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These confused thoughts and feelings stumped Henry as he continued to draw. He had a strange longing to dive deeper into the mystery that surrounded her. He wanted to know where she came from, what she had seen, what had shaped her into the woman she was. Henry wanted to become more familiar with her, even if his better judgment told him otherwise.
“Agnes seems to be doing well. She enjoys your lessons,” he said, being deliberately indirect in his praise. At the same time, he wanted her to know he thought she was handling the adjustment well, and that her good work wasn’t going unnoticed. “Perhaps she is in capable hands after all.”
Henry’s eyes flickered back to Florence long enough to notice that familiar flood of color in her soft cheeks. It seemed like an easy thing to achieve, especially while Florence was at his artistic mercy, held in place by his focused gaze.
“What has caused you to blush so furiously?” Henry asked, knowing he was overstepping even as he spoke. It wasn’t a question he would usually consider asking anyone, especially not a woman who blushed without much reason. Yet he couldn’t help himself.
Henry thought that if he provoked her enough, maybe then Florence would speak what she truly meant and felt. Maybe then he would meet the true Miss Murray he had seen a glimpse of a week prior. Not to mention, he was simply curious about what made her tick.
Florence appeared even more flustered at the question, and Henry even caught wind of her discreet scoff. However, she composed herself and stood straighter, eyes fixed on something in the distance. The grip of her clasped hands visibly tightened.
“Pardon me, Lord Gray, but ladies shouldn’t be asked such questions,” Florence returned with that agonizing politeness once again. It was evident she had been trained well, for her command of etiquette, provoking as it was to Henry, never wavered.
Florence truly was a fine example for Agnes, even if her opinionated nature could be bothersome.
Henry sighed, both for Florence’s relentless formality and for the tough wall of reserve she had built around herself. He knew he couldn’t be angry about it, since he had caused it. If he hadn’t been so sharp with her, perhaps she would be more willing to engage with him sincerely.
The charcoal moved in short, careful strokes to capture the vague detail in the skirt of her dress, still blown back by the wind. Florence pulled in a deep breath, then relaxed her shoulders; clearly doing her best to maintain her position. Henry never missed a second of it.
She remained silent, but he was determined to persist in trying to break down those walls eventually. The corner of his lip lifted from knowing he could make her react so easily just by asking what seemed to him a simple question. It made him wonder what else he could rouse from within her.
“Should such a question truly not be asked, not even by your employer?”
That seemed to spark something within her, and her embarrassment only appeared to intensify. The color came and went from her cheeks once more, and Henry knew he had got her. She was trapped under his thumb, and her drive to remain compliant and polite wouldn’t allow Florence to bite back.
However, the moment the traces of strain flooded her face, Henry decided to let the question go. There was a line he wasn’t willing to cross, especially not when she was already on the fence about him. He didn’t wish to humiliate her.
Henry finished the last of the detail in her dress and moved on to add the tree next to her. Whilst he was technically done with the sketch, he was not quite finished with her. There was still more he wished to pry from her.
He noticed that when she realized Henry was done with the intrusive question, she visibly relaxed before him and focused more on her pose. She returned to the exact placement as before and held herself gracefully.
“Is Agnes attentive in her lessons?” Henry asked curiously, trying again. A part of him truly did want to know more about Agnes and her studies, and it wasn’t all a means to decipher more about Florence and her past.
The governess nodded once and cleared her throat to speak. “Yes, Agnes is very keen to learn.”
“Does she ask questions and inquire further about topics?” Henry asked, fearing he was being somewhat obvious in his intention to further the conversation. Apparently, it did not go unnoticed; he noted the way she kept her patience, clearly reigning in any signs of annoyance.
“Indeed, she does. I’m quite impressed with her.”
“Very good. I expect nothing less from her. Agnes has always been a bright girl, and I am certain she will move on smoothly to being a good wife and mother.” Henry tried to speak casually, as if he were speaking with a friend or business partner.
Henry wanted to keep a close eye on Agnes’ progress, and hoped a steady stream of communication between Florence and himself would offer him that insight. For it to work, he had to open the door for her and offer her the grounds to do so without fear of having her post swiftly taken from her.
She needed to get her confidence back, he realized—and he wanted to be the one to give it to her. Even if it proved bothersome down the line, it was crucial for his understanding of Agnes’ success.
“Have the staff given you any trouble?” Henry asked with a warning edge to his tone, as if to show Florence he was prepared to act if she confirmed it.
He could tell she was caught off guard by the question, yet she shook her head slightly, instantly returning to her pose. He was aware of his advantage; there was no way for her to tell how far along he was with the sketch, or to know exactly what he was drawing.
“Of course not,” Florence murmured. “I have only been treated with kindness.”
“I’m happy to hear it. I’ve heard tales of jealous maids wreaking havoc with governesses in hopes of furthering their position in the household. I’ll have you know that sort of misbehavior isn’t tolerated in this home,” Henry returned plainly. He meant every word of it.
He couldn’t decode the thoughts that crossed Florence’s face then, yet he felt he had made himself clear enough.
With a breath of relief, Henry put the charcoal down and stood from the stool.
“There, it is done.”
Agnes caught wind of her uncle’s completion, and she hurried over to him, unwilling to delay inspecting the final product. He handed the book to the girl and watched while wonder and awe overcame her. She looked at it intently for several moments, then a warm smile crept onto her lips.
“As much as I don’t want to admit it, Uncle, the drawing is incredible. Florence looks beautiful.”
Henry agreed wholeheartedly with that—Florence truly did look beautiful.
