As if he were simply a man, and she simply a woman, and the chasm between them didn’t exist.
CHAPTER 12
“Such a terrible storm last night,” Lady Merrow remarked.
Louise kept her gaze fixed on Emily, who shrieked with delight as Buttercup bounded through the snow, sending white powder flying in glittering arcs.
The morning sun turned the garden into a crystal palace, every surface sparkling with frozen beauty. Beside her, Lady Merrow pulled her fur wrap closer, but her tone carried far more warmth than the winter air.
“Yes.” Louise watched her sister attempt to build a snowman with Buttercup’s enthusiastic but unhelpful assistance. “Quite unexpected for this time of year.”
“Indeed. The wind rattled the windows something fierce.” Lady Merrow’s breath formed small clouds in the cold air. “I hope you managed to sleep through it all.”
“I slept quite soundly, thank you.” The lie came easily, though heat crept up Louise’s neck.
“How remarkable.” Lady Merrow’s eyes twinkled with something knowing. “I find storms have a way of rearranging things. Doors that were closed suddenly open. People end up in the most unexpected places.”
Louise turned to face her hostess fully, summoning what dignity she could muster while her cheeks burned. “Lady Merrow, I assure you?—”
“My dear,” Lady Merrow interrupted gently, “life would be frightfully dull if everything proceeded exactly as expected. Sometimes the most interesting paths are the ones that lead sideways, or backwards, or in circles entirely.”
The kindness in her voice nearly undid Louise. Here was Lady Merrow, who had welcomed her and Emily with such warmth, offering nothing but kindness and understanding, and Louise had complicated everything by kissing her nephew. The weight of that betrayal pressed against her chest.
Before Louise could respond, Emily came running toward them, Buttercup galumphing behind with his tongue lolling out.
“Louise! Lady Merrow!” Snow clung to Emily’s eyelashes like tiny diamonds. “I’m absolutely frozen, and Buttercup ate half my snow fort. May we have some hot chocolate? Please?”
“What a splendid idea!” Lady Merrow caught Emily’s mittened hands in hers. “Hot chocolate with mountains of cream. And perhaps some of Cook’s ginger biscuits.”
“The ones with sugar crystals on top?” Emily bounced on her toes.
“Those exact ones.” Lady Merrow began herding them all toward the house, Buttercup shaking snow from his coat with violent enthusiasm. “Come along, before we all turn into ice sculptures.”
Three days passed in careful avoidance. Aaron appeared at breakfast precisely as the last bite was being taken, at dinner only when Lady Merrow demanded it.
When they passed in hallways, he offered the same polite nod he might give a stranger. The man who had kissed her with desperate hunger had vanished behind walls so thick, Louise wondered if she had imagined that night entirely.
Except for the way his hands clenched when their eyes accidentally met. The way he turned toward windows whenever she entered a room, as if the view suddenly required his complete attention.
On the fourth morning, a woman arrived carrying a worn leather satchel, her bearing suggesting education despite her simpledress. Louise watched from the morning room as Mr. Thornton escorted her to Aaron’s study.
An hour later, the butler found them in the library where Louise was helping Emily with her penmanship.
“Lady Louise, His Grace requests your presence in the blue parlor.”
Louise’s pulse jumped. “Of course. Emily, practice your letters. I’ll return shortly.”
The blue parlor overlooked the garden where they had played in the snow. Aaron stood at his favorite refuge, the window, while the woman from earlier sat primly on the settee.
“Lady Louise.” Aaron did not bother to turn. “Permit me to introduce Miss Margaret Whitfield, a governess of excellent repute.”
Louise studied the woman more carefully: perhaps thirty, with neat brown hair and intelligent hazel eyes that seemed to catalogue everything while revealing nothing.
“Miss Whitfield.” Louise inclined her head. “A pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine, Lady Louise.” The governess’s voice held educated refinement. “His Grace has told me about Lady Emily. She sounds delightful.”
“She is.” Louise moved further into the room, though Aaron remained fixed at the window. “Though perhaps somewhat unconventional in her interests. She prefers exploring to embroidery.”
