Their gazes locked. His eyes were so very blue. She had the urgent wish that he would take up her hand again. She closed her fingers into a fist.
She forced herself to ask, “But what of the girls? Or Lady Tribble. They may not wish for my round-the-clock presence.”
“I don’t care.”
“They will not cooperate if they resent me.”
“They’ve shown no objection to any other person I’ve trotted out, including several doctors, a boy to wrangle their demon cat, and an artist to paint a mural in the music room. Nothing seems to faze them. If they’ve responded to anyone, it’s been you. You made so much progress in thirty minutes.”
Drew thought of how the girls intrigued and excited her.
She thought of the money, and the references, and freedom from Ana and Madewood.
Mostly, she thought of the duke and how she liked to watch him and how she wanted him to touch her again.
Foolish girl, she scolded in her head. That part of her life, the part where she noticed handsome, interesting men, where she dreamed of a future outside of spinsterhood, had ended long ago—had ended before it had scarcely begun. Her heart, fragile shell that it was, had been completely broken, shattered by a short little courtship that was so insignificant, it felt like a fluke, a once-in-a-lifetime trick of fate. It would not happen again, and certainly not with a duke. Absolutely not withthisduke,handsome and energetic and all but begging for her help. She’d given up on this long ago, and good riddance.
“Miss Trelayne?” Lachlan prompted.
“Yes,” she said, squaring her shoulders; squaring her expectations. “If the girls and Lady Tribble consent. If you send a carriage, I will pack some things and see myself transferred by tonight. I will help you.”
Chapter Seven
“I should like onlyplantson my plate, if you please, Barton,” said Ian’s sister, shooing away the footman and his tureen of beef tips. “I’ve explained this to Cook again and again.”
Ian studied Timothea over them rim of his goblet. As ever, she seemed to reside in the Land of the Upside-down. If the house burned, she would complain about the tightness of her shoe. If her daughters were odd and mute and possibly stunted in some way, she would complain about the food.
“The staff cannot keep up, Timothea,” Ian told her. “Last week your plate was to be void of any foodwhitein color. The week before that, it was no fish.” He motioned for the footman to double his own portion of beef.
Ian rarely took a formal dinner in the dining room, although not because of Timothea’s ever-shifting dietary restrictions. It wasn’t what wassaid, it was all the things that werenotsaid—the bloody silence. Since the riots, Ian himself had grown silent and pensive. Seclusion did that to a man. But the resounding quiet of a meal passed with his nieces was worse than silence. It was the sound of secrets.
Tonight, however, he felt he should make some effort. He glanced at Miss Trelayne seated between the twins; her orange hair twisted up and secured with a wide ribbon, herblue dress looking smart and bright and formal next to the girls’ cobbled-together drabness and his sister’s shroud.
Miss Trelayne had dressed for dinner. He’d noticed immediately. She hadn’t overdone or swanned to the table with the intent to show off, but he’d remembered the pinkish dress from before, and now she wore a blue gown of considerably less fabric but more shine. She also wore a lone piece of jewelry—a moth made of some sort of blue stone. Or was it a beetle? He couldn’t care less about women’s jewelry, but the insect had caught his eye, and he found himself returning to study it again and again. And not just because the pin was interesting. Her gown’s swooping décolletage did not afford enough fabric to host the pin on her shoulder or... or anywhere else. Instead, she’d attached the shimmery little sparkle just above the hollow between her breasts. He’d hardly describe Miss Trelayne as a voluptuous woman—he wasn’t in the business of describing the endowments of any woman in his employ—but he would be lying if he said the beetle didn’t draw his eye, and his eye hadn’t lingered on the outline of her breasts, small and pert, on either side.
He wondered why she’d made the effort—not about the beetle necessarily, but the dress, the ribbon—all of it. Nothing about his family suggested formality at home, surely this had been perfectly clear to Miss Trelayne. Why bother?
How long had it been since anyone in his company had bothered with anything?
“Youmisunderstand,” Timothea was insisting, signaling for another glass of wine. “No oneunderstands. I admit that my palate is complicated, but I am happy to remind. The servants must be willing to learn. As for you, you’d do well to embrace more plants in your own diet, Ian. The girls and I swear by it.”
Ian looked down the table at his nieces, both tucking in to beef tips in a hearty sauce. If they heard their mother’sstatement, they gave no sign. He glanced at Miss Trelayne and saw her make the same observation. She glanced back at Ian and they shared a look. Ian felt himself relax, just a little. That look alone was worth the salary he was paying her.
And here was another moment that begged the question:How long has it been?
He couldn’t say the last time he’d felt the kinship of something like ashared look. By definition, the life of a recluse offered limited eye contact. And kinship? Out of the question.
“Girls,” began Miss Trelayne, “I should love to know more about your interests and passions. It would make my planning easier for your lessons.”
This inquiry was met with silent chewing; a pattern Ian knew well. He’d passed the last three months tossing out general, pleasant inquiries only to be met with the sound of crickets. In truth, the twins’ blank stares had begun to drive him a little mad. He’d tried everything from bribery to holding his plate over the open stone floor and dropping it.
He was keenly interested to see how long it would take before Miss Trelayne began shattering crockery.
“Ivy,” continued Miss Trelayne, “did I noticed a small cage in your lap when I arrived this morning?”
Ivy’s face turned red and she stared at her plate, saying nothing.
“I believe you also had one or two books in your possession. My guess is... reference books? Scientific journals or something to do with naturalism?”
