Ambrose shifted uncomfortably and drained his glass. “She was being mistreated. And she has a way with the boys. They actually… listen to her.”
“A maid with the education of a lady and the patience of a saint,” Morgan mused, swirling his drink. He leaned in, his playful tone dropping into something else. “You’ve got that look about you, Ambrose. The one you get when you’ve found a horse you can’t tame, or a card game you can’t read. It worries me. Are you certain that you’re all right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled.
“I’m warning you as a friend,” Morgan said, tapping his fingers on the table. “Mixing business with pleasure is one thing with a widow in Belgravia. But with the woman effectively raising your brother’s children?”
“There is nopleasureinvolved, Morgan,” he rasped. “She is the boys’ governess, nothing more.”
“I’m calling your bluff. This is a recipe for scandal, one that cannot be easily covered up, even with your title. Do not lose your head over a pretty face.”
“Enough,” Ambrose said as he stared into his glass, the image of her kneeling in the dirt with the boys flashing through his mind. “My priority is the twins. I hired her because I was desperate and she was the best option, nothing more. I am a pragmatist, not a sentimental man.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Morgan said. “And I’m the Archbishop of Canterbury.”
Chapter Five
THWACK!
The fourth morning of Imogen’s tenure began not with the ringing of a distant church bell or the coo of a dove from the window, but with the distinct, wetthudof a mud-soaked boot hitting the center of her bedroom door.
Imogen sat up, smoothing her hair behind her ears. She didn’t cry out or rush to the door in a panic. She took a slow, steady breath.
I have survived years of Julia’s psychological warfare. I can survive two twin boys,she told herself, and so she rose to get dressed.
When she opened the door, prepared to take on whatever was on the other side, the hallway was empty. All that remained was the offending boot and a trail of damp garden soil leading towardthe schoolroom. She picked up the boot by the heel and marched across the hall to find the boys.
Inside the schoolroom, Arthur was perched on the edge of a bookshelf, his expression one of braced defiance. Philip was huddled under the heavy oak table, clutching a tattered picture book as if it were a shield.
“Good morning, Lord Arthur. Good morning, Lord Philip,” Imogen said, her voice calm and cool. She walked to the center of the room and placed the muddy boot on the table. “I see we have had an early start to our geography lesson. Is this boot meant to represent the rugged terrain of the Highlands? Or perhaps an island in the middle of a murky sea?”
Arthur blinked, his brow furrowing. He had clearly expected a lecture or a threat of the willow switch.
“It’s a boot,” he said flatly. “I threw it.”
“I can see that,” Imogen remarked, pulling out a chair and sitting down gracefully. She didn’t look up at him, instead opening a notebook and beginning to sharpen a lead pencil. “Though it is a bit of a shame for the boot. It looks quite lonely without its mate. And I imagine the footman who must polish the floorboards won’t find the terrain quite as interesting as I do.”
“I’m not coming down from up here,” Arthur challenged. “You can’t make me.”
“That is your choice. God granted us all free will, and so we have the liberty to make good and bad choices.”
“I know that.”
“I am sure you do. However, I’m about to start the story of the Great Fire of London,” she said, her voice animated. “I have some red and orange chalk to draw the flames on the slate.”
“Do you?” Arthur asked, his arms crossed.
“Oh yes, but it’s a very loud story. Lots of shouting and buckets of water. Since you’re up so high, you’ll have a wonderful view of the fire from the safety of your mountains.”
From under the table, Philip’s head popped out suddenly. “Did the dogs get out?”
Imogen’s resolve softened, a sharp ache in her chest at the boy’s trembling fear at the mention of flames.
The fire.
She chided herself. In her eagerness for the lesson, she hadn’t properly weighed the toll it would take on Philip in particular, remembering what His Grace had told her about their parents. It wasn’t just another lesson anymore. She knew that she needed to transform this room into a sanctuary where his fears could be unraveled, rather than exploited. He should start to face his fears in a safe space.
“They did, Lord Philip. Everyone helped the animals. Would you like to sit in the big chair today and help me draw the river? I have a shade of deep blue, almost as nice as your eyes.”
