Читать книгу The Governess and Mr. Granville - Abby Gaines - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Serena watched as her employer—her former employer—turned a remarkable shade of red.

Her question had been unutterably forward. If her father had heard her, even his famed tolerance would be taxed. But she’d spent eight months biting her tongue, save for one or two lapses in diplomacy. Maybe three or four. The point was, her “parson’s daughter-ish” good manners meant she’d failed to make any lasting difference here. Now that she’d been dismissed, she no longer needed to exercise restraint.

“Miss Somerton,” Mr. Granville said with rigid control, “while I am very conscious of the honor you accord me, I feel your offer springs from a certain desperation.”

What was he talking about?

He took two steps backward, away from her, as if she were a victim of the Great Plague she’d been teaching the children about in their history lessons. Yes, she did actually teach them history.

“Therefore-I-must-decline-your-proposal,” he said in a rush.

Serena stared...then broke into a peal of laughter. “You think I was proposing marriage!”

He remained red, but was suddenly less rigid. “Er, weren’t you?”

“Certainly not!” Goodness, how embarrassing. She could only hope she could pass the days before she left Woodbridge Hall without encountering him again. “Even if I hoped to marry in the near future—which, believe me, I have no expectation of doing—it would be somewhat presumptuous of a governess to set her sights on the master of the house, would it not?”

A reluctant smile widened his mouth, much more natural than the forced version with which he’d tried to reassure her a moment ago. It made him extremely handsome.

“You are the sister of an earl now,” he pointed out. “And have always been, it seems, the great-niece of a duke. I rather fear, Miss Somerton, you’re my social equal.”

“I’m an estranged great-niece,” she reminded him, suddenly distracted. How peculiar that she should notice how handsome he was twice in half an hour. The first time, he’d been inches away from her, trying to detach that dashed lizard. And this time he’d just accused her of proposing marriage—so no wonder her observations were so inappropriate. This was hardly a regular day at Woodbridge Hall.

In which case, the irregularity might as well continue.

“Perhaps I will presume on the new status, such as it is, that comes courtesy of my sister’s husband,” she said. “Sir, your children need a mother.”

He was squaring his jaw again. Serena chose to ignore it. “Which means you need a wife,” she said. “I’m sorry to bring this up so abruptly—if I’d known I was about to be dismissed, I would have mentioned it sooner—”

“I’m overjoyed that you didn’t know,” he interrupted.

“The children love their aunt, of course, but they need someone whose constant presence they can depend on. If Miss Granville should marry...”

“No one can promise a constant presence,” he said harshly. He closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them, he spoke with excessive calm. “We both know my sister is unlikely to wed, so you may consider her quite dependable.” Measured strides took him to the library door, which he opened wide in a clear message that Serena should depart.

He was right about no one knowing the future. His wife, Mrs. Emily Granville, had doubtless never expected to be carried away by measles when Louisa was just six months old.

But Serena was right, too. She drew a restoring breath, gripped the back of her chair and carried on. “Sir, Thomas and Hetty are about to enter a critical period in their adolescence. They need the guidance and nurturing of a parent who loves them, not a governess who’s paid to care.” And since Mr. Granville showed no inclination to nurture his children, there should be a new Mrs. Granville.

“Is that why you care?” he asked.

“You dismissed me,” she pointed out. “In that process, you made some slurs about my ability as a governess that I consider—”

She stopped. She was getting distracted. What really mattered here?

The children.

In which case...Serena sat down again.

Mr. Granville glanced from her to the open door. “Miss Somerton, you are dismissed. In every sense of the word.”

“I will leave, but I’d like to say something first.”

He remained by the door, only a slight air of resigned expectancy acknowledging her request.

They could hardly hold a conversation like this.

“Such discourtesy to a sister of the Earl of Spenford,” she said lightly.

Granville’s eyes narrowed. But he returned to his seat behind the desk. Serena sent up a brief prayer that she could articulate her thoughts in a way that would convince him. She’d never thought she would have the chance to speak her mind, but hadn’t he just told her she was now his social equal?

Even better, a social equal who after this week would never see him again.

“Mr. Granville,” she said, “your sister has mentioned your faithfulness to the memory of your late wife, and I strongly admire that. But it may be that God has someone else in mind for you. Remarriage wouldn’t necessarily be disloyal.”

“That’s enough,” he said sharply.

Serena estimated she had maybe half a minute to persuade him, before he picked her up and bodily threw her out, social equality or not. “Even if you’re certain you don’t wish to, er, fall in love with some young lady, we could look at this from a purely practical perspective.”

“By all means, Miss Somerton, why don’t we do that?”

The silky menace in his invitation made her pause.

Best to hurry on, before courage deserted her altogether.

“There are many ladies—I can think of several wellborn spinsters in an instant—who would welcome an alliance with a wealthy, handsome man like yourself, without requiring declarations of love.”

“Hmm.” For a moment, he appeared to be considering her eminently useful suggestion. Then he said, “So, you consider me handsome?”

Heat flooded her face. “I—did I say that?” Yes, I did. “I—I’m sorry, I was merely making a point, I shouldn’t have...”

Satisfaction with her discomfort gleamed in his eyes.

Now that he’d questioned her opinion of his looks, Serena couldn’t help appraising what she could see of him: dark hair, eyes an intriguing hazel, a strong face, a mouth that... She dropped her gaze quickly. Broad shoulders, impeccable dress sense. And he was tall. Any woman would find him handsome, as he was doubtless well aware. And now, confound it, she’d lost her train of thought.

“So,” he said, with an affability that was just as disconcerting as his earlier menace, “your expert opinion is that I should marry a spinster who’s after my fortune?”

As so often happened, a laugh gurgled out of Serena at quite the wrong moment. “Perhaps I didn’t make the prospect sound honorable. Or tempting, for that matter. And I cannot approve such motives for an alliance.” A stance she was being forced to rethink, given that her sister’s marriage was one of convenience.

“Oh, well, if you don’t approve, I’d better not.” He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, emphasizing the breadth of those shoulders.

“But, er...” What had she been saying? Oh, yes. “I believe—” she kept her eyes fixed firmly on his “—such convenient marriages can offer mutual benefits, and there’s every chance that over time, love would blossom.” She hurried on. “Besides, you really shouldn’t make spinsters sound like such a last resort. My aunt, Miss Jane Somerton, is both a spinster and very attractive. In fact, I could introduce you....”

“I’m acquainted with Miss Jane Somerton,” he said. “I have no wish to marry her.”

“Maybe you should stop thinking about what you wish, and think about what your children need,” Serena snapped. Drat. She braced herself for that forcible removal.

“Miss Somerton,” he growled. “If you don’t cease your impertinence this instant...”

“You’ll dismiss me?” she suggested. “Might I remind you, Mr. Granville, my sister’s marriage has put me in the position—rare for a governess—of having nothing to lose. While your children have everything to gain.”

Silence. Should she take that as victory?

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Miss Somerton...”

Merely regrouping, then. Serena braced herself.

“I don’t understand why you feel compelled to comment on my domestic arrangements, when you’re no longer employed here,” he said. “Nor why these outrageous views have come upon you so suddenly.”

He sounded so confused, she felt almost sorry for him. “I’ve felt this way since the day I arrived,” she admitted. “But until now, I’ve been more subtle in my approach.”

“You’ve been subtle?” he said incredulously.

“You possibly haven’t noticed that I’ve been extending the time you spend in your daily greetings and good-nights to the children.” She was rather proud of having stretched that stiff, formal five minutes to a whole seven minutes. Still stiff and formal, but one step at a time.

“How Machiavellian of you.” He appeared to be laughing at her.

“There are many fathers who spend a great deal of time with their children and find it very rewarding,” Serena said coolly. Her own papa was a perfect example, but she knew other families of Quality where the father enjoyed the company of his offspring.

“Again,” Granville said, “I wonder why you’ve taken it upon yourself to try to introduce me to their ranks.”

Maybe she should tell him at least part of the truth.

“Do you believe in second chances, Mr. Granville?”

“In theory,” he said guardedly. “Is there something else you need to confess?”

“I’m talking about you,” she said. “Your family has suffered loss, but you have a chance to build a loving home for your children. If only you’ll take it.”

“And you intend to force me to take this chance you’ve conjured up in your imagination?” He scowled. “If you must indulge your penchant for good works, Miss Somerton, I suggest you go home and feed the poor. Surely they’re in greater need of second, third and even fourth chances than I am.”

“The poor are well provided-for in Piper’s Mead,” she said. “My sister Isabel practically runs the orphanage, and Charity, my youngest sister, knits for the babies. Mama grows vegetables for the elderly—”

He held up a hand. “Your family can’t have such a monopoly on good works that there was nothing left for you but to travel all the way to Leicestershire to inflict a second chance on my family.”

“Of course not,” Serena said levelly. “I chose this position—” he blinked, as if he hadn’t realized she’d had a choice “—because I believe this is where I’m meant to be.” She knew in her head that she’d been forgiven the foolish mistake she’d made years ago. A mistake entirely unworthy of her upbringing, which would grieve her parents sorely if they knew of it. But in her heart, she despaired of receiving a second chance. If she could help the Granville family grasp their chance, then maybe God would send one her way.

“Grateful though I am for your efforts,” Dominic Granville said, “your assistance isn’t required. Let me remind you, to put your mind at rest before you depart, my children have an aunt right here in this house, who loves them very much and who, as I’ve said, will likely always be here with us.”

Serena hesitated. To speak bluntly about Marianne Granville seemed harsh, but... “If you’re suggesting Miss Granville will play a more active role in the children’s upbringing than she does now, you’re quite wrong.”

His mouth tightened. “I’m not suggesting anything to you at all. It’s none of your business.”

“Are you saying that when Hetty makes her come-out into society,” Serena persisted, “she will be chaperoned by your sister?”

He eyed her with hearty dislike. “Not necessarily. Hetty’s come-out is six or seven years away.”

“Will your loyalty to your wife vanish in that time?” she asked.

“Of course not.”

“Even if you could force your sister into the role of chaperone, I doubt you’d have the stomach for it,” Serena said. Not that Mr. Granville was in any way soft, but his attitude toward his sister was rightly protective. “I understand you have no other suitable female relatives. It’s possible you have a female friend who might help—” a flicker of doubt crossed his face “—but a girl’s come-out is such a...a complicated time that you’ll want someone very close to your daughters involved.”

Serena drew a breath. “Which means you’ll at some stage need to marry, if only to help your daughters find their place in society. I say, do it now and give them all the benefits of a loving stepmother.” She spread her hands as if nothing could be simpler. It didn’t take a mathematical genius to add two and two, did it?

She could see from his distracted expression that he was performing the calculation himself and coming up with the same, unpalatable answer.

Then he blinked, as if to dismiss his conclusion. When he spoke, the set of his shoulders, the jut of his jaw, told Serena he had no intention of discussing this further. And every intention of ignoring her advice. “Prepare to leave this house on Monday, Miss Somerton. My own carriage will convey you to your parents’ home.” His offer of transportation likely spoke as much of his desire to be sure he was rid of her as it did of his determination to acknowledge her social standing.

Serena bowed her head, defeated.

She had failed.

* * *

Dominic found his sister in the greenhouse. She’d commandeered its southwest corner for her botanical project, a move that Gladding, the head gardener, tolerated with an air of long-suffering. Dominic called a greeting from the doorway, to give Marianne a moment to adjust to his presence. By the time he reached her, her face was rosy. But not bright red, as it would have been if he’d startled her.

“So this is the new arrival.” He scrutinized the gray-green leaves, if one could call the sharp-tipped spikes that, of the plant she was digging in. “It survived the journey, then.” Just as well, since it had cost a small fortune.

“If it survived the trip from India to England, I daresay London to Leicestershire was nothing.” Marianne patted the soil around the base of the plant with her trowel, then stepped back to admire it. “Aloe vera. Pretty, don’t you think? Even if it doesn’t work, it’ll at least look nice.” Her careless tone didn’t fool Dominic.

“Very nice,” he said.

She picked up on his sympathy, and her cheeks turned a deeper pink; she fanned her face. “This place is so warm.”

“We could step outside if you’re finished,” he suggested.

She shook her head. “The others need water. I’ve forbidden Gladding to do it—he tends to drown them.”

The gardener didn’t hold with newfangled tropical plants. Dominic preferred the more restrained beauty of English plants himself, but he wouldn’t deny Marianne her search for a cure for her condition.

She bent to pick up the watering can at her feet; Dominic intervened. “Let me do that. I promise I’ll obey your instructions to the letter.”

She smiled in gratitude as she dabbed at her cheeks with a damp handkerchief. The slightest exertion, even lifting a watering can, would make her face redden further. Even though there was no one but Dominic to see her, she preferred to avoid exacerbating her complaint.

“While you do that, I promised Cook I’d snip some chives for dinner.” She pulled a small pair of scissors from her pocket. “I ordered the honey-glazed duck for tonight.”

Dominic’s stomach growled at the mention of his favorite dish. “Have I told you you’re the best sister in the world?” he teased, as he sprinkled water over the threadlike leaves of the nigella she’d planted last year, having heard the seeds could be ground into a paste for the skin. Like every other remedy, it hadn’t worked.

“You’ve told me many times, but there’s no such thing as too often.” Marianne signaled that he’d dampened the nigella enough. “What brings you here, Dom? Shouldn’t you be out inspecting fences, or the like?”

He moved on to the next plant, a tropical flax whose leaves could reputedly be laid over the skin for a healing effect. “Miss Somerton’s sister has married the Earl of Spenford.”

Surprise flashed across Marianne’s face. “I didn’t know.” Like him, she never read the London society news. He abstained because he was too busy. For Marianne, reading about a world she had every right to be a part of, but never would be, disheartened her. “So Serena will be leaving us. What a pity, for her and for us.”

“I don’t see that it’s a bad thing for her,” Dominic countered. Nor for them, either. The governess had overstepped every conceivable boundary during their conversation; he couldn’t remember feeling so provoked. But at the same time, he’d admired her determination to fight on his children’s behalf. Even if she was quite wrong.

“She can return to her parents in Hampshire, or no doubt the Spenfords would be happy to have her in London,” he said. Serena might be helter-skelter, but she was pretty enough. With some self-discipline and the backing of the Earl and Countess of Spenford, she’d find herself a husband by the time she’d been in town a month. Maybe less than a month. Dominic had noticed she had a fine figure, the kind to attract male attention.

“Well, it’s awful for us,” Marianne insisted.

“Will Miss Somerton be such a sad loss?” Dominic asked lightly. Images of the governess’s blue eyes and graceful neck rose in his mind as he wielded the watering can over a glossy-leafed something-or-other. “I have the impression that under her care, the children are somewhat rambunctious.”

“They adore Serena,” her sister said. “And not only does she love them, she can keep up with them.” Marianne’s excessive, uncontrollable blushing meant she couldn’t exert herself with the children—not unless she wanted to spend the next several hours hot and crimson-faced. “But more importantly, although I love them with all my heart and they love me back, Serena seems to know better what they need.” She peeled off her garden gloves. “That’s enough watering for now. We’ll stop at the herb garden for those chives on our way back to the house.”

What his children needed... The governess had tried to lecture him on that subject.

“I know you found appointing a governess a tedious experience last time,” he said, as he held the greenhouse door open for his sister. An understatement. “But could I trouble you to do it again?” He’d do it himself, but Marianne needed to select someone with whom she’d feel comfortable.

“I can try,” she said gloomily. “But don’t expect it to be a quick process.”

“I offer a generous wage as compensation for looking after five children,” he reminded her.

Marianne held his gaze. “The trouble is, Dominic, you want—and the children deserve—a respectable young lady of good breeding. But ladies of that ilk have their choice of position, and some things cannot be compensated for.”

“Don’t talk like that,” he ordered.

“We both know it’s true. Younger ladies are so embarrassed by my condition, they don’t know where to look. Older ladies are blatant in their pity.” Both reactions only caused her skin to flare up more violently. “It’s hard to say if I or they are the more miserable,” she said.

“It’s been a while since we consulted a physician...” Dominic said.

Marianne grimaced. “You know I would be only too happy to try a new treatment. But I haven’t heard of one, and to subject myself to those same examinations to no purpose...”

“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But if your condition didn’t deter Miss Somerton, perhaps others won’t be deterred, either.”

“Serena is a parson’s daughter,” Marianne said. “I think she saw this position, this family, as an opportunity to exercise her Christian compassion.”

“Has she condescended to you?” Dominic said sharply. It was all very well Miss Somerton spouting her nonsense to him, but if she’d hurt Marianne’s feelings he would go upstairs right now and throw her out of the nursery on her pretty ear. He’d been close to that ear, thanks to that blasted lizard, and it was indeed attractive.

“Of course she hasn’t,” Marianne said. “She asked me about my condition the first day we met—a directness I appreciated—and accepted it with equanimity. She would never presume to condescend.”

She presumed to tell me I should marry again. Outrageous. And yet, when he remembered his mistake in imagining she was proposing marriage, amusement blended with his outrage.

“Dominic,” his sister said, “we were lucky to have had Miss Potter—” the governess from their own childhood “—for so long, but you must remember the string of substandard governesses we had before Serena. The few who considered your money worth putting up with my oddness. I got so sick of feeling as if I didn’t belong in my own home.”

“You should never have to feel like that,” he said gruffly.

“In a perfect world...” Marianne spread her hands. “But we live in this world, and there’s no point complaining about something neither you nor I can fix. I will advertise for a governess, and we will pray for a smooth path.”

Miss Somerton’s outrageous suggestion floated through Dominic’s mind.

“Would it be easier—” he studied the glossy toe of his right boot as they walked “—if I were married?”

Marianne turned her head to eye him as if he were a simpleton. “Dominic, of course it would! If you were married, your wife would take charge of these things.” She broke away as they reached the herb garden, saying over her shoulder, “My presence would seem a trifling thing to a governess, since I’d no longer be mistress of the house. There’s every chance I could avoid her altogether.” She snipped some chives from a bushy clump. “And, of course, looking ahead to when Hetty and then the other girls must make their debut in the ton.” She blinked rapidly. “Dom, just the thought of having to chaperone them makes me want to die.” Her flush deepened as she spoke.

Again, Serena Somerton came to his mind. She had already considered these issues, ones that ought to have occurred to him.

“You think I should find a wife.” He tugged at his cravat, loosening it.

“Not at all,” Marianne said, as they started back toward the house. “I know Emily was the only woman for you. I would never suggest... It’s just—” she smiled faintly “—if you were the more fickle sort, it might be more convenient for us all.”

Convenient. A convenient marriage.

People do that kind of thing. It’s perfectly acceptable. Perhaps it wasn’t the biblical ideal of marriage...but wasn’t the Bible full of people in arranged marriages that prospered? The instruction for a husband to love his wife didn’t specify a romantic love. Presumably it could as easily refer to more of a responsible kind of love, a sacrificial kind of love. He could do that.

And yet...he had a sudden urge to make a run for the stables, and ride his horse up into the hills for a very long time. Decades.

“Dom, I didn’t mean it.” Marianne shook his arm, jerking him back to the present. “We’ll find a solution. Perhaps by the time Hetty comes out there’ll be a new treatment. Maybe my aloe vera will do the trick.”

He would love to believe that. But the doctors said her condition was incurable. Indeed, it seemed to have worsened in the past couple of years.

If he married again, his new wife would need to understand that Marianne would likely always live with them. As he’d told Serena, his sister was unlikely to marry.

He shuddered. He wouldn’t think about the possibility of remarriage now. Besides, he had another unpleasant revelation for Marianne, one that the day’s events had driven temporarily from his mind.

“I have more bad news, my dear,” he said.

“More?” Marianne said, aghast. “Beyond Serena’s departure?”

“My groom met the groom from Farley Hall when he was out exercising the bay mare this morning.”

“It’s been far too long since I called on Sir Charles.” Their neighbor at Farley Hall, Sir Charles Ramsay, had lost his son in a carriage accident nearly a year ago. Marianne’s brow wrinkled. “Is he unwell?”

“Not at all. In fact, it’s good news for Ramsay, though not so pleasant for you,” Dominic said. “His new heir, a Mr. Geoffrey Beaumont, has arrived to stay for a month or two, to acquaint himself with the property. I’ll have to call on him next week.”

Marianne groaned. “If he has any manners at all, he’ll return the call.” Meeting strangers was torment for her.

Dominic nodded.

“And we, as owners of the largest home in the district—”

“Farley Hall is as large.” But she was right, the Granvilles were the incumbent gentry.

“—we’ll have to host a dinner to welcome him to the area,” she said miserably.

“I’m afraid so.”

“And I, as always, will be your hostess.” She swallowed. “It won’t be so bad. If we invite enough of our friends from around here, Mr. Beaumont will barely notice me, let alone feel compelled to stare at me as if I’m a freak.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s our duty,” Dominic said. “It may be scant comfort, but I always think you look lovely, Marianne, you know that.”

“I know, and I thank God daily for your delusion.” She squeezed his arm, then walked ahead of him through a side door into the house. “I wish I had a friend nearby, someone my own age, that I could invite to dinner. Someone I could laugh with, in whose company I wouldn’t care about others’ opinions. Or at least, would care less.”

Marianne’s secluded life meant she corresponded energetically by letter with a few girls from the seminary for female education she’d attended. But she didn’t like to travel, or to invite guests to stay. Her local friends were older women. Not close confidantes. Dominic could understand her need for a friend nearer her own age.

If he remarried, his children would gain a stepmother. Might his sister gain a friend?

Even if that were so, he could hardly marry in time for dinner with Mr. Beaumont.

* * *

Serena had asked a footman to set up quoits on the lawn for the children. Although it was only late April, the sun shone warm and the fresh air would do them good.

Thomas had brought Captain Emerald out from the stable, still in his jar, and had replenished the lizard’s stock of leaves, grasses and a few unfortunate insects. He and Hetty had given the younger children a fighting chance at quoits by setting the juniors’ throwing mark some ten paces in front of theirs. Dominic’s two dogs were wreaking havoc by chasing the rings as they sailed through the air.

Louisa wasn’t playing; she was content to cling to Serena’s skirts. Serena was referee...and though the children were good sports, there were sufficient squabbles to require regular intervention.

She was mediating a dispute between William and Charlotte when a shadow fell across her. She turned to see Dominic Granville.

He smiled.

How unexpected.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Granville,” Serena said. She hadn’t seen him since she’d left the library two days ago, but she imagined he was still railing against her impertinent interference—yes, she could acknowledge she’d taken unfair advantage of her change in status, had breached courtesy even among equals.

And yet he was smiling. Though, on closer inspection, his smile was not one of unadulterated joy. It was, in fact, rather tense.

Charlotte and William ceased their dispute immediately and straightened up in front of their father. “Hello, Papa,” they chorused. Louisa echoed them. The two older children were picking up the quoits at the other end of their pitch. They waved to their father, but knew to finish the job before they stopped to talk.

“Have you come to play quoits?” Serena asked. He’d never yet accepted one of her invitations to play with the children, but she lived in hope.

“No, thank you.” Today was obviously not to be the exception. “Miss Somerton, I wish to talk. Would you care to walk around the lawn with me?”

William and Charlotte had taken a few stealthy steps backward; as soon as they were out of their father’s line of sight, they trotted toward the twins.

“If this is about William tearing a page of Robinson Crusoe—” Serena decided to anticipate the problem rather than appear to be concealing it “—you can be sure I was very cross, and William has undertaken to repair it. On the bright side, his reading improved enormously....” She trailed off; Mr. Granville had closed his eyes in a pained sort of way.

“That’s not what I want to talk about,” he said. “Shall we walk?”

She inclined her head toward Louisa, who was unfortunately sucking her thumb through the muslin of Serena’s dress. He shook his head.

“Stay here, dearest, and watch the big children play,” Serena told the little girl. “Your papa and I must talk privately.”

As she brushed grass off her skirt—once again he’d found her covered in undergrowth—and made an attempt to rub dry the damp patch where Louisa had been sucking, she wondered what he wanted to discuss. Since he’d already dismissed her from her position, whatever he had to say now couldn’t be that bad. She realized he was watching her cleanup with disapproval.

“All done,” she said brightly, if not entirely truthfully. “Let us go.”

His arm moved involuntarily, as if he might offer it for her to take. But that would suggest a level of acquaintance they didn’t have. Instead, they walked side by side, a respectable two or three feet of lawn between them. Mr. Granville’s hands were clasped behind his back; he appeared lost in thought.

He didn’t speak for some time. But as they neared the sundial at the far end of the lawn, he said, “I’ve been considering our conversation from Thursday.”

“The one in which you dismissed me from my post,” Serena said.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, that one.” He paused, squinting up at the sun, then down at the shadow on the sundial. “It pains me to say, I believe you’re right. It’s time I married again.”

Serena halted, forcing him to do the same. “Really?”

“Why the surprise? You seemed convinced of the excellence of your idea.”

“I was— I am. But, Mr. Granville, if I may be frank—”

“Are you ever anything else?” he asked. “If so, I suspect I might prefer it.”

“I’m afraid not,” she admitted. “My father always encouraged me and my sisters to speak boldly and to speak the truth, as the Bible advises.”

“That must have made for some rather alarming conversations around the dinner table.”

She snickered. “I should remind you, the complete biblical instruction is to speak the truth with love.”

“That’s even worse. There’s nothing more irritating than people who tell one things for one’s own good.”

Serena laughed out loud. “So true!” At his sidelong look, she said, “Don’t think I don’t know I’m guilty of it myself. As temptations go, it’s one of the most insidious.”

“Hmm.” He pushed aside the branch of a shrub that threatened to dislodge her bonnet. “Is your sister, the one married to Lord Spenford, as bold as you?”

Serena considered. “Not on first acquaintance, but Constance has hidden depths. I’m the oldest daughter, so perhaps I’m more...”

“Impertinent?” he suggested.

“Forthright,” she corrected.

“And what is your advanced age, Miss Somerton?”

“I’m twenty-one. Constance—Lady Spenford—is twenty.” She followed him through the arbor into the rose garden. The roses, the pride and joy of Gladding the gardener, were in varying stages of bloom, from tight buds to full blossoms on some of the China varieties. None were yet overblown. Serena sniffed the air appreciatively. “Mmm, you can just catch the scent, if you try.”

“Very nice,” he said, making no attempt to sniff. “I assume your younger sisters are not yet married?”

“No,” she agreed.

He shook his head. “Your poor father.”

“Mr. Granville!” she exclaimed, outraged. Then she caught a gleam of humor in his eyes. “You’ll be relieved to know Papa doesn’t consider himself poor. He’s been known to say he’d love all five of us to live with him and Mama forever.”

“Diplomacy is an important skill for a parson,” Mr. Granville said.

Serena found herself laughing again.

His gaze drifted down to her mouth, then jerked back up. “I daresay your sisters will be easy enough for your father to marry off,” he said abruptly. “Assuming they don’t make a habit of wearing lizards in their hair.”

“That habit is uniquely mine,” she assured him. “Though I’m devastated to learn it might cost me a husband.”

His eyes narrowed. “It’s a matter of decorum, Miss Somerton.”

“A man who loves me will not care about decorum.”

“Is that so?” he said dryly. “Will he also appreciate your excessively free speech?”

“Might I remind you, Mr. Granville, you started this unusual conversation, for reasons you have yet to reveal. The only reason I’m participating so freely is because I’m about to leave.”

He rubbed his chin. “Ah.”

He looked...awkward.

“If you’re feeling guilty about dismissing me, you needn’t,” she said. “I was aware that once you learned of Constance’s marriage my position would be untenable.”

“I’m not feeling guilty,” he said, as if he’d never heard anything so absurd.

She almost managed not to roll her eyes. “So what is the reason for this conversation?”

“Ah, that,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Given that I’ve now decided you were right about a convenient marriage being a good idea...”

“I said I couldn’t wholeheartedly approve of such pragmatic motives,” she corrected. “But that I understand the necessity.”

He ignored her. “I personally have no faith in this second chance of yours, nor do I desire to marry again, but I see no option. The kind of alliance you mentioned will do nicely.” His frown deepened. “It will do,” he amended, dispensing with any niceness attached to the concept of marriage.

“Oh,” Serena said.

“Have I shocked you, Miss Somerton? I expected a more vocal response.”

“I...” She stopped. Thought. “I can’t deny it’ll be wonderful for the children, but it does seem a shame you won’t even consider finding a real wife.”

“My wife will be as real as you are,” he said. “Miss Somerton, in the light of my new intention, there’s something I must ask you.”

Realization burst over Serena like a lightning flash.

Mr. Granville’s unexpected friendliness. His questions about her family. My wife will be as real as you are....

He was going to ask her to marry him!

“No!” Serena squawked.

“No?” He plucked a leaf from a rosebush and rolled it between his fingers as he looked down at her, more confused than distressed.

But then, why would a man be distressed if a convenient bride turned down his proposal? The thought made it easier to say what she had to. “Mr. Granville, you are a most estimable gentleman, and I can’t deny I love your children, but to marry for convenience would be truly repugnant to me, and therefore...”

She stopped.

He was laughing.

“You...weren’t asking me to marry you?” she guessed. Suddenly, she was perspiring all over. How hideous!

“I’m afraid not,” he apologized. “It seems you and I share an unusual conviction of our own desirability as spouses.”

Relief at his acknowledgment that she wasn’t the only one who’d made an idiot of herself recently made her chuckle rather more loudly than was ladylike. Which wouldn’t surprise him.

“Shall we agree we’re equally deluded when it comes to nonexistent marriage proposals,” he said, “and move on?”

“Yes, please.”

“So...I gather from your refusal of my, er, proposal, that you cherish notions of a romantic love?”

Is this what he considers moving on? “Yes,” she said. Though she doubted such a love would come her way.

His dark brows drew together. “I suppose that’s not unusual in a young lady of your age.”

Serena merely nodded.

“My sister speaks highly of you,” he said.

The change in topic disconcerted her. “Thank you—I mean, Miss Granville is one of the nicest people I’ve met.”

“For some people, character is not the only consideration,” he said. “As I’m sure you know. You must also know that Marianne is uncomfortable meeting new people.”

“I’m aware,” Serena admitted. “And I can’t blame her.”

“I would go so far—” he seemed bemused “—as to say Marianne likes you a lot.”

“How odd,” she replied.

He smiled.

“I’d say I return the sentiment toward your sister,” she said, “but you’d probably consider me impertinent.”

“Miss Somerton,” he said calmly, “may we call a truce?”

Serena realized she was enjoying the cut and thrust of their conversational duel. It made her feel at home. “The Bible does say we should live peaceably with one another,” she admitted.

He chuckled at her marked lack of enthusiasm. “A truce, then. Good. For I would like to offer you a new position, Miss Somerton. That of companion to Marianne.”

“You want me to stay?” This was the last thing she’d expected.

“Let’s not get into personal preferences. I’m asking you to stay.”

She choked on a mix of shock and laughter. “Completely different,” she agreed.

He folded his arms across his chest and stood, watching her, a gleam in his eye. “Well, what do you say?”

“Mr. Granville, I— How can you even ask such a thing!”

Flustered at her own outburst, Serena turned away. She leaned over to smell the bouquet of a Maiden’s Blush bud. She could just see the furled petals, white barely tinged with pink, vivid against the dark green foliage. It was known to be one of the most fragrant rose varieties, so she drew in several breaths deep enough to dizzy herself, in the hope he would have the tact to walk away.

When she straightened, he was still there.

“You gave the impression on Thursday that you were reluctant to leave,” he said coolly. “Are you now reluctant to stay?”

“No, I— Yes!” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Mr. Granville, in the last few minutes—and let us not forget Thursday!—I have spoken to you far more boldly than a governess should, on the understanding that I was no longer employed.”

“Far more boldly,” he agreed.

Infuriating man! If she’d hoped for courteous reassurance, she was looking in the wrong place. But her father preached the need to “confess your faults to one another.” Not that she’d done that with her parents, as far as her past indiscretion was concerned. Still, she persevered now. “And now, having stated views that, to be quite honest, are none of my business—”

“At last,” he murmured.

“—and speaking in such plain terms about matters of the heart—”

“My heart in particular,” he reminded her. Unnecessarily.

“—you’re asking me to stay. If I’d had any idea this would happen, I would never have presumed...”

“I suspect you would have,” he assured her. “Though perhaps with more subtlety.”

She made a sound of exasperation. “Mr. Granville, this is most embarrassing.” She paced, agitated, to a bush heavy with pink roses, and began fidgeting with a just-opened bloom.

“That variety is a China rose called Parson’s Pink,” he told her. She released it quickly. “If I promise to expunge this entire conversation from my memory, and Thursday’s, too,” he said, “will you stay?”

She shook her head, but couldn’t help smiling. “I doubt your ability to expunge so much. Tell me, why does Miss Granville need a companion now, when apparently she didn’t before?”

“I intend to begin my search for a wife immediately,” he said.

If that was meant to answer her question, she’d missed it. “Are you saying you’ll be traveling to London? And that your sister will need company in your absence?”

He strolled over to join her by the Parson’s Pink roses. “We spoke a moment ago about Marianne’s dislike of meeting new people,” he said. “Woodbridge Hall has a new neighbor whom I’ll be required to entertain in the near future. If I’m inviting guests, I might as well commence my hunt for a bride at the same time. With so much going on, Marianne will need support. For you to assist her as a companion, paid an allowance—which I assure you will be generous—is very different from a governess paid a wage. It’s entirely acceptable in the eyes of society.”

“True,” she murmured.

“There’s another benefit,” he said. “The more people in the house, the less ‘on display’ my prospective bride will feel when she visits.”

“Hmm.” Serena was unsure of his logic. Wouldn’t a lady feel more on display, the more people there were to inspect her? Then she registered his use of the singular noun. “Just one prospective bride, Mr. Granville?”

“I only need one wife.”

Which was quite the silliest thing she’d heard. “What if the first lady you invite here proves unsuitable?”

“There will not be a parade of single ladies,” he said ominously.

Oh, dear. Serena changed the subject. “So you will invite them—her—here for the children to meet her. An excellent idea.” Perhaps if she praised the concept first, she could then suggest improvements.

“It’s for my prospective bride to meet my children, not the other way around,” he said. “The children will have no say in my decision.”

Serena tried not to look alarmed. After all, few men would ask their children’s opinions. But Dominic Granville didn’t know much about his children’s needs....

“If I left it to Thomas, he would choose the lady most courageous in the handling of lizards.” His annoyance suggested she hadn’t succeeded in disguising her concern. “You may rest assured of my good judgment, Miss Somerton. Now, will you stay? As well as pleasing my sister, the continuity of your presence would benefit the children.”

“And I’d be delighted not to leave them just yet,” she admitted. “I assume I could still spend time with them, though I’d be Marianne’s companion?”

“Certainly, though you wouldn’t be teaching them,” he said. “It’s only just over a month until summer—the children can take an early break from their studies.” His tone was ironic, as if he didn’t believe they studied too seriously under Serena’s supervision.

Well, they didn’t. Not too seriously. She believed in a balance of work and play. If she stayed, she could continue to encourage Mr. Granville to get closer to his children. With a great deal of tact, of course.

“Nurse is quite capable of managing their daily activities,” he stated, then paused. “So, you will stay?”

A chill gust of wind blew a sprinkling of rose petals off the bush, to land at Serena’s feet. Poor petals, so easily parted from the security of the plant, then left to wither and die.

“Miss Somerton, everything is proceeding according to your wishes,” he said, his patience wearing thin. “You’ll have longer with the children, and I’ve undertaken to provide the stepmother you insist upon. Yet—”

He put a finger to her chin, lifting it.

Serena gasped and took a step back.

“I—I apologize.” His face had reddened, whether from the wind or embarrassment, she wasn’t sure. “I was merely observing you appear to be sunk in gloom.”

She laced her fingers tightly, so she wouldn’t be tempted to explore the place where the memory of his touch lingered. She struggled to marshal her thoughts. “I’m not gloomy,” she said. That was the wrong word for her doubts about his approach to remarriage. And certainly the wrong word for her reaction to his touch. Don’t think about that.

“You will stay,” he said.

It wasn’t a question, but Serena answered it, anyway.

“I will stay.”