Chapter Six
A t the ungodly hour of ten o’clock the next morning, Sander was shown into Baron Krupt’s shabby parlor by an aging butler. There were few paintings on the walls and even a place or two where it looked as if larger works had been replaced by smaller, less majestic pieces. He veered closer to read the artist’s signature. Verda Fairclough. The depiction of a pastoral scene of a chapel, a small graveyard, and sheep. There were dark, low-hanging clouds, but the sun was attempting to win out.
It struck Sander as somewhat metaphorical, considering her statement regarding a hopeless situation. He took in the sorry state of the threadbare curtains and carpet. Dust particles danced in a beam of sunlight from windowpanes that could have used a good scrub.
Miss Fairclough hurried in carrying a tray laden with tea and scones.
Despite the grayish wool frock she wore, a light sheen of perspiration gave her face a dewy, youthful look. And that brilliant shade of her hair mollified any drab gown she could possibly don.
She went to move past him, but he intercepted her, taking the tray. “Where is your housekeeper? You look as if you’ve been laboring in the kitchens yourself.” He set it on a low table, straightened, and glanced at her.
Her back was to him, showcasing interspersed golden highlights he hadn’t noticed in their two previous encounters. Hair that hung scandalously to her waist was tied at her nape with a painted ribbon in a delicate pink. That the colors clashed so violently endured her more to him. She turned then and the blush in her cheeks embarrassed him. “I’m sorry—”
“Please.” She waved out a hand. “Certainly, you can see how drastic our circumstances have become. If I don’t marry Rathbourne, I fear they’ll grow worse.”
“I’m here to assure you they will not. As I mentioned, my nephew needs a governess. He is anxious to attend school but is not yet of an age. He is above average intelligence.” He flashed a grin. “He takes after me.”
“I expect he has your charm as well?” she said dryly.
He cleared his throat. “Er, yes. That is a given. Now, about this governess position?”
The small smile disappeared. “As I mentioned before—”
“Yes, yes. I know you’ve no experience with teaching or children. I still find that you accepting my offer will benefit all concerned,” he said, rebutting her with an outfacing palm. “I shall speak to your father.”
Her smile did not return and he could guess why. His brother was a whoremonger and her worry was a legitimate one. What should have been gratitude was outright suspicion. “And the earl? Where will he be?”
That was one question Sander did not relish addressing, but he forced himself to answer truthfully. “His wife is in childbed. Her third. As I understand it, he will be returning to Stonemare soon.”
She rose stiffly to her feet and spoke briskly. “Then I must respectfully decline, sir. I don’t care for the notion of having to lock myself in my chamber in an effort to remain safe from some overindulged peer.”
“My brother does not assault unwilling women, I can assure you.” There will be no need to lock yourself away in order to save your virtue.”
She paced to the grimy windows then back. “Just how sure are you, sir?”
Sander’s lips tightened because she raised a point he did not like to think possible of Damien.
“Lord Pender is a libertine. Tell me, Mr. Oshea. His reputation is well earned throughout the ton .”
“I shall be accompanying you to Northumberland, Miss Fairclough. You shall be quite safe from my brother.” The thought of returning to Stonemare without her couldn’t be borne. “Now, let us talk wages.”