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Before Miles could really warm to the subject of discussing the Roman pavement with Jonathan, another knock sounded on the door.
“Good afternoon, Miss Wickham,” he greeted as the governess stepped into the room.
“Good afternoon, Lord Archewyne.” Her melodious voice bounced in the air. How lucky indeed was Jane to be instructed by a woman with such a voice. Some of his tutors had been harsh or used dry, raspy tones. “I’m here to collect the children. Once I hand Charles into Mrs. Flagler’s keeping, Jane and I have a riding lesson to keep.”
“At this hour of day?” He frowned, but the governess didn’t rush to assure him. It was an annoying trait of hers to be sure, but perhaps she still wasn’t fully comfortable around them enough to relax into her personality.
Instead, she patted a tendril of wheat-blonde hair back into its chignon and gazed at him with her blue-gray eyes, the blue nearly indigo. “Of course, my lord. I specifically have Jane’s riding times altered during the week to account for the change in light, weather conditions, terrain issues and the like. It is my opinion that if you wish for her to learn, she should be able to sit her horse no matter what. I fully believe children should be prepared for any eventuality and should have as many skills as they can in the event something unexpected should occur.”
Sophia Wickham, the fourth daughter of an impoverished squire, hailed from the Lake District. Her father had gambled their fortunes into dust, and with three sisters and two brothers, there wasn’t enough coin to go around, prompting her need to find genteel work as many of her siblings had. One of her sisters and one of her brothers had married already. Understandably, they had both moved from the area and called London home now. As part of the gentry, they had opportunities where others, in just as reduced circumstances, might not.
No doubt she talked from personal experience. “Excellent logic.” Then he noticed she looked at Jonathan with askance and a hint of curiosity. For his part, the viscount stared back at her with an expression bordering on mistrust and shock. Botheration. I know that look. Trouble was brewing. “Uh, pardon me for not performing introductions.” Miles cleared his throat. “Miss Sophia Wickham, this is Viscount Trewellain. He’s visiting Archewyne Hall for the Christmastide.” Miles glanced at his best friend. “Jonathan, this is Miss Wickham, our newly hired governess.”
“I know who he is.” The young woman dropped a brief, shallow curtesy. “Lord Trewellain. I had wondered when I would run into you, but had assumed it would have been in London.” She paused slightly as they both stared at her. “My sister married the Earl of Salisbury. I live with them when I am not at a post.”
What the devil? Miles reminded himself not to gawk. She had intended or merely assumed she’d come into contact with the viscount sooner or later? For what purpose?
Jonathan’s expression didn’t soften. “Good afternoon, Miss Wickham.” When she didn’t extend a hand, he flicked an eyebrow at the slight. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Though his tone sounded the farthest thing from it. In fact, it almost bordered on disgust. “How goes your father? It’s been an age since I saw him last.”
“No doubt he works to separate himself from the last of his fortunes, for his honor left him years ago.” Annoyance flashed in her eyes. “Outside of that, I have not seen him for several months.”
“Ah. Then you don’t plan to return to the family seat for the holiday?” Was that concern in the viscount’s voice?
Miles shifted his attention to his friend. Damn and blast. What was happening? He watched with the same fascination a play at Covent Garden held. He didn’t like it by half that there was an underlying mystery he had no part of.
“Not this year. My sister offered to share her holiday in London, but I declined that invite after much thought. Sent off my response just this morning. Since I have recently come to the Hawkins family, I didn’t feel it prudent to leave for weeks at this time. Bonding with Lady Jane is more important.” That little bit of insight revealed more of her character than anything else. She possessed integrity and a sense of responsibility.
All to the good, no matter what was occurring between her and the viscount.
“Fair enough.” Jonathan nodded. “Returning to the original topic, did you have need of me, Miss Wickham? If so, perhaps a note sent ‘round to my townhouse would have served you better than wondering or even contriving to find yourself in my company.”
Damnation. Did Jonathan know the governess before now? He hadn’t shown that sort of snap for a long time indeed. Oh God. Miles narrowed his eyes. Had Miss Wickham been one of Jonathan’s conquests during his days as a rogue? A tinge of mild alarm went through his gut. Why didn’t I do my own investigation before we consented to her post here? He looked for help in Emmaline’s direction, but she was fiddling with the seal of a letter and remained oblivious to the entire conversation happening around her
“Yes, well. I suppose we shall never know what would have transpired had I done exactly that, will we? Some things—people—are best ignored.”
“Or avoided out of fear?” Jonathan had lowered his voice and trained an intense gaze on her.
“Perhaps, or mayhap out of annoyance and anger.” Miss Wickham smoothed a hand along the front of her serviceable brown wool dress and darted her gaze back to Miles, clearly dismissing the viscount. “If there is nothing else, Lord Archewyne, I should see to the children.”
“Of course.” He stood aside so she might pass. “But please remember the celebration we’re planning on Christmas Eve, complete with mummers, wassail and the like. I should hope you’ll enjoy yourself, Miss Wickham, outside of your capacity of governess.”
“I shall think on it, but if I do attend, it will probably be with Jane. At present, my leisure time is spent doing... other things.” With that, she moved across the room, where Emmaline, having opened her letter but not unfolding it, detained the young woman for a moment.
What the devil did any of that mean? Miles frowned. “That was odd.” Now, more than ever, he couldn’t help but speculate if Rathesborne had contrived to put Miss Wickham into their midst for a purpose other than filling the open governess post, yet according to Emmaline, the duke had maintained the younger woman wasn’t one of his agents. He’d dispatch an inquiry at the first opportunity. “Do you previously have intimate knowledge of Miss Wickham?” he asked of his friend.
“I do not. The only facts I have on her are public knowledge. Everyone knows of her wastrel father. Every man at the gambling tables with him has won coin or property—or other things—off the man.” Jonathan crossed his arms at his chest and his gaze followed her across the room this time with an air of distaste. “However, I find it highly obnoxious she’s formed an opinion of me without ever spending time in my company.”
“Granted, you are gossip-worthy as a rogue, or at least you were before—”
“Before Lavinia.” His attention never wavered from the governess as she left Emmaline’s side and continued on toward the children. “Which is what makes this whole affair highly suspicious.” But with a firmly set jaw and a muscle twitching at the corner of his left eye, something was afoot
“Indeed.” Miles observed Miss Wickham. She picked up Charles and then ushered Jane through the room. The governess didn’t glance at him or Jonathan as she passed, merely kept her face averted and her eyes on Jane while they discussed evening plans. “And interesting. A mystery to be solved.” For whatever reason, the woman had snagged Jonathan’s regard. His best friend hadn’t had anything to do with a female since he’d lost Lavinia. Perhaps, as a gesture of goodwill for Christmas, Miles should encourage him to spend time with the governess.
Emmy is right. He needs to circulate again.
He cleared his throat. “Should I make certain you sit beside her at dinner tonight?”
“God no. Since you are not throwing a party, no doubt the intimate seating will be conducive to conversation if you insist.” The viscount stared into the empty doorway she’d just vacated. “I don’t like it by half though.”
“Don’t like what?”
“She’s too intelligent for her own good.” Finally, Jonathan looked at him. Annoyance dominated the depths of his hazel eyes. “Mark my words, that woman will be trouble.”
For me or for you, my friend? Miles fought the urge to laugh outright. “But those are the best of kinds of women, don’t you think?”
“Don’t be an arse, Archewyne. She is not the type I chase, even if she and I are...” He shook his head. “It matters not at this time. Besides, I’ll leave the country imminently. I have no time for an entanglement, especially one of this magnitude and mess.”
“What are you not telling me?” His intuition flared along with his gut instinct. “Why the need for secrecy?”
“Some things are best left to obscurity, but suffice it to say, I refuse to be manipulated, least of all by a tart-mouthed woman or her circumstances.” Jonathan tapped the tip of his cane on the floor. “What did you mean to tell me before we were interrupted?”
Obviously, he wanted the matter dropped. Miles respected his wishes, for now, but once he told Emmaline of what had occurred, she’d hound the viscount until he spilled all his secrets. “I have discovered what I believe will be an ancient, Roman pavement, perhaps even the remains of a villa on my property. Right now, securing the site is paramount.” He spent the next several moments telling Jonathan about the find and what he planned to do with it on Christmas.
The viscount interrupted him. “Archewyne, your wife seems in some distress.”
“What?” Miles glanced across the room. Emmaline’s face had blanched. The hand holding the letter shook.
“I shall retire to my room and give you privacy,” Jonathan said. “At the very least, I should change clothes. It was bad form of me to appear splattered with mud and stinking of horseflesh.”
“Thank you.” Miles nodded. “Don’t tumble into trouble,” he added as his friend quit the room. His chest tightened as he strode across the room toward his wife. “Dearest, what is wrong?” He guided her to a settee and sat down beside her. “Tell me. Who is the letter from?”
“My father.” She lifted wide, shocked eyes to his. “He has suffered an attack of the heart.”
“You have my condolences,” Miles murmured. His wife’s relationship with her father had been fraught with difficulties, the least of which being poor health from a mummy’s curse, but recently they had come to a peaceful settlement with her marriage and subsequently becoming a mother. St. Ives had taken to his grandparent role with great aplomb. His health had steadily improved over the year.
“No.” Emmaline shook her head. She shoved the letter at him and pointed to a passage written in a scrolling, spidery hand. “He lives. Read there.”
He cleared his throat and noted the date of the letter as being mid-November. “’Do not worry about me, my darling daughter. The attack was a mild one at best. There is no cause for concern or alarm. The incident occurred at the end of October. You and the earl had already left for the country, and since you were still recovering from your recent adventures in France, I didn’t wish to burden you with my news.’”
She stared at him with mixed emotions flitting over her face. “I would have stayed in London and looked after him until I was certain he was out of danger.”
“That’s probably exactly why he didn’t tell you. He didn’t wish to disturb our time together. Granted, both you and I were healing from our injuries.” Miles slipped an arm about her waist and hugged her. “We would have been more a hindrance than a help to him. Knowing him, he didn’t wish you to hover.” St. Ives was as stubborn as his daughter.
“I don’t hover,” she insisted with a little more of her customary spirit.
“Sorry, my love, but you do, to the point where a man wants to tear out his hair for a few minutes alone.” He softened the statement with a kiss to her temple and then encouraged her to sit with him.
“It’s a good thing you’re handsome to temper that cheek.” She bestowed a grin upon him that heated his blood. “Will you read me the rest of the letter? I hadn’t gotten through it once I read those first words.” She laid her head on his shoulder.
“Very well.” He settled his back against the velvet upholstery and rested an ankle on a knee. Emmaline nestled into his side, folding her legs beneath her skirts. He examined the missive once more. “’I was not alone in my recovery, however. Helen—the Viscountess Babbington—spent copious amounts of time with me. Her care was most attentive.’” Miles broke off and glanced at his wife. “Surely not.”
Emmaline waved a hand. “I think it’s true. They have been close for years.”
“Indeed.” Trying to reconcile his thoughts around the fact that St. Ives might have a lover, Miles continued, “’Her presence in my life over the last several months made me think, and this health scare put things into perspective for me. Even moreso when the doctor told me I had to stop pushing myself and spending long hours in study and with my books.’”
Oh, God.
“Here.” He handed the letter back to his wife. “It almost feels as if I’m prying into something intimate I shouldn’t.”
Emmaline’s laughter sent awareness rippling over his skin. “Never say you’re squeamish about romance between two older people?”
“I am not. I merely think you should read the rest.” Some things a man just didn’t need to know about his father-in-law, and certainly not to see it in Emmy’s father’s hand.
She smiled and took up where he left off. “’So, my dearest child, I have decided to marry the old girl since we’ve been fast friends for years. Helen has always been an admirer, and at times, a partner in crime. This is the next logical step.’”
Miles stayed her words with a hand on her arm. “Partner in crime? Does that mean they thieved together at some point?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t put it past either one of them.” Her eyes twinkled with humor. She continued her reading. “’I hope you will be supportive, for it has been years since your mother died. I figured it might be nice and peaceful to have a female’s touch about the place again, which I suppose was one of the reasons I had the townhouse renovated, though I didn’t realize it at the time.’” Emmaline paused and laughed again. “Men are so silly. They never know what their hearts are telling them until they’re well and truly snared.”
Miles snorted. “In our defense, life has a way of making arses of us. That’s why we don’t commit outright to what we’re feeling.”
“And that is why it’s so much fun to let you wallow in it at times.” She brought one of his hands to her lips and kissed it. Then she went back to the letter. “Dear Lord.”
“What?” Miles straightened his spine. Surely there wasn’t more shocking news in that missive.
“He says he and the viscountess will arrive at Archewyne Hall by Boxing Day. And they will bring a puppy for the children.” She sighed and slid her gaze to his. “Are we ready for this?”
“Doesn’t matter if we aren’t. It’s happening anyway.” On the one hand, it was thrilling to know the old pile of bricks that was his family’s country seat would be full of life and laughter again. But on the other hand, chances for enjoying his wife’s company alone would be more difficult. All part of the chase and challenge.
Emmaline read from the letter once more. “’All children should have some sort of animal, and since Archewyne hasn’t taken the initiative, I did. I would have secured a lion cub or a monkey if I hadn’t been distracted with this heart business. Perhaps next year.’” She carefully folded the correspondence and slipped it back into the envelope. “God help us if he does indeed bring a lion at some point.”
“Ah, then you can know that same terror I felt when you foisted your own lion cub upon me shortly after we met.” Gently he tugged the letter from her fingers and then tossed it to the low table in front of him. “Turnabout is fair play, sweeting.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s what the phrase means.” She smiled as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “It seems our holiday will see many happy times this year.”
“Indeed.” He settled her more comfortably in his arms, content to hold her. “This Christmastide will be the best I’ve passed in many years.” He pressed a kiss into her hair. “Are you content with our lot?”
“Quite. As long as you’re by my side, there is nothing much I’m afraid of.”
“I don’t anticipate that we shall find ourselves parted any time soon.” Regardless of the open parlor door or the fact Jonathan could return at any time, Miles cupped her cheek and tilted her face upward. “Thank you for turning my life upside down and bringing laughter and love into it.”
“I didn’t do anything extraordinary, Miles.” She slipped a hand to his torso. Slowly, she encouraged a button on his jacket from its hole. “I just knew you were what I wanted. Everything else you’ve brought me in return has been the real treasure.”
“Ah, Emmy,” Miles whispered and then claimed her lips with his. Several moments were spent becoming lost in the wonder of her mouth before she pulled away with kiss-reddened lips and passion-glazed eyes.
“What did you and Jonathan discuss with Miss Wickham? It appeared high emotion was ready to fly.”
His pulse kicked up a notch. “At this time, I’m not entirely certain, but let me tell you what transpired. Perhaps you can puzzle out the mystery.”