Chapter Five
FOR MONDAY’S EXCURSION to the abbey, Dina traded the usual plaiting of her red curls into a knot at the base of her head for a chignon, which softened her face and made her feel less of a governess and more of Mary’s cousin.
She chose one of her nicer day dresses, and although the pale green muslin was out of fashion and nothing like what the other ladies would wear, there was classic appeal to the sweetheart neckline and elbow-length sleeves.
Years ago, she had embroidered tiny, pale flowers in ivory silk along the bodice that from a distance looked like lace, and last night she’d replaced the ribbon on her straw chip with a length of cream-colored satin from Mary’s ribbon box.
She’d been pleased with the effect when she had finished it sometime around midnight.
In the morning light, however, it looked like a pathetic attempt by a poor woman in a ridiculous attempt to measure up.
She stared at the woman in the mirror who, despite a new hair style and different dress, was still not the type of woman who took outings to abbeys.
She was a governess. Everyone else in the party knew it and would either think she was putting on airs or pity her attempts at inclusion with people so far above her.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked her reflection, then stuck out her tongue, grabbed her chip from the bedrail where she’d hung it the night before, and left her bedchamber before she talked herself out of going.
As she approached the stairs, she heard voices and paused before she would come into view of the guests gathering below.
It is only five hours, she told herself.
Barely a quarter of a day. The same amount of time it used to take for her to do laundry for her and Grandfather—she’d hated laundry but had done it every week because it had to be done.
Five hours was also far less than the amount of time she’d cried in the carriage after leaving London all those years ago.
She had survived those discomforts, she would survive this one too and hopefully learn something.
She felt ready to face the misery when she realized it was not the full party gathered at the bottom of the stairs.
Rather, it was only two voices. One male.
One female. The female voice was easy to identify—Miss Johansson.
Dina moved silently forward until she could see the top of a man’s head through the railing—light brown hair.
Another step and she could also see the dark curls of Miss Johansson leaned in close to the light-haired man, who must be Mr. Littlefield.
Dina could not make out the words being said, but the tones were low and intimate.
She felt a lump in her throat and a fizzle of energy in her chest at their sheer arrogance of engaging in a tête-à-tête right here in the open.
Did they want to be discovered? She thought again about the questions Miss Johansson had asked on their walk home from church yesterday and wondered if Miss Johansson knew of the dalliance she and David had conducted in London and felt it justification for her own.
Could that be behind any of this? Mr. Littlefield was a friend of David’s this last decade, according to Mary.
What if he had learned about David and Dina?
What if he had used that knowledge to convince Miss Johansson that there was some score to be evened between them?
The possibilities did not quite fit, but so many things were not making sense right now.
Dina moved forward enough to see Miss Johansson’s hand on his arm and take note of how closely they stood.
“Dina?”
She spun around and put a hand over her mouth to muffle the gasp she couldn’t stop.
David stood before her and smiled that melting smile as her racing heart floated to a regular cadence.
He wore a blue coat—her favorite color on him—and buff breaches that emphasized his long, muscular legs.
Rather than the willowy build of the typical Englishman, David had inherited his father’s Scotsman build of thicker legs and shoulders that she found far more attractive.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She lowered her hand and remembered the couple at the bottom of the stairs. For a wild moment she considered dragging him forward so that he could see what was taking place, but her motivation for such a shock was too much in question. All she had was suspicion, and if she were wrong . . .
“G-Good morning, David.”
He smiled, cluing her in to the fact that she’d called him by his given name.
“I mean, Mr. Macarthur.”
He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Mr. Macarthur sounds all wrong on your lips.” He looked at her lips.
She felt her cheeks flush, and then his followed suit.
This attraction between them muddled her thoughts, confused her ambitions, and made her want more than what she was allowed.
An engaged man should not notice her lips at all.
Yet she relished it. And felt guilty for that.
“I wish that you would call me David all of the time, not only by accident.”
She shook her head but repeated his name in her mind until it sounded like music: David. Da-vid. Dave-id.
He let out a dramatic sigh, smiled again, and lifted and dropped his shoulders. “It was worth a try.”
She couldn’t help but smile back.
He rocked back on his heels. “I understand you are joining us for the outing. I had thought you hadn’t much interest in the party.”
“I don’t belong in the party,” she said, fiddling with her gloves—the same ones she wore to church each week. The only ones she owned. “In this moment I am not sure why I agreed to come, truth be told.”
He quirked a slightly sardonic smile. “I imagine you agreed to come because no one can say no to Fiona Johansson when she sets her mind to something.”
She met his eye. “And she’s set her mind to including me?”
He nodded. “She has asked both Mary and I a great deal about you.”
“She has?”
Just then Miss Johansson laughed, and David looked past Dina’s shoulder in the direction of the stairs.
Mr. Jennings’s voice answered, which allowed Dina to relax; Miss Johansson and Mr. Littlefield were no longer alone.
David would not discover them. She would not have to see the hurt in his eyes when he realized what was happening. At least, not yet.
“I suppose we should join them,” David said, stepping forward and putting out his arm. Dina looked at it, then looked into his face, close now.
She shook her head and took a step away. “I am a governess here, Mr. Macarthur.” She walked ahead of him.
He caught up to her at the top of the stairs. “I would offer my arm to any woman,” he said quietly so that only she could hear as they approached the gathering party at the bottom of the stairs.
Seven faces looked up from the base of the stairs. Six of those faces smiled at them. Dina avoided making eye contact with Mrs. Macarthur, who was not smiling as she watched Dina and David descend, two feet of space between them on the stairs.
Miss Johansson was at Dina’s side as soon as her foot touched the marble floor of the entry.
She took Dina’s arm and gave it a squeeze.
“I am delighted you could join us, Miss Cameron.” She turned toward David.
“Do you not agree, David? Isn’t it wonderful to have Miss Cameron with us on this outing? ”
“Of course,” David said, walking past them both without more than a glance. Dina wished she were doing laundry after all.