Page 38 of His One and Only Lady

With a practiced eye, Miss Mayfield regarded the boys and girls as they rose and brushed the hay and dust from their clothing. “Our hosts have provided each of you with your very own sailboat for the boat races this morning.”

That announcement met with squeals of delight and a few joyous bounces. How sad that soon, these natural and exuberant emotions would likely be quashed by a stodgy tutor, fusty governess, or stern teacher. Or worse yet, a disapproving parent.

Which made finding the right governess for Bernadine so critical. One who wouldn’t stifle her joie de vivre—joy of life—but assist her in developing her natural abilities and talents.

“Might I have a word with you, Miss Mayfield?” Theran said as he swung Bernadine to the floor.

Her crescent lashes swept to her ivory cheeks for a moment as if she needed to bolster her courage. Theran couldn’t fault her for her reluctance to parry with him. He admitted he’d not been at his best with her.

Pinning a professional smile on her lips, she gave a brisk nod. “Of course. Caitya, could you please take Bernadine to the house for me? I’ll be but a few minutes.”

“I’d be happy to,” the Irish maid responded with a broad smile as she held her hand out to Bernadine. “Come, love.”

“I don’t want to.” Thrusting her lower lip out, Bernadine pouted. “I want to stay with you and Miss Mayfield, Papa.”

Defiance wasn’t typical for his daughter. Theran was a loving father but expected respect and obedience.

“Not now, Bernadine. The boat races commence shortly, and I have something of import to discuss with Miss Mayfield. Go with Caitya.” He turned her toward the waiting servant. “I shall see you at the shore in a short while.”

“Go along, Bernadine,” Miss Mayfield encouraged. “You must pick a color for your sailboat’s sail still.”

“Yellow,” Bernadine said without hesitation as she skipped beside the maid.

Last year, everything had been pink.

That prompted calls from the other children about what color their sails would be.

Miss Mayfield observed the laughing, chatting children and their trio of cheerful chaperones exiting the building before facing Theran.

He was still trying to formulate a tactful way of telling Miss Mayfield to discourage Bernadine’s childish fantasy of him marrying her. Today, Miss Mayfield wore a gray gown, which turned her eyes a stormy-sea color.

Did the shade change with what she wore?

She offered a ghost of a smile, an uneasiness lingering in the depths of her turbulent gaze. “I want to thank you for allowing me to act as Bernadine’s governess for the rest of the house party, Mr. Rutland. It was unexpected and very generous of you.”

Blast and rot.

Theran cupped his nape and floundered for a way to extricate himself from the awkward predicament his aunt had put him in.

“Ah, I see.” Head tilted, Miss Mayfield peered up at him. She curved her plump, plum-tinted lips into a wry arc.

She’d figured it out.

Clever, intelligent girl.

“You didn’t make the offer. Your aunt did.” Her gaze sank to the scuffed wooden floor for a heartbeat then she met his gaze straight on. Only her fingers clenching the folds of her gown betrayed her tension.

“Would you prefer I refuse your aunt’s kind offer, Mr. Rutland?”

I think it would be a very grand thing indeed if you and your husband were to come for a Christmastide house party. I have invited the Morrisettes and several of our friends from Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women. Duties may prevent all of them from attending, but I want them to feel welcome. Several of Ronan’s friends will round out the guest list.

Trinity Ablethorne has returned to England. I so look forward to hearing about her grand adventures abroad.

Do say you’ll attempt to come.

~Mercy Brockman, in an invitation to Chasity Terramier

Still Mottford Hall Stables