Mr. Gardiner and the Governess - Sally Britton Page 0,38

him with her confident smile and dancing eyes, Rupert found himself entirely entranced.

“Lead the way, Mr. Gardiner.” She nodded to the forest. “I trust you to keep me safe.”

Alice followed Mr. Gardiner through the stand of chestnut trees, around an open field, and to the edge of the forest. The closer the trees loomed, the closer she drew to the gentleman’s side. She had no love for the closed-in woods and had not since becoming lost in a similar forest near her great-uncle’s home.

Thankfully, Mr. Gardiner stopped several feet from the first tree with its gnarled, grasping branches.

“Here. Stand quiet and still. You will hear them.” He put down his things, and Alice lowered his net to the pile he made. Then she held her sketchbook to her chest and listened.

At first she heard nothing but the wind and the rustle of the grass.

Then she heard the heavy buzz of hundreds of bees. Narrowing her eyes, she searched the tree line until she saw them, darting above the branches, flying in tight circles around one another. Her mouth fell open. “They sound as though they are rather angry. Are you certain it is safe to be this close?”

Mr. Gardiner moved closer, their shoulders nearly brushing, as he gazed in the same direction she did. “Quite certain. Yesterday, I stood directly beneath them and they paid me no heed.” He sighed rather deeply. “The beekeeper hasn’t the first idea where they are from. No one has reported their bees missing, he said. So these are likely wild, hunting for a place to begin a new colony with a young queen.”

Alice looked up again, the bonnet shading her eyes from the afternoon sun. “It is an impressive sight. How will the beekeeper capture them?”

“Mr. Badger—that is his proper name, you needn’t raise your eyebrows at me like that—will bring an empty hive-box beneath the tree. He will bait it with honeycomb from another hive. If they come inside and find they like it, they do most of his work for him. He need only wait until dusk to put them to sleep with a little smoke, then he can carry them back to where the rest of His Grace’s bees are kept.”

The process fascinated Alice, and Mr. Gardiner obviously took a great interest in it. “I did not even know the duke kept bees until today.”

“Most grand houses keep their own bees, unless there is an accomplished beekeeper nearby to do the task.” Mr. Gardiner shifted his stance, turning more toward her. His hand found her elbow again, touching her lightly. “I know you have your own work to see to today, Miss Sharpe, but I wanted to ask if I might send you more flowers to study. A third grouping. I planned to gather them today.” He gestured to the basket on the ground.

“Oh. Of course.” Alice tried to ignore his hand, alarmed as she was by her awareness of exactly where his fingertips lingered. Despite his glove, despite her long-sleeved gown, heat simmered there upon her skin and crept throughout the rest of her.

“Thank you.” His hand fell back to his side, and his gaze lowered to the ground. “I meant what I said before.”

Alice studied the line of his jaw, the way his eyebrows pulled together far too seriously. “What you said before?” she repeated, trying to calm her racing pulse.

“To the ladies. You have a wonderful gift, Miss Sharpe, and I am grateful for it. You have lifted part of the burden from my shoulders. I only wish I knew how to thank you properly.” He raised those dark eyes, meeting her stare squarely. Catching her studying him.

Alice’s mouth dried and her throat momentarily closed, and all thought fled as his gaze captured hers.

When had anyone given her such undivided attention? She could not recall a time when someone looked at her as though she meant something to them, as though she were important in her own right.

“You have already thanked me, when I was less than gracious about the responsibility.” She was nearly ashamed to admit as much, though logically she still knew she had been justified in her frustration with him.

Somehow, it no longer mattered that she must give up her own time for his project.

His expression softened, the look in his eyes gentle and almost admiring. He tilted his head closer, and Alice realized she had begun to lean toward him.

Abruptly she stepped back, raising her sketchbook higher as though it could shield her from—from