Not that I ought to notice such things, she told herself sternly.Yet with shoulders like those, who could help it?
“You are Miss Margaret Winter, then,” he said, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe. His lips compressed, as though at some disappointment.
His tone was so cold that she almost shrank. But those days of shrinking were behind her. She straightened instead and met his eye with composure.
“I am, your Grace.”
He blinked, perhaps surprised that she did not look away. She debated whether she ought to; it was already too late. To drop her gaze now would seem weakness.
He could not be more than thirty, she thought again, taking in the strong, symmetrical features—almost classical in their lines. His eyes were a strange, stormy blue, like the sea under thunderclouds. In London, women would have called him handsome, had he only trimmed his hair, bought a proper coat, and frowned a little less.
“You are a long way from London, Miss Winter,” he said abruptly.
“Yes.”
He raised his brows, waiting for elaboration, and when she offered none, the silence grew taut, broken only by the steady tick of the mantel clock.
Two can play at that game, she thought hotly.What business is it of his why I am here? I am ready to work—that should suffice.
At last, he said, “You are very bold, Miss Winter.”
“I—”
“That was not a question. Let me be plain. Three governesses have left this house within the past two months. Three. Their failing, it seems, was an inability to endure my household’s requirements. I expect discipline, order, and honesty. I did not think those demands excessive, but evidentlyI was mistaken. Tell me—am I mistaken with you also? Are you afraid, Miss Winter?”
She swallowed and kept her gaze steady.He is trying to frighten me,she thought.Trying to drive me off. But why?
“I am not the least bit afraid,” she said evenly, lifting her chin. “I have managed difficult households before.”
He arched a brow. “You equate discipline with difficulty? An odd notion for a governess.”
“Not at all, your Grace. Perhaps I speak out of turn, but I did not think Miss Emma a child in need of great discipline.”
His brow furrowed. “You have met my niece already?”
“Yes—Mrs Thornton took me there directly upon my arrival.”
Something flickered across his face—displeasure, perhaps? Had the formidable housekeeper overstepped her bounds? Impossible.
Abruptly, he turned away, striding to his desk. He sat heavily, once more half-hidden in sunlight.
“You may go, Miss Winter,” he said curtly. “My niece requires firm discipline and a proper education. By that I mean mathematics, geography, history, the sciences—no idle nonsense. I will not have her walking about with a book balanced on her head and calling it education.”
“I shouldn’t dream of it, your Grace,” she returned smoothly. “Though balancing a book upon one’s headisexcellent for posture.”
He stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“But never fear,” she added blithely. “I shall make her read the book first.”
He stared at her, clearly uncertain what to make of her.
“Do we have an understanding or not, Miss Winter?” he demanded at last. “If not, you may take yourself off this very day.”
That was a sharp reminder of how precarious her position truly was. If she were turned away, there was nowhere else to go.
So she smiled, dipping a curtsey—perhaps a touch too graceful for a governess, but the expression of bewilderment on his face almost made it worth the risk.
“I shall, of course, follow your instructions, your Grace,” she said coolly. “As to discipline, I have always found that children respond better to understanding.”
