The First Proposal - Chasity Bowlin Page 0,7
about her waist, he then hoisted himself up to the top of the wall and disentangled her skirt from the branch before dropping back down into a crouch. His knees protested, reminding him that he was not exactly a boy himself any longer. “Now, miss, if I might be permitted to help you down?”
He didn’t wait, simply placed his hands around her waist and carefully lifted her. She slid against the length of him until her feet were once more planted firmly on the ground and they were pressed together, chest to chest in the chilled air of the garden.
Seeing her face to face, Algernon felt it. His breath caught, his blood rushed in his veins and his heart raced. But it was exactly as Aurora had said. Holding her as he was, improper though it might be, it felt undeniably right, as if this was the very thing and she was the very one that he’d been waiting for. It was like a sense of anticipation had suddenly been fulfilled beyond even his greatest expectations.
But it wasn’t simply that. The higher emotions were certainly involved, make no mistake. But his baser instincts were just as equally engaged. The jolt of attraction was like a physical blow. Dark brown eyes, skin like porcelain, lush and rosy lips and all of it framed by a halo of blonde waves now in terrible disarray. She was simply beautiful, but not some young miss. This was no mere girl. She, in every way that counted, was a woman.
Realizing that he still held her very close and very improperly, Algernon finally found his voice and uttered, “Perhaps under the circumstances we can forego waiting on a formal introduction from someone else… I am Algernon Dunne, and you are the governess to the hellions next door. Your name?”
“I am no governess,” she said, clearly offended. “I am their aunt.”
“Pity,” he said. “I could forgive being employed to care for such small tyrants. To know that you must hold them in some sort of affection—well, clearly failing to scale garden walls is not the least of your flaws.”
“I hold them in no affection,” she replied, appearing quite offended at such a suggestion. “They’re horrid children. And my sister, their mother, ought to know it… but I am unable to tell her so.”
Algernon nodded as he, wisely and likely far too late, stepped back from her. “I see. You wish to spare her feelings, then?”
“No,” she denied, shaking her head. “I simply have no wish to be tossed out into the streets of Mayfair. I have suffered many indignities, Mr. Dunne, beyond simply exposing myself to all of your household. Being dependent upon my sister’s meager good graces is certainly one of them.”
“What if you didn’t have to be?” he asked. If he thought she would actually accept and not think him a lunatic, he’d have proposed to her on the spot. In truth, he wondered if perhaps he hadn’t suddenly become victim to lunacy. He’d never been an impulsive sort. Everything he’d done in his life had always been carefully considered, weighed and measured. And after one glance at her lovely face, one moment of holding her in his arms, he’d move heaven and earth to have her.
She laughed then, but it was a strangely bitter sound. “That would require getting myself a position as a governess or companion. Quite frankly, I find I am ill suited to being in the employ of others. My father permitted me far too much independence for my own good. No, that sounds terrible. As if I were somehow ungrateful for the independence. I enjoyed that very much. I only regret his lack of foresight in making necessary arrangements for my independence to continue after his untimely death.”
“There is always marriage,” Algernon pointed out. He could freely admit to himself that he was testing the waters, trying to gauge whether or not she had some sort of romantic attachment or if perhaps she were open to one. If he thought she’d accept, he’d propose on the spot. And not that weak, sad suggestion he’d made to Aurora. No, he’d throw himself down on one knee… or perhaps, given their current aching state, lower himself gently, and beg for her hand. But she was a practical woman, after all.
“To whom, Mr. Dunne? I am an aging spinster with no connections to speak of, a decidedly unattractive independent streak and no fortune at hand. No, indeed. It is de facto governess to