Chapter 3 #3
Brutus came trotting over and straightaway, Phinn saw that the pug was carrying something that looked very much like a business or calling card.
The edges glinted, as though they’d been dipped in gold.
“What have you g-got there, me feisty wee friend?” he asked, bending down to the dog’s level and putting out his hand.
Brutus immediately dropped the slightly bent and chewed card into his waiting palm, and that’s when Phinn noticed it was covered in fine black script. In fact, it was a business card.
How odd. As Phinn straightened, he read the print on the front.
The Parasol Academy
Bespoke Nanny and Governess Services
51 Sloane Square, Chelsea
Turning the card over, he read:
Come rain, hail, or shine, everything will be perfectly fine! Whether your offspring are big or small, expert staff will be at your beck and call.
For all your child rearing and youth educational needs, in London or farther afield, contact the Headmistress of the Parasol Academy for Exceptional Nannies and Governesses, Mrs. F. Temple, for an obligation-free consultation. (Confidentiality and the utmost discretion guaranteed.)
Phinn rubbed his jaw. The Parasol Academy?
Had Mrs. Davenport dropped the card when she’d pulled out her kerchief? Was she, in fact, a nanny or governess? Or was she in need of one? If Phinn hadn’t been intrigued by his beguiling stowaway before, he certainly was now.
He descended to the gentlemen’s mess, Brutus at his heels, where he found Mrs. Davenport and Christopher seated at the table. The boy was nibbling on a Bath bun while his mother was enjoying a cup of tea.
“My lord?” Mrs. Davenport began to climb to her feet to curtsy, but Phinn waved her back down.
“There’s no need for-for any o’ that,” he said. Then he held out the slightly mangled business card. “I might be wrong, but I think this might have fallen out o’ your pocket, Mrs. Dav-Davenport. I’m sorry it’s a b-bit worse for w-w-wear. Brutus was play-playing with it.”
“Oh.” She took it from him and a blush crept across her face. “Yes. I must have dropped it. Thank you for returning it.”
Phinn watched her as she dropped her gaze and pushed the card into her pocket. “Are-are you after a n-n-nanny or governess for young Christopher?”
“Oh, I already have one,” said Christopher, smiling up at his mother. “You’re my governess, aren’t you, Mis—”
“Yes, I’m a governess, my lord,” said Mrs. Davenport, smoothing her son’s windblown blond ringlets with a gentle hand.
“Moreover, I’m a graduate of the Parasol Academy.
But looking after Christopher is my main priority at present.
” She cast Phinn a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.
“I’m … I’m in between posts.” Then she tilted her head, her expression curious.
“Do you need a nanny or governess, my lord? I’ve been presuming you’re a bachelor, but perhaps not? Is there a Lady Kinsale?”
Brutus gave three short barks as though he were chuckling at the very notion of his master being a married man.
Phinn cocked a brow. “Aye, I’m a ba-bachelor. And no, I don’t need a nanny or g-g-governess. But if I ever did, I’d be sure to call on the Pa-Parasol Academy first.”
This time when Mrs. Davenport smiled, her hazel eyes were bright with amusement. “Well, maybe you might need one in a few years’ time.”
Phinn shrugged and an answering smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps. I’m-I’m only eight-and-twenty so there’s no … no rush.” He imagined he might wed one day … if he found the right woman. Someone who would accept him for who he was. Who wasn’t bothered by all his imperfections.
Someone who really cared about him and not just his title and wealth.
Someone who could put up with his irascible pet pug who appeared to have an unquenchable appetite for cake. The dog was back on his chair, looking expectantly at the widow.
Phinn’s gaze settled on Mrs. Davenport too. She hadn’t once looked at him askance because he stuttered. And that was a rare thing indeed. He suddenly wished the woman would confide in him about her situation.
He pushed his hands into the pockets of his coat and rocked back on his heels.
“I know you d-don’t know me from a bar o’ soap, Mrs. Dav-Davenport, b-but if you need any sort o’ assistance, I’ll do me b-best to offer a helping hand.
Like, if you need a way to get back to this Parasol Academy in London, you only n-n-need to ask. ”
But Mrs. Davenport shook her head. “Thank you, Lord Kinsale. But you really have done more than enough already. I’m just grateful that you’ve kindly agreed to ferry us the rest of the way to Bristol.”
Phinn glanced out the porthole. “It-it looks like we’re about to enter the m-m-mouth of the Avon, so we’ll be d-d-docking in about an hour.”
Mrs. Davenport’s gaze wandered to the porthole too. “No doubt you’ll be glad to see the back of us,” she said quietly.
But Phinn wasn’t so sure about that. There was something about this woman, beyond her fine whisky-hued eyes, rich chestnut hair, and delectable figure, that intrigued him. She was a bright, beckoning flame while he was but a blundering moth, captivated by her light and warmth.
Yes, he would be more than a little disappointed to be bidding Mrs. Davenport goodbye. Although, he rather suspected that the young widow—a “bespoke” governess, no less—might be relieved to see the back of him. No doubt she was tired of his far-too-many curious questions.
Wherever she went after the Kinsale Cloud docked in Bristol, Phinn wished her and her son well.