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“Be that as it may, leafing through a few books in your family’s library hardly qualifies you to teach the sons of an earl botany, anatomy and animal husbandry. May I assume you’re self-taught, Miss Templeton?”
“I don’t care much for assumptions, Lord Hawke. I find they’re generally wrong.”
“I see. Then you’re not self-taught?”
“No, I’m not. My father taught me. Are you familiar with the name James Templeton, Lord Hawke?”
“James Templeton? It sounds vaguely familiar.”
“He was rather well known in Royal Society circles as one of London’s most brilliant scholars, particularly in the field of botany. James Templeton is—was—my father.”
“I can’t say I spend a great deal of my time in London with members of the Royal Society, Miss Templeton.”
She smothered a snort.Thatwasn’t difficult to believe. Perhaps if she’d mentioned the name of one of London’s most celebrated Cyprians, then he might have had more luck. “When my father was alive, he took it upon himself to educate meand my sisters. If you would have considered James Templeton a proper tutor for your sons, my lord, then you can have no quibble with me as their governess.”
“I’m merely enquiring, Miss Templeton. I never said I had any quibble with your?—”
“Shall we catch up to the boys, Lord Hawke? They’ve just disappeared into the stables, and I prefer to be there when they’re near the animals.” She didn’t wait for an answer, but hurried off toward the stables, her head high.
He could follow her, or return to the castle on his own, just as he wished, but either way, she was quite finished answering Lord Hawke’s questions.
She was a reasonable person. A kind one, even, and not quick to anger, but as any of her sisters would attest, she could be unpleasant indeed when her temper was stirred.
And Lord Hawke was coming dangerously close to pushing her too far.
5
Miss Templeton marched off toward the stables, her head high, chin up, and the slender line of her back rigid with irritation, leaving Adrian slack-jawed in her wake.
What did the womanmean, interrupting him while he was speaking, then stomping off without so much as a backward glance? She was awfully haughty for a governess, lecturing him about anatomy and botany and the danger of making assumptions, all with that glimmer of temper in her eyes.
Yes, she was entirely too high in the instep for a servant, though to be fair, he may have been a trifle hostile just now. No doubt that had set her teeth on edge. Damned if he knew what it was about her that turned him into such an insufferable arse, but something about her forthright gaze doused the charm he was so admired for in London.
In certain circles, at any rate.
He glanced between the castle and the open stable door. If he had any sense at all he’d go back to his bed and leave his uppity governess to conduct her lesson in peace. It was bloody freezingout here, so cold his fingers had gone numb, and he’d left a blazing fire in his bedchamber.
Yet as much as he detested the idea of running after Miss Templeton like some naughty schoolboy, he couldn’t quite make his feet turn back toward the castle. It wouldn’t do for her to think she’d chased him off. No, that would give her far too much satisfaction, and then there was the matter of these mysterious animal husbandry lessons.
Who were these animals they were studying? Miss Templeton had said they ‘made do with what they had,’ which was suspicious in itself. At the moment, the stables housed only Cyrus, the horse he’d ridden from London, and a few old cart horses. There were no cows to milk, no pigs to slaughter, not even any chickens, and hence, no eggs. How could Miss Templeton be conducting animal husbandry lessons without any animals about?
Surely, he should know what was going on in his own stables? He was the earl, after all.
He picked his way across the stable-yard, skirting a pile of frozen horse dung and ducked inside the stables, blinking in the dim light and breathing in the familiar scents of dust and hay, and underlying that, faint but unmistakable, the earthy, animal smell of what had once been a busy stable with dozens of horses and servants bustling about. Had that only been three years ago? It seemed like another lifetime, when he and Sophie used to rise early in the mornings so they might ride out together.
But the stables were empty now, aside from Cyrus, who was tucked into a stall busily munching his hay. The horse lifted his head when Adrian entered and stuck his nose over his stall door with a whinny of welcome.
“Hello, boy.” He gave the horse’s nose an absent stroke, but his attention was caught by Miss Templeton, Ryan and Etienne, who were crouched over something in a far corner of the stables,their heads bent together. Miss Templeton was murmuring something to them, her voice too low for him to hear her, so he crept closer, and saw the edge of a wooden pen.
“…startle her, Etienne, and be careful of her claws. She’s still quite wild, you know, and her claws are very sharp. You won’t like it if she scratches you.”
Good Lord, did he even want to know what she had in that pen? Not raccoons, surely? Or, God forbid, rats? Surely even Miss Templeton would draw the line at rats?
He drew closer, peering over their shoulders, and saw…not rats. Whatever was in the pen was too big to be a rat, thankfully, because the only thing he despised more than rats was?—
“Her belly is very fat,” Ryan was leaning so far over the side of the pen he was in danger of toppling in. “When is she going to have her babies, Miss Templeton?”
“Let’s consult the chart, shall we?” Miss Templeton drew a neatly folded paper from the pocket of her cloak. “Now, we know domestic cats gestate for sixty-four to seventy-one days, and most commonly deliver between days sixty-three and sixty-five. Now, boys, according to the chart, how long has Hecate here been?—”