Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Ryland thrusted the foil toward Samuel, watching his friend jump out of the way before he could make contact. Samuel turned, parrying and landing a clean hit.

They both dropped their blunted foils and stepped back, chests heaving and sweat dripping from their brows. Ryland pulled off his mask and wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. "I am not performing well today."

Samuel pulled his mask off, revealing golden hair dark with sweat and sticking out every which way. Fencing was the only time the dandy could be seen in less than pristine condition. It always brought quiet amusement to Ryland to watch Samuel slowly right himself after a bout of fencing.

"I can go again," Samuel said, using a handkerchief to wipe his face.

"We've been at it for far too long already." Ryland crossed toward the window of the empty gallery room and set his foil on the table. His gaze snagged on the large oak tree behind his garden and the women seated in front of it. They had been out there for the last hour—as long as he had been fencing with Samuel—seated in the same place and looking at the tree.

That was not the strangest part. Edmund, his easily distracted son, had spent the entirety of that hour seated between them, also watching the tree. It was odd, intriguing, and likely the reason for Ryland's poor performance today. Confound it, he was decidedly distracted.

Samuel set his foil down and came to stand at the window, looking out over the grass to where the women were seated. "Oliver told me about the new governess. She does have a remarkable likeness to Jane."

"Do you think people will talk?" Ryland asked, voicing the question that had sat on his mind since he had agreed to allow Aurelia to stay.

Samuel leaned a shoulder against the windowsill, watching the women. "People will always talk. Does that matter to you?"

"Not for my own sake."

"But for hers?"

"I was thinking of Edmund." He couldn't deny Aurelia's resemblance to his late wife. Oliver and Wycliffe had agreed with him. Samuel remarked upon it without prodding. It was going to be a topic of conversation among the people of Harewood, undoubtedly. The first time Aurelia attended church or walked through town and it was made known she was Edmund's new governess, word would spread like the plague that Ryland had found a governess who looked exactly like Edmund's mother.

What would they think? That he was attempting to assemble his family again? He wasn't so daft as that. Jane was not returning. No part of him wanted to replace her, either. Should he put an announcement in the paper that this was a coincidence and nothing more?

He rolled his tight shoulders. "Perhaps I am worrying more than I ought. No one will judge Edmund for having a governess who looks like his mother."

"No. They might wonder if you chose her with that in mind, however."

"How could I have? I did not see the woman until she arrived." Or rather, until she was on her way to his house, but that was a matter of semantics. "It is all a matter of accident."

"Fate?" Samuel asked, looking down at the women again, a faraway look in his eyes.

It was no secret he'd been hanging after Ruth for the last few years, but Ryland did his best to ignore the issue. Ruth had been clear about her disinterest in Samuel's suit, which meant Ryland needed to stand behind her as her brother. As much as he tried to remain a neutral party, Ryland couldn't help noticing the naked yearning in his friend's eyes as he looked down at Ruth.

"No fate involved," Ryland argued, stretching his arms as he stepped away from the window. His shoulder had been giving him grief the last few days, and fencing had seemed to aggravate his old injury. He rolled his shoulder again, trying to draw Samuel's attention away from the window. "I don't usually care much for what Society says. This should be no different."

Samuel raised his golden eyebrows. "It involves Jane . You may feel however you'd like on the matter."

The frank permission he'd been granted to be frustrated with his present situation fell through him like a fresh breeze. He let it sit in his bones and fill his body. He was frustrated. Thus far, Edmund seemed to like Miss Beswick very much. Ryland couldn't speak to her methods or success in teaching because he had done his level best to keep distance between them, but he could sense she was good for his son.

That would outweigh any gossip or assumptions being made about his household, surely. It must, for Edmund's sake.

"Enough about me," Ryland said, wiping his face with a cloth. He needed to wash up and change from these clothes. "I want to hear about the curricle race."

Samuel's grin spread as he pulled off his shirt and replaced it with another. He made quick work of buttoning a ruby red waistcoat and attaching his watch with a gold chain and array of fobs. "It's set for Saturday next. Think you will spectate?"

"I wouldn't miss it."

Samuel folded his cravat and tied it effortlessly, then slid his arms into his coat. The man took great care with the polish of his Hessian boots and the color of his garish waistcoats, but beneath the attention to detail in his wardrobe was an excellent whip, and he was bent on proving that to Harewood during a race set a few weeks from now.

"Thank you for not telling me how dangerous it will be." Samuel sat and pulled on his boots, turning them toward the light from the window to check for smudges. "Oliver wants me to cancel the race."

Of course he did. Oliver was nothing if not cautious, and racing could be extremely dangerous. There was no point in repeating those sentiments. "I needn't tell you what you already know."

Samuel looked up. "Oh, no. You as well?"

Ryland's hands went up. "I am saying nothing."

"Which is saying quite a lot." He shook his head and pulled on his second boot. "I thought you supported me."

"I'll be there, Sam. Is that not support?"

His friend made an irritated sound and tugged at his cuffs, checking to ensure everything was in order before he left the fencing room. He gathered his things together and loaded them into his satchel. "What of Ruth?"

"She will likely not be there."

"You could bring her. Women sit at the finish line and cheer for the victor."

Ryland preceded him through the door and started downstairs without answering. Regardless of what other women did, Wycliffe wouldn't approve of the outing for his daughter. Best not to put the idea in her head, either.

When Ryland's feet hit the bottom step, he heard the sounds of women's laughter float through the all-too-quiet corridors. He hardly had time to hope his friend would continue outside to retrieve his horse when Samuel stopped walking, his head turning toward the feminine sounds.

"I would love to meet Edmund's new governess," Samuel said, as though that was the motivation for lagging instead of the very real tendre he harbored for Ruth. He grinned, flashing his teeth.

"She has rules about courting men from Harewood."

"You would allow your governess to court a man?" Samuel was theatrically surprised by this. The dolt.

Ryland leveled him with a look. "You know exactly to whom I referred."

Samuel grinned. "People change. Rules can, too."

Ryland held his tongue. His sister had many, many self-imposed rules by which she governed her life. They were subject to change on a whim and some were far more logical than others, but the one that had been repeated most frequently in the last few years was her refusal to court a man from Harewood.

She had no such qualms about chasing after a man from Locksley, a town so near they could practically see it if they stood on Tilton's roof, but that was beside the point. Her rule had less to do with legitimate geography and more to do with keeping Samuel at bay. Besides, the Locksley man had turned out to be a fortune hunter. Ruth was understandably wary of men at present.

"It is too soon to the Emeril debacle to press your suit," Ryland warned, thinking of how deeply he still wanted to wring the fortune seeker's throat.

Samuel bent near the small looking glass set behind the wall sconce and angled himself enough to see his hair, brushing it into order with his fingers. Trust the man to find a mirror when he needed one, even a tiny one intended to throw a candle's light through a corridor.

Ryland bit back a smile, shaking his head as he made his way toward the sounds of the women. The meeting was unavoidable. Best to have it done with.

"Can we return tomorrow?" Edmund's young voice sounded small as it carried through the house.

Ryland stopped walking. He enjoyed hearing the eager tone in the question. Jane had died when Edmund was two years old, so the boy didn't remember his mother. He'd not lacked for positive women's influences—both Ryland's mother and Ruth played heavy roles in Edmund's life. The boy was loved.

But even so, Ryland's mother and sister had their own lives and—in Mother's case—children and a household to run. She'd had a son with Wycliffe around the same time Edmund was born, providing Edmund with an uncle his age. The boys were more like cousins and got on well. All the same, it was a comfort to know Edmund had Aurelia as well—at least, for now.

"We can certainly return to our study tomorrow," Aurelia said, her tone pleasant and soothing. Where Edmund had sounded small and delicate, Aurelia's detached voice was rich and calm like a brocaded silk, layered with interwoven notes and meaning he couldn't identify. It was a beautiful voice, and he found himself wondering if she sang. "If you finish your letters and arithmetic lesson first," Aurelia said, dragging him back to the present.

Ryland and Samuel left the corridor and entered the entryway.

"Papa!" Edmund said when he noticed them, breaking away from the women. "Can I go to Willowbrook with Aunt Ruth? Please? I will behave well and use my manners."

Ruth caught his eye, her blue eyes full of mirth. He imagined there had been much begging on Edmund's part before Ruth agreed to take him home with her. "I rode here, but it wouldn't be the first time I put Edmund in front of me. Tom could use the distraction."

He translated that to mean their mother could use the distraction, and their brother Tom was getting into some mischief or another.

"I am happy to take Edmund on my horse and convey him to your house," Samuel said. "I have far more room in my saddle."

Ruth put a hand around her nephew. "We've never minded being cozy." She tugged Edmund close, her eyebrows lifting. "Have we?"

"Please?" Edmund begged, his round blue eyes pleading.

"If you mind your aunt and do everything your grandmother says?—"

"Thank you!" Edmund said, tearing across the entry hall to hug his father. He hurried toward the door, racing outside.

Ruth laughed, following him. "It was such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Beswick. I am sure I shall see you again soon." She dipped her head to Samuel. "And you, Mr. Harding. Good day, brother." She was through the door and gone before anyone could waylay her.

If Samuel did not heed that very blatant signal, then Ryland could do nothing for the man. "Can I introduce Edmund's governess?" he asked, hoping to take the sting from Ruth's rejection.

Samuel dipped in a handsome bow, a smile slashing over his face that quickly covered his disappointment. "Mr. Samuel Harding." He bent over her hand and placed a kiss on the back of her knuckles.

"This is Miss Aurelia Beswick," Ryland said while she curtsied, a little surprised by the kiss. It was outdated and not typical behavior toward a governess, of all people. Which likely explained Aurelia's rising blush. Did Samuel do that with everyone? Why had Ryland not noticed before? "She comes from London."

"Welcome to Harewood, ma'am. We are glad to have another lovely face around here. This house has been far too bland of late."

Ryland shook his head, fighting a laugh. "Much improved, I agree."

"Well, I must be off." Samuel bent in another bow. Another one. Was the man losing his mind? No. Merely in a hurry to catch up to Ruth. "Good day, Miss Beswick. Ryland." He turned for the door and left swiftly.

The door closed behind him, leaving them in silence. Aurelia looked toward the place Samuel had been standing. She drew in a breath. "He is?—"

"A flirt," Ryland said. Who kissed the hand of a governess on their first meeting? "Do not take him seriously."

Aurelia clasped a sketch book in front of her that Ryland hadn't noticed before. "I was going to say colorful ."

It was an apt descriptor for Samuel. Ryland fought the warmth spreading up his neck. Why did he care if Samuel kissed Aurelia's hand? It was inappropriate and odd—the woman was a governess and a stranger. One simply did not go around kissing women's hands. The impudence of it.

She was watching him now, waiting for a response. "He does enjoy a striking waistcoat," he said.

Aurelia nodded once, holding the sketchbook tighter. She turned as though she meant to go upstairs. He didn't blame her for wanting to be far away from him. He'd ignored her for the entire week she'd been here so far. He had set a precedent and she was only following suit.

But each evening, when he went to Edmund's room to bid the boy a good night, he'd been regaled with reports of her kindness, fairness, and entertaining stories.

"I should have asked you before allowing Edmund to go with Ruth."

She looked back, surprised. Her eyes were so blue, striking in the midday light streaming through the windows high above them. "He is your son."

"Even so, I do not wish to impede his studies."

Aurelia looked at him without blinking. He felt her attention to his bones, unable to hold her gaze. She opened the sketchbook and flipped to a page, then stepped forward two paces until she rested in the shaft of sunlight like an angel, angling the book to show him the drawing. "Our recent studies involved monitoring the habits of the red squirrel in the back garden, my lord." She smiled lightly. "Edmund had reached his limit today for Latin and arithmetic."

Ryland took the book and admired his son's smooth strokes and badly proportioned squirrel. He turned the page and looked at the oak tree. It was much easier to discern. "If you had not told me what animal that was, I never would have been able to identify it."

Aurelia's face remained neutral, but her posture stiffened. "It is not an entirely useless activity. There are scientific skills he can learn."

Ryland could have sworn. He hadn't meant to give her reason to think he doubted her methods. He had assumed they were outside merely to enjoy the sunlight. It was no secret Aurelia liked to do that. One of the few times he'd seen her over the last week, she had been walking outside, her head tipped toward the light, eyes closed. Even now, she stood in the shaft of light coming through the window. He didn't know if she was intentional about it, but she sought the light, and he assumed she was giving his son a break from the schoolroom.

"I am not opposed to any activity that teaches Edmund to sit in one place for so long."

"And observation and drawing?" she prompted.

"Both worthwhile skills," Ryland agreed.

Aurelia seemed to relax. She smiled at him softly and reached for the sketchbook. He returned it to her hands.

She turned to leave, but he wasn't quite ready to watch her go. He couldn't explain his desire to stretch the conversation further, only that he did not want it to end. "Do you have everything you need, Miss Beswick?"

"I do, thank you."

"And Tilly has been helpful?"

"Tilly is wonderful, my lord," she said.

That was it. He was out of excuses to prolong the conversation. She hovered, waiting for him to release her.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I try to balance my responsibilities with giving attention to my son, but even then, I am not always successful. His education is important to me, though, and above that, his happiness."

"Edmund is a sweet boy."

Ryland smiled, aware that all his son's sweetness came from Jane. "He is." He lowered his hand, an idea forming. This woman would spend more time with Edmund than anyone else in his life. "You will see him very frequently. I wonder if we could design to meet weekly—Mondays, perhaps?—to discuss his progress in all regards. Not only his education, but his happiness and behavior as well."

Aurelia nodded. "You wish for weekly reports?"

"I would like to be involved. To know how he is doing."

"Very well, my lord." She stood watching him, holding his eyes with her own blue ones for so long, he wondered what she was not saying. The air grew thick, and he suddenly desired a bruising ride above all things. Stepping back and breaking the taut connection, he dipped his head in a release. "Thank you, Miss Beswick."

"Of course, my lord."

He left to call for his horse to be saddled before he could say or do anything he might regret, like invite the woman to dine with him.

His loneliness was beginning to go to his head.