Instead, Ella appeared in the doorway.
“Uncle Nate.” She stepped inside with the composed assurance that was so characteristic of her. “May I speak with you?”
“Of course.” Nathaniel gestured toward a chair, grateful for the interruption. “What is it, Ella?”
She did not sit. Instead, she regarded him with an expression far too discerning for an eleven-year-old.
“You were rude to Mr Fairfax this morning,” she said.
Nathaniel blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mr Fairfax. The vicar’s son. You were rude to him, and you upset Miss Collard, and I want to know why.”
“I do not believe that is any concern of yours—”
“Miss Collard has been very quiet all afternoon,” Ella continued, unperturbed. “She says nothing is wrong, but I can tell that she is upset. Samuel said he also caught you looking at her oddly earlier. And after Mr Fairfax left, Miss Collard returned to the schoolroom and seemed… sad.”
A pang of guilt struck Nathaniel. He had not considered the effect his behaviour might have had beyond the moment itself—had not thought of Miss Collard carrying the weight of his ill-temper back to the children.
“I regret it if my manner caused her distress,” he said carefully. “That was not my intention—”
“Do you not wish Miss Collard to have friends?” Ella asked, her grey eyes—so very like his own—fixed steadily upon his face. “Is that why you told Mr Fairfax she was too busy? Because you want her to remain here with us, and nowhere else?”
The question came uncomfortably close to the truth. Heat rose to Nathaniel’s face, and he turned away.
“It is not so simple, Ella.”
“Then explain it to me. Because from where I stand, it appears you are attempting to keep Miss Collard entirely to yourself—and that is not fair to her.”
“I am not attempting to—” He broke off, frustrated by his inability to articulate feelings he scarcely understood himself. “There are complications, Ella. Adult considerations. Matters you are too young to comprehend.”
“I am eleven and three-quarters,” Ella said with dignity. “And I am not stupid. I notice things.”
“What things?”
“The way you look at her.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, as though she were commenting on the weather. “The way you watch her when you believe no one observes you. The way your voice changes when you speak to her—softer. Kinder.”
Nathaniel’s heart thudded heavily. Had he truly been so transparent?
“Ella—”
“I am not saying it is wrong,” she continued. “Miss Collard is wonderful. She is the best governess we have ever had. She makes Samuel speak again, and she makes Rosie laugh, and she makes you—” She hesitated. “She makes you leave your study. She makes you be with us instead of hiding. So if you care for her, I do not think that is a bad thing.”
Nathaniel sank into his chair, suddenly weary. “It is still not so simple.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am a marquess, and she is a governess. Because society has rules—rules that exist for reasons, rules meant to prevent mistakes that cannot be undone.”
Ella was silent for a moment. Then she said quietly, “Mama was a gentleman’s daughter, not a lady of rank. Papa married beneath him—everyone said so. It caused a scandal, and some people ceased speaking to him. But he did not care. He said she was worth more than all the approval of society.”
Nathaniel closed his eyes. He remembered that scandal well—the whispered censure, his father’s fury, the doors that had closed to Edward. But Edward had not regretted it. Edward had been happy—utterly, profoundly happy—until the day the carriage overturned.
“Your father was braver than I am,” Nathaniel said softly.
“Perhaps.” Ella stepped closer, her expression gentler now. “But Miss Collard says you are braver than you believe.”
“Does she?”
