“Leave?” The viscount’s frown intensified.
Lily remembered the first instance those dark brown eyes had met hers as if it were yesterday. The housekeeper had presented her to Lord Hayes on the first day of her employment. His eyes had widened ever so slightly, and then his face grew angrier by the moment.
She had smoothed her brocade skirts and tucked imaginary wisps of her ash-brown hair back into her bun, wondering what he found so offensive about her appearance—she was as neat as a pin. Lily wished she’d felt the same disapproval when looking at him. In fact, she’d felt rather like she’d sat too close to the fire—overwarm and flushed and like the only way to find relief would be to stick her head in the nearest rain barrel.
However, the housekeeper, Mrs. Clark, hadn’t seemed to notice anything amiss with either of them. So Lily had done her best to ignore it as well.
Since then, Lord Hayes’s expression had differed from a stern stare or scowl only a few times. Lily didn’t wish to examine why she’d catalogued each instance so carefully, but memorize them she had.
Once, when Lily had been reading a bedtime story to Rebecca, she’d felt a presence and glanced up to find Lord Hayes leaning in the open doorway, an expression on his face that she could not read—something that could have been mistaken for softness. He’d turned and left immediately.
Another instance occurred during the nightly dinners they’d shared—a stipulation of Lily’s employment, which Mrs. Clark had only informed her of once she’d arrived. Lily had learned to look forward to her evenings with a strange mixture of emotions that felt like three parts apprehension and one part anticipation.
Lord Hayes used the dinners to pepper Lily with questions about Rebecca’s rearing. Lily understood—traditionally, parents and a governess worked closely to ensure the proper raising of a child.
Yet the questioning across the massive polished table only everstartedabout Rebecca. For after Lily had answered the questions about Lord Hayes’s daughter, the man would pepper Lily with questions abouther.
For a short time, Lily lived with a residing thrill of fear that Lord Hayes suspected she wasn’t who she claimed to be. At first, he’d quizzed her about her upbringing. Lily had found herself in the difficult position of wanting to be as truthful as possible but being unable to do so. She’d remedied the situation by casting her siblings as the motley group of cousins who lived next door and thereby was able to share more of her true self than she’d ever expected.
The questioning had quickly moved on from Lily’s personal history to easier subjects—her opinions on literature and the arts. Perhaps if one squinted, one could have viewed their interactions through the lens of a governess and the master of the house. A father had every right to know the lady raising his daughter.
But to Lily, those dinners with Lord Hayes had begun to feel a bit like friendship—an exceedingly proper, standoffish friendship, but friendship all the same. Adding to her confusion was the fact that the dinners were the only time Lily felt she had a taste of what she’d started to call herformerlife. That is, the one where she was a member of nobility, not a servant. For during that nightly meal, Lord Hayes treated her as an equal.
It was during one of those evenings that Lily had inadvertently splashed a drop of soup on the front of that day’s hideous brocade dress—burgundy and tan—and had dabbed at it quickly with her napkin, praying Lord Hayes hadn’t seen. She peeked under her lashes at him and found him very nearlysmiling. Of course, she’d responded by promptly dropping her spoon into the bowl, splattering the soup everywhere. Lord Hayes hadn’t requested her presence at dinner for three days after that.
But though it was rare, every time he’d looked at her with something other than a frown, something in her midsection swooped with an emotion that felt like fragile hope—a woundedbird trying to take flight. When he frowned or stared at her with deep focus—as he did now—her stomach twisted as if she’d earned his disapproval. She’d never been certain what he thought she’d done wrong.
Lily supposed that Lord Hayes might have been very handsome indeed if he’d ever truly smiled. As it was, his foreboding expression couldn’t quite dispel the striking appearance of his dark hair and eyebrows, the tan he managed to keep despite the fog and clouds that continuously rolled over the horizon, and his strong jaw.
Not that he was theclassicallyhandsome sort—the fine young ladies wouldn’t turn into a flock of giggling ninnies the way they did when some men of thetonparaded past. No—Lord Hayes would look completely out of place amongst the gilded ballrooms of St. James. He belonged here, amongst the rough crags and the swooping swells of uninterrupted Northumberland landscape.
“Miss Hughes,” Lord Hayes demanded, jerking Lily from her reverie. “What do you mean,leave?” he demanded.
“My brother has returned—” Lily’s voice quavered. She swallowed and nearly choked, then tried again. “My brother has returned from India. He requires my presence.” She held out the folded parchment to him.
He opened it, tearing it in his haste, then glowered down at her handwriting. “You expect me to read this when you could simply explain it to me?”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” she said. “My brother has returned home from India?—”
“So you’ve said. What does that have to do with your employment here?”
Lily’s lips were suddenly chapped, dry. She licked them nervously. Lord Hayes’s gaze flickered down to her mouth, and then back up to her eyes. His frown intensified the longer shepaused, but how was Lily supposed to explain such a thing when manners dictated she wasn’t allowed to speak about money? Though it was considered gauche for people to discuss funds, Lily thought this instance required it.
“I took this position for the money, you see,” she began haltingly.
“Everyone takes a job for the money.” He slapped the letter with his hand. “What does your brother returning have to do with anything?”
“Hehasmoney, my lord,” she said, stumbling over the words. “He does not wish me to be a governess any longer.”
His eyes narrowed. “Wait a moment—I thought you were the lone daughter of a clergyman.”
Lily blinked rapidly. She’d known her falsehoods would catch up to her, but at the time, the path she’d taken had appeared to be the only one available to her.
Lord Hayes looked positively murderous. “I take it your name isn’t actually Sarah Hughes. What’s your real name, then?”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” She shook her head. Tears gathered along her lower lashes.
“Ah.” He leaned back in his chair, a muscle feathering in his jaw. “Your family name is Imsorry. No doubt you changed it out of embarrassment.”
