“I see,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “I apologise if I seemed… curious about your correspondence. It was not my place.”
“You are my employer, my lord. You have some right to be aware of my connections and communications.”
“Nevertheless. Your private letters are your own affair.”
Another silence stretched between them. Miss Collard seemed to be weighing something, considering whether to speak.
“My lord,” she said finally. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“This morning, when Mr Fairfax was here... you seemed... troubled by his interest in making my acquaintance. Was there some particular concern? Some reason you felt his attention was inappropriate?”
Nathaniel’s pulse quickened. How to answer that? How to explain that his concern had nothing to do with propriety and everything to do with the fact that he could not bear the thought of another man looking at her the way Fairfax had looked at her?
“I merely thought he was being rather... presumptuous,” Nathaniel said carefully. “You are a member of my household. Any gentleman wishing to pay attention to you should apply to me first.”
It was a weak excuse, and from the look on Miss Collard’s face, she knew it.
“I see,” she said. “So if Mr Fairfax were to apply to you for permission to call on me, you would... what? Grant it?”
The question hung in the air, sharp and challenging.
Nathaniel felt something twist in his chest. “I would... consider it.”
“You would consider it.” Miss Collard’s voice was carefully controlled, but he thought he detected a note of something beneath it. Frustration? Hurt? “My lord, I am four-and-twenty years old. I have no family to speak of, no fortune, no prospects beyond my own abilities. If a respectable gentleman were to show interest in me, it would be... it would not be unwelcome. I cannot afford to dismiss such opportunities out of hand.”
The words hit Nathaniel like physical blows. She was right, of course. She was entirely, devastatingly right. She had no security, no protection, nothing but her position as a governess—a position that would end eventually, when the children outgrew her services, leaving her to start again somewhere else.
A marriage to a man like Fairfax would give her everything she lacked: stability, respectability, a home of her own.
And Nathaniel had no right—none whatsoever—to stand in the way of that.
“You are correct,” he said, and the words tasted like ashes. “I apologise. I should not have interfered with Mr Fairfax’sinvitation. If you wish to call at the vicarage, you have my complete support.”
Something flickered in Miss Collard’s expression—disappointment? But surely, he was imagining that.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said quietly. “I appreciate your understanding.”
She turned to go, and Nathaniel knew he should let her. Knew that prolonging this conversation would only make things worse, would only increase the risk of him saying something he could not take back.
“Miss Collard.”
She paused at the door, turning back. “Yes, my lord?”
The words he wanted to say crowded in his throat, fighting to be spoken.Don’t go to the vicarage. Don’t smile at Andrew Fairfax. Don’t give anyone else what I want so desperately for myself.
But he could not say any of that.
“Goodnight,” he said instead. “Sleep well.”
She looked at him for a long moment—a look that seemed to search for something, to ask a question he did not know how to answer.
“Goodnight, my lord,” she said.
And then she was gone.
***
