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Arms folded, Theran leaned his shoulders against the panel and regarded Miss Mayfield through hooded eyes. He’d overheard her say she was a governess. Curious. Most governesses were long-toothed, long on the shelf, gravitated toward plumpness, and as plain as oatmeal porridge.
Purity Mayfield most definitely was none of those.
Where were her charges anyway?
Why wasn’t she with them?
Cupping his nape with one hand, he said, “Tell me, Miss Mayfield. Are you in the habit of airing differences in public? I cannot imagine your employer approves.”
I understand and respect your need for confidentiality and circumspection.
Regardless, I’ve been retained to investigate the disappearance of my employer’s niece five and twenty years ago. He was told she died in a fire along with her parents, but evidence has emerged that indicates she may have survived the fire.
Recently found receipts indicate a history of payment to Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women for many years by Lord Ballister. As I am sure you can imagine, the new Marquess of Ballister is keen to find his brother’s child, if she is indeed alive.
As the child’s legally appointed guardian, he had no knowledge of nor did he authorize the placement of his niece at your institution. He is hopeful this matter can be resolved without involving the authorities and without you being named an accomplice in this nefarious scheme.
~Jarman Embry, Esquire, in a letter to Mrs. Hester Shepherd, proprietress of
Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women
The Countess of Mumford’s Private Salon
A tension-filled minute later
Pretending to examine the salon’s flamboyant decor, Purity counted to ten and then repeated the process.
A soft answer turneth away wrath.
A soft answer turneth away wrath.
Not this time.
When reciting the verse did nothing to dissipate her offense, she then recited a few more in her head. Mrs. Shepherd had insisted all of her pupils memorize scripture, and there was no shortage of verses Purity might call upon.
Be slow to anger.
Slow to anger calms a dispute.
Discretion makes a man slow to anger.
She would not react to Mr. Rutland’s goading.
She. Would. Not.
Purity would simply tell him what she’d overheard, pray he was a sensible man and would protect his daughter, and be on her way.
Filling her lungs with air, she folded her hands together and brought her gaze to his.
Enigmatic deep-blue eyes regarded her, and she battled the urge to shiver and blush.
Sensible governesses did not flush crimson at the slightest provocation, nor did they take fright easily. Yet, Purity could not deny an air of animalistic power surrounded the man. It both appealed to her and made her cautious.
Compared to Mr. Rutland, Viscount Ceddes was slender, pale, and almost effeminate in his mannerisms.
A far, far different sort of man regarded her from across the room.
Purity felt rather like they were engaged in a verbal game of chess, though why Mr. Rutland felt the need to challenge her, she couldn’t fathom.
