Alasdair, wincing at the bright morning light, made his way back inside the castle. The staff were still clearing up after last night’s festivities and their cheerful, noisy activity was somehow grating. Most had, like him, made free with the whisky, but most seemed to have escaped the half-headache that was draining him this morning. Morning? He corrected himself. It was just past noon and he was expected in the schoolroom.
What had seemed a clever notion last night now seemed the height of foolishness. He knew he needed to spend more time with Mairead, for since Miss Farnham’s arrival their daily time together had diminished. To be fair, this was not the governess’s doing. It was more the case that, prior to the governess’s arrival, Mairead had spent time every day with him, with Mrs MacLeod and with whomever else could be spared to mind her. Miss Farnham, who seemed very conscientious, had developed the habit of spending most of the day with his child—from after breakfast until dinner-time—and, quite simply, he missed his daughter.
However, the solution was clearly not, as he had assumed, for him to join in their lessons. It was for him to simply organise his day so that he had time with the child. If he had been more clear-thinking, he would have dealt with the whole situation more appropriately.
Sighing, he made his way to the part of the castle where Mrs MacLeod had housed the governess. A fairly comfortable bedchamber, he recalled, then flushed at the improper thoughts that had instantly sprung to mind. He had barely slept last night, his mind and body distracted by memories of Lydia in that blue gown and out of it. To allow his attention to remain on such thoughts in daylight would be the undoing of him.
Forcing his attention elsewhere, he spared a thought for Calum and Màiri, who would be crossing to South Uist about now. Never to return to Benbecula. To Scotland. The notion was appalling.
Calum’s family were from near Rueval, the hill that dominated the island. Unfortunately the land was now owned by that absentee lord whom he and Angus were trying to negotiate with. If a lord could not—or would not—care for his people, then, in Alasdair’s view, he should no longer be the owner. We might have to go to London, if we must. The notion unsettled him, for he was fairly sure he would dislike it immensely.
Yet I like Miss Farnham.
The thought was startling, the truth blinding in its novelty.
I like her.
He had known he desired her, but now he had to acknowledge that he enjoyed her company, their discussions, the time he spent with her. It was unlooked for and, he acknowledged grimly, unwelcome in many ways—mainly because she was so desirable. He did not wish to like Miss Farnham and he could certainly make no generalities about London society based on one governess. Previously, he had considered that what was developing between them was some sort of friendship. Now he knew it for certain.
He had reached the door. Inside was Miss Farnham’s bedchamber, which led directly to the schoolroom. Bracing himself, he knocked.
There was no response. Naturally there would not be, for his scratching would be impossible to hear in the schoolroom. Tentatively, he opened the door a little, then spoke a few words, just in case she was there. Nothing.
Feeling as though he were trespassing, he opened the door wider. The chamber was empty. In some relief, he strode across to the schoolroom door. Despite himself, he had taken in too much with his one, fleeting glance. Two miniature portraits on the side table. Her parents? A hairbrush. A book. What is she reading?
The bed.
Her bed.
He swallowed, his inner eye suddenly flooded with notions best kept to lonely nights. Here she slept, here she undressed, here she bathed. Oh, but he could imagine assisting her with her bath, rolling with her in the bed, sleeping with her locked tightly in his arms...
‘Come in!’ His mind distracted by a flurry of thoughts and emotions, he had knocked without even thinking about it.
In he went, as though he were somehow going to his doom.
‘Papaidh!’
All dour thoughts dissipated instantly at the sight of his daughter’s smile. ‘Well, child, I told you I would come, did I not?’ He turned to the governess. The side curls from last night were still in evidence, although today she had returned to one of her ugly shapeless gowns. His disappointment was acute, although he knew, logically, that the shapeless gowns were much, much better for his peace of mind. ‘Good day, Miss Farnham.’ Unbidden, his mind threw at him memories of their brief embrace last night, the feeling of her soft skin as he had kissed her cheek. He felt himself flush and had to force himself to not fidget in an unbecoming manner.
She had stood to greet him and now made a graceful curtsy. ‘Sir.’
‘I told you to call me Alasdair,’ he growled. Even if he had instantly regretted it, he would not go back on his word. Besides, he was all at sea, with no idea at present how he felt or what he wanted.
She inclined her head. ‘Good day, Alasdair.’
Her pronunciation was in the Gaelic style and it sent an unwelcome shiver through him. She did not, he noted, offer him the courtesy of calling her Lydia. A pang of what felt remarkably like disappointment went through him. Yet, given his recent behaviour towards her—one minute disapproving, the next warm—how could he blame her for seeking a formal distance? It was, after all the most sensible solution for both of them. And so it was with formality that he addressed her.
‘Very well. I am here to observe your methods, Miss Farnham.’ He glanced about the room, then pulled up a hard chair from near the window. ‘You may begin.’
Part of him knew he was being harsh, that behaving in ways that would seem cold and judgemental would not lend itself to any employee performing well, but he could not help it. Just being in Lydia’s—in Miss Farnham’s company was enough to unsettle him and he did not like to feel unsettled. He had to resist this damnable, un-looked-for attraction and remember that she was here as a governess, not anything else.
Without any hint of nervousness, she turned to Mairead, suggesting they begin by showing Mairead’s papaidh how well she was learning the Globe.
How serene she is! How accomplished and calm her manner!
He watched, as much fascinated by Miss Farnham as by his daughter’s progress. A few minutes later, he had to admit to being impressed.
‘Mairead is a quick-witted child and a good learner,’ Miss Farnham declared, making his chest swell with pride.
‘Of course she is,’ he retorted gruffly. ‘Now then, Mairead, where is Benbecula?’
‘That was the first place Lydia showed me.’ She spun the globe, placing her finger unerringly on the small dots representing the archipelago that was the Outer Hebrides. Her mouth turned down. ‘We are so small, compared to all these big places.’
‘Ah, that is because the islands are precious!’ He made haste to reassure her and to defend his beloved homeland. ‘I believe the islands have been well hidden, so that only the lucky ones can even find them, much less live here.’
‘That is what Lydia said!’
‘She did?’ Dumbfounded, he glanced at the governess, who looked a little put out.
‘Mairead, let us try some French for your father.’
Half listening as Miss Farnham put his daughter through some simple French words and phrases, his mind was puzzling over her defence of the islands. As a non-islander she could not have meant it, of course, but at least she had had the wit to say it to the child. Hester had seen only the remoteness of the Hebrides. Perhaps, a small voice whispered inside, perhaps she is not like Hester.
The French lesson was drawing to a close, so he praised his child, adding a ‘well done’ in French.
‘So you can speak French, too, Papaidh?’ Mairead seemed astonished.
‘I can. The French have always been our friends, so it is important to learn their language.’
Miss Farnham was eyeing him quizzically and he laughed, somehow knowing exactly what her look signified. ‘I shall admit,’ he offered, ‘if you force me to, that Napoleon has perhaps become a little too ambitious. He ought to have stayed in France, looking after his own people. The urge for conquest can never be admirable.’
‘I am glad you think so,’ was all she would say. ‘Now then, Mairead, it is time for some reading and writing.’
He leaned forward, keen to see the progress the governess had been made with this. Prior to Miss Farnham’s arrival, Mairead had fought, distracted and denied everyone who wished to teach her to read or write—including himself. Holding his breath, he watched as Miss Farnham wrote some simple sentences on the slate and asked Mairead to read them. This she did, running her finger underneath and sounding out any words that she seemed less familiar with. She then painstakingly copied each one, forming letters that were reasonably clear. Despite Miss Farnham’s frequent reassurances, actually witnessing Mairead reading and writing was strongly affecting him and he had to make a tight fist out of sight of the others, in order to prevent tears starting in his eyes.
My Mairead!
By the time she had finished, he had his emotions somewhat under control, but when Mairead showed him her work, with a clear sense of pride, he did not hold back. ‘I declare I am astounded! Mairead, you are doing wonderfully well and working so hard at your lessons. And as for you, Miss Farnham, you are exceptional!’
His child beamed with happiness, while Miss Farnham looked decidedly flushed. Her beautiful face glowed with pleasure and he was unaccountably pleased at being able to praise her so fulsomely. ‘Thank you,’ she managed to say, before Mairead interrupted.
‘I have been doing some more writing, Papaidh, but I cannot show it to you yet!’ She giggled and she and Miss Farnham made a great show of exchanging ‘secret’ signals. Mairead must have written a message for his upcoming birthday.
Making a great show of checking his pocket watch, he then looked at them both, asking with exaggerated confusion, ‘Excuse me? I missed that. Did you say something?’
‘No, no, nothing at all,’ declared Miss Farnham with a studied air of innocence. Mairead mimicked this, clearly enjoying the game.
His eyes met those of the governess and hers were brimful of humour.
She is a treasure!
Somehow, he found he could not look away and the gaze deepened, becoming something else—something deliciously dangerous.
After a long moment Miss Farnham blinked, as if recollecting where she was, then looked away, busying herself with wiping the slate clean. Alasdair cursed himself for a fool. Had he learned nothing from Hester? Although his instincts were currently screaming at him that Lydia was not Hester, he knew he should not be letting down his guard. To do so risked not only his own happiness, but Mairead’s as well. If he risked trusting the governess, letting her get ever closer to both of them, what would then happen when she went away? She would break Mairead’s heart, and he could not allow that to happen.
‘Miss Farnham,’ he said mildly, ‘you may take some time off this afternoon, for I intend to spend the rest of the day with my daughter.’
Mairead must not become over-reliant on her governess.
Instead of welcoming this, she looked almost panicked for an instant, before her features smoothed into polite neutrality. ‘Yes, sir—er, Alasdair. Enjoy your afternoon.’
‘I shall.’ Resisting the urge to ask the governess about her reaction, instead he turned to Mairead. ‘Well, mo nighean, what should we do today?’
Miss Farnham half raised a hand. ‘Er...before you go, there is something I should like to ask you.’ Miss Farnham sounded unsure, which was not like her.
‘Yes? What is it?’
She glanced at the child, then rose. ‘If you please, sir?’
He followed her out of the room. Clearly, she did not wish to speak in front of Mairead. Turning to face him, she seemed to almost brace herself, and he wondered, in some bemusement, what she was about to say.
‘Sir—’ Checking herself, she began again, her face tight with what looked remarkably like anxiety. ‘Alasdair, I hope you are satisfied with my work and with Mairead’s progress.’
‘I am more than satisfied, Miss Farnham. She is making tremendous progress. I know not what witchcraft you have used, but it is very effective!’
Her shoulders relaxed a little. ‘Then—you are contented to keep me on for a little longer?’
A little longer? ‘What are your intentions, Miss Farnham?’
‘My intentions?’
‘Yes,’ he replied tersely, suddenly conscious they were in her bedchamber. There in front of him, just over her left shoulder, was her bed.
‘I intend to work hard with Mairead, if that is what you are asking?’
‘I am asking whether you have plans to leave,’ he retorted bluntly.
‘To leave? No, no—’ she shook her head ‘—I plan to stay for as long as my being here is satisfactory to everyone.’
This was not particularly clear. ‘To everyone? Including yourself?’
She nodded, although still wore a confused look. ‘Yes, naturally. Actually, on that topic—’ She lifted her chin. ‘If I were to leave for whatever reason, would you be willing to pay for my trip back to London?’
‘Well, of course! To do anything less would be dishonourable, since it is I who have brought you so far from home.’
Her trip back to London!
His stomach sank, but he maintained an uninterested air. His voice, though, dropped a little, almost as if he were afraid to ask the next question. ‘Do you miss it?’
‘Miss what?’
‘London. Your home.’
She shrugged. ‘Not especially.’ Her eyes danced. ‘Although I do miss being able to frequent Hookham’s Lending Library.’ She thought for a moment. ‘And Gunter’s.’
‘Gunter’s? What is that?’
‘It is a teashop in Berkeley Square. They serve ices there. And sorbets.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘We have no icehouse in Ardmore, it is true, but do remember your book allowance. Iain can arrange to order any book you wish.’
‘I would prefer to order more teaching materials. Slates, pencils, readers and the like.’
‘Why?’
‘With your permission, I should like to teach some of the other castle children. I believe it would be beneficial for Mairead to spend more time with other children.’ Her tone was animated; she was clearly passionate about the matter.
‘I would not wish for you to become distracted. Mairead has only just begun to accept being taught...’
In her enthusiasm she briefly laid a hand on his arm. ‘Oh, I know, please do not fret. I genuinely believe she would do better if some of her lessons were alone, but some with others.’
‘Let me think about it.’ He needed time to consider the matter. For now, his mind was still in tumult from the notion that she would leave. From the way she had touched his arm. From the knowledge they were standing in her bedchamber.
‘Thank you, Alasdair.’
‘You are most welcome, Miss Farnham.’ He paused, then when she said nothing further he bowed, before leaving her to collect Mairead from the schoolroom. When they passed through, she was in the window alcove, moving her chair into the shaft of bright sunlight. Why would she not offer him the privilege of saying her name?
Lydia.
He tried it in his head, feeling his tongue taste her name.
‘Goodbye, Lydia!’ Mairead called cheerfully.
‘Goodbye,’ she returned.
His last image of her before he turned away was of her outline—over-large gown, elegant arms, bare neck, blonde hair—haloed by the sun streaming through the casement behind her. Momentarily, he had a sense of being blinded—not, this time, by her beauty, but simply by her own self.
Lydia.