“When I visited the schoolroom, I took note of the governess’ breakfast,” he said when she stood before him. “Are you aware that Miss Harrismith’s meal was not delivered at the proper time?”
Mrs. Pollitt flinched, and her gaze slid away. “It was regrettable, Your Grace. The kitchens were kept busy with the guests.”
It was enough to tell him that she was quite aware of it. It had been a deliberate act designed to teach the governess some kind of lesson. Why? To keep her in her place? Because she had sought him out on several occasions? Anger shook him, and he glanced down at the papers on his desk to gain control, aware that any action on his part could make matters worse. “We have three guests, Mrs. Pollitt, I find myself in fear of what might occur when we have fifty,” he said mildly. “I’m relying on you to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
She firmed her lips. “It won’t, Your Grace.”
“I am glad to hear it. You may go.”
She curtsied and hurried from the room.
Andrew rose. Luncheon was about to be served in the dining room. He had yet to see Greta today. She was unhappy with him, and somewhat to his surprise he suffered no urgent need to smooth things over. She’d displayed a regrettable lack of sympathy when he’d expressed concern for his son’s safety, and her insinuation that he might consider bedding the governess left him wondering if he really knew her. She obviously didn’t know him. Why had she drawn such a long bow? Had his behavior concerning Miss Harrismith stirred Greta’s feminine instincts? He could explain that he’d come to rely on the governess, but that would only make matters worse.
And then there was Greta’s brother. Had he returned from Oxford? It would be good to know what he’d been up to there, but it was pointless to ask him. Ivo would tell him what he chose to, shifty individual that he was. Could he have returned late last night and used the stairway? Or was his concern for his children making him chase after shadows?
Worry was causing him to behave unlike himself. To invite Miss Harrismith to join him in that stairway was not only rash, the impulse bordered on the irrational, and decidedly reckless if anyone should get wind of it.
Even worse than that, when he questioned his actions, his thoughts skidded away. Foolish to feel somehow lighter in her calm presence. She handled everything dealt her with surprising composure for someone so young. Except when confronted with spiders.
He smiled in spite of himself. Ridiculous to think of the young governess as his comrade-in-arms, and yet he did, because there was no one else he could turn to. It hurt to admit Raymond must be considered a suspect, but he had been behaving differently since he came. Might he wish to step into Andrew’s shoes and win Greta? Saddened by his suspicion of his cousin of whom he was fond, he shook his head. Irrational, no doubt about it.
A footman was sent to York to deliver a message to John Haldane, Marquess of Strathairn, at his estate, where he would be in residence now that parliament was in recess. He knew that Strathairn spent all his spare time there tending to his horses. Andrew hoped for a swift reply, with either an offer of assistance or some expert advice. Until then, he would personally keep an eye on his children.
The most important thing was to have Bishop write to the guests and advice the shoot had been postponed.
