“Goodnight, Miss Collard.”
She carried Rosie down the corridor, and Nathaniel watched her go, his heart pounding, his thoughts racing.
‘Maybe you could break the rules too’,Rosie had said.
Maybe he could.
Maybe he would.
The question was no longer whether he wished to—that answer had revealed itself long ago, in the library, in the garden, in every moment spent in Miss Collard’s presence.
The question now washow.
And as Nathaniel stood alone in the corridor, watching her disappear around the corner, he began—at last—to plan.
Chapter Fourteen
Something was wrong with Miss Collard.
Nathaniel had noticed it at breakfast—a pallor to her complexion that had not been there the day before, a tightness about her eyes that suggested discomfort she was endeavouring to conceal. She had eaten very little, pushing her food about her plate with mechanical precision, and when Rosie asked her a question regarding their planned nature walk, her reply had come a moment too late, as though her thoughts had been drawn back from some distant place.
He had almost spoken then. Almost asked whether she was feeling quite herself, whether she ought to rest, whether the children’s lessons might be postponed for a day. But Miss Collard had caught his look and immediately straightened, her expression smoothing into one of professional composure.
“The weather looks rather threatening,” she had said, neatly forestalling any inquiry before it could be voiced. “I think we shall conduct our nature studies indoors today. The library contains several excellent botanical volumes that will serve our purposes admirably.”
And that had been that.
Yet Nathaniel continued to observe her throughout the morning—discreetly, he hoped, though discretion had never been his strongest quality where Miss Collard was concerned. He found reasons to pass the library door, to linger briefly incorridors, to be present in rooms where he might catch some glimpse of her.
What he saw troubled him.
She moved more cautiously than usual, her steps measured rather than fluid. Twice he saw her press a hand briefly to her lower back—a gesture so swift it might have been unconscious. And there was something in the set of her shoulders, a bracing tension, that spoke of someone enduring discomfort she did not wish to acknowledge.
By luncheon, the pallor had deepened to something approaching grey, and Nathaniel could no longer pretend he had not noticed.
“Miss Collard,” he said, as the children chattered among themselves about the increasingly ominous clouds gathering beyond the windows. “You appear… unwell. Perhaps you would benefit from an afternoon of rest.”
She looked up, and for just a moment, he glimpsed the fatigue behind her careful composure. Then the mask was firmly in place once more.
“I am perfectly well, my lord. Merely a slight headache. It will pass.”
“You are not perfectly well. You have scarcely eaten, you are pale as marble, and you have been holding yourself as though—” He broke off, suddenly uncertain how to finish. As though what? He did not know what was wrong with her, only that something clearly was.
“As though I have a headache,” Miss Collard finished, her tone firm. “Which I do. And which I am quite certain will be gone by evening.”
“Miss Collard—”
“My lord.” Her voice was quiet but unyielding. “I appreciate your concern, but I assure you I am more than capable of fulfilling my duties. The children require supervision, and I am here to provide it. A headache is hardly sufficient cause to abandon my responsibilities.”
It was a dismissal—courteous, but unmistakable. Nathaniel recognised it for what it was: a request, rendered in the politest terms possible, that he mind his own affairs.
He ought to respect that. Ought to accept her assurance and return to his study, trusting her judgment and observing the proper boundaries between employer and governess.
But propriety had rarely been Nathaniel’s strongest instinct—particularly where Miss Collard was concerned.
“Very well,” he said, rising. “But if your… headache… worsens, I must insist you inform Mrs McConnor at once. The children will survive an afternoon without lessons, if need be.”
“That will not be necessary, my lord.”
