Page 28 of His One and Only Lady

~Theran Rutland, in a short missive to

his man of affairs, Severin Spottswood

Mottford Hall

Early the next morning

25 August 1818

Leaning back in the high back chair in his chamber, Theran reread the missive to his man of affairs. There was no time to lose in retaining a new governess. Last night, he’d decided to cut short his stay at his aunt and uncle’s house party in favor of spending time with his immediate family at Trenthurst House.

Mother was right.

He should be with Jordan at this critical time, and he hadn’t seen Raymond since Imogene’s funeral. It would also be good for Bernadine to have time with her doting grandmother. Particularly after the ugliness with Athena. She’d left in high dudgeon within the hour of his dismissing her.

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Theran blamed himself for the entire situation. He’d allowed guilt to override good sense, and his daughter had suffered the consequences for his poor judgment.

There was no help for it, however.

There would be whispers about Athena’s departure. Quite likely about the Ceddes’ hasty parting as well. And it wouldn’t take much for an astute guest to determine Miss Mayfield was the common denominator.

As much as possible, he’d buffer his daughter, aunt, uncle, and cousins from the gossip. He wasn’t certain he’d be able to do the same for Miss Mayfield, but Theran would try.

Satisfied the note would do, he sprinkled sand upon the damp ink. This morning, he must speak to his aunt and uncle about the Ceddes’ departure and bring them abreast of the situation. As he shook the sand from the foolscap, Purity Mayfield's image intruded upon his thoughts.

Last night, she’d exemplified courage and composure, and Theran couldn’t help but admire her fortitude. Yes, she’d wept, but only after the unpleasantness was over and shock had set in.

What woman wouldn’t have done?

He purposely put from his mind the blurted offer of employment. The hasty declaration had been a means to an end. To be rid of Ceddes and to assure Purity’s safety.

Theran hadn’t been serious—he couldn’t be.

The tantalizing image of the creamy skin exposed by her ripped gown flashed to the forefront of his mind. No, fiend seize it. He would not entertain such thoughts about the pretty, vivacious governess.

Theran could not hire her.

To do so would be the height of folly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, reaffirming to himself he’d made the right decision. It would take a ruling in the House of Lords to persuade him otherwise.

Not only was Purity Mayfield the opposite in physical appearance of what he deemed an ideal candidate, but she was too young and far too religious for his taste. She’d likely insist on saying grace at meals, praying before bed, and attending services every Sunday.

He’d spare Bernadine the heartache of unanswered prayers and dashed hopes by sheltering her from such nonsensical rot.

You believed at one time.

Yes, before his prayers, which had turned into pleading—then begging and bargaining— for Imogene’s recovery, went unanswered.

He pushed the intrusive thought to a fusty recess in his mind.

Folding the foolscap, Theran glanced to the door and then the miniature brass-cased carriage clock on the nightstand.

A quarter past eight.

It was still early, but normally, Bernadine greeted him first thing upon awakening. Perhaps no maid had been available to escort his daughter to his chamber this morning.

Once he’d sealed the letter, he tucked it into his jacket pocket.