Outside the clanking continued.
“Why don’t you just ask him? He’s out back.” Robin sat down at the table and started to fiddle around with the wires of his invisibility machine.
Katy gave up, defeated. “Very well. He’s bound to find out sooner or later, anyhow.”
Arabella put on her bonnet and went outside. She followed the clanking noise that came from the back of the house. She heard a baritone voice utter a curse. Then she froze and took a sharp intake of breath. For in front of her stood a man, hammering wildly on an anvil. His thick auburn hair stuck out madly in all directions. Heat emanated from his body. And he was naked.
Chapter 2
“Good day. I didn’t know we had visitors.” The man set the hammer aside, wiped his brow with one rugged bare brown forearm, spreading a line of ash across his face, which made him look even more dashingly handsome. He spoke with a vague Scottish burr. His teeth flashed in a grin, as if he were glad to see her.
A flush crawled over her cheeks and she opened and closed her mouth, unable to find the right words. Nothing at the seminary had ever prepared her for this.
He wore a dirty and greasy leather apron, a pair of equally greasy leather breeches — and no shirt. Sweat glistened on his muscular biceps.
He wasn’t completely naked, after all. But still. Aside from some Greek statues, the Elgin marbles which she’d seen in the British Museum, she’d never seen a man in this state of undress before. She had rarely even seen her brother in shirtsleeves. That had been indecent enough.
Arabella spluttered.
“Look at this.” Unaware of her discomfiture, he stepped up to her as if they’d known each other for ages. Arabella smelled soot, sweat and something more primeval. “What do you think this could be?” He held an iron contraption in front of her face. It looked like a pair of elongated tongs with zigzag arms. “It’s my newest invention. Take a guess.” He fixed a pair of intense green eyes on her expectantly.
Out of her depths, she took a wild guess. “A pair of tongs?”
He beamed at her. “Correct!” He snapped the tongs shut so they zigzagged outwards. “It’s a most useful invention, as I hope to be able to demonstrate shortly.”
“What does it do?”
He snapped it. “All sorts of things.” He lifted it to his head. “Take off one’s beaver hat, for one. Pick up a satchel from the ground so you don’t have to bend.” The tongs picked up the reticule that she’d dropped on the ground and lifted it into her hands. “Convenient, eh? Pick up things that are too high on the bookshelf.” The iron things zoomed past her face and she took a step back. “Pardon.” He grinned. His teeth gleamed white in his tanned face.
Katy stepped up to him. “Papa,” she muttered. “Put on your shirt.”
“What?” The man blinked at her, then looked down at his apron that didn’t quite cover his chest. “Oh. Right.”
Papa?Arabella exhaled.Dear me.
Mr Philip Merivale,blacksmith and inventor, threw a veiled look at the visitor. Who could she be? He couldn’t quite place her. She was dressed as a servant but had the demeanour of a lady. Why did he think of white-petalled camellias? She had that same kind of freshness and comeliness about her. The girl was graceful in her washed-out but crinkled linen dress. Tendrils of her blonde hair escaped from a bun that had, once, been tidier, and she stood rather stiffly by the forge, staring at him with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. They reminded him of what the ocean looks like when the sun rays dapple on the waves.
Dash it, in his excitement about his newest invention, he’d forgotten his manners again. He wasn’t used to visitors. What did one do with visitors? Coffee? Tea? Did they even have anything to offer in the house? Should he even offer anything?
He wiped his face with a towel, tossed it aside and pulled on a shirt.
“I suppose introductions are in order?” He held out a rust-stained hand. “I am Philip Merivale.”
“Miss Arabella A–Weston.” She gave a small nod, then tilted her chin up, ignoring his hand.
He dropped it. Zounds, if she hadn’t looked down her finely carved patrician nose at him. She made him feel like an unmannerly country yokel, which he probably was.
“I applied for the position of governess, an advertisement that you posted in The Times,” she said, pulling out a snippet of paper from her reticule.
Philip took the slip and wrinkled his forehead. “What? Governess? I never posted any ad — Katy! Confound it.”
Katy lifted her chin. There was a defiant spark in her eyes. “We need a governess, Papa.”
He folded his arms. “We’ve gone through this.” Throwing a brief smile at Miss Weston, he said, “If you will excuse us for a moment.” He grabbed his daughter by the arm and pulled her to the back of the shed. The woman remained where she was and looked away, but he was certain she could hear every word of their heated conversation.
“The devil, Katy? What are you up to again?”
“Papa! Youknowthings can’t continue as they are.”
