Mr. Gardiner and the Governess - Sally Britton Page 0,24

them every day.” She pointed to the times she had written on the paper. “You can see that not every day is the same. Our schoolroom schedule has many variables due to the other tutors in residence and the duchess’s preferences.”

“Yes, I see.” He had not imagined that on some days she would not have time until after the dinner hour, at eight o’clock in the evening.

She continued on, completely matter-of-fact. “If anything changes, I will let you know at once. I understand more guests are coming next week, with children and a governess of their own. That might alter circumstances, too.”

Rupert’s rising disappointment almost surprised him. Miss Sharpe would not spend any more time in his company than necessary. A shame. He had found her conversation interesting, her candor refreshing, and her person as a whole rather appealing.

Another glance at the paper she had given him with her list of times and instructions made his heart sink. “Suppose you have questions during the work, Miss Sharpe?”

“I will send a note.” She closed her book and bent down to pick up her basket. “I promise I will be as efficient as possible.”

Efficiency hadn’t been quite what he hoped for, but Rupert nodded in reluctant acceptance. “May I ask—” He cut himself off, realizing he had no way to politely inquire as to whether or not she disliked his company. Not now that he had her agreement to help him.

The governess tilted her head to the side, the brim of her bonnet shading her face. “Ask...?” She let the question hang between them, her expression curious.

He dropped his gaze to her hand. “What is in your basket?”

A ridiculous question, but the best he could come up with under the circumstances.

“Oh.” She removed the cloth covering. “Frogs. I think they must be ill. I found them in Lord James’s room, in a trunk. I do not think he meant them any harm but keeping them indoors has done harm. I thought to take them to the sunken pond.”

Rupert’s jaw had fallen slack at some point. Likely when she had first shown him at least six frogs lying still atop a folded cloth. They were all breathing but hadn’t made a single sound. They were likely lethargic from lack of food and water, as she had supposed.

He looked up at her. “Why—? How did—?” Then he shook his head, completely confused. Never had he spoken to a woman on the subject of insects without finding them bored or put off. But here was a woman, born and raised as a gentlewoman, who had rescued frogs from a little boy’s trunk.

“I realize it would be better for the boy to return them himself, but I found them after he went out riding with his father and I thought it prudent to act in haste. I will, of course, speak to him later about this.” She covered the frogs up again, and Rupert had the wild desire to swoop down and kiss her.

Instead, he gestured to the path leading down to the sunken fountain. “May I accompany you?”

Kissing a woman over her compassionate behavior toward frogs would be illogical. Especially given her rather frosty manner of a few moments before.

Although still put out with the demanding gentleman, Alice nodded her consent to his escort. The sunken fountain was not far. Enduring him for a few more minutes would not over-tax her.

They walked in silence at first, he with his arms tucked behind his back, still in his shirtsleeves. She kept her basket and notebook tucked tight against her stomach.

“I think I owe you another apology, Miss Sharpe.”

Alice darted a look at him from the corner of her eye, around the edge of her spectacles.

“Only one, Mr. Gardiner?” She bit her tongue the moment the words escaped her. A governess could not speak to people that way.

He cocked his head to one side, and she could have sworn he fought back a smile given the way his lips tightened, and his dark eyes danced. “Perhaps several.”

Alice pulled her gaze away from his, back to the path. The willow tree that acted as entrance to the sunken fountain’s garden was within sight. He could not know how much his notice had harmed her comfort. “What do you imagine yourself to be apologizing for, sir?”

“Taking up your valuable time, I think. Perhaps making you uncomfortable with my demands for your help? Or maybe inconveniencing you as a whole would be the best thing to categorize the rest of