After pausing to perform a dainty curtsey to them all, Phoebe ran to his aunt for a kiss.
“Good day, Phoebe, my gal. What a delight to see you. Still in that black, I see. Well, it never did nuns any harm. And what are you doing today?”
“I’m solving Polybius’ mathematical conundrum, Lady Kemble.”
“How unconventional.” Her quizzing glass was raised once more. “And who have we here?”
Hugh splayed an arm. “This is Miss Jones, our new governess. And, Miss Jones, may I introduce a lady whom the blessed angels envy, a lady whom the saints admire, and whom I would be lost without. The estimable Lady Kemble.”
Aunt rolled her eyes. “Don’t cozen me, you rascal.”
His governess executed a low curtsey before returning to that perfect stillness, even beneath the weight of his aunt’s perusal.
Miss Jones wore a frock as grey as a badger that buttoned up to the chin and covered her toes. But, to his discerning eye, it could not hide her fine figure.
“Come closer, gal. Who was your mother?”
“Alice Jones, my lady.”
“Hmm. And your father?”
“David Jones.”
“How unfortunate. And what did he do?”
Miss Jones blinked. “Not a lot.”
“Similar to most men, then.”
“Just so, my lady.”
Hugh cleared his throat.
Aunt cocked her head. “The colour of your eyes, Miss Jones, they remind me of… Hmm, I’m not sure… Which of your parents did you inherit those from?”
“M-my father.”
“And what was his father’s name?”
“David Jones also.”
“How doubly unfortunate. And I suppose he did not do a lot either.”
“No, my lady.”
Even if his governess was an out-and-out purveyor of fibs, she should not be subjected to such an interrogation, so Hugh crossed to ring the bell beside the drawing room door. “I’ll send for more tea, shall I?”
Aunt, distracted by the thought of Twining’s Lapsang Souchong blend, nodded, then scowled. “Why are you limping, Hugh? What have you not told me?”
“Ah, well, I’m glad you asked, Aunt…” He rocked on his heels. Truth was his ankle pained from the occasion he’d liberated a ransomed member of parliament from a dockside brothelbut obviously that had all been kept rather hush-hush before said parliamentarian had then relinquished his seat under the pretext of wishing to spend more time with his family. But how to explain… He cleared his throat. “A fortnight ago, I had the misfortune to be caught in a somewhat compromising position with a Swedish diplomat’s wife when her stockings malfunctioned during a banquet at Mansion House.”
Aunt hoisted one brow into a perfect arc.
Phoebe snorted.
His governess frowned at the Wilton carpet.
Hugh continued regardless. “Totally misconstruing the innocence of the scene they’d happened upon, the diplomat and his minions chased me down Queen Street and onto Southwark Bridge, where my sole options were either to be shot by said diplomat or jump into the Thames.”
