“Do you have any idea the panic you’ve caused? To run off into a stranger’s house? You are Lockharts! You are to behave with dignity, not act like common runaways! What if something happened to you? Hm? Did you think of that?”
Arthur’s chin wobbled, his small chest puffing out. “We didn’t want to be here! It’s boring and?—”
“Arthur.”
The woman’s voice was as soft as Chinese silk, stopping the boy’s retort mid-breath. Ambrose’s gaze finally shifted to the person standing with them.
She was dressed in simple, drab wool, with deep brown curls tucked neatly under a cap. But as she knelt on the grass, bringing herself level with the boys, she didn’t look like a servant. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds. Her beautiful smile was as shiny as pearls, and as she looked up at him, she was an anchor in a storm.
“It was a very grand adventure,” she said to the boys, her voice a gentle melody. “But even the bravest explorers must report to their commander. You gave His Grace a fright because he cares for you. A true gentleman knows when an apology is owed for causing such worry.” She looked at Philip, who was hiding a damp hand in his pocket. “And Lord Philip, remember what we said about the sad bear? He isn’t angry because he’s mean. He is angry because he thought he lost you.”
Ambrose watched, mesmerized. For months, he had hired the most expensive governesses in London, with excellent references and endless accolades. All of them had ended up in tears within a week, and, after today’s little disappearing act, it was likely that the most recent addition would depart in the same manner.
Yet here was this stranger, speaking to the children with a mix of authority and kindness that really got through to them. He could not make sense of it, but felt it pull at him.
Arthur looked at his boots, then up at Ambrose. “I’m sorry, Uncle. For the water, too. I know my nice boots will need repair.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Philip whispered. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, Uncle.”
Ambrose felt the air leave his lungs. He had been bracing for a shouting match, not a surrender.
“I… accept your apologies,” he managed to say, his voice rough as he ran a hand through his still unkempt hair.
“Your Grace! Oh, thank God!” The current governess yelled as she came running down the path to them, her skirts hoisted up to her knees as she hobbled over. “You’ve found them! Oh my!”
“Take them upstairs, Miss LaPointe,” Ambrose ordered, though his eyes never left the stranger. “And see that they are fed in the schoolroom. No more exploring today. That is an order.”
“I will see to it at once,” Miss LaPointe replied as she quickly gathered the boys. “Apologies again, Your Grace!”
“Good evening, Miss!” Arthur called out as he was led away with a final wave to the mysterious rescuer. “Wait, what is your name?”
“Imogen. Imogen Lewis,” she said with a smile, calling out to them as they went into the house. “And a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lords. And your acquaintance as well, Your Grace.”
Ambrose turned to his butler with a sharp nod. “Jones, go to the kitchen. Have them prepare a tray for Miss Lewis. Tea and perhaps some of those biscuits the chef makes. Bring it to the small library.”
“That really isn’t necessary, Your Grace,” Miss Lewis said, rising to her full height and wringing her apron in her hands. “I must be getting back to my employer. I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”
“Whom do you work for, Miss Lewis?”
“I’m just next door, Your Grace. I work for Lord and Lady Presholm.”
“I shall talk to them, then. Allowing you a moment of reprieve will not be a problem, I assure you. I insist you stay.”
“You do not know my mistress as I do,” Imogen said softly, still wringing her apron in her hands. “I cannot afford to be in trouble with My Lady.
“It will be no trouble. I can be charming when I need to be,” he replied.
Despite her apparent nerves, her posture was remarkably straight. She kept her shoulders back in a way that suggested a lifetime of etiquette lessons she shouldn’t have had as a mere scullery maid. There was something different about her that Ambrose could not quite figure out. He needed more time.
“You must allow me to give you some refreshment,” he pressed.
“I’m afraid I must return, Your Grace. My mistress is… not a patient woman,” she said as she backed away slowly.
“And I’m afraid I must insist, Miss Lewis,” Ambrose said, his voice dropping an octave as she stopped in her tracks.
He stepped closer to her. His tall height was usually enough to intimidate anyone, but she did not flinch. She simply met his gaze with steady, intelligent green eyes and a tiny, almost amused, smile. She almost seemed to lean into him, yet he knew he was imagining it.
“You’ve done me a great service today,” he said, looking down at her. “More than you know. Come.”
