“It’s a start.”
“It’s not enough,” Rhys repeated, the words carrying the weight of everything Miss Grace had made him see.
“No,” Benedict agreed. “But it’s a start.”
They stood in silence for a moment, two men looking out over a city that had never asked either of them to be honest about anything. The ball continued behind them, the social machinery grinding on regardless of private revelations.
“Tell me about her,” Benedict said. “This governess who has managed to do what I’ve been failing to do for three years.”
Rhys considered the question. How did one describe Miss Grace to someone who had never met her?
“She’s plain,” he said finally.
“Grey dress, brown hair, hazel eyes, nothing remarkable to look at.”
“That’s a description of her appearance, not a description of her.”
“She’s honest.” Rhys turned the brandy glass in his hands.
“Not diplomatic or tactful or any of the things women are supposed to be. Just honest. She looks at you and tells you exactly what she sees, without apology or embellishment.”
“And what did she see when she looked at you?”
“A man who hides behind his worst self because he’s afraid his best self will fail.” The words came out before he could stop them, and he realised with surprise that they were true. That was what Miss Grace saw. That was what she had reflected back to him with her steady gaze and her devastating accuracy.
“That’s quite an assessment from someone who’s known you for less than a week.”
“She sees clearly. It’s unnerving.”
Benedict was silent for a moment, processing this. When he spoke again, his voice was careful.
“Have you taken a liking to her?”
The question caught Rhys off guard.
“She’s the children’s governess.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I don’t know what I think of her.” It was the truth, or close enough to it.
“She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. She doesn’t perform. She doesn’t flatter or flirt or try to charm. Her tongue isgoverned by unflinching honesty, and she grants no quarter to those who find the truth inconvenient.”
“That must be very disconcerting for someone who has built his entire adult life on performance.”
Rhys laughed, though there was little humour in it.
“I assure you, you possess not the slightest inkling of the truth.”
The terrace doors opened again, and Lady Serena Vane emerged, her elegant gown catching the candlelight from the ballroom behind her. She spotted her husband and the duke and made her way toward them with the graceful efficiency that characterised everything she did.
“There you are.” She slipped her arm through Benedict’s with the ease of long affection. “I’ve been looking everywhere. Lady Thornbury is asking after you, and I ran out of excuses several minutes ago.”
“Tell Lady Thornbury I’ve been claimed by diplomatic emergency.”
“Diplomatic emergency with a brandy glass. Very convincing.” Serena turned her attention to Rhys, her sharp eyes assessing him with the same directness her husband had displayed. “You look troubled, Trevane. Is everything quite well with the children?”
Serena knew about the triplets too, of course. Benedict kept no secrets from his wife, and Serena had proven herselftrustworthy countless times over the years of their friendship. She had never met the girls, but she had helped Rhys through the worst of his grief after Celeste’s death, and she had been the one to suggest hiring a proper governess rather than relying solely on the housekeeper.
