“My whereabouts went undiscovered until nearly noon the next day. And by then, I do believe I more resembled a wild animal than the boy they had been searching for.“ His expression closed off again.
“I cannot begin to imagine what you went through. Nor will I try. Were you injured?”
“A few bruises and various bug bites. Nothing a week confined to my bed couldn’t cure.”
“Except for the memory.”
“Except for the memory,” he agreed.
* * *
Usually the meremention of the bog was enough to ruin Addison’s mood for at least a week. How many times had he wished this damn memory to perdition? A hundred? A thousand? More?
He hadn’t discussed it with anyone for years. In fact, it was so long ago that he only remembered pieces of it.
But Miss Jones had dipped her quill in a bottle of ink and wished to provide helpful information to her sister’s governess. He could not fault her for grilling him, especially not when she was doing so out of worry for her younger sister who was blind and living in the country now.
“You mentioned that you should have kept calm and still, but if you did that, how would that have helped your escape?”
“Movement causes the bog—the slurry mixture of mud and water and vegetation—to loosen, which causes a person to sink deeper. Unfortunately, by the time they stop moving, it thickens again, trapping them.”
“You have studied this?”
Of course, he had. He’d believed that if he understood it, he could overcome his fears. But the fear persisted. As did the occasional nightmare.
“So how can a person escape?” It seemed he had no choice but to instruct her on all matters bog-related.
“By making small movements with your legs, gradually loosening the material around them until it’s fluid enough to pull yourself out.”
“And this really works?”
Really?Addison raised his brows. Would he be telling her any of this if it did not?
She tilted her head. “I wonder if we ought to have a lesson on this for our girls. One can never be too careful…”
Having provided her with the necessary information to send to her sister, there were other matters to discuss. “Enough.”
She straightened at his tone, as most people did.
Most people, however, did not make him feel guilty for it. Addison clenched his fists and dismissed the smidgeon of remorse threatening at her obvious disappointment.
He’d provided her with enough instruction to keep her students, as well as both her sisters, from getting themselves trapped if they were to stumble upon—God help him—a bog.
However, none of this had anything to do with why he’d needed to meet with her this morning.
She paused, hovering her pen over her piece of paper, and blinked startling blue eyes up at him, and his mind went temporarily blank. What the devilhadhe needed to speak with her about?
She licked her lips and, for no reason at all, his heart skipped a beat. Ah, yes. He remembered.
“Miss Jones.” He paused, expecting her to interrupt him with another irrelevant question, and was instead inexplicably annoyed when she set her quill down and folded her hands patiently.
“Miss Jones,” he repeated.
“Yes, Your Grace?” Gaze unwavering, she was suddenly all ears, prepared to finally listen to him. Only it wasn’t her ears that held his attention, but her mouth, which an irrational part of himself would not be averse to exploring again.
He cleared his throat, “I have come to renew my proposal.”
“Your…?”
