Brynne blushed again, although this time she didn’t know why. Lachlan was loud, and brash, and violent–everything she’d been kept away from. How odd, then, that she actually…maybe…a tiny bit…likedhim. And, now that her initial shock at his unannounced arrival had subsided, she was glad that he had come to Hawkridge. At the very least, he’d provide interesting company, in addition to helping the time pass more quickly until Weston returned.
“The receiving parlor is this way,” she said, indicating a set of French doors with a stained glass inlay. “I’ll have a maid ready us some lemonade. Are you hungry? We’ve anything you could want. Cold meats or salmon for a sandwich, and–”
“Lady Brynne.”
As the sound of her governess’ voice cracked through the foyer like the slash of a whip, Brynne winced and instantly squared her shoulders. Miss Hardgrave was a stickler for proper posture, and whenever she caught her charge slouching, Brynne would have to walk up and down the hallway with a book balanced on her head.
Ever since she’d outgrown the nursery and become too old for a nanny, Brynne had been kept under the care of a governess. Six of them, to be precise, each one lasting for a year or two before they were removed and replaced for reasons that were never explained to her. Miss Hardgrave was the seventh, and by far the worst.
Strict, stern, and unforgiving, she ruled over every aspect of Brynne’s life with an iron fist and a disapproving frown. From monitoring what Brynne ate, to enforcing what time she went to bed, the governess seemed to take unique pleasure in the control she yielded.
Brynne despised her, as did Weston. He wanted them to drive Miss Hardgrave out (as the twins had been known to do on occasion), but what if her replacement was even worse? Brynne didn’t dare risk it. Especially without Weston here to look after her.
“Who is this?” Miss Hardgrave’s steely gaze raked across Lachlan with visible contempt. Tall and thin as a pencil, her brown hair was pulled back from her face with such force that it stretched the skin at the corners of her eyes. A confirmed spinster approaching her fortieth year, she’d graduated Blakeshire’s Governess Academy with top honors and had been employed by some of the most prestigious families in all of England before she’d come to Hawkridge.
“Lachlan Campbell,” he said with an insolent smirk.
Miss Hardgrave’s lips pinched so tightly together they all but disappeared into her pale, wan face. “You must be the new footman. Servants are to use the side entrance, not the main foyer. You’d also do well to watch your tone, Mr. Campbell. Impudence is not a quality that Lord Dorchester seeks in his servants.”
At that, Brynne stepped forward.
“Lachlan isn’t a servant,” she explained earnestly. “He is a guest. Weston has sent him to stay with us while he is…ah…on temporary leave from Eton.”
“A guest?” asked Miss Hardgrave, visibly thrown off guard.
“Aye,” said Lachlan, his voice cooling as his face hardened, giving a glimpse at the man he’d soon become. Rough, intimidating, and one who didn’t suffer fools–or tyrannical governesses–lightly. “And it isna mister, it’s lord. Lord Campbell. Ye would do well tae remember that.”
The governess’ face puckered, as if she had suddenly bitten into a lemon. Her elevated position in the household put her far above a footman, but she was still well beneath the aristocracy and, as such, would have to keep her obvious disdain for Lachlan in check. “I…I apologize for my error,LordCampbell. I can assure you that it will not happen again.”
As her gaze traveled from Miss Hardgrave to Lachlan and back again, Brynne barely managed to suppress a smile. It appeared as if the governess had finally met her match. If her expression was any indication, she wasn’t pleased about it.
“I was just about to offer Lord Campbell some refreshments in the parlor,” Brynne said tentatively. “After that, I thought a tour of the grounds–”
But Miss Hardgrave was already shaking her head. “You are late for your French lesson. Mrs. Pembroke is more than capable of showing our guest around. I will let her know that he is here, and that the maids should ready a room in the East Wing.”
“The East Wing?” Brynne echoed in dismay. “But that’s all the way on the other side of the–”
“Your lesson,” Miss Hardgrave said firmly. “Tardiness does not become a lady. Leave our guest’s accommodations to the staff. I am afraid that your schedule is such that you’ll not have the ability to be in Lord Campbell’s company outside of dinner. Even then, I’m sure your studies will preclude you from lengthy conversation.”
As Brynne was ushered away, she cast a helpless glance over her shoulder and met Lachlan’s amber gaze. He winked at her, and mouthed something she couldn’t hear…but which she understood nevertheless.
A silently passed message that left her feeling strange and warm and fluttery, as if she’d been standing out in the sun for too long without a hat.
“I’ll see ye soon, Bry.”
Chapter Three
Lachlan knew thathe was supposed to be remorseful for what he’d done to Lord Wheeler. At least, that’s what the headmaster had told him.
“A two-week suspension from your classes,”the old bugger had croaked.“So that you may think upon your actions and what you can do to improve yourself. This is not your first incident, Lord Campbell. But it shall be your last, lest I inform your father that your schooling at Eton has been permanently terminated.”
Truth be told, Lachlandidfeel a wee measure of contrition.
If he had to do it over again, he would have hit Wheeler a hell of a lot harder.
The prancing roaster.
Wheeler had deserved to be laid out on his arse, and Lachlan was glad to have been the one to put him there. Suspension or no suspension.
