Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Ryland sat at the large mahogany table in his parents' dining room and cut into his hen, pulling a bite of meat onto his fork. He hadn't been able to focus since the moment in the woods the other day. Every time he found a minute to himself, his mind wandered to the old church ruins and the way Aurelia had felt in his arms.

He'd not touched a woman at all in years—not beyond the quick embrace his mother or sister occasionally foisted upon him. This was…different.

Aurelia hadn't felt like a mother or a sister at all. Pressed against Ryland's chest, she had felt unaccountably good, which frightened him. He couldn't have these feelings for his son's governess. It was entirely inappropriate. Yet five minutes could not pass without his mind or his body recalling that moment.

It was pathetic. He felt like a seventeen-year-old boy again, kissing a pretty girl behind the large tents at the autumn fete and feeling like his body filled with soap suds.

And he hadn't even kissed her. Gads, he was a mess.

"Ryland?" Wycliffe asked loudly, as though he'd repeated himself multiple times already.

Ryland lifted his head to see his entire family staring at him.

Ruth blinked. "What in Heaven's name were you thinking about?"

He shoved the meat into his mouth and chewed.

She rolled her eyes. "I know it must not be that interesting, Ry."

"I'd wager you were thinking about your horses," Wycliffe said.

"Wager? Oh, this could be a lark," Ruth said, grinning. She set down her fork and knife. "I will guess…the quiet of your own house and how much you'd rather be there right now."

Ryland ignored that but shot her a rueful glance. He hadn't been thinking about that, but now he was and it sounded blissful. His own quiet library, the roaring fire, his comfortable chair.

"That isn't it," Mother said, watching him. He would have squirmed beneath her attention had he not felt like the action would reveal more than he wished.

"Do you know, Mama?" Ruth asked, her interest piqued.

"No," Mother said, dropping her gaze to her drink. She lifted the wine and took a sip, not meeting Ryland's gaze. "But I can see no one has guessed it yet."

"Hot drinking chocolate?" Ruth guessed.

"Edmund's new horse?" Wycliffe asked. He snapped. "Biscuit was his name, yes?"

"No," Ryland said to both of them. "Well, the name is Biscuit, but you aren't correct. It was nothing. Truly."

Wycliffe and Ruth looked to Mother for confirmation, who merely raised her shoulders. "I do not believe Andrew wishes to share."

He cringed. No one called him by that name anymore. He had been Lord Ryland from such a young age, his given name had been quickly replaced by my lord or Lord Ryland, or simply Ryland to those who were close to him. Jane and his mother had always used his given name, but no one else. After Jane died, his mother had stopped.

He hadn't noticed the change initially, but when he did, he was grateful to be raised by such an observant and kind woman. It had been a trial to hear his given name and not miss his wife—the first entire year after Jane died, Ryland had hardly functioned. When he finally began to make progress, the smallest thing would set him back in his recovery. The smell of rose perfume. The small watercolor of Jane holding an infant Edmund Ruth had done for them. The sound of his given name on anyone's lips. Those things had felt like an arrow through the sternum.

Now, surprised as he had been to hear it—Mother had undoubtedly slipped—hearing his given name didn't hold the sting that usually accompanied it, which was both a relief and left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was hard to admit he was healing, that while he was hurting and deeply missed his wife, he could hear his given name from his mother and not spin into a depressive episode.

Though, yes, he still cringed. He still missed Jane. He still wished she was seated beside him now, sharing a story about their day with his family, who had loved her so dearly.

His stomach constricted and he pushed away the thoughts. All this because his mind wandered to accidentally holding a woman in his arms. No, not just holding her. Enjoying the feeling.

He looked at his sister. "I was told you are forming a party to take a picnic to Dunder Hill."

Ruth's eyes brightened. She lowered her fork and knife. "Has Miss Beswick mentioned it? I thought it would provide a good opportunity to better come to know her."

Which was suspicious in its own right. What interest did Ruth have in his governess? He wanted to believe it was an offer made from kindness, but he knew her better than that.

"You needn't look at me that way," she said, cutting into her hen. "I invited both Oliver and Samuel as well. I am not being unkind to your friends."

"That wasn't my concern."

"Oh?" Ruth lifted an eyebrow. "You were not forming a lecture on the importance of being kind to Samuel? Do not lie to me, Ry. I can see it in your eyes."

"I was not."

She stared at him, clutching her knife and fork. "Fine. I believe you."

He leaped for the chance to change the subject. "For what it's worth, though, I am glad you did not put off Samuel again. He was blue-deviled after you left my house the other day without accepting his offer of assistance."

"He needs to learn when to cease," she muttered.

"Samuel Harding is a good man," Wycliffe said gently. "Comes from a good family."

"His mother is ridiculous," Ruth returned.

No one could refute that.

"Not that it matters," Ruth said airily. "I will not court a man from Harewood."

"So you've said," Wycliffe returned.

Ryland held her gaze. "If not a man from Harewood, then where do you plan to meet a husband, Ruthy?"

She shoved a bite of meat into her mouth so she wouldn't have to respond.

Ryland couldn't help but chuckle. He was convinced part of the reason for her ridiculous rule was so Samuel wouldn't even ask to court her. Unfortunately, he didn't let a silly rule stop him from doing his utmost to gain her favor.

In Ryland's private opinion, Ruth was far more suited to someone like Oliver, who would not be easily ruffled by her moods and could manage living with someone so vibrant. Alas, he was also from Harewood.

"She will find a husband when she is ready," Mother said, a tone of scolding to her words. "Perhaps during the Season. It is only a few more months until we leave for London."

Ruth made a face of distaste that subtly mirrored her father's. Ryland would have laughed if he had wanted to further endure Ruth's wrath.

"Perhaps I will grow old in this house with both of you," she said with a wide smile before sipping her wine.

Mother smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. "I have a feeling that will not be your future, Ruth. Enough about marriage. I want to hear about Miss Beswick."

Ryland nearly choked on his drink. Had his mother read his mind? She'd seemed like she knew what had continued to steal his attention during this meal, but it was impossible. Was it not? "What exactly would you like to know?"

"How is she getting on?"

"She's a sweet woman," Wycliffe said. "Perfectly acceptable."

"Edmund adores her," Ruth added.

Ryland looked between them. "She is performing adequately."

The room went silent. "You sound as though you do not like the woman," Mother said.

Had he? "She is good at teaching and good with Edmund."

"What more do you need?" Ruth asked. "I like her very much. She appears to be a reasonable woman. I hope to have more time to speak to her at Dunder Hill. If you could keep your friends away from me, that would be lovely."

"I am not attending," he said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. In truth, he'd considered it, but after the turmoil his emotions had gone through over the last few days, Ryland wanted to keep his distance from Aurelia. It was better to maintain their professional distance than to allow the water to muddy between them. It was not her fault she'd tripped over the tree stump, of course, and he had only stepped forward to catch her out of an innate sense of chivalry. But he could still recall the feeling of her in his arms. It wouldn't leave him alone.

Ruth frowned. "Whyever not?"

For the life of him, Ryland could not think of one good reason. Not a reason he could state aloud, at least. He was not about to tell his mother and sister of the unwelcome feelings for his governess.

"Your son will be there," Ruth pressed. "Your governess will be there. Your friends will be there. I know you prefer to avoid Society, but do tell me you have not sunk so low as to avoid us as well?"

"No, of course not."

"Then you will join us?"

What other choice did he have? He scowled. "Certainly, Ruth. However could I refuse you?"

"Simple." Her blue eyes shone with mischief. "You cannot."

Autumn had chosen to arrive in full by the time the party had been organized to venture to the lookout on Dunder Hill. Ryland drove his curricle, providing them with a lovely view and a cold ride. The group from Tilton was cozy on the narrow bench seat, Edmund in between Ryland and Aurelia. It appeared that Aurelia wished to speak about their uncomfortable moment near the ruins as much as he did, which meant they avoided it entirely.

Edmund ensured the drive did not pass silently. He chattered on about the animal tracks Mr. Barnes was teaching him to identify, the Greek alphabet he was slowly memorizing, and the fairy tales Aurelia had taken to reading to him each night before he went to sleep.

Ryland looked at Aurelia, whose attention was directed over the countryside they were passing. Her hair was fastened in a tight knot behind her head, the blonde hair scraped into submission, making her jaw cut a striking line. She sat primly, but he didn't miss the way she gripped the seat. "What have you been reading?"

"Fairy tales," Edmund said. "My favorite is the one with the wolf."

Aurelia's head whipped toward Ryland, her blue eyes bright and round. " Little Red Riding Hood ," she explained. "We've been reading from Perrault's Tales of Mother Goose ."

Ah, that explained it. He leaned toward his son. "Did your nightmare the other night have anything to do with a large wolf?"

Edmund looked up at him with outrage. "Of course not, Papa. I am not such a namby-pamby as that."

Ryland swallowed his laugh, keeping his face straight. "You are very brave, son."

"Extremely brave," Aurelia added. "I could not have slept in my room last night if not for Edmund's heroics."

This was new information. "Oh?"

The six-year-old puffed his chest. "I caught a spider for Miss Beswick and let it outside, Papa, exactly as you showed me."

"A large spider," Aurelia said with great consequence. "Very large."

Edmund was nearly buzzing with energy recalling the event. "And fast. I had to move quicker than a tiger to capture it."

"A tiger?"

"We have been reviewing animals from India," she said. "Master Edmund would like to travel there when he is finished with university, so we have begun preparing him for what he might expect to encounter."

"India," Ryland repeated, feeling lost in the conversation. "I thought you wanted to be a groom."

"I have changed my mind. There will be horses in India with me. I'd rather be an explorer ."

"What of Tom? Did you not plan to become grooms together?"

Aurelia looked at Ryland, but he only spared her a small glance before returning his attention to the road. They'd reached the base of Dunder Hill and were climbing the shallow lane toward the top. He was certain it sounded odd that they were discussing Edmund's future as though he would become anything other than an earl. Ryland had his reasons.

Edmund snuggled closer to his side. "Tom can come with me if he wants to." His voice sounded less certain now than it had a moment ago.

"Perhaps." Ryland shifted the reins, guiding the horses around a bend. "You have many years ahead of you to decide, Edmund."

The boy was silent while they pulled to the top and off the road, finding a place to park the curricle beside the two carriages that had already arrived. Cool wind whipped Ryland's coat tails and Aurelia's bonnet ribbons, dragging them across her face. She pulled them down, working to untie the knot so she could fasten it more tightly, he imagined.

Ryland watched her gloved fingers fumble with the ribbon for a beat too long before he handed the reins to his groom, Paul, who had ridden on the back of the carriage, and climbed to the ground. He helped Edmund down and he immediately ran to join Tom and Peter near a grouping of large boulders. When Ryland made it around to the other side of the curricle, he paused and looked up, watching Aurelia struggle to tie her bonnet. He reached for her. "It will be easier if you use the curricle to block the wind."

She held the top of her bonnet with one hand and took his hand in the other, her delicate gloved fingers wrapping over his. Maneuvering through long, thick skirts that were being pushed about by the wind, she tried to find the foot hold to step down. Why in blazes had he thought it would be a nice day to drive out in an open-air conveyance? He should have taken the weather into account. He wasn't used to needing to consider the state of a woman's hair anymore.

Aurelia made it to the ground and pulled her hand free. She tugged at her ribbons again, but now that Ryland was closer, he could see where the knot had formed.

"It's tangled."

"What is?" she asked, pulling at the ribbons and making a mull of things. She huffed as a gust of wind blew the loose bonnet from her head and hung it behind her neck.

"May I help?" Ryland asked. "I have experience with bonnet ribbons." He bit down on the fingertip of his leather glove and pulled it off before yanking the second one and shoving them into his coat pocket.

"Yes, thank you," she muttered, though he had already begun working at the knot.

His knuckles brushed the underside of her chin while he worked, and the cold stiffened his fingers. How the devil had she made such a mess of it? He worked the knot loose, his attention on the ribbon and purposefully ignoring the creamy skin of her throat where his fingers were brushing. She froze.

He'd intentionally kept away from her as much as possible since that moment near the old ruins, and now he was afraid he'd made things even more uncomfortable between them by trying to help with her bonnet. He'd felt responsibility for the wind ruining it, and now he'd taken things too far.

Too late, now. He ought to finish the task he'd started.

"Do you often tie the ribbons on your servants' bonnets?" she asked. He could hear how she'd been trying to lighten the situation, but the unevenness of her voice belied her discomfort.

"Only when they've allowed them to become so tangled," he muttered, keeping his focus on the task at hand. "Got it." He pulled the ribbons loose, smoothing his fingers along them. "Where would you like the bow? Near the right ear? Left?"

"The center is fine." She fought a smile, the movement of her lips arresting him

Focus, man .

"You have more experience with this than I realized," she said. "I thought you were speaking in jest earlier."

Ryland lifted the bonnet and placed it on her head. "Ruth has been my sister for most of her life, and I was married to a woman who took great care to be fashionable for a handful of years. I've had many occasions to help a woman with her ribbons."

"Not servants then."

"No." He looked at her, wondering exactly what she wanted to say to him between those words, the meaning she was passing along. It was clear from the frank way she watched for a reaction she had meant something . Perhaps drawing a line under the point that she was neither his sister nor his wife.

It was worse because he'd had a glimpse of her fiery attitude in the inn when they first met, waving about her pistol with a hand on her hip. Now that she was in his employ, she was excessively cautious. It made him want to peel back her wariness and tell her she did not need to be proper constantly. What message would that portray? He desired more of her, but he knew he shouldn't.

Ryland tugged to make sure the bow was tight and stepped back. "You are ready for the picnic now, madam."

"Thank you, my lord." Aurelia dipped a curtsy and turned toward the women gathered near the blanket. Servants were laying the picnic items on a small table beside a stack of plates. Ruth stood in the center of them all, hands clasped before her, watching Ryland. Her face was neutral, her eyes unyielding. It was startling to find her attention so squarely on him, her judgment withheld.

He noticed Jacob Ridley standing beside his wife, Eliza. Ryland pushed away his insecurities and went to greet them. There was nothing for Ruth to have noticed, because he'd done nothing untoward.

Aurelia was his son's governess, nothing more. There would never be anything more.