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Mr Hawkins’ lips twitched as he prowled with lupine grace – and yes, that was the only word to describe the manner in which he walked – to the side table. “Sherry?”
“Yes, if I may, but… As Chloe’s governess, should I not dine with her in the schoolroom?”
He prowled once more, but this time in her direction, and she strove to recall more of those pelican specifics.
“Chloe dines here with me. Always has.”
“Oh.” How unusual. “She failed to mention that.”
The sherry glass was proffered. Their fingers brushed.
Pelicans.
Of course, an arousing cologne of leather and musk was not generally associated with that genus of water bird either, although the glands of a deer were used to create musk, so perchance it was also a mating attractant and hence the explanation for her olfactory pleasure.
He cocked his head. “Did you not dine with your parents?”
“Not until I was fifteen and had something worthwhile to communicate. I dined in the nursery till then.” Put into words, that sounded appalling. She’d adored her parents but until her mind had been that of a fully functioning adult, she had remained unseen and unheard at mealtimes.
“With your governess?”
“She only came for five hours a day. Then it was solely me and my books.” If she had to discern his expression, it was pity. “I was quite content,” she assured. “Within those pages, I could visit a forest or volcano, watch a play of tragedy or friendship, debate philosophy with myself, or feel sadness and…and love.”
The hue of Mr Hawkins’ eyes shifted to that of sedimentary rock and swirling kelp pools, and she swallowed. He had stood somewhat closer than proper to pass the sherry and her skin had prickled with an agreeable awareness.
She reminded herself that this type of human behaviour was commonplace beyond the Ton world, that maids and footmen did dine together, and persons of both genders sat elbow-to-elbow in stagecoaches – all without coming over slightly peculiar.
“I am sure you are correct, Miss Griffin,” he murmured, “in that books can convey the very essence of a writer’s soul, emotion and experience.”
Matilda nodded. “And if I had allowed myself to be married off, I’ve a feeling that sadness would have been my sole experience.”
For all her debutante innocence,Miss Griffin was likewise as worldly as a society matron.
Many young misses would have acquiesced with their guardian’s choice of husband, not understanding what their future life may entail, yet those observant sherry-tinted eyes and that astute mind had watched, cogitated and decided upon a different path.
She was all Seth had hoped for in a governess to his daughter – a lady with manners and poise, but equally not one who would seek to curb Chloe’s free spirit with orders of obeyance.
The sole curious aspect was…did not a governess habitually sport blending brown frocks or unobtrusive greys? A layer of invisibility within their employer’s household?
He’d supposed the moulding buttercup yellow from yesterday a remnant of her previous status, yet when he’d first entered the room this evening to discover her investigating the window seat, it was to be confronted by Miss Griffin’s gilded posterior, a golden beige that outdid the flaming fire, dress molten against her curvaceous form.
Now, she faced him, and he noted that the silk’s hue matched her glasses, caused a lustre to her smooth skin and contrasted with her hair, deepening it to midnight.
He cleared his throat, straightened the green waistcoat that Chloe had chosen and thrust a finger inside his new cascade-style cravat, which quite frankly should come with a warning that it may throttle one’s breathing route.
And where the hell was Chloe?
“Shall we await my daughter in the dining room?” Seth extended a forearm as though to escort a lady at a genteel ball – which surely was all wrong.
Earlier, he’d instinctively bowed in response to her elegant curtsey. Then wondered if that was correct procedure. After all, she was his employee, but the etiquette books he’d read in order to fit in with the swells who frequented his club hadn’t covered this little scenario – the lady governess and the low-bred pugilist.
“And I am sure you are correct, Miss Griffin, concerning your betrothed. Marriage should be based upon love and respect. Sadness is inevitable in life, but there is no reason to walk into its embrace, if it can be so helped.”
A tentative gloved hand reached out and rested upon his sleeve, but surprised eyes surveyed him. “How eloquently put. And a sentiment not widely held within the Ton, where money and title rule. It sounds as though your marriage was a happy one. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Seth’s eyes flickered, had not considered his words could be taken as such, so merely nodded as they passed through to the dining room.
Seating her in a walnut Chippendale chair, he watched as she inspected the walls, table and curtains.
