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Hudson hadn’t expected Miss Finch to walk into the library quite so soon. But he had a feeling that Mrs. Pratt, saint that she was, had been a bit unpleasant toward the new governess, if the sight of Miss Finch looking like she’d awakened only moments before was any indication. Would it embarrass her if he pointed out that there was an imprint of her pillow on her cheek?
Of course it would.
And of all things to smile about, this shouldn’t be one of them. What if she asked him why he was smiling? If anything, he should be out on the estate meeting with the tenants. Of course, it was way too early for that, but with Hudson’s usual insomnia, it seemed he was always waiting for others to awaken so he could give them instructions.
“Have a seat, Miss Finch,” Hudson said, after rising to his feet and using the credenza to support himself against the throbbing of his ankle. Blasted thing. He indicated the chair opposite the credenza he was sitting behind.
Her footsteps were silent, almost cautious, as she moved to the chair.
Miss Finch in the morning was more subdued than the Miss Finch in the afternoon on the tour of the house and grounds and the Miss Finch reading to the children the night before in a rousing voice differentiating between the various characters of a children’s storybook.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked.
Ah. So he was smiling. “I . . . I didn’t intend to smile. I mean, I should not be . . .”
Her dark-green eyes were lighter than he remembered. Or perhaps it was due to the way the room now glowed with soft morning light.
“Smiling is best when it’s not forced or intended,” she said.
“True.” He agreed, of course he did.
“Never mind,” Miss Finch said. “I can hardly interrogate you about your smile. I am surprised is all, assuming you probably slept less than I did.”
Hudson hadn’t considered this scenario. “Did you not sleep well?”
“I eventually slept, but not until after I deduced the man pacing in the garden was you and not some nefarious miscreant.”
Hudson blinked. Then he chuckled. “Nefarious miscreant? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that phrase, Miss Finch.”
Her cheeks dimpled. Laws, how did he not know she had dimples until now?
“Don’t worry, I soon realized it was you.” She tilted her head, and the deep auburn of her hair caught the light just so, making her hair look like it had threads of fire running through it.
The morning sun seemed to have warmed the room rather quickly.
He hadn’t realized he was simply staring at her until she spoke again. “Do you often walk the gardens in the middle of the night?”
Hudson picked up a quill pen. Set it down. Picked it up again. “What is your definition of often?”
Those dimples appeared again. “More than once a week.”
“Then I must say that I often walk the garden in the middle of the night,” he said. “I can’t sleep more than a handful of hours at night, you see. Sometimes I keep to the library and read. Even when my eyes tire of reading, my mind continues in circles, and walking helps to calm my thoughts—” What was he saying? Confessing?
Emmeline looked properly shocked. “Did you sleep at all last night? I must say, it’s still rather early, if you don’t mind me mentioning it.”
Hudson felt his lips quirk. She wasn’t the first person to mention how early he was awake. In the military, it was a given, but on a gentleman’s country estate, perhaps unusual. “I did sleep a little.”
The relief that crossed her pretty face did something strange to Hudson’s being. He wanted to sit closer to her and ask her to tell him more about herself. And yes, he had just admitted that she was pretty. Hudson recognized that Miss Finch wasn’t a standard beauty by any means, but only a handful of moments in conversation with her left no doubt that her charm and intellect far outweighed creamy skin and fashionable clothing complementing a woman’s form.
Miss Finch was certainly womanly, although the rather shabby dress set her form to a disadvantage. Hudson reeled his thoughts back. How had his mind gone straight to the gutter so quickly? “I’m sorry if I worried you,” he said. “Perhaps I should have warned you about my nightly wanderings.”
“I recovered quite well,” she said. “Although Mrs. Pratt had a time of it waking me this morning.” With that statement she stifled a yawn.
Hudson wanted to feel guilty, but the sooner the new governess was on the household schedule, the better. Speaking of schedules, he hadn’t heard a word from the children yet.
“But I must warn you, Captain Ridout,” she said. “If I don’t get my usual nine hours of sleep, I tend to be a bit cranky.”
Hudson battled between the surprise that anyone besides a small child could sleep nine hours and the curiosity of what Miss Finch might be like when she was cranky.
“I think the last time I slept nine hours was when I was in leading strings.”
Miss Finch’s eyes rounded, as they very well should. “Goodness, your poor mother. Or nurse, or whoever was in charge of you in the mornings. And nights.”
Hudson had never considered this. He supposed that his odd hours had been disruptive when he was a child. When he was a young man, no one seemed to worry about his nightly forays about the house and garden. Perhaps his family had been used to it?
It was strange to think his entire life he’d had difficulty sleeping, even before the navy.
“I apologize, I shouldn’t have said that,” she said. “I don’t always stop my thoughts from reaching my tongue.”
And that was precisely why Hudson found this woman so refreshing. But he had instructions to give, and all this talk about sleeping or not sleeping was way off course. “I’m not one to censor a woman’s talk, Miss Finch. That said, I did send for you for a reason.”
“Not to discuss sleeping patterns?” she said.
“Not precisely.” He folded his hands atop the credenza. “As you know, the children have been through some terrible things. They might take more care and patience than the average child. And I must admit that I haven’t helped them along in their education one whit. So you might have some catching up to do, especially since I don’t know where they stand in regards to other children their age.”
“They’re bright children,” Miss Finch. “That is obvious already, so I am sure they’ll not have much trouble catching up on things.” Her brow furrowed. “Although I must ask how you feel about expanding the army.”
“The army?”
“Yes, Andrew’s army and Charlotte’s supporting cast.” Her cheeks dimpled.
“You mean . . . whittle more toys?”
“Precisely,” she said. “When they are finished with their lessons, of course. They are both so enthusiastic about it.”
Hudson had been a witness to that enthusiasm. “Am I to be carving an entire nation?”
Her smile was quick to spread. “Only when you have time, of course.”
His gaze dropped to his hands. “It seems that I have nothing but time right now.” He hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud.
“Will you return to the navy someday?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“No,” he said. “I retired before traveling to Branhall. My ankle gives me too much trouble. And then, of course, everything changed yet again once I arrived here.”
“I’m very sorry for your losses,” Miss Finch said. “If there is anything I can do to ease the situation, I will do it.”
“I think you’re already helping the children.” He hadn’t meant for the conversation to take such a serious turn, but it seemed with Miss Finch, no subject was off the table.
A trio of birds began their morning song outside his window. Perhaps the children could sleep a few more moments. “What led you to become a governess, Miss Finch?” he asked. “Have you always wanted to become one?”
“Oh, heavens, no,” Miss Finch said, the blush pinking her cheeks in a rather lovely way. “I’ve run away, you see. From heartbreak, that is.”