“That says nothing about her teaching capabilities,” Dimity said.
“The next reference is from a Mr. T. Branch, solicitor,” Forrest said, reading the next piece of paper. “His children, of which there were two, both under the age of ten years, said Miss Knight was excellent in her teaching capabilities and extremely punctual. Her sense of humor is keen, and she followed orders.”
“Well,” Gabe said, “following orders is always important.”
“I never followed orders,” his wife said.
“And if you were applying for this position, I would tell Forrest that under no circumstances should he employ you, my sweet. I’ve never met a more willful employee.”
Dimity had once been employed as Abby, the youngest sibling’s, piano teacher.
The countess rolled her eyes as a knock sounded on the door. Forrest climbed to his feet again and went to open it.
“Miss Knight, please come in.”
His first glimpse of Miss Ruby Knight was of a drab gray dress in thick, unflattering fabric with a bonnet to match. Her face was raised to look at him.
“I am Mr. Howarth.”
She appeared startled that he’d answered the door but rallied. A tight smile formed on her mouth. A lovely mouth, he noted. Soft pink lips, the top curved like a Cupid's bow. In fact, Miss Knight was an extraordinarily beautiful woman, even dressed as she was. Her skin had a pink flush to it, which, unlike Mrs. Crabtree, was appealing.
“Good day to you, sir.” She bobbed a curtsey and then walked into the room.
Forrest closed the door and went to retake his seat. The jolt of awareness he’d felt looking at her was not comfortable. Even more so since he had not felt anything like it in many years, if ever.
“Allow me to introduce you to the Earl and Countess of Raine, Miss Knight.”
Being in such illustrious company had clearly not been something she’d contemplated, as the color fled from her cheeks as she dropped into a deep curtsey. However, she did not drop her eyes or hunch her shoulders. She simply smiled and stood awaiting their direction.
“Please take a seat, Miss Knight.” Dimity waved a hand at the chair the sour-faced Mrs. Crabtree had just left.
Forrest watched her sit in one neat movement. Her hands settled on her lap. Gray gloves. Leaning forward slightly, he noted the ends of two fingers were darned neatly. He could not make out the color of her hair, as it was scraped back and stuffed under the hideous bonnet. She did not look twenty-six. In fact, he’d not put her a day over twenty, but then he also knew that appearances were deceptive.
Her face was heart-shaped, brows a delicate brown arch. She had freckles running over the tops of both cheeks and her nose. To his eyes, as he took in her skinny wrists, he thought perhaps she was slender due to circumstance rather than natural inclination. However, he could not be certain about that either.
“We have your references,” Gabe said. “They are highly favorable, Miss Knight. However…” Forrest watched her hands twitch, then relax. “…we care little about references. What we care about is Ella.”
Her eyes seemed huge in her thin face. Gray, he thought, or maybe pale blue?
“My daughter has an enquiring mind, Miss Knight. She wants to learn, and unlike other families who believe their daughters should excel at stitching, music, and watercolors, I want my daughter to learn about things like Roman mythology and the great poets. Astrology is a favorite of hers, as is walking in the park and fossicking for insects. Yes, she is only six, but it’s my belief that educating children on a variety of things at a young age is important.”
If he’d thought to shock her, he’d failed. Color slid back into her cheeks, and her mouth tilted slightly.
“I think that is wonderful, Mr. Howarth, and agree completely.”
Forrest looked at Dimity. She was smiling. Gabe, too, appeared to have relaxed.
“You can say that, Miss Knight, but what would your lessons entail to ensure my daughter’s education was broad and varied? Do you have the knowledge to teach her the things I wish her to learn?”
“I have read extensively about many subjects, butLemprière's Bibliotheca Classica, byJohn Lemprière, is an excellent reference book inmythologyandclassical history. My favorite poets are Geoffrey Chaucer—I have read theCanterbury Talesmany times—and Wordsworth.”
“Wordsworth?” Gabe frowned. “Surely you mean Shakespeare?”
The side of her mouth raised, and her eyes smiled, but she kept her expression serious. Gabe did not intimidate her, he realized, which Forrest found interesting.
“Of course I have read the sonnets. But I enjoy Mr. Wordsworth more.”
“And what of nature?” Forrest asked. “My daughter enjoys being outside.”
