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No doubt this room was meagre compared to her former residence, but he’d personally chosen the paperhangings and commissioned a table to seat four but extend should the need arise. He loathed attending some event where one had to yell to be heard by your supper companions.
“Is all to your comfort, Miss Griffin?” he asked, placing himself opposite.
“I was just thinking what a pleasant room this is. Intimate and cosy, although…” A crease appeared between her brows. “I don’t wish to persuade in any way but…the rooms could do with some books, perhaps? Just a few to cheer the shelves and so forth…but I understand they are expensive.” Miss Griffin pushed her spectacles up. “I’ve not visited, but I believe there’s a little shop on Pendle Street which sells them…” She lowered her voice. “Second-hand.”
Seth grinned and–
“Sorry I’m late,” Chloe gushed, then halted her step, steadied her balance with palms flat and curtsied with the previously unseen grace of a queen, despite the gown revealing her ankles. “Betty needed help with the meringues.”
“That’s fine, pet. I was about to ask Miss Griffin how she sees your timetable proceeding.”
Chloe plonked herself left of Seth as the maid staggered in with a soup tureen. A swift grace was vowed before they both lifted their heads to Miss Griffin.
“Well…” With eyes wide as acorns, the governess coughed elegantly and gazed to the ceiling as though the timetable was written in the ornate plasterwork. “For the mornings, a selection from: Astronomy. French. Grammar. Maths. Painting. Classical Studies. Geography and so forth. All sectioned into one-hour slots. Then for the afternoons…” She breathed deep. “Etiquette – at balls, soirees, musical events and suchlike. A lady’s accomplishments, naturally. Sewing. Recitation. Pianoforte. Bookkeeping. Netting and so on.”
His daughter gaped.
“That’s most…” Seth floundered.
“I’ll be as old as eighteen once I’ve learned all that.”
“I studied much the same as a child,” Miss Griffin declared. “Chloe, your elbows…”
“But…” His daughter’s elbows retreated from the table. “When did you go to the park? Or play hopscotch with friends? Or Battledore?”
Miss Griffin’s spoon whirled in the soup, her brow furrowed. “I was sent to the museum twice a sennight with a maid.”
“Not the park?”
“Well…” His governess gave a fleeting smile. “I do remember a brief visit to the Serpentine in Summer 1806.”
“To feed the ducks some bread?”
“It was more presented to me as studying the environmental habitat of the domesticated mallard. No bread that I recall.”
Seth winced, for it appeared his governess’s childhood had solely been devoted to studious endeavour. Worthy enough but somewhat lacking in fun and friends.
Not that he hadn’t made many a mistake with Chloe, but he’d always sought to bring cheer to her life, to make up for what they lacked.
One long ago winter’s night, they’d run out of candles when he’d not the coin to pay the tallow-chandler’s bill, but he’d claimed it was akin to All Hallow’s Eve and they’d chortled over ghost stories in the pitch dark.
And now he understood why, at the interview, Miss Griffin had mentioned how she wished to experience life, to no longer be shielded from either its blessings or perils, and an absurd desire to aid her cause arose within.
To escort her to Vauxhall Gardens and watch her gasp at the miraculous cascade, to partake of an evening at Astley’s Amphitheatre and laugh at the clowns, or just a simple picnic in the sunshine surrounded by jovial company.
In lieu, he filled her wine glass with the finest claret that his Academy members’ money could buy.
Feeling pleasantly mellowafter Betty’s superb main course of pigeon pie, stewed hare, ragout of vegetables, roasted duck and a jug of gravy, Matilda allowed her spine to meet the chair back and proceeded to sip her pudding wine.
Cousin Astwood employed a certain Monsieur Porcher as chef,who although could do wonders with a lone asparagus spear and a thimble of jusdu frisa, was inclined to leave his diners hungry.
Those mealtimes with her cousin had involved silent stares or ignoring his rants on a woman’s duty to submit.
Here, Matilda listened in as Mr Hawkins chatted to his daughter about a certain young Irishman who wished to be a prizefighter, and although Matilda hadn’t the foggiest about plumpers or whiffles, she enjoyed the rapid movement of his calloused hands, the rasp of his voice.
Perchance the husky squawking of male pelicans had a similar effect on the females?
“Do you like boxing, Miss? Or know any moves?”
