Nathaniel made a noncommittal sound and trusted that it would suffice.
It did not.
“I confess I did not have the opportunity to speak with her myself,” Fairfax went on, his gaze still fixed on the garden. “She departed with the children before the usual exchanges. I had wondered—if it were not inconvenient—whether I might be introduced on some future occasion?”
The request was entirely proper. Entirely in keeping with the customs of the county, where new arrivals were expected to be welcomed and acknowledged.
And yet something dark and unreasonable tightened in Nathaniel’s chest.
“Miss Collard is engaged with the children’s instruction,” he replied, his tone carefully neutral. “I would not wish to interrupt.”
“Of course. Quite right.” Fairfax nodded readily. “Another time, then. One can hardly avoid acquaintance forever in a parish of this size.”
It was meant lightly, a harmless pleasantry. Yet Nathaniel heard in it something else—interest, intention, the unmistakable note of attention a young man pays when considering a woman he wishes to know better.
The reaction it provoked was absurd. Andrew Fairfax was a respectable man, the son of a clergyman, with a clear future and an unassailable position. He would make some woman an excellent husband—steady, kind, dependable.
He would make Miss Collard an excellent husband.
The thought struck Nathaniel with unwelcome force.
He could see it all too clearly: Miss Collard presiding over a modest parsonage, her intelligence and warmth turned to parish duties and domestic comforts. She would be secure, respected, rooted. She would possess something she had never known as a governess—permanence.
She would have everything he could not offer.
For what could he offer her? An attachment that propriety would condemn. A connection between marquess and governess that could lead only to scandal. Marriage was impossible without destroying her prospects; anything less was unthinkable.
There was no path forward. No honourable way to want what he found himself wanting.
And here was Andrew Fairfax—pleasant, suitable, unencumbered—asking to be introduced.
“I shall inform Miss Collard of your wish,” Nathaniel said at last. The words tasted bitter. “I am certain she will be pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“That is most kind of you, my lord.” Fairfax rose. “I shall look forward to it.”
They exchanged a brief handshake, and Fairfax departed, leaving Nathaniel alone with thoughts he had no wish to entertain.
For a long moment, he stood where he was, staring at the closed door.
Then, without consciously deciding to do so, he crossed to the window once more.
Miss Collard had moved nearer the house. He could see her clearly now—laughing freely, her face bright, while Rosie spun in delighted circles and Samuel observed with that small, private smile that had become more frequent in recent weeks.
She was beautiful.
The realisation was not new, but it struck with renewed clarity. Beautiful, yes—but more than that: capable, kind, and quietly transformative. She had brought light back into a house long accustomed to shadow.
And Andrew Fairfax wished to meet her.
Nathaniel turned away and returned to his desk. The letter addressed to Miss Collard lay where he had left it, mute and accusatory.
He lifted it, weighed it in his hand, and—after a moment—rang for a servant to have it delivered.
It was none of his concern who wrote to Miss Serena Collard.
He would simply have to remind himself of that until it became true.
***
