I know where the scissors are,” Charlotte said.
Miss Finch smiled.
Hudson was starting to get used to those freckles of hers. They went quite well with her dark green eyes and auburn hair. He adjusted his gaze back to his whittling. It wouldn’t do to slip with the knife and cut his thumb.
Before he could make any sort of comment, Miss Finch had taken Charlotte by the hand and they’d disappeared inside. Their voices trailed, and Miss Finch asked after a needle and thread, and Charlotte’s reply was full of enthusiasm.
“I like her,” Andrew said.
Hudson blinked, then realized he’d been staring after the pair. “What?” He looked over at Andrew, who sat with his elbows propped up on the table, his blond hair likely longer than it should have been. Well, Hudson was in need of a haircut too.
“Do you think she’s a real governess?” Andrew pressed.
“I suppose so,” Hudson said. “She did come here to apply for the position, after all.”
Andrew rested his chin on his hand. “I thought governesses were old and mean. She’s nice. And pretty.”
This comment caused Hudson to forget his carving for a moment. “You think she’s pretty?”
Andrew shrugged, but Hudson didn’t miss the pink tinge that stole up the boy’s neck. The boy was only nine. And he apparently didn’t mind freckled, outspoken women.
“Well, I think governesses come in all ages,” Hudson said in a careful tone. “And I’m sure most of them are nice.”
Andrew looked down at the table. This was one of those moments that Hudson wished he knew what the boy was thinking. Obviously Andrew’s mind had left the current
discussion. Did that mean he was thinking about his parents? Missing them?
“You know, when I was about your age, your dad and I had a nanny,” Hudson said.
Andrew didn’t look up, but Hudson knew he was listening.
“We used to play tricks on her,” Hudson continued. “Well, your dad played tricks, and I tried to talk us out of getting into trouble.”
Now he had the boy’s attention. Andrew looked up. “What sort of tricks?”
“Once your dad stole all her pillows off her bed,” he said. “We got in real trouble for that, since we weren’t even supposed to go into her bedchamber.”
Andrew’s blue eyes rounded. “What else?”
This time Hudson did chuckle. “She was deathly afraid of spiders, so your dad trapped one and brought it into the schoolroom. It took about two days for the spider to make its presence known.”
Andrew grinned. “Did she scream?”
“I think the question should be, did the sheep hear her scream and bolt across the fields?”
Andrew’s laughter bubbled up and spilled out.
Hudson had never thought a child’s laughter could soften the pain of missing someone, but it turned out it could.
“What happened next?” Andrew asked once he caught his breath.
“Well, your brother and I got a whooping, and our nanny removed herself from the premises,” Hudson said. “We heard the servants gossiping later that she had found another post.”
Andrew was still grinning. “Did you get a new governess?”
“Wisely, no,” Hudson said. “Our mother hired a strict tutor until it was time to enroll in boarding school.”
Andrew’s shoulders dropped. “I don’t think I want to play tricks on Miss Finch. She’s too nice.”
“I haven’t quite decided—”
“Uncle!” Charlotte called. “Look what we found!”
They were back, and Miss Finch held up a scrap of burlap.
“It’s for the cook,” Charlotte declared. “Miss Finch said she can make a tiny grain bag, and we’ll fill it up. One of the soldiers can carry it.”
It seemed Hudson was well on his way to carving a complete village of miniatures. The last thing he’d do was protest because he hadn’t seen his niece and nephew this enthusiastic since his arrival at Branhall.
“Very well,” Hudson said, trying to keep his tone more formal now that Miss Finch had returned. “I suppose that every cook needs a sack of grain to make soup.”
Then, as if pulled by some unseen force, his gaze connected with Miss Finch’s green one as she settled across the table from him, taking her spot once again between the children. How had he not noticed before how the color of her lips was identical to the pale-pink roses in the garden? And her lips were currently quirked at the corners. He dragged his gaze back to the current carving. He might be here all day if he didn’t get back to work.
While he carved, Miss Finch cut a miniature apron and squared off the burlap. Then she showed Andrew how to stitch the burlap, overriding his protests that “boys don’t sew” by explaining that every military man knew how to sew. Who else repaired their uniforms after battle?
Clever woman.
Soon, Andrew was making careful stitches along the edge of the burlap.
And Charlotte leaned her head against Miss Finch’s shoulder as she created the world’s smallest apron.
“What a beautiful garden,” Mrs. Julia Finch said, joining them at the table. “Do you oversee the work yourself?”
“Oh, no,” Hudson said. “I’d kill every rose in sight if I got too close. Mr. Pratt does a fine job without my input.”
“I gave Mr. Pratt some input anyway.” Mrs. Finch smiled. “If there’s one thing I know about, it’s roses. You should see my garden.” Before he could reply, she rushed on, “My niece is quite adept in gardening. We’ve had more than one conversation about what to plant and when. I must say that I’m impressed with her knowledge, although she has a ways to go before she measures up to me. I’m not about to get down into the dirt like she is. I’d much rather offer instruction from a standing position.”
Hudson wasn’t sure how to take Mrs. Finch’s comments. So he decided to be amused. He shifted his gaze to Miss Finch. “Do you enjoy gardening, Miss Finch?”
Those pale-pink lips of hers curved, and he was somehow gratified to see the blush overtaking her freckles.
“I do,” Miss Finch said, not looking away from his gaze.
He rather liked that about her.
The women he had met and was expected to interact with at a social function anytime he was on leave were more likely to drop their gazes when they blushed. Not Miss Finch.
“When I was a little girl,” she said, “I wished I had been born a faerie so I could live in a garden.”
Both Andrew and Charlotte laughed.
And perhaps it was because the sound of children’s laughter bewitched him out of his senses, but right then and there, he offered Miss Finch the governess position.
With no hesitation, she accepted.
Chapter 6
Emmeline spent her first night as a governess staring at the moonlight peeking through the window of her attic bedchamber. As far as attic bedchambers went, this one was rather nice. Especially after Captain Ridout had ordered every member of the household staff to prepare the room for her. Furniture had been moved, bedding brought in, floors scrubbed, and wall hangings hung.
With an apologetic tone, he explained that since the manor was only two stories, it wasn’t appropriate that the governess live on the same level as the unmarried master.
Emmeline had not guessed that a captain of the Royal Navy could blush, but there was no other explanation for the heightened color upon those high cheekbones of his.
The bed was soft, the small settee across the room comfortable. The bureau had been polished, and new draperies had been hastily made by Mrs. Cooper. Emmeline had forgone the comment that she could have done a better job herself. As they were now, the hem of the lavender drapes was a bit crooked. Her gaze shifted to the framed needlepoint she had put atop the bureau. It was a simple creation of her own. Two words: One Year. Surrounded by stitched roses.
It symbolized her time commitment of being a governess, after which she would then obtain her freedom and receive her own cottage when she turned twenty-five.
Perhaps it was due to the new bedchamber or the new governess position that Emmeline’s thoughts were a jumble of disquiet. Or . . . perhaps it was the fact that from the moment she’d been in the same room with Captain Ridout, she’d sensed his awareness of her.
This was different than when she’d spent time with Mr. Baker, before she knew he liked Alicia. Mr. Baker had been interested in everything Emmeline had to say, had asked multiple questions—of course now she realized how leading they’d been about Alicia—but he hadn’t watched her.
No, not like Captain Ridout. She was likely reading too much into it. Of course the man would study her; he’d hired her to be his wards’ governess, for heaven’s sake. He’d want to make sure she qualified and got along well with the children and would be a great teacher. Although, he hadn’t asked her about any of her credentials or requested any references. Apparently Aunt Julia’s was enough.
And if Emmeline was being completely truthful with herself, she’d also studied the captain quite a bit during the tour he’d given her of the house, followed by the instruction he imparted for the children’s education. Which, of course, amounted to Andrew’s. As far as Charlotte went, the captain told her he’d leave that completely in Emmeline’s hands.
During the tour, Emmeline had observed how there was more than one color of gray in his eyes. When they’d passed by his brother’s suite, Captain Ridout’s eyes grew dark like an incoming storm when he said that he hadn’t yet gone into the rooms. When they arrived at the nursery, Captain Ridout’s eyes lightened to a soft gray fog as he spoke about his plans to renovate the room into a school room.
Emmeline had no doubt he’d oversee the renovation in the same efficient way he’d ordered the preparation of her bedchamber. She turned over onto her side, closing her eyes and willing sleep to come. But sleep could not be commanded.
With a sigh, she decided that perhaps she could read a little by the light of the moon. She climbed out of bed and dragged the chair closer to the window. After picking up one of the books of poetry she’d brought, she cracked open the cover.
But before she settled to read a few pages, her gaze was distracted by someone walking through the garden.
The breath rushed out of Emmeline as she stared at the moving figure. Was there a thief stalking the house? Would he break in and steal a painting or one of the fine vases in the parlor? Perhaps the former Mrs. Ridout had valuable jewelry?
With her heart galloping in her chest, Emmeline rose slowly to her feet and moved closer to the window. She peered down at the figure. He was well, lean, and . . . jacketless. He turned on the path he was walking and moved in the opposite direction. Then he turned back again.
Pacing. He was pacing. Did thieves pace?
No. The relief that stole through Emmeline felt like the first taste of clotted cream on scones. The man was Captain Ridout, and it seemed he couldn’t sleep either. Emmeline wasn’t about to guess why the master of the house couldn’t sleep at what must be two in the morning, but she could certainly relate. Although, his reasons for not sleeping were likely vastly different from hers.
Emmeline rested her forehead against the glass and watched the man below. Pacing back and forth, back and forth. Questions surfaced in her thoughts. What had his life in the navy been like? Why had he chosen the navy over the army? How did he feel about everything he’d known being turned upside down, only to now replace his brother in every way possible?
Had he dreams, hopes, ambitions that would now never be realized?
Or would he send the children to boarding school as soon as they were old enough so that he could return to his former life? Perhaps hire an estate manager.
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