Page 5 of Aurelia

“I might interview a few candidates myself this time,” he said.

Arthur’s expression hardened and he swelled with indignation. “If you don’t trust me with the decision, then you are more than welcome—”

“I trust your judgment,” Roland lied. “But I’m actually considering other solutions than another governess.”

“Such as?

“Sending her away to school.”

“She is only four and ten!”

“Soon to be five-and-ten.”

“It is too young.”

“My father sent us away when I was nine and you were one-and-ten,” he reminded his cousin.

“Yes. And it was hellish. Without you to protect me it would have been even worse. Poor Celsa won’t have anyone.”

It was true that Arthur had had a dreadful time at Eton. He’d been tall—almost as tall as Roland—but skinny and so pretty that he’d been teased relentlessly.

Roland, who’d possessed the demeanor of a badger as a lad—and some would argue still did—had protected his more retiring cousin whenever he could. But there had been times when Roland hadn’t been there to save him.

“Perhaps girls are not as vicious as boys,” Roland said.

Arthur gave him a look of disbelief.

Roland laughed and held up his hands. “Yes, you are right: that was an idiotic thing to say.” Especially as they’d just finished discussing his dead wife Jane, who could be twice as vicious as any man he had ever met.

“Celsa needs to get at least a few years of, er, finishing, before she is launched into society,” Roland pointed out. “I think school is an excellent notion.”

“A year should be ample. That means you don’t need to send her until she is seventeen.”

Roland was amused by his cousin’s protective instincts toward his daughter. He strongly doubted Celsa would be an underdog if she were to go off to school. It was far more likely that she would end up at the top of the pecking order.

Arthur gestured to the journal article Roland had been working on before he’d been interrupted. “How is that progressing?” he asked, clearly wanting to leave the subject of sending Celsa to school behind.

Roland held up his left hand to show the tremor in his injured arm, which still functioned but was very weak. “I have to take frequent breaks to rest my hand. Also, my handwriting is worse than ever; you will need to re-write everything in your handsome copperplate.”

“It shakes far less than it did a year ago,” Arthur said, ever the optimist.

“Yes, but it is easily fatigued and the tremor gets worse the longer I use it.” He flexed his fingers and stared at the black scars on the back of his hand—scars that went all the way up his arm. “It was wishful thinking to believe I could help with any of the paintings. I suspect I will never have the control over my fingers that is necessary to paint, or even sketch. Miss Burton will have to do the bulk of it.”

“And you believe she is up to the task?”

“I certainly hope so,” Roland said, and then cleared his throat and turned back to the pages on his desk, picking up his quill.

“You are eager to get back to work,” Arthur said, getting to his feet.

Roland did not deny it.

“I shall see you at dinner,” Arthur said.

But Roland had already stopped listening.

Chapter 2

Lady Aurelia Bellamy sat in the coffee room in the Laughing Hen Inn and public house and stared out the window at her future home.