Page 21 of The Governess’ Unlikely Suitor (The Dashworth Brothers #2)

E dward was a coward.

Not, he liked to think, when facing a man in a boxing ring or even in a real fight if such a thing were unavoidable.

In those instances, his mind stilled, his inner demons disappearing.

He was able to think with a calm rationality, to assess his opponent with a detached curiosity, seeking out weak points in order to win.

At his fencing club, he was the man to beat.

But lurking around his own home, dithering over what was the best way to proceed, he knew that, when it came to Katherine Hornel, he was a craven fool.

It wasn’t because he didn’t want to see her; it was quite the opposite, in fact.

His body ached with the effort of not searching her out.

Every day he came up with a thousand reasons to find her to engage with her, to get those blue eyes to spark at him, and he always put them to one side.

He only had to remember the way she pointedly did not look at him whenever they were in the same room to remind himself of all the reasons not to seek her out.

If she wanted his company, she would look at him for more than a few brief moments.

He had thought they were getting on well when they had played the pianoforte before; the way she had gazed at him as if she was impressed with his playing had puffed him up like a proud peacock.

He’d strutted around the house like a prize coxcomb for the rest of the day.

But she had hardly looked at him at breakfast the next day and the next after that, until four days had gone by and the only conclusion he could come to was that he had somehow revealed his interest in her, the desire he was trying to hide even from himself.

In the early hours of the morning, he would torture himself with the idea she had somehow picked up on the fact he found her beautiful and was embarrassed by his unwanted attention.

The idea would make his soul curl in shame and sleep would become impossible.

Miss Dunn’s unpleasantness stemmed from taking advantage of those under her protection, although not sexually; thankfully, she was not that awful, but it had been enough for him to know he never wanted to make anyone feel helpless like he had, the incident with Bridget only compounding his beliefs.

He had also promised himself he would not be one of those men, the type who took advantage of the women under their protection.

She would not know that thoughts of her took up all his waking moments, and sometimes his dreams, too, if he was lucky enough to have them.

Sitting next to her on the tiny pianoforte stool had been a mistake.

He’d known as soon as he had lowered himself onto it.

Her scent had surrounded him, overwhelming all of his senses, making it impossible for him to concentrate on the notes.

Then he’d completely lost his mind and he’d touched her, moving her fingers over the keys, his mouth forming words, while his brain told him she was his , that he had to do something to make her realise she belonged with him.

Thank goodness she had seemed unaffected. If she had given him even the barest of encouragement, he would have lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her for everything he was worth.

Now, he had a real reason to go and see her and he was overthinking it to the point he was starting to irritate himself.

He’d discussed Kate’s thoughts on Charlotte’s speech with his brothers.

Tobias had gone deathly white, the first time Edward had seen real emotion on his brother’s normally stoic features.

All three of them had immediately agreed it would be a good idea for Kate to talk to Charlotte to see if her suspicions were correct.

She was the only adult out of all of them who had any experience dealing with young children.

If there was a problem with Charlotte’s speech, then Edward knew he, and his brothers, would move heaven and earth to find a solution.

And, if there wasn’t one, they would love her with everything they had anyway.

All Edward had to do was to ask Kate if she would mind sparing the time to do it.

Right now, he knew she was in the Blue Lounge, knew because he’d asked one of the servants to find him when she went there next.

It had been an act of self-preservation.

If he knocked on the door to her suite of rooms, he would lose what little capability he had to talk to her normally.

It was bad enough now, not knowing the layout of the rooms, but once he did, he would have an accurate image, and this would be far worse for his peace of mind.

He’d be able to picture her there all the time, to imagine her sitting at her window, perhaps reading, and all the ways he could entice her to stop; a very bad idea by all accounts.

He paused outside the lounge door, flexing his fingers like he was warming them up for a boxing match. This was becoming ridiculous. He was a grown man, damn it. He had spoken to many women before. He wasn’t a green boy who would blush and stammer his way through a conversation.

He grasped the handle and swung the door open, making a loud noise as if he did not know Kate was in the room. That was a mistake.

Kate startled, leaping up from her seat and throwing the cup of tea she had been holding over the table in front of her.

‘Oh no,’ she gasped, as brown liquid spread quickly to the edges of the table. ‘Oh no, no.’ The tea began to flow onto the rug below, the sound surprisingly loud as it pattered onto the woven fabric. ‘Do not just stand there,’ she called to him. ‘Do something.’

Dropping to her knees, she placed her hands beneath the spot where the liquid was flowing the most and cupped them, trying to catch it. He grabbed a newspaper from the sideboard and hurried to her side.

‘You realise this is making it worse,’ he said, gesturing to where she was trying to hold the tea.

The brown water was seeping through her fingers, falling in a wider patch than before as well as splattering large droplets onto her light-coloured dress.

Tea covered her palm, but it acted more like a waterfall than the bowl she was obviously aiming for.

He would laugh, but she did not look like she was finding the situation funny.

‘Oh, it is awful.’ She sounded close to tears, far more upset than the situation warranted in his opinion.

He spread a few sheets of newspaper over the rug and used the rest of it to soak up the tea on the table. ‘It really is not that bad. All of the blue in this room is overwhelming; the room could do with being another colour.’

‘But not brown. Oh, Edward, what am I going to do?’ She was still kneeling on the floor; he was squatting close to her, mopping up the tea.

She did not seem to mind his proximity and he wondered if he had been imagining her aversion to him.

The newspaper was ruined but it hardly mattered.

She turned to him, her face close to his, her eyes glassy.

‘Where do you think the duke bought this rug from? Perhaps I can get a replacement before anyone notices it is damaged. Oh, but Edward, how much do you think it costs?’

The repetition of his name, the way she was turning to him, made him want to sweep her from the lounge and make her forget the rug ever existed, that the lounge itself was a figment of her imagination. ‘No one is going to make you replace anything, Kate.’

A single tear slipped over her lashes onto her cheek. Without thinking, he reached up and brushed it away with the tip of his finger.

‘But it is ruined,’ she whispered. Another tear fell and God help him, he wiped that one away too.

‘It was my fault for startling you.’ In his bid to act normally he had been too loud, barging into the room like a man off to a duel rather than to ask a house guest to perform a favour. ‘If anyone should buy a new one, it should be me.’

He very much doubted Tobias would mind the damage, his brother showed little interest in the household furnishings, but if he did, Edward would pay.

The cost of the rug would not make a dent in his savings.

He had begun investing money as soon as he had come of age and in only a few years had amassed more money than a lot of men did in their entire lives.

‘It is probably not even ruined,’ he added, because her lips were still downturned and he hated seeing it.

‘Tea is everywhere,’ she argued. ‘And I like a lot of milk. If it does not look awful, it will stink to high heaven when it dries. Oh, Edward, it is a disaster.’

‘You are exaggerating.’ Edward lifted the newspaper to show her it was fine and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Bits of print came away in his hand, leaving sodden lumps clinging to the rug.

It was like the rug had contracted a serious illness – the pox or something equally devastating.

Kate stared at it, her wet eyelashes blinking furiously, trying to stem off further tears.

‘It is worse than I thought.’

‘It can be cleaned.’

‘Yes, you are right.’ She made her way to the edge of the rug and began to roll it up.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I am going to take it to my room and wash it.’

‘Leave it. We will speak to Mrs Bishop and she can arrange for it to be done.’

‘But by whom?’

He rocked back on his heels. He sensed this was a trick question, but he was not sure in what way. ‘By one of the maids.’

‘No, that is a terrible idea.’

‘It is what they are paid to do.’

‘They are not paid to take care of me and rectify my mistakes. Please.’ She tugged on the rug, trying to dislodge his knees from it. ‘Let me sort this out.’