“Of course it is,” Greta said hastily gathering up her mink shawl. “We shall have a splendid time. And we have the shooting party to look forward to where I shall meet many of your friends, Your Grace.”
Andrew absently patted her gloved hand, his attention drawn to the house where a line of servants awaited their arrival. The years had softened his grief over losing Catherine. Now with his time as a delegate at an end, he could contemplate marrying again, although he didn’t anticipate falling deeply in love. Greta, a baron’s widow, seemed a good choice. He found the beautiful, elegant blonde amusing company. They’d spent a pleasant month enjoying Viennese society. The baroness led Andrew to believe that should he propose she would be agreeable to marriage, but for some reason he’d held off. To force himself into a decision, he’d invited her home to Castlebridge to meet his children. He had not been pleased when she’d brought her brother, whose provocative manner got Andrew’s back up. He would have preferred Greta to have chosen someone else to chaperone her, but Ivo was here now, and Andrew was determined to keep his temper.
The coach pulled up before the massive front entry where all the upper servants stood to receive him. Two liveried footmen rushed to attend them. When they stepped from the coach, Andrew, wishing his butler, Forrester, hadn’t seen fit to make a fuss, walked along the row. He greeted each of them recognizing only the housekeeper, the butler and some of the grooms. His father’s staff had slowly been replaced over the years.
He came to the end where his children stood waiting. He had not seen them for months and his heart lurched in his chest as William and Barbara were gently pushed forward by their governess, whom he was yet to meet. He’d forgotten the lady’s name.
“Father.” William bowed.
“You’ve grown like a sapling since I saw you last, William.” Andrew wanted to hug him, but shook his son’s proffered hand instead. “And who is this beautiful sprite?” Andrew fondly contemplated his daughter in her muslin dress, already a young miss, her blonde curls caught up with a blue ribbon. She was so like her mother that his heart ached at the sight of her.
“I am Barbara, have you forgotten?” She backed away and reached for the governess’ hand.
“Well, of course I haven’t. I was teasing. I have only one beautiful daughter,” he said wanting to kiss her but fearing it would be unwelcome. He raised his eyes to the silent governess. Tall and willowy, she seemed very young and rather too pretty for the post. Now what was her name?
The housekeeper, Mrs. Pollitt rushed to fill in the awkward pause. “This is Miss Harrismith, Your Grace.”
“Ah yes.” He nodded at the governess who could only be in her early twenties. His gaze took in her large gray eyes, firm mouth and chin, her curly dark brown hair arranged in a top knot. Not fashionably dressed, but her appearance was as neat as a pin, in a modest high-necked green dress, a cameo brooch adorning the bodice. “Miss Harrismith. I trust you find your new situation agreeable?”
She curtsied gracefully, perfectly composed and obviously at ease in society. “I do, thank you, Your Grace. But I should like to speak to you about the children.”
How efficient, Andrew thought. I am not yet through the door. “Very well. Please bring the children to me at two o’clock.”
A wave of his hand encompassed Greta and Ivo. “Shall we go in?”
“Your son is so like you,” Greta said as they entered the great hall.
“Do you think so?”
“But of course. The same black hair and blue eyes.”
“And has quite the ducal manner,” Ivo added with a chuckle.
“Good to see you, Forrester.” Andrew addressed his earnest butler and introduced his guests. After arranging to meet them later in the yellow salon for a glass of wine before they dined, he left Forrester to see to their needs.
Andrew entered his library, which ran the length of the south wing where latticed windows overlooked the formal gardens. Nothing had changed. Nothing ever did. Bookshelves filled with gleaming red and gold bindings lined the walls, his carved oak desk polished to a high shine, and his favorite chair. He’d felt suffocated by it all after Catherine died, but now as the years passed and the pain ebbed away there was comfort to be found in the familiar. He welcomed the memories too, both sad and glorious. After reflecting briefly on the past he was determined to face the future, and not alone. He wanted his life back, and now felt ready, and keen to embrace it. Seated on the maroon leather chair, he leaned back, eyes closed and thought of his children. He opened his eyes and frowned. He’d made Barbara nervous. She’d sought safety with the governess. And William. The boy had stood ramrod straight trying to make himself appear taller. It reminded him of himself around that age. But Andrew was practically a stranger to them. Foolish to expect them to feel a deep affection for him. He must earn their love.
He closed his eyes again and instead of seeing Greta’s beautiful visage, the young governess’ gray eyes swam into view. His mouth twitched. The deuce! She’d been frowning at him.
