“She says you have carried a terrible burden alone, and that you have done better than anyone might expect. She says you love us, even when you do not know how to show it.” Ella paused. “She said that in her first week here—when I was being quite dreadful. She defended you, even though you were hiding in your study and ignoring everyone.”
Something gave way in Nathaniel’s chest. Miss Collard had defended him—had seen the love beneath his failures, had understood him when he had scarcely understood himself.
“Thank you, Ella,” he said hoarsely. “But I must ask you not to speak of this again—particularly not to Miss Collard. These are matters I must resolve for myself.”
Ella nodded. “Very well.” Then, with a final glance at him, she added, “Just do not be rude to any more vicars’ sons. It makes you appear jealous.”
She departed before he could reply, which was perhaps a mercy, as he had nothing suitable to say.
Jealous.
An eleven-year-old had named the truth he had resisted.
He was jealous—of Andrew Fairfax, of a letter from London, of anyone who might claim even a fragment of Miss Collard’s attention, her time, her regard.
It was unbecoming. Undignified. Entirely unworthy of his position.
And it was not going to abate.
***
Dinner that evening was a subdued affair.
Miss Collard was present, as she had been for most meals since her arrival, but there was a reserve in her manner that had not been there before. She answered questions politely, engaged with the children appropriately, but something had shifted. Some warmth had been withdrawn.
Nathaniel watched her across the table and knew he was the cause.
The children seemed to sense the change in atmosphere. Ella kept glancing between Nathaniel and Miss Collard with a look of knowing concern. Samuel had retreated into his habitual silence. Even Rosie was quieter than usual, picking at her food and casting worried glances at the adults.
When the meal concluded, Miss Collard rose to escort the children to their evening routine.
“Miss Collard.” Nathaniel heard himself speak before he had decided to. “Might I have a word? In private?”
She paused, her expression guarded. “Of course, my lord.”
He turned to the children. “Ella, please take your siblings upstairs. Miss Collard will join you shortly.”
Ella nodded, herding Samuel and Rosie toward the door with the efficiency of long practice. When they were gone, Nathaniel found himself alone with Miss Collard for the second time that day—and more uncertain of what to say than ever.
“Miss Collard.” He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he had never quite managed to break. “I owe you an apology.”
“My lord—”
“Please, let me finish.” He took a breath, gathering his thoughts. “My behaviour this morning was inexcusable. I had noright to interfere with Mr Fairfax’s invitation, no right to suggest that your social engagements were somehow inappropriate. I was… I was not myself.”
Miss Collard was silent, waiting.
“The truth is—” Nathaniel stopped, then started again. “The truth is, I have become accustomed to your presence here. The children have thrived under your care, and I have…” He searched for words that would convey his meaning without revealing too much. “I have come to rely on you, perhaps more than I should. The thought of you forming connections outside this household—connections that might eventually take you away from us—it was... unwelcome.”
He was not being entirely honest, and they both knew it. But it was as close to the truth as he dared to venture.
Miss Collard’s expression softened slightly. “My lord, I am not planning to leave Greystone Hall.”
“Are you not?”
“No.” She hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. “The letter I received yesterday—the one that seemed to concern you—it was from a former colleague. A governess I worked with at my previous position. She wrote to tell me that she has accepted a position abroad and wished to say farewell.”
Relief flooded through Nathaniel—sweet, overwhelming relief that he tried desperately not to show.
