Mr. Gardiner and the Governess - Sally Britton Page 0,43

adjusted the spectacles on her nose. “I cannot think what good removing them would actually do.”

“Merely allow your eyes to show off to a better advantage,” Lady Isabelle answered with a single shoulder shrug. “But if you had to go about squinting, that would be worse. I think we have framed your face with your curls quite prettily.”

“I think Mr. Gardiner will be surprised. If he liked you before, he can only think you even prettier today.” Lady Rosalind sighed happily.

Alice looked into her small, square mirror. “Quite right, Lady Rosalind. Although—although I must protest again. Mr. Gardiner is not—he cannot be interested in me as anything other than a temporary colleague.”

She caught the skeptical raise of Lady Isabelle’s eyebrows in the mirror. “If you say so, Miss Sharpe.”

A warm, comfortable feeling settled in Alice’s heart, at odds with the way her stomach had twisted and turned before. To have such fine young ladies show so much interest in her, a nobody and their governess besides, gave her greater confidence. She checked her watch.

It was a quarter ’til two o’clock and time to meet Mr. Gardiner in the statue gardens. She took in a deep breath and reached for her bonnet.

Chapter 13

Rupert paced at the break in the roses that led from the upper terrace down into the statue gardens. He kept checking his pocket watch, though he had arrived early.

What if she did not come? What if she had decided against spending the hours of her freedom with him? Or what if she had questioned the propriety of their meeting and decided against the risk to her reputation?

Though most considered governesses both beneath their notice and above reproach, Miss Sharpe had made it clear how aware she was of her status in the household. If she cast aside his reassurances, the fear for her position might well keep her away.

What a shame that would be.

At five minutes until two o’clock, Rupert stuffed his watch into his waistcoat pocket. He tried to turn his attention to a moth resting on one of the roses, noting how its behavior differed from a butterfly a few roses over. The markings on the dark brown moth put him in mind of tree bark, which made the creature stand out while it rested on the pink petals of the flower. Yet it appeared safe from predators, since it resembled flora rather than fauna.

The crunch of a step on the gravel brought Rupert’s attention back to the path, and his heart sprang into his throat the way a cricket might jump through the grass. He turned his gaze to the archway at the moment Miss Sharpe stepped into it, her expression uncertain, her smile slight. Her visage—beautiful.

The color of her gown put him in mind of the clouded yellow butterfly’s wingtips—a delicate shade which emphasized her natural coloring prettily. Her blush upon catching his stare was nearly the same shade, and all at once Rupert wanted to take her in his arms and offer her shelter.

His mouth went dry, and his throat tightened. His words came out somewhat strangled. “Miss Sharpe. You came.”

She placed a gloved hand to her throat and looked down. “As I said I would, Mr. Gardiner.”

“Rupert.”

Her gaze rose, her lips parted in surprise. “Rupert?” Had anything ever sounded so right as his name falling from her tongue?

“My Christian name.” His stomach knotted and he tried to laugh. He had forgotten to think before speaking. His complete lack of decorum would endanger the whole afternoon. He tried to offer up excuses, poorly constructed as they were. “We are friends, are we not? But if you prefer, you might call me Gardiner instead. Unless you are uncomfortable with the whole idea, in which case, I must apologize—”

“Rupert,” she said again, more firmly. “It is a fine name. You must call me Alice.” Her cheeks remained that lovely pink shade, despite the sudden determination in her eyes. “We are friends, as you say. And colleagues. But perhaps—we should only do so in private—?”

“Of course,” he agreed hastily, stepping closer and offering her his hand. “That would be best, I agree. I am glad to see you.” When she gave him her hand, he bowed over it. “Alice.”

She could not know what a gift her name was to him. Or that he decided, in that instant, if he ever discovered a new species of butterfly, he meant to name it after her.

Then he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Where should we