“You must excuse Charlotte. She’s a whirlwind, coming and going, not settling for long anywhere.”
“She did seem rather energetic,” Althea chuckled. No doubt if Melcombe married her, the girls would be quite happy to have her in the household.
Chapter Eight
Prestonhadintendedtoluncheon with Charlotte when he took the girls for their art lessons. However, when he realized that it was also Miss Claywell’s free day, he sent his excuses along with Delia and waited for his governess to return from the village.
Preston had attempted to get her out of the schoolroom these past few days by having the girls join him on a ride, and extending the same invitation to Miss Claywell, but she had declined.
It was good that he took time with his nieces because he wanted them to know for certain that he didn’t resent their presence and wished he would have taken such time in the past months. But he’d also hoped it would be a way to court Miss Claywell, without it being obvious that he was doing so, but she didn’t wish to intrude.
Today, she was free, and Preston had cleared his schedule as well.
Each night he became more certain that it was more than lust that drove him, though he could be fooling himself. Yet, he was encouraged as she was not quick to retreat when his leg and foot brushed hers under the table. Each act was intentional to gauge her response. She’d said nothing, nor did she move away, and if anything, her cheeks grew a little pinker.
Was it possible for her to want him as much as he wanted her?
Was it too soon to ask?
Yes, he reminded himself. Any declaration this soon would have her fleeing from Ambrose Hall. She hadn’t hesitated when she thought her uncle had arranged a marriage to Uncle Gerald. However, today offered the perfect opportunity to further his courtship and he was going to let nothing ruin his plans.
Through the morning he considered and dismissed potential topics or even a reason he could spend time in her company without the servants wondering what he was about.
They had already grown suspicious of the evening teas, as Mrs. Wilson had noted, though she explained to the staff that Preston had taken a deeper interest in the education of his nieces and not the governess. The last thing he wanted was for Miss Claywell to be ruined in the eyes of his servants.
With a sigh, he settled onto the settee in the front parlor, then glanced at the clock. Soon it would be time for luncheon, and he could only hope that she returned by then because at least sitting in the dining room together and sharing a meal would appear innocent enough.
Except, she didn’t return, and Preston once again dined alone.
It was all he could do not to go after her and bring her back to Ambrose Hall. She didn’t know anyone in Willanton, so what the blazes was she doing?
As he leaned back to ponder what to do with the rest of the day, or if he should wander into Willanton and perhaps encounter her without letting on that he was looking for her, he glanced out the window and grinned when he saw her walking along the drive toward the manor.
After tossing his napkin onto the table, Preston made his way to the parlor and glanced about before he quickly picked up a book so that it was not obvious that he was there waiting for her.
When the door opened, he glanced up.
“Miss Claywell, are you enjoying your free day?”
“I find that I quite like Willanton,” she said as she removed her bonnet and cloak. “I also enjoyed a lovely lunch at Hemsley Coffee House, something that I wouldn’t dare do unaccompanied in London.”
Had he left earlier, when the thought had first occurred to him, he could have joined her in that luncheon.
Althea had been surprised to find Lord Melcombe home, though not disappointed. Now that they’d exchanged pleasantries, she should retire to her chamber, as she did every evening after tea. But that wasn’t what she wished to do. Instead, she posed a question of her own. “Did you enjoy the luncheon with your nieces at Miss Hawthorn’s?”
The corner of his mouth twitched as if to smile.
Had she said something wrong?
“Mrs.Charlotte Hawthorn,” he corrected her. “How did you know we were to luncheon with her?”
If she was married, then why was she having Melcombe and his nieces to lunch? Unless Melcombe was going for the purpose of visiting with her husband. “I met her when I stopped in at the dress shop.” They’d discussed the need for the girls to transition to half-mourning last evening.
“It was likely she was delivering swatches to Monique,” was all he said.
Althea frowned. “Swatches?”
Lord Melcombe chuckled. “She would have taken fabric from Turner Textiles. Monique may wish to purchase bolts before they are shipped to London.”
