a drawer that she assumed would hold some kind of kindling. She rubbed her hand down the side of her face. How could she have forgotten?
She rushed over to the basket and pulled out kindling and wood, then turned in triumph to Mr. Woodsworth. “Here is the kindling and the wood.” Oh, how she wished she could tell him she was just about to grab them, but it wasn’t true.
Mr. Woodsworth was looking at her oddly. His brows were furrowed, and he cocked his head from one side to the other. This was the kindling, wasn’t it? She hadn’t done anything else wrong, had she?
“Your face . . .”
“What is wrong with my face?” Patience lifted a hand to wipe whatever was distressing Mr. Woodsworth but stopped when she saw the condition of her gloves. They were very black and covered in coal dust. “I’ve got coal all over it, haven’t I?”
He tucked his lips inside his mouth and nodded. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was about to laugh. Not knowing what else to do, she dropped her soiled gloves in the bucket of coal and removed the already-ruined, red-stained cap off the top of her head. Trying to keep herself from blushing, she quickly rubbed her face with the cap. Black streaks soon joined the red blotches, but she knew there was no way the dust on her face would be completely removed without a washbasin.
She expected to see Mr. Woodsworth still silently laughing at her, but when she pulled the cap away from her face his mouth was expressionless, his eyes glued to her hair.
“Oh no, have I done something to my hair as well? Is it covered in dust or grime?”
“What?” he said. “No, it is just so curly and, well, crimson, at least in the light. I don’t think I have ever seen hair like it. How do you manage to keep it that curly?”
“How do I manage? I don’t, obviously.”
“So you don’t curl your hair like that? I’ve seen my sister make curls in her hair, but they never looked like that, and it seemed like an arduous process.”
“No, I was born with these curls.” Much to Nicholas’s chagrin. Nothing showed a lack of decorum more than hair like hers.
Mr. Woodsworth’s eyes strayed to the top of her head and then focused on the fireplace or anywhere else in the room except her hair. “They suit you. God knew what he was doing when he gave you that head of hair. I shall have to remember to thank Him.”
Mr. Woodsworth was a strange character. Most of the time he was stiff and businesslike, but occasionally he would say something out of character like this. She willed her hand not to go to the small, tight curls she knew sat at the nape of her neck. “Why would you do that?”
“Your hair brings some color to the household, at any rate, and I can’t help but think they have something to do with the way you interact with Sophia’s children. They need someone like you desperately, at least until their father comes home.”
Patience didn’t have a response. She hadn’t felt like she had helped with the children at all. She hadn’t even managed to teach Augusta more than the answer of two and two. She figured she had been as unsuccessful at being a would-be governess as she had been at being a maid. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I visited with them last night, and Augusta actually tried to tickle me. Harry didn’t quite join in, but he did shout directions to her.”
Patience pulled her lips together to hide her smile.
“I can see from your reaction you had something to do with it.”
“Should I apologize?” Patience thought he was happy with her, but it was a strange thing to be happy about.
“No. I don’t have the luxury of knowing how to interact with children, but after last night, I feel as though I might be able to learn.”
“I can’t think anything could be hard for you to learn. I’ve dusted the books in your study. Any man who can stomach the annual invasions of Attica in Thucydides’s The History of the Peloponnesian War can handle interacting with a couple of children.”
Mr. Woodsworth gave her a strange look and then shook his head. “Here,” Mr. Woodsworth reached for the wood and kindling she held in her hand. “Let me help you with that.”
She pulled her hand away. She was the servant