Chapter 2 #2
God, he despised chipper people. What the bloody hell was there to be so happy about all the time?
“How are you finding Brackley Estate, my lord? I imagine it must be very strange returning home after all these years.”
“It is fine,” he said curtly. “I have been intending to visit the girls again, but it has been a chaotic week. How are they doing in their studies?”
“Splendidly.”
Owen grunted. “What are your qualifications, Miss Bennett? I am sure the dowager viscountess already questioned you, but I too would like to know the woman responsible for shaping the minds of my young sisters.”
She studied him for a moment, her gaze running over his shadowed jaw. “I excel at needlework, French, watercolor, the harp, and calligraphy.”
“What of hostessing and dancing?”
“Those as well.”
“Your father is the second son of the Marquess of Rothford?” He silently begged her to deny it, to claim that she was a Bennett entirely unrelated to his former friend.
A dark cloud briefly passed over her face before she smiled with extra teeth. “Yes.”
Owen stifled a groan. “You have a brother.”
“Six, actually. Do you know one of them?”
“Barnes. We attended Harrow together.”
She nodded, as if she had expected that. “When one has six brothers, one cannot throw a stone without striking a person who is acquainted with one of them.”
They rode in silence for a few moments while Owen’s tongue worked around the taste in his mouth. “How is he? Barnes? We did not keep in touch.”
“Barnes is Barnes,” she replied, which told him nothing except that he was still alive.
“Does he know you are employed here?”
Ivy’s honey eyes fastened to his and held. “Barnes is out of the country at present.”
Again, it was a non-answer, but Owen had discussed the topic for as long as he could stomach.
Besides, he strongly suspected the answer to his question was no.
Considering his final altercation with Barnes, he was certain his former friend would burn down heaven and earth before he let his baby sister live in the same manor as Owen.
Struggling to find small talk to fill the silence—God, he hated this—Owen said, “What drew you to the occupation of governess?”
Ivy caught her bottom lip between her teeth before releasing it, and in the moonlight her plush lip glistened.
Owen’s groin tightened, and he instantly looked away, horrified by the unwelcome dart of attraction.
He quickly began cataloguing horse breeds in his mind to quell the involuntary response.
Shetland, Highland, Clydesdale.
Owen had left a woman behind in Prussia, one who had not wished to make their arrangement more permanent.
On the trip to England, he had decided there would be no more women for him, at least for a while.
He had not loved Heidi, but the way she had laughed when he had offered her his name still stung.
“We have had a good time, Owen, but this was never going to be more. My father already has a suitor waiting. I have been meaning to tell you but… I was enjoying myself too much.”
Owen shook Heidi’s voice from his memory and gritted his teeth. No, he was done with women. And even if he were not, he should be ashamed of that single, brief flare of arousal. Was ashamed. Ivy Bennett was his employee and Barnes’s sister, no matter what had happened at Harrow.
Cleveland Gray, English Thoroughbred, Suffolk Punch.
“It was better than the alternative,” Ivy muttered, returning his attention to their conversation. Then, seeming to realize that was not the best answer, she straightened and added, “And I have always loved teaching.”
Owen stroked his hand along Saxony’s shoulder, finding comfort in the slightly oily smoothness of his coat.
He had removed his gloves during his visit and had forgotten to reapply them.
Fortunately, it was dark, and should they pass anyone on the road he doubted his faux pas would be noticed. “What was the alternative?”
She wrinkled her freckled nose. “Marriage.”
“You do not wish to marry?”
“Not the man my father chose.”
She hunched her shoulders, as if preparing to hear a lecture about how it was her duty to marry whomever her father thought suitable.
Owen gave zero damns about what English society thought was proper, and yet he was now responsible for eight little girls who would have to navigate those very infuriating and restrictive rules, so he supposed he should start caring.
“What was wrong with him?” he asked, curious despite himself.
She slid him a cautious look. “He simply did not suit me.”
“Your tastes in a husband shall not impact my opinion of you as a governess, Miss Bennett.”
Ivy flashed him a smile, and he noticed in the bright wash of moonlight that one of her eyeteeth was slightly, and adorably, crooked. “Do you know Mr. Marthin?”
He shook his head no.
“He is thrice my age and has little tolerance for women with, and I quote, ‘big mouths and spirit.’ He likes them, and again I quote, ‘broken.’ My father thought he was perfect for me.”
Owen’s knuckles whitened on the reins. Her statement packed a subtle punch and revealed more than she probably realized.
At the very least, Ivy’s relationship with her father was strained, if not troubled.
A memory of Barnes’s cheeks flushing with hatred as he talked about his father leaped to the forefront of Owen’s mind.
If anyone could relate to despising their father, it was Owen, and he had related at the time.
Unfortunately, it seemed Ivy’s experience with her father was no better than her brother’s.
“So you became a governess to my sisters to avoid marriage?”
“Yes, and I have not been happier. The girls might be a bit wild, as I am sure you have heard, but they have kind hearts. If you will allow yourself to know them, I am certain you will adore them as much as I do. Would you like to visit the schoolroom tomorrow? They would be delighted to see you.”
With his father’s death, Owen had gone from a carefree bachelor to a man responsible for the livelihoods of dozens along with the well-being of eight girls who might one day be married off to men three times their age who wanted them broken.
Over his dead body, he thought with cold resolve. He did not even know those little girls, but they were his to protect now.
This situation, the viscountcy, the house, his stepmother—it was everything he had spent a lifetime avoiding, but he was here now.
This was his future, whether he liked it or not.
So he would visit the girls and get a handle on the situation, and the strange hum of anticipation that slid through his veins had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he would be seeing the annoyingly cheerful woman riding bareback beside him again tomorrow.
“I will be there.”