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He did not ogle or dally with his female employees. Given Mrs. Mettlebank was five and sixty if she was a day and weighed three stone more than he did, and as Miss Roth scarcely contained her disdain of him, there wasn’t any desire to ogle to begin with.
He added another scientific article to the satchel upon his desk.
As Miss Roth removed her bonnet, her gaze, which never missed a detail, landed on the bulging satchel.
“Are you going somewhere, my lord?”
Folding his arms, Constantine rested his hips against the edge of the desk.
“As a matter of fact, we are.”
“We?” She paused in drawing off her plain straw bonnet. Her dark brown eyes rounded, and her attention shifted to the bag and then back to him. “I beg your pardon. I thought you said we.”
He grinned, delighting in flummoxing her for once.
“I did indeed, Miss Roth.” He nodded and crossed his ankles. “We. You, me, Embly, Mr. Camberg-Trainer, and Gilly depart for Dovetonwick Court at first light on Tuesday.”
He hadn’t informed Harvey yet, and his friend might refuse, given his current infatuation. Embly would suffice as a chaperon, he supposed.
Had you hired a male amanuensis, you would not need a chaperone.
Water under the bridge.
Constantine had hired a female, so he must deal with the consequences.
“I…” Miss Roth swallowed as she slowly lifted the hat from her head, revealing the mass of glorious fair curls threaded with bronze, gold, and fire ribbons. Her hair betrayed her, revealing the spitfire’s temperament before she opened her mouth. “This Tuesday?”
“I did mention when I hired you that the position involved the possibility of travel.”
He’d hoped that particular detail would put her off. Traveling unescorted with a male and all that. Any sensible miss would’ve gone pale and promptly bid him good day.
Miss Roth had not.
Constantine quirked an eyebrow, anticipating her response.
“Yes, you did, my lord.”
Remarkably composed, she hung her bonnet on the coat rack, removed her gloves, and then her deep green spencer. Today, she wore a yellow calico gown sprinkled with pastel flowers.
She appeared young and pretty and feminine.
It was the first time he could recall that she hadn’t worn a severe, drab-colored frock or masculine waistcoat and skirt. He presumed she preferred severe styles and unassuming colors. The modest but tasteful gown she wore today revealed again how little he knew or understood about Miss Roth.
Folding her hands before her, she tilted her head to the side. “This is a business trip?”
“Business and pleasure.” Constantine scratched his chin, the stubble beneath his fingers reminding him he ought to shave. It had been three—no, four—days.
“My eldest sister is getting married.”
At one and thirty, three years Constantine’s senior, Charlotte had waited for true love.
“I see.” A spark of defiance glinted in Miss Roth’s eyes, and she set her shoulders at a recalcitrant angle. “And if I decline to accompany you?”
Clasping his hands behind him, he twisted his mouth into a wry smile.
“Sadly, Miss Roth, I would deem it grounds for termination.”
“Sadly? I’ll just bet,” she murmured so softly that Constantine barely heard her.
