Because you’re a nincompoop.
“I thought we could stroll in the garden while we chat,” the earl said, “since it’s such a nice day. I like to spend as much time as I can outdoors before the snows and storms come.”
“Please don’t remind me about our impending doom. I’m convinced my flannel petticoats and woolens will not be nearly sturdy enough to get me through the winter.”
When he made a slight choking noise, she wished for a sudden earthquake to swallow her up. Had she lost her mind, talking about undergarments in front of a man—her employer, no less? That was a page stolen right from her mother’s disreputable book. Although God knows her mother would never have worn flannel.
“Ah, I didn’t mean . . . that is . . .” she stammered.
“Come along, Miss Knight, before we get ourselves into trouble,” he said in a dry tone.
He guided her between rows of neatly planted cabbages and boxes of herbs that were mostly empty by now. Victoria was so mortified she barely noticed her surroundings. Normally, she was the most composed of women, but something about Lord Arnprior unsettled her, although not in an unpleasant way.
Quite the opposite.
“You were about to tell me how you became a governess,” he prompted as they passed under the trellis that separated the kitchen and ornamental gardens.
They strolled along a stone and gravel path set between large, rectangular flowerbeds, bright with late fall mums.
“As I mentioned, sir,” she said, trying to order her thoughts, “my aunts and uncles helped manage my grandfather’s inns. Everyone lived on the premises or close by, so a number of children were always underfoot. Since I was the oldest grandchild by several years, it fell to me to look after the little ones. It seemed natural that I begin teaching them their letters and numbers.”
She smiled, remembering the simple but cozy schoolroom she’d convinced her grandfather to set up. “Because I had a surprising aptitude for teaching little children, my cousins were turned over to me when they were old enough to be away from their mothers.”
“Surprising? Why?” he asked.
“Oh, I suppose it was because my mother wasn’t particularly nurturing in that respect,” she said vaguely. “Although I do get my musical talents from her.”
Mamma’s talents had found their expression in singing ribald songs for the men who frequented the taproom. Victoria had hated her mother’s willingness to put herself on display, as had her aunts. But Grandpapa hadn’t minded. Men came from all around to hear Rose Knight sing, which meant more money spent on ale and spirits.
“Did your father also work at the inn?” the earl asked.
It was the question she hated more than any other. “No. I . . . I never knew my father.”
“Ah, I’m sorry. He must have passed when you were very young.”
The Prince Regent had certainly passed out of her life, so she supposed that was true. “Yes.”
Arnprior moved closer, his shoulder brushing hers. “I was only seven when my mother died.”
She glanced up, taking in his somber expression. “That is much too young for a boy to lose his mother.”
He’d experienced a great deal of sorrow, first losing his mother at such an early age and then his wife.
“Fortunately, my father recovered from the loss and happily remarried a truly estimable woman,” he said.
She couldn’t help wondering if the man walking beside her had recovered from the loss of his wife. It didn’t seem so, since he’d never remarried.
“And your mother never married again?” Arnprior asked.
“Er, no, but I was fortunate to have a wonderful grandfather and several fine uncles. Not to mention Sir Dominic, who has always been kindness itself. I have never lacked family to care for me.”
Just a mother who truly loved her. And a real father.
“I understand Sir Dominic assisted with your education.”
She smiled. “Yes, he sponsored my placement at Miss Kirby’s Seminary. It’s an excellent establishment. I was very lucky.”
The earl’s glance could only be described as enigmatic. Inwardly, she groaned, realizing too late that any mention of Sir Dominic was bound to be fraught. After all, there was no way to describe their relationship without telling outright fibs.
