Chapter 3
After leaving rather more explicit orders than the care of one swooning governess required, Christopher busied himself with trying to lift a wine stain from Gabriel”s favourite waistcoat. When that failed to distract him, he set off on a brisk walk. But no matter the direction he took, Christopher found himself circling back to the bench situated directly beneath the intriguing Miss Lioni’s window. He could not banish her from his thoughts.
Each observable detail seemed at odds with the next. She appeared reluctant to accept the position Violet had offered her even after arriving in search of work. When she was afforded an obvious escape, her pride prevented her from taking it, so she’d won their fencing match when she could have pretended to lose. And that pride. How could she maintain it when her starving body should be prioritising sustenance over all else? Her spirit was indomitable, and it piqued his curiosity to the extent that he would rather be sitting out here on an unforgiving bench, pondering the little details of Miss Lioni while his arse fell asleep, than be anywhere else on the vast estate.
A shadow blocked the meagre rays of sunlight on Keene’s back, leaving him abruptly cool. He whirled towards its source. “Good God, Hamish, don’t sneak up on a man like that! You startled me.” Christopher smiled sheepishly, realising too late that the admission revealed more than he’d meant to about his state of mind.
Hamish folded his six feet and four inches of muscular Scottish bulk onto the bench beside Christopher, assessing him with bright blue eyes and a wide smile. “Aye, I see that I did.” He cocked his head to the side, blond brows furrowing. “I called out three times. Where did ye go, Keene?”
Christopher’s gaze flicked to the window overhead. “Violet hired a new governess this morning.”
Hamish chuckled, then followed Christopher”s gaze to the window. “And she’s bonnie, is she?”
Even in her severely malnourished state, Miss Lioni was beautiful, with those dark, expressive eyes and a riot of chestnut curls. But her beauty was irrelevant when, upon reflection, her appearance wasn’t at all what he found most compelling. But it would be impossible to explain his attraction, to convey an accurate picture of the resilience and determination he found so enticing, without recounting the details of their introduction… and her subsequent loss of consciousness. Sharing that moment of vulnerability, even with Hamish, felt like a betrayal. Christopher felt certain that Miss Lioni would recoil from any whiff of sympathy.
Realising his silence had gone on far too long, he gave Hamish an awkward smile. “Have you ever met someone and known immediately that they would be important to you? Without knowing why, you liked them beyond what’s rational, and knew their presence would alter the rest of your days?”
For an instant, Hamish froze, as if his body had been ambushed by a question too disturbing to process. Then Christopher watched his expression crumble into one of soul-weary grief. It was like watching a flower slowly wilt, its stem drooping and its petals withering to brown.
“Aye, that I have.”
Recently, Christopher had begun to question if Violet”s late husband, Nathan, had been more Hamish’s partner than Violet’s. There was no question of her affection for Nate, but when his name arose in conversation, it was Hamish’s responses that spoke of lost love. If Gabriel knew one way or the other, he hadn’t shared the information with Christopher. Unsurprising given that Gabriel would never break the confidence of a friend, let alone his wife.
Eventually, the pain in Hamish’s expression faded. And when it did, his sorrow transformed into enthusiastic support. “Put yer faith in that feeling, Christopher. Win yer lass.”
Christopher chuckled. “It might be pertinent to mention that an hour ago she considered stabbing me in the kidney with the sharp edge of a broken broom handle.”
“Nay. That’s not relevant in the slightest.” Hamish glanced up at Sofia’s window. “Shortly after Violet was wed, she gave me a fancy fruit called a prickly pear that some nob had sent over in a basket. Ye have to be careful handling them or their spines and bristles will slice yer skin clean open.” He paused dramatically. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted on me tongue and worth every moment of effort, ye ken?” His mouth stretched into a wide, mischievous grin.
Christopher shook his head with a chuckle, “Yes, I ken.”
Hamish raised a brow at his appropriation of the Scottish word then laughed again.
“Are you waiting on Violet?” Christopher asked.
“Aye, and Northam. Violet’s got it in her head that she needs to build a loft for her goats, and Northam’s keen to show her he’ll satisfy any ridiculous notion she gets.” Despite the implied insult to both Violet and Gabriel, Hamish looked pleased with the observation. “Watching Vi grow up, I never thought she would find the other half of her soul when hers is so singularly unique. If ye think she stands out in a crowd now, ye should have seen her at ten. Fierce little spitfire, too smart by half and without the slightest compulsion to hide it away.”
“You mean, after Nathan? You didn’t think she would find anyone after Nathan?”
Hamish blinked.
“Aye. After Nathan.” Hamish cleared his throat. “Northam is meant for Violet. You’d be lucky to find love half so profound.”
“Speaking of Miss Lioni, I think I will…” Christopher’s voice trailed away. He wasn’t entirely sure how to finish the sentence.
“Aye, go. But if ye ask me, ye should be out here hammering your fingers black and blue with the rest of us.”
“Things to starch, you know.” Christopher clapped Hamish on the back, then moved briskly towards the kitchen entrance.
After her bathand a second bowl of stew, Sofia paced the length of the room. With distance from Oliver and her stomach full, all the arguments she should have voiced while she’d travelled with him toward Northam Hall now buzzed infuriatingly in her ears, mosquitos that refused to be swatted away. She hadn’t found the will to protest long enough or loud enough when those words might have counted for something. Instead, the contentment of having her brother close again had acted as a sort of anaesthetic to her judgement and perseverance. His plan, while reprehensible, had felt too preposterous for her to worry over much about its blatant immorality. After all, searching the duke”s study would be impossible unless she was hired on, and what duke”s housekeeper would employ a woman who arrived with no appointment and with nothing whatsoever to recommend her?
So Sofia had meekly followed along with Oliver’s demands, then, like an impulsive child, she’d allowed herself to be riled by Christopher Keene and his infuriating dimples. Now, the remorse of her capitulation roiled through her body as surely as her brother’s sick after a night of overindulgence.
Oliver could at least blame alcohol and a bone-deep sense of betrayal for his stupidity. Sofia had no excuse for her actions except a flash of uncontrolled temper. She would have to return to Oliver and appeal to his sense of protectiveness. Surely, he could be made to see the danger to her in all of this? But the truth of her situation crystallised like ice as that conversation played out in her mind. Oliver had come to mean even more to Sofia through his two-year absence, but for her brother, Sofia had come to mean less.
A knock sounded at the door, and Sofia thrust her thoughts away as if they could be seen by whomever had come to call.
“Miss Lioni… Sofia?” Polly opened the door cautiously. “Her Grace asked if you was feeling well enough for a stroll in the garden. She’s out by the goats if you aren’t feeling too piqued.”
“I’m perfectly well now, Polly. Would you please let the duchess know I’ll be out presently?”
Polly giggled. “My, you sound like a governess already. No use wasting all that fancy talk on me! I’ll see you at supper, Sofia.” Polly waggled her fingers and left Sofia to tidy her hair before making her way outdoors.
Approaching her at a leisurely pace, Sofia watched the duchess work. She wore an intense look of concentration as she fastened a lever to a wooden box with sure fingers. Her dress was wrinkled, and sweat-dampened curls clung to the nape of her neck. Whatever hint of aristocratic splendour she’d had that morning had been completely obliterated by wood shavings and the unforgiving summer sun.
Sofia cleared her throat and dipped into a curtsy, which felt a bit like offering undue deference to a milkmaid. Resolutely ignoring the flustered sensation rising in her stomach, she clasped her fingers and waited. The duchess’s lips stretched into a dimpled grin as if she could read Sofi’s thoughts perfectly well… and agreed.
Feeling uncomfortably transparent, Sofia broke their eye contact and glanced at the duchess’s carpentry project.
“It’s nothing really. I like to build and fix things. When the goat steps on this”—she indicated a foot pedal—“it will move this lever to open up the door here, allowing a few bits of grain to fall onto the ground below.”
Sofia could imagine the battles that would ensue between greedy goats. How many livestock would be stashed away in the kitchens by week’s end to convalesce? Sofia opted not to mention it. Instead, she nodded and then gave the invention a second, more comprehensive examination. It was rather clever.
Retrieving a nail, the duchess began passing it back and forth between her fingers. “There isn’t much point in pretending that you don’t find me excentric, Miss Lioni. I didn’t just wake up different one morning. I”ve been this way my entire life, and I’m perfectly capable of translating the look of awkward discomfort my peculiarities incite in others. Pretending that you feel otherwise will only foist me into a state of nervous chatter as I attempt to maintain your good opinion.” The duchess laughed then, and there was genuine amusement in the sound without a hint of self-deprecation. Sofia felt her own lips twitch in response. The duchess continued in a softer tone, as if relaying a great secret. “I’ve found I appear infinitely saner the moment I stop trying to convince people of my non-existent conventionality.”
This is it. All Sofia needed to do was respond with some scathing remark and she would be back with Oliver by supper. She had squandered a perfectly good chance to be turned away when faced with Mr Keene and his foil. She could not let another opportunity pass her by. Trying not to think about her words or their cruelty, she opened her mouth and said the first thing that came to mind. “Yes, you are odd. Remarkably so.” And then, God help her, the truth kept coming. But it wasn’t scathing at all. “But so is practically everyone I’ve ever met and bothered to remember.” Blast.
The duchess’s smile slipped neatly back into place at the unintentional compliment. “I’m rather new to being a duchess, and I imagine I get most things wrong. But I haven”t gotten this wrong, Miss Lioni. You loved learning as a child. I could hear it in your voice. I think you can help my children love learning every bit as much, and I don’t give a fig if you’re an ideal candidate for governess in the average aristocratic home. The fact that you are undoubtedly not makes you all the more perfect for the children in this family.”
The duchess picked up a hammer and turned it in her hands. “Zachariah has never had formal education beyond what I have taught him at home. He’s intelligent—rather brilliant, actually—but he experiences the world differently.” Her gaze strayed, something vulnerable and almost distressed settling into her expression. “I worried that in trying to learn like everyone else—trying to be like everyone else—he would resent his uniqueness even more, as I did when I was a child.”
She turned back to Sofia with eyes that searched for understanding. “Like any boy, he longs to be understood. To fit in. If forced amongst a flock of ravens, he would pluck every vibrantly coloured feather from his body, feeling the loss of each one but bearing the sacrifice without flinching. Too late he would realise glossy black would never grow in their place. He’s not a raven, and he shouldn’t be made to feel like he is a mistake of nature. You appreciate all the colours, I think.” She paused, and Sofia watched her throat work with a swallow. “I see it when you look at me. I suspect you would find as much fulfilment teaching in the manner you wish to teach as he would learning in the manner he wishes to learn.”
Another moment passed where Sofia remained pinned beneath those penetrating blue eyes. Then the duchess turned away and began tacking more nails in place. The silence continued as she stooped to press the pedal and make further adjustments. There was a peculiar familiarity in the way she slipped into that intense concentration like she’d forgotten altogether about their conversation. With a final adjustment, she pressed the pedal, her head whipping around with an expression of unquantifiable delight as a handful of grain sprinkled to the ground.
Her papa. It was the same all-consuming focus that swept over her papa. But no … no, it wasn’t quite the same. For him, the world did not exist beyond his plants and the son raised to continue his work. Everything outside that narrow interest he treated as little more than a meddlesome distraction. Having met so many other similarly single-minded academic men in her youth, Sofia had always assumed that a disinterest in other aspects of life was the unavoidable cost of academic excellence.
But here was a woman whose mind was made to disassemble and understand the curiosities of the world, and she applied that fervour in equal measure to everything around her. To the goat house, yes, but also to seeing to the needs of her family. Even through the window at a distance of two hundred yards, the affection between the duke and duchess this afternoon had been perfectly clear. Her family and children were of paramount importance to her. Even a rooster suffering a mildly inconvenient morning had roused her impassioned attention. Reflecting upon her own childhood, a sudden ache bloomed behind Sofia’s ribs. How different her memories appeared when Papa’s failure to notice her suddenly felt like a choice.
The duchess stood, then brushed off her skirts. “I’ll have one of the footmen fetch your things so you can rest for the remainder of the afternoon. Are you staying at the boarding house?”
Sofia started to shake her head but the duchess continued, “No matter. Tell Bennett and he will see that your personal items are retrieved. I’ll advance this month’s salary in case you have need of… anything.” Taking in the reluctance on Sofia’s face, the duchess fumbled a bit and then her speech picked up speed with every sentence, like a snowball rolling down a hill. “The seamstress in town keeps a small selection of ready-made clothes and the mercantile is in the building just next door. Or if you prefer to fetch your things, all the servants take half-days on Mondays so you should have time tomorrow?—”
“Your Grace?—”
“Oh my, we haven”t discussed your salary. Ten pounds a month. Weekends and holidays are yours, of course, and I already mentioned the half-days on Monday but if you prefer a different day, that would be fine. I know that?—”
“Your Grace. Ten pounds is a ridiculous salary and I’m still not certain that I?—”
“There is every chance you will want further compensation the first time Nora requests your help dissecting something or Zachariah refuses your lessons in favour of sketching your nose over and over until he masters the exact shape of your left nostril.”
Sofia abandoned all hope of steering the direction of the conversation as her fingers reflexively lifted to touch the tip of her nose.
“I know what you’re thinking, Miss Lioni, but no, your nostrils are not identical in shape because no one’s features are truly symmetrical. Not that I would ever notice but I assure you that my son will. And if it”s not your nostril, it will be the slope of your eyebrow or the contour of your pinkie finger. He’ll sketch until he’s satisfied, then revert back into a perfectly attentive student until something else becomes more important in his mind.”
She drew in a breath and took a step closer. “Meet Zachariah. If, after doing so you decide that a position in the scullery or whatever you had in mind upon your arrival is more to your taste, then I will make the arrangements without further debate. Regardless, the month’s salary is yours to keep. Surely, as taxing as adolescent boys can be, ten pounds is sufficient inducement for a thirty-minute conversation with one.”
Yes. It is.She would have to be mad to walk away. The duchess saw the moment she’d won and a smile lit up her face.
“I’ll collect my own things on the morrow after meeting with Zachariah,” Sofia said. And I’ll talk to Oliver. She could collect her salary, bide her time, and figure a way out of this mess.