“Try it again, from the start,” Augusta said gently.
Cassie did, her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration.
Hudson waited until the lesson had ended, then cleared his throat.
James strolled in, executing a bow so deep it nearly swept the carpet. “You must be the celebrated Miss Norton,” he said, all charm. “James Collins, the Marquess of Ridgewell, at your service. I come as a friend of the house, and as an occasional source of mischief for Lady Cassandra.”
Augusta inclined her head, the corners of her mouth quirking upward. “A pleasure, My Lord.”
“Did you play as a girl?” James asked, settling into a chair and gesturing to the pianoforte.
Augusta’s fingers smoothed over the keys. “A little. My mother insisted. She said it built character.”
“Did it?” James asked.
“I suppose so,” Augusta replied, her hand drifting to the necklace at her throat, a delicate silver chain, the locket barely visible above her bodice.
“It is a beautiful chain,” James noted, gesturing to it. “Something quite special.”
“My mother gave it to me,” she said. “Before she died.”
Hudson found himself unable to look away.
“She said it would bring luck,” Augusta added, her voice soft.
Their eyes met, and Hudson shifted almost uncomfortably at the blood that rushed through his body, the warmth that settled in the pit of his stomach.
“Will you play something for us? On the pianoforte?” James requested, breaking the moment.
Hudson could see thenoforming on Augusta’s lips.
“Of course, My Lord,” she said, seemingly having changed her mind.
As he watched her, Hudson could not help but be enchanted by the sounds coming from the pianoforte as well as her nimble andslender fingers. He could not help but wonder what her hands would feel like on his skin.
He shifted irritably at the thought. The woman was driving him mad.
He turned to walk away, but the look in Cassie’s eyes stopped him. Never before had he seen her look at anyone in that manner, and his frustration melted away like snow on a sunny morning.
“Is she a good enough governess now, my friend?” James murmured next to him.
“Stop this at once,” Hudson practically growled, keeping his eyes on the woman.
When her fingers stilled, James clapped excitedly. “I must say, Miss Norton, you are quite the talent indeed. I admit I shall enjoy seeing more of your talents.”
A blush rose to Augusta’s cheeks, and the radiant smile she flashed at him tore through Hudson.
His cheeks warmed with a heat he could not explain.
Or rather, a heat he had to forget.
Chapter Eight
On Augusta’s third day at Oakhart House, Mrs. Beale approached her in the corridor, her hands folded like a clamshell and her eyes narrowed in appraising suspicion.
“I see Lady Cassandra has not yet sent you packing,” she observed, her voice carefully neutral.
“I rather hope to avoid it,” Augusta replied, not sure if this was a compliment or a warning.
