How to Claim a Governess’s Heart - Bridget Barton Page 0,78
If her corset had allowed her to run home, she would have. As it were, Lord John had insisted she hire a hansom to and from the meeting.
Entering the house, Bridget went to the library first, where she expected to find Lord John and Betsy. When they weren’t there, she went next to the breakfast room.
“You’re back. That was quick,” Lord John said, putting down his newspaper.
“Yes,” Bridget said, slightly breathless.
She looked at Betsy, who was just starting to nibble on some toast that Mrs. Smith had placed in front of her. She cocked her brow in a question to Lord John.
“This one,” he tilted his head towards Betsy, “just barely got out of bed.”
“She did?” Bridget said, checking the small clock attached to her dress. “You never sleep late. Are you feeling well?”
Worry instantly filled Bridget’s inside as she hurried over and placed a hand on Betsy’s head.
“Your head’s not warm,” she mumbled.
“I’m fine, Miss Thatcher. I was just really tired today,” Betsy said with a shrug. “And hungry too. Can I have more toast, please?” she asked.
“I think the little miss is just going through a growth spurt,” Mrs. Smith answered as she took her seat and passed her own buttered toast onto the child’s plate.
“Why don’t I sit in here with Miss Betsy, while you two go and discuss things in the office,” Mrs. Smith suggested.
“I think that would be perfect,” Lord John said, coming to stand.
Bridget looked Betsy over one last time to ensure she wasn’t sick and then agreed to follow him in the office. She could barely contain all that she wanted to tell him. Still, she kept her story to herself until after Lord John pulled back the thick velvet curtains to let in the early morning sun and came to sit next to her in one of the high-backed chairs.
She liked that he preferred to sit next to her instead of across the desk. Over the last few days, as they solidified their plans to pass his novel off as her own, they sat here together, planning out the perfect summary pitch and writing the letters to the publishing agent.
In all instances, he had chosen to sit next to her, often scooting both chairs so close together that they often touched or brushed hands.
Bridget did her best to not leave a single detail out as she told Lord John all that had transpired in rapid succession.
“So, you think he is truly interested?” Lord John asked, sitting back in his seat.
“Yes, he started to read the novel right at that moment. I doubt it will be more than a few days until we hear from him.”
Lord John made a clicking noise with his mouth before chuckling.
“When I went to see him, the man couldn’t even look me in the eye and all but shoved my manuscript to the edge of the desk before I even rose from my chair.”
“It just confirms what you thought. Clearly, the duke has bribed these agencies to turn you away without a second thought.”
“Or perhaps he was blinded by your beauty. I know I certainly would go above and beyond my required job if it was to see you again in my office.”
Heat rose in Bridget’s cheeks.
“He didn’t think me anything but plain, and I don’t fault him for it.”
“I think you are just blind to the effect you have on men. After all, I am living proof of your bewitching powers,” he added, clasping his heart and batting his eyelids dramatically.
Bridget did her best to stifle a giggle at his silly behaviour. She would have liked to scowl to discourage his teasing, but she liked it in reality.
She loved watching him play with Betsy, acting as if he was a child himself. As the months had gone on, and perhaps because he had become more accustomed to having them around, his playful side had really blossomed.
“If anything, he considered me some important lady that was hiding her identity for the sake of her family name. I suppose I should have corrected his assumption but didn’t know how without bringing your name into the matter.”
“No, you were right not to.”
“I just hate lying,” Bridget said mostly under her breath. “I know we had no other choice in this instance, but to trick these agents into thinking the manuscript is mine, but still deception has never sat well with me.”
“Or me,” Lord John agreed. “I wish there was another way. At least once the book is accepted, we can