Page 40 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

“You may tell me that you do not wish to answer,” Augusta said. “I will not be offended.”

Sarah’s fingers moved over the faded castle.

“I want him to stay longer,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “He comes to the schoolroom, and everyone stands up, and then he asks questions, although he does not sit down. When he finishes, he says he has work, and then he leaves.”

Augusta felt a heaviness gather in her chest, although she kept her expression calm.

“Perhaps he does not know that you want him to stay,” Augusta said.

“He should know,” Sarah replied, and then she looked up with a faint trace of frustration. “Fathers are meant to know things.”

“They know some things,” Augusta said. “They know when roofs must be repaired, and they know which tenant has not paid his rent, and they know how many horses are in the stables, although they can be remarkably foolish about the people who love them.”

Sarah’s brows drew together.

“Father is not foolish.”

“Not in most matters,” Augusta replied. “However, I think he may be foolish about you.”

Sarah looked almost offended by the suggestion.

“He knows I am his daughter,” she said.

“Yes, he does,” Augusta replied, and she shifted slightly closer. “He knows that you are his daughter, and he knows that he is responsible for you, and he knows that he wants you safe, educated, and properly cared for. Yet knowing those things is not the same as knowing what you hope for when he enters the room.”

Sarah lowered her voice.

“I hope he will sit beside me,” she said. “Sometimes I leave a book open when I hear him in the corridor, and I think he might ask what I am reading, although he usually walks past.”

“Do you call to him?”

Sarah shook her head quickly.

“Why not?” Augusta asked.

“Miss Morton says I must not call after him,” Sarah replied. “She says it is not respectful, and if he wished to come inside, he would.”

Augusta’s mouth tightened, although she took care not to criticize the governess directly in front of the child.

“Miss Morton may believe she is teaching you good manners,” Augusta said, “although I do not think your father would object to hearing his own daughter call his name.”

“He might be busy,” Sarah said.

“He is often busy,” Augusta replied. “That does not mean he wishes never to be interrupted, and it certainly does not mean that his work matters more than you.”

Sarah looked doubtful.

“He has papers,” she said. “There are always many papers on his desk, and people come to speak to him, and the housekeeper says no one should enter unless he asks.”

“Your father hides behind his papers,” Augusta said, and then she smiled slightly when Sarah looked surprised. “He may deny it if you ever repeat that, although I have seen him do it. When he does not know what to say, he becomes very interested in whatever is lying on the desk.”

“Father always knows what to say.”

“No, my dear,” Augusta replied. “He only sounds as though he does.”

Sarah considered the idea with great seriousness.

“Does he not know what to say to you?” she asked.