Page 12 of The Colonel's Ungovernable Governess
The child was ten steps ahead of her before he realized she had waited at the top of the steps. “You . . . changed . . . your mind?” he demanded with a look of irritation.
“Though I enjoy your company, my lord, and was quite prepared to permit you to show me the way through the house, which is new to me,” Jocelyn said pointedly, hoping to provide the boy with another useful lesson—one which would serve him better than would a knowledge of horseflesh, “a gentleman would escort a woman across the lawn to the stables.”
“I am . . . a boy,” the child argued. “Not . . . a suitor.”
“You are an earl, my lord. Young, but still an earl. An earl would practice proper manners even on his way to the paddock,” she said sweetly, hiding what he might view as a chastisement.
“I do . . . not . . . understand.” The child’s frown line deepened.
“A gentleman would offer me his arm,” she explained. “Though we are of different ages and height, we should at a minimum walk side-by-side.”
“But you . . . know more . . . of horses . . . than me,” he protested.
“Than I,” she corrected.
His frown became one of confusion. “Pardon?”
“The correct word is ‘I,’ not ‘me,’” she said patiently. “A person would not say, ‘But you know more of horses than me do.’ It would be ‘than I do.’ Just because you did not say the word ‘do’ at the end of your statement, it was implied.”
“I . . . thought . . . we were . . . speaking of . . . horses,” he argued.
“We will look in upon the horses and speak of them,” she assured, “but we shall practice our proper English at the same time. We are both intelligent beings and are capable of doing two things at once.”
The boy’s features screwed up in obvious disbelief. “Everyone . . . except Victoria . . . and my mother . . . my other . . . sister and Lord . . . Lindale and . . .” He broke off in frustration. “They say . . . I am . . . dumb.”
“The others are incorrect,” Jocelyn declared. “I have been speaking to you for several hours, and the only things with which I would take offense is your walking ahead of me, rather than at my side, and your use of ‘me’ at the end of your sentence. In my humble opinion, you are capable of correcting both.”
“You . . . do not . . . speak to . . . me . . . like . . . others do,” he reasoned.
“Again, I doubt your reasoning. Mrs. Darcy does not speak to you as if you are a child, without a doubt, she does not speak to you as if you are incapable of understanding and acting upon your behavior. She also says Mr. Darcy deems you quite brilliant. I do not imagine your mother or Lord Lindale or . . .”
The boy interrupted, “Mrs. Peyton . . . called me . . . dumb . . . when I . . . refused . . . to answer . . . her.”
“Who is Mrs. Peyton?” Jocelyn inquired.
“Gover . . . ness.” He nearly spit out the word.
“Where is this Mrs. Peyton?” Jocelyn asked, herself, now confused. “I have not encountered her in the manor.”
“Mrs. Ross . . . released her. Mrs. Peyton struck . . . Victoria . . . for protecting . . . me.” He paused to look off, but his emotions were still evident. “I felt sorry.”
“Naturally,” Jocelyn encouraged. If she was to remain at William’s Wood, she should do so as Mrs. Darcy’s ‘friend,’ not the children’s governess. “Mrs. Ross was correct in releasing the woman. Upon occasion, I suppose, as some believe, there is a reason to punish a child with violence, but, as for me, no transgression comes to mind which would warrant such a punishment. Certainly not something as simple as responding to a question.” The boy studied her, but he made no observations of which he chose to speak. Therefore, Jocelyn said, “If you are agreeable, we shall walk to the stables together.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he announced and hurried back to where she waited. “May we go now . . . Miss Lambert.”
“Absolutely,” she declared, before dropping into step beside the boy. She glanced about her as they walked. “The stables appear to be superb. It is all quite fabulous.”
“Lord Lindale . . . does not ride,” the boy shared. “Prefers . . . his carriage.”
“I know quite a few gentlemen who prefer their carriages. They do not like the smell of either the horse’s sweat or their own upon their clothes.” The child appeared to see things as black or white. Good or evil. She supposed such was characteristic of most children. Andrew did so at one time, but not so much now. Lord Vincent was testing the world to determine what was acceptable and what was not.
However, before they could reach the barn and the nearby stables, a loud cry of pain filled the air. “A horse!” she screeched and broke into a run, hiking her skirt as she did so. “Where?” she questioned the boy who had followed her.
“Back of . . . the stable!” he called and led the way to the rear of the stable, where she spotted a magnificent stallion who had somehow wedged himself between a gate and a flat rail, despite there being plenty of room behind him. In his struggle to be free, he was cutting his legs on the rail.
“Stay away from the horse’s hoofs!” she warned the boy as a groom attempted to knock down one of the rails with a broken axe handle. She caught Lord Vincent by the shoulders and maneuvered him to the side. Even so, she noted a stiffening of the child’s person, but he did not object to her touch. “Where is the tack room?” she demanded.
Fear marked the boy’s features, but he pointed to the other end of the aisle. “On the right.”
