Page 18 of A Second Chance for Love

“Yes,” Juss agreed with a smile. “It must be the coach.”

Eight

They’d finished the sandwiches Juss had procured at the posting house and Oona was about to ask Juss to finish his fascinating story when he said, “I think it is your turn, now—just part of your story,” His big body was relaxed, his lips curled into a half-smile, and his posture insouciant.

“Aren’t you cold?” Oona asked, shivering beneath the three traveling robes she wore, in addition to the new hot bricks Juss had procured for her.

Juss smirked. “No diversionary tactics, Oona. Where are you from? Why did you become a governess? You can start with those questions.”

“I have to warn you that my life is considerably less exciting than yours.”

“I’ve been warned.”

She took a deep breath and sighed. “I’m from a very small town called Hexham, which I doubt you’ve ever heard of.”

“You are correct. Where is Hexham?”

“It is west of Newcastle, in the region of Hadrian’s Wall.”

“You do not have a northern accent.”

“No, my father was a retired Oxford don and he was most rigid about proper English. He was quite old when I was born—my mother was a good deal younger than him. She died giving birth, so it was just me and my father until I was seventeen, when he died rather suddenly after taking chill.”

“Did you have family to take you in?” he asked.

Oona chewed her lip, wondering how much to share.

He cocked his head. “Yes?”

He’d shared some painful details with her—didn’t she owe him something? Not about Edward, of course, but. . . .

“My mother was a prostitute when my father met her in Oxford.”

He blinked, but didn’t look disgusted.

“When she became pregnant, my father married her. Of course his family shunned him after that and she had no family.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

Tears prickled behind her eyes and she gave an abrupt nod. “He was—the best.” Oona pushed back her sadness and plunged onward. “But he was also very unworldly—at least when it came to money. A few years before he died he took out a mortgage on our cottage and gave the proceeds to one of his old acquaintances from Oxford who had some sort of scheme.”

“Let me guess,” he said grimly. “The scheme fell through.”

His look and tone made her feel defensive. “I know you are thinking he did not do a very good job of taking care of me.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Not entirely, but he made the investment because he knew that the cottage would not be enough—that I would have still needed to work.”

He said nothing.

Oona shrugged. “I was young, but my father had taught me well so I looked about for governess positions. Lord V-Venable was my first interview. At that time the viscount had been widowed six months and his children were desperately in need of care. He offered me the position right after we spoke and I accepted.” Naturally she turned a flaming shade of red just saying Edward’s name.

He frowned and leaned toward her, his gaze more piercing than usual. “Why are you blushing?” he asked. “Did he tamper with you—force himself on you?”

“What? No! No he never forced himself on me,” she retorted. “Why would you say such a thing?”

He snorted and gave a dismissive flick of his hand. “Go on. Why did you leave Compton Abbey?”