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Carefully she placed her hand on his forearm and let him lead her into the dining room. It was grand, but decaying like the rest of the house, a gloomy room barely lit by the candles dotted around the edges. Selina felt herself stiffen as Lord Westcroft’s arm brushed against her as he drew out her chair, but a quick glance at his face showed her the action wasn’t deliberate.
As soon as they’d sat down a footman appeared carrying two plates, setting them down carefully so as not to spill the thin soup that lay inside.
‘I should tell you a little about Priscilla and Theodosia’s background,’ Lord Westcroft said as he lifted his spoon. It was straight to the point and Selina felt a little ripple of irritation. The man could not be more eager to be rid of her. Quickly she suppressed it, reminding herself this was what she wanted, a courteous but formal relationship with her employer.
‘Please.’
‘I do not profess to know the girls well,’ he said stiffly. ‘Their mother died two years ago. Their father, my late brother, died nine months ago. I was in India at the time and the journey back to England took several months, so I have only been in residence with the children for just shy of nine weeks.’
Long enough to get to know two children if he had wanted to.
‘They have been through a lot,’ Selina said, thinking of the defiant little girls, one in particular, sharp and suspicious. It was only to be expected after losing both parents in such a short time.
‘Indeed. They are grieving, but they need boundaries. I’m afraid before I arrived back in England they were looked after by an elderly female relative who let them run wild. They have not coped well now that they are expected to behave like young ladies rather than animals.’
‘Children,’ Selina corrected quietly.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Well, they’re children, not young ladies. They will become young ladies all too soon, but at the moment they are children.’
Lord Westcroft looked at her long and hard for half a minute before giving a dismissive wave of his hand.
‘Even children have to have certain levels of expected behaviour.’
Selina inclined her head. It was true, children thrived when there were boundaries, routines. As long as those boundaries and routines were accompanied by love and praise and positivity.
‘How would you like me to address them? Should I use their title all the time, or just their names?’
‘They’re children. I think their names will suffice,’ he said with a little nod of his head. ‘You will instruct the children in mathematics, history and music.’
She waited, but no more was forthcoming.
‘How about art? And literature? The natural world?’
Lord Westcroft looked at her with a steely expression on his face. ‘I do not care how you occupy the girls for the entire day, as long as they come out of it with a decent basic education.’
‘An education for what?’ Selina asked mildly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, what I teach them depends on what you hope their futures will look like. If you merely wish the girls to catch the eye of the most eligible gentlemen in the district, then they will need to focus on music, dancing and managing household accounts. If you wish them to have a different future, then the other subjects will become more important.’
Silence stretched out between them and Selina knew she had gone too far. It was only her first day and she risked being thrown out, sent back to London in disgrace. She’d just wanted to provoke the steely Lord Westcroft, to probe into the hard façade. To get him to see that the little girls upstairs weren’t the inconvenience he so obviously thought they were, that they were living, breathing humans with dreams and ambitions of their own.
‘Let’s start with mathematics, history and music,’ he said eventually. ‘Once they have mastered those subjects they can be free to pursue other areas of interest.’ It was a measured reply, calm and diplomatic, and Selina felt a flicker of respect for the man in front of her. He’d risen to her challenge and deflected it.
The next course was brought in by the footman, succulent slices of chicken with an assortment of vegetables.
‘I shall see the girls every Sunday afternoon in my study for a report on their progress.’
‘Once a week?’
‘Yes. On a Sunday.’
‘Surely you will want to see them more than that? To interact with them, to get to know them.’
‘They are children, Miss Salinger. And they have you.’
‘But I’m just a governess, someone paid to look after them. You’re family.’
Lord Westcroft put down his fork, letting the silence stretch out between them.
‘Before the letter arrived notifying me of my brother’s death I had no idea Priscilla and Theodosia existed,’ he said quietly. ‘They do not know me. We might be relatives by blood, but we have no shared experiences, nothing to bond us.’
‘But—’ Selina started, but Lord Westcroft held up an authoritative hand to stop her.
‘I will see them once a week on a Sunday, to ensure they are learning what they should and their welfare is being taken care of. The rest of the time they are in your hands, Miss Salinger.’
His tone was so stony, his words so final that Selina didn’t try to object again. She wondered at the rift that must have torn this family apart to have resulted in Lord Westcroft not even being told of his nieces’ existence.
‘I shall do as you wish, Lord Westcroft,’ Selina said quietly. That and so much more.
Silently Matthew padded across the hallway. On his feet he was wearing only his socks, having long ago divested himself of his shoes in a bid to get more comfortable. The house was quiet, eerily so, with just the occasional creaking of the wooden windows to add to the effect. Outside somewhere an owl hooted, a dark shadow streaming past the window as it flew through the night.
Matthew felt unsettled. He’d felt unsettled for the past nine weeks. It was being back here, at Manresa House, the one place he’d vowed never to return to. Every room had a memory he would rather forget, every nook and cranny threatened to transport him back to a time when he was a vulnerable young lad. If he had his wish, he would have the building knocked to the ground, destroying the stone it was made from and the memories it held inside.
‘It’s only a building,’ he reminded himself, muttering under his breath. He couldn’t destroy the house, no matter how much he wanted to. It was a place of familiarity for Priscilla and Theodosia, a place filled with memories for his two nieces. Hopefully happier memories than his own. He wouldn’t take their home from them as well as everything else.
Silently he opened the door to the library, feeling the tension seep out of him as he always did when he entered this vault of a room. It had been his own special place as a child, with neither his parents nor his older brother caring to peruse the thousands of books housed on the shelves, his sanctuary. He stepped inside, feeling the smile form on his lips as his eyes danced across the familiar titles on the heavy leather spines. Sleep might be difficult to come by, but at least he would not grow bored.
Matthew reached out and slipped a book from the shelves, gripping it tightly just as he heard a quiet cough from directly behind him. For a second his heart squeezed in his chest, every muscle in his body clenched and primed for action. It took another second for the rational part of his brain to calm his instincts and stop him from spinning round and lashing out. Here he was safe. It was highly unlikely he was about to be pounced upon by a man-eating tiger or attacked by a deadly snake.
Slowly he turned, fixing his expression into a mild frown.
‘Please forgive me, Lord Westcroft,’ Miss Salinger said, her cheeks flushing. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought everyone else in the house asleep and hoped you wouldn’t mind me borrowing a book to read.’
Of course it was the governess. She’d been in residence for a grand total of seven hours and already she was becoming a thorn in his side.
Unfair, he silently chastised himself.
‘Do you often walk around strange houses in the dead of night without a candle?’ he asked, his voice low.
‘N-no,’ she stuttered.
He felt a perverse pleasure at her discomfort and allowed himself to watch as her lips searched for her next words. They were full lips, rosy even in the darkness, lips no doubt many men had fantasised about over the years.
‘I was taught never to bring a lit flame into a library,’ she said.
‘Who taught you that, Miss Salinger?’ It was a rule he observed himself, but he doubted his new governess grew up in a household grand enough to have a library.
‘My father.’
When she did not elaborate he nodded slowly. ‘Sensible man. Did he have any views on the best time of day to visit a library?’
‘There is sufficient moonlight to see by,’ Miss Salinger said, raising her chin a notch.
As she spoke the moon emerged from behind the thick clouds and shone in through the windows. As well as illuminating the books it reflected off the white of Miss Salinger’s nightgown that peeked out from under the loosely tied dressing gown.
Matthew couldn’t help but look. He was a man. A flawed man. A man who would never take advantage of a woman in his employ, but who couldn’t entirely avert his eyes when the moonlight made the cotton of a woman’s nightgown appear almost sheer over her body. He could only see a sliver of nightgown, but it was enough.
He swallowed. Blinked. She was an attractive young woman, tall with a body full of soft curves. This evening her hair was loose, dark locks cascading over her shoulders, framing a pretty face.
‘Indeed there is,’ he murmured.
She shifted slightly, making the nightgown ripple against her skin, hinting at the curves underneath.
Matthew closed his eyes, counted to five. He had been too long without a woman.
‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ As he spoke he moved to one side so he wouldn’t be looking directly at her.
‘Not yet. I was just browsing your titles. It really is a fine library.’
He murmured agreement, his eyes seeking out her lips again as she spoke. They were remarkably pink. Remarkably kissable.
As soon as the thought sprang into his mind he dismissed it firmly. Miss Salinger was far too important to even consider a dalliance. He couldn’t risk anything that might scare her off. Nine weeks he’d waited for a governess, nine weeks of emotional torture as the two little girls upstairs withdrew further into themselves.
‘Perhaps I can help you find something,’ he suggested, deciding his best course of action would be to hurry Miss Salinger on her way back to her bedroom. Far out of his line of sight. ‘What were you hoping to find?’
‘A classic, perhaps. The Iliad or the Odyssey.’
A woman of fine taste in literature. Not that he should be surprised that a governess was well read.
‘Here…’ he reached up to the shelves a little to his left and plucked two books from their places ‘…the Iliad and the Odyssey. You can decide later which you wish to read first.’
‘Thank you,’ Miss Salinger said with a smile. Her fingers brushed his as he handed the books over, soft skin against his callused hands, and he had to fight the urge to pull away quickly, pretending instead not to notice the contact.
‘Goodnight, Miss Salinger,’ he said, stepping back so she could make her way to the door. As she walked away he found his eyes trailing her, noting the sway of her body beneath the shapeless, sensible dressing gown.
‘Give me strength,’ he murmured to himself.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Sleep well.’
With a final smile thrown in his direction she was gone, leaving him to his decidedly unchivalrous thoughts.
Chapter Three
‘A little rain never hurt anyone,’ Selina said, her tone calm but firm as she ushered the two young girls from the nursery, gripping their coats tightly in one hand.
‘It killed everyone who wasn’t on Noah’s Ark,’ Priscilla said, flashing her a dark look.
‘I hardly think we can compare this light drizzle to a biblical flood.’
Four hours, that was how long they’d been cooped up in the schoolroom, Selina trying her very hardest to follow Lord Westcroft’s instructions and teach the girls mathematics and history. It had been a disaster. For months they had been allowed to run free, to live their days without structure or discipline. She had been foolish to think she could instil it back in them in one day.
‘Coats on,’ she said, taking her cloak from a hook by the door. One of the maids had worked some magic on it, cleaning off the worst of the mud after her fall on the drive the day before.
‘If we catch a fever, our uncle will not be pleased,’ Priscilla muttered. At nine years old she was the more difficult of the two sisters. She was quiet but resentful, objecting to everything Selina did for no good reason. Selina knew it would take time, time to show the young girl she could be trusted, that she wasn’t going to disappear, that she was eager to help shape Priscilla’s future. Theodosia was more cheerful and accepting, although seemed to have limitless energy and a rather short attention span.
Selina peered out of the front door, smiling brightly as she regarded the sky.
‘Look, even the drizzle has stopped. I think I can even see a patch of blue sky.’
Priscilla looked at the grey clouds dubiously, but said no more.
‘Will you teach us to ride?’ Theodosia asked. ‘Mama never let us and Father was far too busy to arrange it. I’d love to have a horse of my own.’ Something caught her eye and the direction of her thoughts spiralled off at a tangent. ‘Archery…you promised you would teach us to shoot a bow and arrow. Can we? Will you teach us now? Please say yes.’
Priscilla snorted. ‘She’s a governess, Thea, not a soldier.’
‘But she promised.’
‘People promise things all the time.’
Selina watched as the little girl bit her lip, digesting this harsh lesson from her sister.
‘Did your father have a bow and arrows, Theodosia?’ Selina focused her attention on the younger of the sisters for a moment.
‘Yes. They’re in the back of the stables. He has one of those big target things as well.’ A note of hope crept into her voice. ‘Does that mean you’ll teach us?’
‘A promise is a promise,’ Selina said.
Theodosia slipped her little hand into Selina’s and squeezed it softly. She was only there for an instant, but Selina knew it was a start, the first building block of the relationship she would have to forge with these two grieving young girls.
‘It’s dirty,’ Priscilla observed as Selina hauled the target out of the corner of the stables. ‘And there are spider’s webs all over it.’
‘A little bit of dirt never hurt anyone.’
‘Try telling that to all the people who died of the bubonic plague,’ Priscilla muttered.
‘That was rats. This is mud.’
Ignoring her screaming muscles, Selina hauled the heavy target out on to the lawn at the back of the house. She set it down, tweaking its position until she was happy, then returned to the stables for the bow and quiver of arrows. Theodosia danced around her feet, excitedly chattering, but Priscilla remained where she was, watching the proceedings with the haughty disdain of a nine-year-old.
‘The bow is heavy,’ Selina said, weighing the weapon in her hands. ‘It is made for someone much bigger than you, so don’t be disappointed if you can’t get much movement.’
‘I’m strong,’ Theodosia said. ‘I eat all my vegetables.’
Priscilla snorted, earning her a black look from her younger sister.
‘I eat most of my vegetables,’ she corrected herself.
‘I’ll let you into a secret,’ Selina whispered. ‘I never eat my carrots and I can’t stand cabbage.’
Theodosia giggled.
‘Have you ever tried archery before?’
‘No, but I’m sure I’ll be very good at it.’
‘Have you, Miss Salinger?’ Priscilla challenged her. ‘It’s a strange skill for a governess. And if you don’t know how to shoot a bow then you shouldn’t be teaching us.’
Silently Selina weighed the bow, plucking the string to feel the tension. She selected an arrow, checking the point and the tail, balancing it in her fingers before positioning it against the bowstring. Taking her time, she adjusted her stance, raised the bow and released the arrow, sending it in a perfect line towards the target. It sank into the material with a satisfying thunk, not quite in the centre of the bullseye, but not far off.
The two girls looked at her with a mixture of awe and disbelief.
‘Do it again,’ Theodosia whispered.
Selina selected another arrow, repeated all the preparatory steps before sending it flying through the air to the target. Another hit, another excited squeal from Theodosia.
‘Where did you learn to do that?’ Priscilla asked.
‘My father taught me.’
‘I told you,’ Theodosia rounded on her sister. ‘I told you she would teach us.’
‘Come here.’ Selina watched as Theodosia crowded close, but Priscilla hung back, even though there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes. The older girl didn’t want to be intrigued, didn’t want to be engaged.
There’s no rush, Selina told herself. It could take weeks to build up the necessary trust, weeks that would be well spent. For now she had to just keep Priscilla interested, keep her from closing off entirely, and hopefully she would slowly start to allow herself to have fun.
‘When you hold a bow the most important thing is safety,’ Selina said, motioning to the arrows by their feet. ‘These are deadly weapons, and you need to treat them with respect at all times.’
Matthew turned the page on the report he was reading, about to delve into the latest accounts for the cargo ships that had recently docked in London. As his eyes skimmed across the first line a squeal of delight from outside made him pause. Nine weeks he’d been in charge of his two nieces and in that time he’d not heard them laugh, let alone squeal with happiness.
Resolutely he turned back to the report, but this time he only managed the first three words before another exclamation of awe came to his ears. Intrigued, he stood, crossing to the window. He expected to see the girls and Miss Salinger engaged in a game of some sort. Perhaps something that involved chasing or hiding. Hardly the most educational of pastimes, but he understood the need for fresh air and exercise to break up the school day.
As he looked out the window he nearly choked on the air he was breathing. Standing on the lawn was Miss Salinger, her arms wrapped around little Theodosia as she showed her how to hold a bow. He watched as the young girl drew back the bowstring, frowning with the difficulty of the task, and loosed an arrow. To her credit it did sail through the air, flying a few feet before embedding itself into the ground a fair distance away from the target.
For a moment his eyes focused on the figure of Miss Salinger, lingering just a little too long, before he stood and hurried out of his study. Someone had to stop them. Archery was dangerous, not to be trifled with by amateurs and certainly not to be taught to children by someone who didn’t know what they were doing.
Half-marching, half-running, he made it across the lawn in less than a minute, coming up behind the impromptu archery lesson.
‘Breathe in and draw the bow,’ Miss Salinger was saying to Theodosia, helping the young girl to pull back the bowstring. ‘Breathe out, focus on the target and then release.’
‘Stop,’ he shouted, seeing his niece’s quivering hand as she strained to keep the bowstring taut. He was sure she would drop her aim and shoot herself in the foot.
At his shout Theodosia jumped, half-turning and pulling Miss Salinger off balance at the same time. Matthew saw the governess’s eyes widen in horror as she started slipping, losing her grip on the bow. The arrow flew loose, travelling in an arc in his direction. Matthew tried to jump back, but was too slow, and with a bellow of pain he saw the arrow embed itself in his boot.
For a moment no one moved. Then everyone moved at once. Miss Salinger set the bow down carefully, a good few paces from the arrows. Then she moved forward. Matthew assumed she was coming to his aid and was surprised to see her crouch down in front of Theodosia.
‘Lord Westcroft is fine,’ she said, wiping the young girl’s hair from her face. ‘It was an accident, nothing more, and his fault, not yours.’
His fault?
He saw his little niece nod, her face pale, and was surprised when Miss Salinger brought the young girl in for an embrace.
‘Come to your sister, Priscilla,’ Miss Salinger said softly. ‘Take her hand while I see to Lord Westcroft.’
Only once she was convinced the children were safe did she move towards him.
‘Thank you for your swift attention,’ he murmured.
‘Sarcasm doesn’t become you,’ she said breezily, as if she hadn’t just shot him in the foot. He was sure she should be a little more contrite, a little more obsequious.
‘You just shot me in the foot.’
‘The arrow barely had any force behind it.’
‘You still shot me in the foot.’
‘And I’m sure it hasn’t even penetrated your foot.’
He looked at her with disbelief.
‘Luck and nothing more,’ he ground out.
‘I’m sure you’ve had much worse done to you in the past.’
‘That is not the point.’ He couldn’t quite believe he was getting a lesson in stoicism from an English governess.
‘You shouldn’t have shouted,’ she said resolutely. ‘Come, girls, let us get your guardian inside.’
‘Shouldn’t we pull the arrow out?’ Theodosia was peering over Miss Salinger’s shoulder with interest.
The governess bit her lip, looking down at the foot-long arrow sticking out of his boot.
‘Has it gone through the leather? Do you feel pain?’
‘Only a little.’
‘I worry if I pull it out here then it might begin to bleed in your boot,’ she said, her voice softening. He saw the concern in her eyes and realised her brisk manner before had been mostly to put the girls at ease.
‘If you give me your arm, I can lean on you back to the house. We can pull it out there,’ Matthew said.
He expected her to offer the slender arm that was currently hidden under the thick folds of her cloak. Instead she slipped her whole body under his arm, straightening up so he could rest his weight on her shoulders. It was an intimate position, even with the thick layers that separated them, and Matthew could feel the heat of her body. Something began to stir inside him, something long suppressed and primal.
‘You lead the way, girls,’ Miss Salinger said, motioning for them to go first.
As he walked he felt the sharp point of the arrow grinding against something in his foot. He clenched his jaw, picking up the pace in a bid to get back to the house quicker. They entered through the front door, held open by a surprised Mrs Fellows, her face settling back into a disapproving frown when she saw no one was seriously injured.
‘Into my study,’ Matthew instructed, and their little party made their way into the oppressive room that functioned as a private study. Miss Salinger helped him ease down into one of the armchairs and immediately sank down to her knees in front of him.
‘We will need clean hot water and something to bind the wound,’ she instructed Mrs Fellows who had followed them into the room.