Mr. Gardiner and the Governess - Sally Britton Page 0,11

baroness to his right, Lady Alterby, attempted to gain his attention.

Rupert wanted to sink into his chair. First he insulted an intelligent woman, now he had been brought to realize he had neglected his other dinner companion. He fixed a smile in place and turned to speak to the elderly woman. “Yes, my lady?”

“I have just learned that your uncle is a solicitor in Peterborough. I have a nephew there. Perhaps they are acquainted. But I had thought to ask you if you have been there of late. I have not gone in years...” Lady Alterby kept speaking, her cadence more like the drone of a common housefly than the spritely way Miss Sharpe had conversed with him.

Though he attempted to enter an actual conversation with Lady Alterby, it became apparent that she had more of a desire to reminisce about her time in Peterborough than exchange thoughts or opinions on any subject.

Finally, she turned to the dinner guest at her other side, the vicar, and nettled him about where he had taken orders.

Rupert took the reprieve gratefully. “Miss Sharpe? Would you like some of the”—he peered at the platter in confusion a moment—“braised carrots and rabbit?”

She had remained quiet since their exchange, no one else engaging her. But she nodded tightly in response to his question.

Rupert did his duty, serving her from the new platter a footman placed upon the table, but she seemed as inclined to push that portion of the meal as she had the last.

“Miss Sharpe?”

“Yes, Mr. Gardiner?” She did not turn to look at him. The lavender gown she wore made her appear quite pale. Or perhaps his company displeased her.

“Are you unwell?” he asked, lowering his voice and leaning closer to her.

He did not miss the way her hand tightened around her fork the instant before she looked at him. “I am perfectly well. Thank you.”

Rupert stumbled over his thoughts. “I am sorry. I only thought—since you are not eating—” He cut himself off and took a drink to stave off any more of his own foolishness.

She sent him a perplexed glance, stabbed at a slice of purple potato, and put the whole thing in her mouth at once. Then she raised her eyebrows, daring him to make another comment. Instead he laughed, but as he was still sipping at his drink, he gulped the wine, so it went entirely the wrong direction down his throat.

Rupert choked, put a napkin over his mouth and coughed, but a burning sensation remained. His eyes started to water, and everyone at the table fell silent.

Someone pressed a cup into his hand, and he drank, but that proved a mistake, too.

When he finally had control of his lungs and throat, eyes streaming, he looked up. Everyone stared at him. Except for Miss Sharpe, who had somehow managed to shrink despite sitting with proper posture.

With heat running up the back of his neck and into his ears, he placed a hand over his heart and gave the semblance of a bow from his seat. “I beg your pardon, Your Graces. Do forgive me.”

“Are you quite all right, Gardiner?” the duke asked from his end of the table.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Rupert stood and bowed properly. “Merely a difficult swallow, sir.” His humiliation mounted.

“Very well. Do eat more carefully, sir.” The duke’s light tone gave others the leave to laugh and go back to their conversations.

Rupert lowered himself back into his chair, took one small sip of his wine, then turned his full attention to the woman on his left. “Miss Sharpe.”

She was attempting to pretend there was a wall between them, given her refusal to look at him. Had his accident somehow embarrassed her?

He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. “Miss Sharpe?”

She hesitantly turned to him, then whispered, “I am sorry I made you cough.”

Rupert’s heart softened further toward her. “I owe you an apology, too. I did not mean to give you insult before. About the scientific journal.”

Those blue eyes were wide and apologetic behind her spectacles. “You did not? I mean—of course not.” She dropped her gaze to her lap where he saw she twisted a ring around her thumb. “It must surprise you, though. My cousin always thought it odd for a woman to show interest—”

“For anyone, Miss Sharpe.” He forced a smile. He had already humiliated himself that evening. Making a clear, thorough apology would not hurt his pride. “I can count on one hand the number of acquaintances I have, outside of the