Page 31 of The Moonstone Governess
He pointed in the distance. “In plain sight of your cousin Felicity. Your uncle has purposely slowed his wagon to be certain we are always in view.”
“I suppose they do not fully trust you yet.”
He nodded. “Nor should they, for they do not really know me.”
“None of us do,” she said, her brow furrowed in thought.
“My fault, I know. I have done nothing to ingratiate myself, as you took pains to point out when we first met.”
“Well, we can work on that over the summer, since I…” She sighed. “Since I am going to accept your offer. I will do my best to take care of your nephew. But are you serious about my residing at the manor house? And having my choice of living quarters?”
“Yes.” He had expected more of a battle in convincing her to take on the role of governess. But she had a compassionate nature and was already thinking of all the things Matthew needed, starting with a strong dose of kindness that she could provide.
He wanted to reach out and caress her cheek, assure her that she had made the right choice, but she would turn skittish if he touched her. In any event, he had won this battle, and nothing more needed to be done thanks to Albert’s high-handed and callous undermining of her teaching position.
“Brenna, I will make it clear to everyone that you are to be treated as one of the family…myfamily, with all the privileges that affords. You shall dine with us, take tea with us, and have a lady’s maid to assist you.”
“But my care of Matthew ought to come first.”
“I know you will put all of your heart into helping him out. I don’t want you to be merely a caretaker, but a tutor for him in academic studies and a mentor in building his character. It is a lot to ask of you. My mother and I will help in any way we can. Consider us all in this endeavor together. I do not want you taking meals in your room or walking about the place as though you are a mere notch above a servant.”
They walked slowly down the hill as they spoke, and while there should have been nothing particularly special about this moment, Daire could not help but feel more at peace than he had ever been in his life.
He knew it was because of Brenna. There was something quite steady and calming about her—perhaps magical.
“What do you think I ought to do about Albert?” she asked, cutting into his thoughts.
He was surprised but flattered she wanted his advice, because he had very strong opinions about that scoundrel. “Reject his offer of marriage.”
She pursed her lips. “What if we are unfairly blaming him and he is innocent?”
“Seriously, Brenna? He isn’t. But go ahead and write to your headmistress for confirmation. Write to Albert, as well. See what he says.”
“I will. It is only fair to hear him out before I pass judgment, don’t you think?”
“Little dove, you ought to refuse him even if he is completely innocent and it was all a terrible misunderstanding.”
Her eyes widened, those big, bright eyes so lovely as they shimmered like emeralds while staring up at him.
Indeed, she was magical.
“Why are you so adamant about this?” she asked. “Simply because he has yet to kiss me?”
“Yes.”
“But we were rarely alone. It would not have been proper.”
“Brenna, part of your charm is that you have no idea how pretty you are. But I see it, and Albert must have seen it, too. He should have been hungry for you and wanting to devour you. What would it have taken to gather you in his arms or give you a scorching kiss? No more than a few seconds. If his heart does not go into spasms every time he looks at you, then something is very wrong.”
She was still studying him with her big gemstone eyes. “I think you are describing your own wolfish ways. Hunger? Devour? You are describing a predatory animal. But I suppose this is what you are. Albert is nothing like you.”
“He would be if he cared for you.”
She stiffened at the remark. “He does care for me. Sabotaging my teaching position was wrong, but he did it—assuming he is guilty—to force my hand because he loves me and wants me to marry him.”
Daire decided to end the conversation, because he did not wish to rile Brenna and undo his victory. But for pity’s sake, how could she not want to take a hunting rifle to that puffed-up, professorial arse and shoot him in the gut? “Truce, little dove. What do you plan to wear to the Duke of Malvern’s tea party?”
She laughed. “Goodness, you must be desperate to change the topic of conversation if you are asking me about my clothes. Do you really care what I intend to wear?”
