Page 30 of Becoming Lady Dalton
The little girl stuck out her lower lip. “Miss Townsend.”
“You heard your father, dear.”
“I’m training to be a highwayman,” Matthew declared. His mother dropped her forehead into her glove and moaned, causing Piers to suppress a chuckle. The boy had a vivid imagination, to be sure.
“Well, I’m training to be a pirate,” declared Emily with her arms crossed over her chest.
“Girls can’t be pirates,” scoffed Matthew. “Girls have to be princesses and fairies and nonsense like that.”
Piers bit back a grin. Viola raised her eyes to the ceiling, closed them, and exhaled. He caught himself watching the rise and fall of her bosom and glanced sharply away. Miss Townsend caught him out. Her lips thinned. Piers ignored her disapproval and made a mental note to tell his daughter a story about a pirate princess at bedtime.
“Matthew Cartwright, I strongly advise you to close your mouth and open your eyes so as to actually learn something today. If you can’t do so immediately, we’re going home.”
“Awright, Mum,” her son grumbled. To his credit, the lad shaped up once they were past the ticket booth and up the grand front stairway, where a quartet of stuffed giraffes greeted them. Matthew dashed forward, trailed by his mother, who kept pace admirably well. Miss Townsend trudged along behind them.
“Papa,” Emily whispered, or tried to do with a young child’s inability to speak lower than full-throttle. “I don’t like that boy. What’s wrong with princesses? Why can’t a girl be a pirate?”
“Girls can be pirates. In fact, I’ll find you a story about a girl pirate,” Piers promised, although he was probably going to have to write it himself if he wanted her to have one. With her creative imagination and love of books, it might be a project Viola could help him with—an excuse to spend time with her. This line of thought sparked another idea.
“Miss Townsend. I’d like to show Mrs. Cartwright the Reading Room. Can you handle both children for a few moments?”
A flash of emotion in Miss Townsend’s ordinary brown eyes was gone before Piers could comprehend its meaning. He took it for concern that she couldn’t keep up with lively Matthew and withdrew a shilling he’d kept in his pocket for just this possibility. He held the coin out.
“Entertain them for half an hour. Don’t let the boy climb anything valuable. We’ll meet you at the Elgin Marbles.”
Miss Townsend studied the coin as if, after three years of employment, he’d decided to cheat her with a counterfeit. She glanced at Matthew and Viola, who were engaged in a lively conversation about giraffes’ social habits, and held out one hand, palm up. Piers placed it in the center, and her fingers snapped closed like one of those fly-eating plants with teeth. Irritation flashed through him.
“Half an hour,” she agreed dourly. “Don’t be late. This was to be my afternoon off, don’t forget.”
“I haven’t, and I won’t. You’ll have tomorrow instead, and in the meantime, and for your trouble you’re getting an extra shilling and a free visit to the museum. Half an hour is all I ask.”
Miss Townsend turned away without further protest. Piers didn’t know why they rubbed along so awkwardly. He wouldn’t keep her on his staff if Emily weren’t so attached to the woman, but she’d come highly recommended as a nursemaid at a time when he’d badly needed one. There was no reason to look for a new governess until Emily was old enough to need more education.
In the meantime, he had a clear path to Viola, and Piers meant to use his time alone with her to get to the truth of why she kept refusing his advances.
But first, books.
16
“How isyour courtship of Lady Margaret coming along?” Viola asked teasingly as soon as the children were out of earshot.
“Not well.”
“Oh? If I were to believe every whisper I hear, there’s an engagement soon to be announced. By Christmas, I understand. Grandmother’s companions are insatiable on the subject.”
“As long as we’re exchanging gossip, I am equally informed that a certain toothsome widow is inexplicably enamored of a certain admiral. Will there be wedding bells for Mrs. Cartwright, soon to be Saxon?”
Dalton’s gentle ribbing hit a nerve. Viola felt her face fall and had to consciously prop up her smile. She wished she hadn’t mentioned Lady Margaret at all.
“Spare me your jealousy, Lord Dalton,” Viola said after a beat, rolling her eyes with exaggerated disdain. “Admiral Saxon is hardly going to win my heart.”
“But might he win your hand?” Dalton asked. His hands were clasped behind his back as they sauntered along the marble floors as if they had no particular destination.
“The only path to my hand is through my heart, Lord Dalton.” Viola placed one hand over her heart. Her fine shawl slipped down her shoulder and caught at the hook of her elbow. Viola decided she liked it draped elegantly behind her skirt. The marine blue and tangerine trim were lovely against the grey moiré of her day dress.
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“In public, even you must acknowledge the impropriety of using our given names. Besides, which, I have rescinded leave for you to do so.”
