The woman looked grim and miserable as ever. He wondered how Pippa’s interview with the nursemaid had gone. Croydon’s countenance was perpetually so joyless that he could discern nothing.
“Your Grace,” she said coldly, dipping into a curtsy.
“Madam,” he returned. “I suppose you have come to collect Char-char for her nap.”
“Indeed I have.” Her gaze flitted to Charlotte. “It would appear as if she will require a bath as well.”
Disapproval dripped from her.
The sooner she was gone, the better. Roland had consulted his housekeeper, who had recommended a very pleasant maid who possessed a great deal of experience with younger siblings. He intended to speak to Pippa and ask what she thought of having the maid stand in for Croydon until her replacement was chosen. He would happily pay the nursemaid her return trip to London and her wages until she found a new post.
All he wanted was her gone.
“As you see fit, madam,” was all he said.
A miracle, for he wanted to give the woman a sound tongue lashing instead.
“There is grass staining on your gown, Miss Charlotte, and your hem is quite torn,” the woman was saying, frowning down at Char-char. “To say nothing of the dog fur on your face. Your face is quite flushed, young lady. Were you wearing a hat?”
She had, but as had happened on so many occasions when the girl was out of doors and running about as she preferred, the headwear had fallen off only Lord knew where.
“That will be enough chastisement, Croydon,” he interrupted, hating the manner in which his stepdaughter’s shoulders had begun to droop and the happiness leached from her lively little form. “If you take issue with her appearance, make it known to me.”
The nursemaid stiffened at his reprimand and dropped into another curtsy. “As you wish, Your Grace. It was not my intention to displease you.”
Charlotte clung to his hand, clearly not wishing to go with Croydon. However, for all her coldness and lack of emotion, the woman had never done Char-char physical harm. If she had, he would have thrown her out on her arse long ago. He was deferring to his wife’s wishes in the handling of this matter. Charlotte was her daughter, and the nursemaid had been in her employ for two years, whether or not she had been chosen by Shaw.
He sank to his haunches and faced Char-char. “I shall see you soon for another round of bird chasing, but first you must have your bath and a nap.”
“More stories?” she asked hopefully.
Her love of the Oneida tales his mother had once told him made his heart swell with pride. Charlotte may have been born of George Shaw’s blood, but Roland intended to spend the rest of his life earning his place as her father.
He winked. “I have another story or two for you as well.”
Charlotte grinned and—with obvious reluctance—allowed her nursemaid to lead her away. Puppy would have trotted in their wake, but Roland knew the nursemaid’s tolerance for the exuberant pup was exceedingly low, so he enlisted a nearby footman to take him to his bed for a nap of his own.
Relieved of his fatherly duties for the moment, Roland sought out his wife.
He found Pippa in the salon where she had conducted her interview with Croydon. She stood before a bank of windows that overlooked the glistening Wylde Park lake. Just beyond, the ruins of Wylde Castle were visible. Although the crumbling edifice had gone uninhabited for centuries, it was still a magnificent sight to behold, even from this distance.
But no sight could compare to Pippa.
“How was the interview?” he asked her.
She emitted a small squeal of surprise and spun away from the windows, palm flattened over her heart. “Heavens, Roland! You startled me.”
“Forgive me.” He raised a brow, making a sweeping gesture over his large frame. “I did not believe myself capable of moving with enough quiet to give anyone a fright.”
Her smile filled his heart.
And his cock.
But now was not the time for ravishing. They had some serious business to discuss.
“I suppose I was lost in my thoughts and that is why I did not hear you. However, you are remarkably stealthy for a man as tall and muscled as you are.”
He closed the distance between them, taking her in an embrace that she returned with a familiar ease. “Perhaps thanks is owed to my Oneida roots. I am descended from a line of great hunters, according to my mother. Now, back to my original question if you please. How did the interview with Croydon go for you?”
