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“I will employ you as governess for a one-month trial.”
Liquid cinnamon eyes gleamed up at him and he cursed his own soft heart.
If honesty was to be their byword, then he’d not merely employed her for those reasons alone, but for her sensitive wrists, gaze of purity and the wildflower scent which bloomed around her.
“When could you begin?”
“Would Thursday be too soon?”
“Of next week?”
“No, the morrow.” She fiddled with her pelisse cuff. “My guardian is in the country, you see, so I’ve only the servants to evade.”
Devil take him – evading servants? Whatever next? “Please tell me your name is not false and that you’re not the daughter of some duke.”
“How dare you, Mr Hawkins.” She gracefully sniffed. “My name is my own. And the Duke of Aberdare is a mere half-cousin thrice removed. I’ve never even met him. He resides in Wales.”
Bloody hell. “And your guardian, this cousin… A nobleman also?”
“Merely a viscount.”
It could be worse; he was sure it could be worse.
“The salary is seven guineas a month with chambers next to the schoolroom included. As you are obviously a gentlewoman, I have both a housekeeper-cum-cook and a maid who could chaperone should the need arise.”
“Oh.” She removed her glasses and polished them on her striped dress. He’d been mistaken – her eyes flashed the colour of tawny sherry, tantalising and sharp all at once. “That will not be necessary, for if I am to embark upon the career of governess, I will have to learn to do without such chaperone shenanigans. I believe a working life has much freedom.”
Poor innocent.
“Indeed,” he murmured instead. “My daughter Chloe has been previously tutored, but only by myself and the vicar’s wife. Do you require any additional books?”
She replaced her glasses and smiled, causing a dimple to wink enticingly.
Heaven help him.
“For a girl of three and ten, I daresay the first abridgement of Mrs Trimmer’s Ancient History would be useful. Molineux’s Introduction to the Globes, of course, Mr Goldsmith’s Grammar of Geography is a must, and Salzmann’s Elements of Morality…without the translator’s preface.”
Heaven help his daughter.
“‘Knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven’,” he muttered, holding out a hand to aid her rise.
Incredulous lips pursed. Suspicious eyes narrowed.
Seth grinned as he drew the study door wide. “Must have read that on some discarded theatre print, Miss Griffin, as I have little time for literature. On the morrow, I shall introduce you to my daughter. Good day.”
With a regal nod more suited to a duke’s half-cousin thrice removed than a lowly governess, she marched ahead of him and twisted left for the hallway.
Some years past, he’d gutted this old-fashioned, three-storey townhouse to create both a boxing academy and home for himself and daughter, hence the old back door to the garden now functioned as the family’s main entrance – the colonnaded façade at the front of the house on Arlington Street serving as the Academy’s impressive threshold.
She paused at the door, presumably awaiting his non-existent butler, which told him much of her current abode and circumstance, so he opened it himself.
A blush lit her cheeks, eyes flitting and fingers fluttering.
“You must think me naive, Mr Hawkins, a privileged lady seeking a new life with little knowledge or experience, but I have to take my future into my own hands, you see, before it is wrested from me.” She tightened the ribbons on her bonnet to continue her soliloquy. “Thus far, I have been shielded from life. Sheltered by the love of my parents or guarded by Cousin Astwood for my marriageability value. Curbed by my birth and gender. Now I shall endeavour to make my own choices, with all its forthcoming perils and blessings.”
Miss Griffin appeared like a fledgling bird, so eager for freedom that she’d dare a boxing academy for her refuge.
“On the contrary, Miss Griffin, I think you brave,” he murmured, sketching a bow.
The blush heightened and she scurried down the three steps which led to the garden.
An awaiting maid rose from the bench beneath his willow tree and together the females bustled down the path. As a cloud shifted and one single ray of sunlight beamed forth, the maid swiftly opened a pink parasol and hoisted it aloft to protect her mistress’s delicate skin.
Seth pinched his forehead.
What had he done?
