“If you needanything,” he answered, “my arms and my fists are both at your service.”
She kissed his cheek and slipped out the door.
Bastien helped her into the carriage. “Did Lucien perform the ‘you need not do this’ speech?”
She arched her brows. “You aren’t going to say the same?”
“Would it matter?” He took the reins. “You can and should do as you please. I have never met anyone more capable thanmapetite sœur. If anything, I am surprised you did not invent a ‘remède’that would project your body into both places at once so that you could do Skeffington this favor without actually leaving home.”
“Believe me,” she said with a grin. “I tried. The best I could do was install tubes to deliver food to Chef. Now Uncle Jasper can be in two places at once.”
The brisk autumn air braced her cheeks as her brother expertly steered their carriage up the winding road toward the Skeffington residence on the other side of the castle.
Bastien’s grip on the reins grew tighter. “If he touches you…”
“He won’t touch me,” Désirée assured him.
Jack wouldn’t come near her even if she asked him to. Englishmen were too frightened of her brothers’ protective wrath to engage in occasional flirtatious banter, much less dare to steal a kiss.
Although she would never admit it to her brothers, Désirée had no such compunction. She wasn’t going tomarryan Englishman, for the love ofmadeleines. But what harm could there be in kissing one or two or three before returning to France and respectability?
The bonnet of the carriage grazed a few low-hanging branches as they cut through the park, sending a smattering of red and yellow leaves dancing into the air.
Bastien guided the horses away from the narrow stream that flowed through the rear garden of the Skeffington property and circled round to the front instead, stopping the carriage as close to the door as possible.
“This is temporary.” His eyes held hers. “You will be an excellent governess.”
She nodded, swallowed. “I will be an excellent temporary governess.”
But now that they were here, the scheme felt more, rather than less fantastical. With the exception of Marlowe Castle—and the Duke of Nottingvale’s palatial winter home, the rest of Cressmouth’s residents lived in cozy cottages with stone chimneys and cheery red roofs.
Jack Skeffington’s cottage somehow seemed more imposing than all the others. Perhaps it was larger than most. Or perhaps the vast gardens surrounding it made it seem more isolated than the others.
Or perhaps Désirée was suffering a preemptive attack of homesickness at the prospect of being apart from her brothers.
Bastien sighed. “I’ll get your trunk.”
She nodded.
But before either of them could alight from the carriage, the front door flew open and a trio of footmen spilled out. One helped Désirée down whilst the other two ferried her scarred leather trunk into the house and out of sight.
“Of course,” Bastien muttered. “When we regain our birthrights—”
“—we’ll have footmen for our footmen,” she murmured back.
But the truth was, she wasn’t thinking about footmen. Or France. Or even her brothers.
Jack Skeffington had just appeared on his front step.
Dark brown hair tumbled carelessly over his forehead, in contrast to the perfect folds of the brilliant white cravat flowering out from a crisp black jacket and a waistcoat the green of ocean froth on a summer day. He had the muscled legs of a talented rider, and the expensive but unshined boots of a man who could afford anything he wanted… but did not waste his time with anything that did not truly matter.
He smiled at Désirée. “We’ve been looking forward to your arrival.”
Annie and Frederick’s eager faces poked out from either side of him.
“No pig,” Annie said with obvious disappointment.
“I told you,” Frederick said smugly.
