“What happened to yer lip?” Rhianna demanded, her chocolate eyes wide as saucers in her angular face. “And are ye wearing cosmetics? Did ye get them from Paris? I heard they’re only worn by actresses and prostitutes.”
“Haud yer Wheesht, Rhianna,” Liam commanded, earning him a glower from his daughter, though she complied. She had no manners and even less respect, Liam was ashamed to admit. In the army, one caned or shot someone for insubordination. With a slip of a daughter, Liam was at a loss for what to do. He dare not raise a hand in anger to his children. There had been enough of that in this house, and Liam refused to be like his father.
“Ye see, Miss Lockhart, how in need we are of your expertise. Rhianna will apologize for her discourtesy.”
Everyone held their breath, wondering if Rhianna was about to throw one of her famous tantrums, but she merely slid out her lower lip in a dramatic pout and muttered, “Apologies,” without looking up.
Miss Lockhart’s glove had gone to her own lip and self-consciously lingered there. After a few surprised blinks, she lowered her hand and gifted his daughter with a kind smile. “I’ve always had a fondness for an inquisitive mind. I suppose now is the right moment to explain to you all that I was … in a carriage accident not a week ago and sustained a few abrasions. The cosmetics were a capitulation to my vanity and maybe a little to my hopes of making a good impression here.”
Her voice was the auditory equivalent of warm honey, sweet and languid, and Liam let it coat his senses for a beat longer than he should have.
“A carriage accident?” he repeated, grasping at the vestiges of stoicism. “Ye seem to be rather prone to those of late.”
The comment took her more aback than he’d thought it would. “Yes, well…” She blinked at him, at an apparent loss for words.
“We’re just glad ye’re not hurt,” Russell said, gifting the lass with his most charming smile.
“Thank you, Mr. Mackenzie.” The appearance of dimples on the edges of her smile was enough to distract Liam from what he was about to say next.
Luckily, Miss Lockhart didn’t await a prompting. “It’s lovely to make the acquaintance of you both, Rhianna and Andrew. I’m very much looking forward to our time together.”
True to form, Andrew muttered a “likewise” and said not another word, but stood when he should stand, and bowed when he should bow, doing just enough to not draw Liam’s ire. Which, of course, was beyond irritating.
“Ye dress better than any governess I’ve ever had,” Rhianna remarked artlessly. “Is that the latest in London couture?”
“It is.” Miss Lockhart’s bosom turned an intriguing pink. “But you’ll have a much prettier trousseau once you’re of age.”
“I am of age in most circles,” Rhianna huffed. “Father is making me wait another year, and I’m certain to be an old maid by then.”
Miss Lockhart only smiled again, but Liam thought he observed a rueful tightening in her eyes. “Don’t be in too much of a rush to marry, dear,” she said, and then seemed to remember herself. “Give me enough of your time, and you’ll be the jewel of next season, I swear it.”
Rhianna assessed her new governess with skepticism, but finally nodded.
“Kindly take yer seat, Miss Lockhart, the soup is getting cold.” Liam gestured to the seat next to Rhianna, and tried not to notice the sway of the governess’s generous hips when she walked. She didn’t glide like so many ladies were wont to do. She swayed, each lift of her foot telegraphed by a corresponding movement of her body. A swivel of the hip, a swing of her arm, and a slight, jiggling ripple in the soft skin of her décolletage.
Gritting his teeth, Liam sat. “We’re a regimented household, Miss Lockhart, and in the future will start dinner at the stroke of eight.”
“Yes, my lord.” Soft russet lashes swept down beneath his disapproving look, properly chastised.
Liam winced beneath a ripple of regret that slithered through him.
Jani held her chair out for her, and the governess took it with perfect grace. Liam became absorbed with his soup the moment it was served as it gave him a reason not to look at her.
Dinner was generally a purposeful meal, and they ate in silence save for a few terse items of business discussed with Russell, if any words were spoken at all. So when Miss Lockhart broke the silence, everyone passed uneasiness around the table like a breadbasket.
“Since comportment and conduct are part of my duties, Rhianna, would you permit me to show you the way the ladies eat soup in London?”
Rhianna paused mid-slurp and slid a mutinous look to her new governess. Liam could tell that his daughter absolutely wanted to know, but didn’t want to be taught. She was a difficult girl that way. Eschewing authority, but frustrated at not knowing her boundaries and constantly overstepping.
“I suppose,” she replied carefully.
They all observed Miss Lockhart as she held her soup spoon delicately, and dipped it into the potato and leek soup. “You scoop it away, rather than toward, and bring it slowly to your mouth, instead of bending over the bowl. The important part is that you sip instead of slurp.”
Liam’s eyes remained affixed to her lips as she took a delicate sip from her spoon, and returned it to the bowl. She ate like she did everything else. With elegance and poise. Could it be that she was as unaware of her innate sensuality as she pretended?
“Now you try,” she encouraged.
Rhianna echoed her movements perfectly until the grating sound of a slurp filled the expectant silence.