Chapter 4
Concerning Unpermitted Swooning, a Wardrobe, and Potpourri; Floral Explosions; And a Candid Discussion about Boiled Beef and Cabbage, and Pettifogging Shrews …
As Mina trooped down the Kinsale Cloud’s gangplank with Lord Fitzwilliam—his small hand grasped firmly in hers so there was no chance of him slipping into the River Avon—she couldn’t help but breathe a momentous sigh of relief.
Not just because she’d reached terra firma safely.
She was also relieved that she’d never see Lord Kinsale again.
The Irish marquess was too charming for words and had upset her equilibrium in a most disconcerting way.
Heavens, with his lilting Irish accent and emerald-green eyes and far too attractive smile, he’d set her to the blush far too many times.
And then of course, there were his mountainous shoulders and thighs like tree trunks, and strong hands that could practically span her waist (and she certainly didn’t have the smallest waist in the whole world …
even when it was ruthlessly cinched in by her boned Parasol Academy corset).
He’d practically made her swoon, and swooning, according to the Parasol Academy Handbook, was not permitted at all, especially when one was in uniform.
That wasn’t the only reason Mina was glad to say goodbye to Lord Kinsale.
While he was undoubtedly kind and possessed a magnanimous nature, his not-so-subtle questions about her “situation” had made her feel decidedly uncomfortable.
She hated lying. Not only was it proscribed by the Parasol Academy (unless of course you found yourself in a life-and-death situation and you needed to use “whatever means necessary” to ensure the safety of your charge), but pretending that Christopher was her child and that she was a widow felt horribly deceitful.
But to protect Christopher, and herself for that matter, she’d had to employ subterfuge.
“A necessary evil” to prevent Sir Bedivere finding his ward and taking him on a perilous voyage to a frozen wasteland.
An undertaking that was sure to end in disaster.
As Mina began to thread her way through the traffic on the bustling dock, she glanced back at the ship, and Lord Kinsale was still watching her.
A commanding figure, one couldn’t fail to notice the man.
The marquess raised a hand and waved and she would have done the same if she hadn’t been juggling a valise and her umbrella, all whilst holding onto Christopher’s hand.
The most she could do was incline her head before she turned and led her charge away from the docks, hoping they’d soon be swallowed up by the crowd.
It was unfortunate indeed that a Parasol Academy business card had fallen from her pocket.
Mina still wasn’t quite sure how that had happened.
Even though the marquess now knew she was a Parasol Academy governess, hopefully it wouldn’t matter because the man was a bachelor and didn’t require the services of someone like her.
Yes, he’ll soon forget me, thought Mina. A mere governess. A veritable nobody.
But he wanted to kiss you, Mina Davenport, whispered a tiny voice inside her head. You know it.
Mina’s heart performed a strange little flip-flop at the memory.
A man like Lord Kinsale could have any woman he wanted, yet he’d been tempted by her.
The terrible thing was, Mina had been tempted to ignore all dictates of decorum and professionalism and kiss the Irishman back, despite the fact her charge was nearby and they were in full view of the Kinsale Cloud’s crew!
She understood the reason why, though. She was six-and-twenty and fast approaching spinsterhood and she’d never, ever been kissed before.
Not properly. She didn’t count the quick peck the new vicar of Ablington had bestowed when he’d caught her under the mistletoe at the vicarage last Christmas Eve.
Her pulse certainly hadn’t fluttered or raced or done anything at all other than plod along like it usually did when his lips had fleetingly touched hers.
Which hadn’t been the case when Lord Kinsale had looked at her mouth with keen, if not altogether smoldering interest in his deep green eyes.
Her pulse had bolted clean away like a runaway horse.
Even now, she swore she could still feel the firm press of the marquess’s large hands about her waist when he’d caught her to stop her from falling.
Mina sighed. Fate had been cruel indeed to deposit her on the Kinsale Cloud, because now the charming Lord Kinsale would inhabit her dreams. He might not give her another thought, but she was going to have a very difficult time forgetting the marquess.
“Where are we going?” Christopher asked as she steered him away from the waterfront and in the direction of the towering Bristol Cathedral. Its spire rose majestically above all the other buildings lining the docks.
“Remember I told you about my childhood home? Rose Cottage?” said Mina. “We’re going there.”
“Oh.” The boy pouted and clutched his velvet rabbit, Mr. Hopwell, to his chest. “Will we travel on the train? Or in a carriage?”
Oh dear. No doubt Christopher hadn’t liked the experience of being teleported. Mina couldn’t say that she blamed him. It was rather discombobulating. Disregarding her first-ever teleportation misfire, it was the fastest way she knew to get from one point to another.
“Would it be all right if we hopped in a magic cupboard again?” she asked as they paused on the edge of a busy street, waiting for a break in the traffic.
Not far from the cathedral, there was a police box that she could use to teleport.
Because the Parasol Academy had been granted a Royal Charter by Queen Victoria, an agreement had been established with the Metropolitan Police that Academy graduates could make use of police boxes “in the line of duty.”
“I promise we’ll end up at my house, not on a ship,” she added. “And it will only take a minute, not several hours to get there. It means we’ll arrive in plenty of time for dinner.”
Christopher sighed. “All right. Although all the whooshing and spinning made me feel a bit ill.”
Mina squeezed the boy’s hand for reassurance. “If that should happen again, I promise you that you can have a bit more of the seasickness medicine you liked so much.”
Once she and Christopher were safely inside the police box—she was quietly relieved that there were no bobbies about because she really couldn’t risk being questioned—she performed the teleportation spell that would spirit them away to Rose Cottage.
Like last time, both she and Christopher were swept up in a maelstrom of bright light that spun them around and around like leaves caught in the wind.
And just like last time, they found themselves in a small shadowy space—the interior of another wardrobe.
But this time, Mina and her charge weren’t surrounded by men’s clothes and the scent of woodsy cologne.
No, the wardrobe was practically empty save for several old gowns that Mina immediately recognized as her own.
She released a huge sigh of relief. “We’ve arrived safely,” she whispered to Christopher. “You can open your eyes now.”
“Oh, good,” said the boy. “I liked Lord Kinsale. But I wasn’t so sure about his dog. He kept looking at Mr. Hopwell like he wanted to eat him.”
Mina laughed softly to herself. The young viscount wasn’t wrong at all.
She opened the door to her wardrobe and ushered Christopher into her old bedroom. The boy wrinkled his nose. “Is this where I’ll be staying?” he asked. “It’s very pink and flowery.”
Mina was inclined to agree. Indeed, it looked like a rose garden had exploded in her bedchamber.
It had been her mother’s choice to decorate the room with rose-patterned wallpaper, curtains featuring pink and red rosebuds, and an Aubusson rug covered in a cabbage rose design.
And then of course, there was Mina’s bed.
The rose-pink brocade counterpane was embroidered with yet more roses, as were the silk cushions piled against the pillows.
“I shall have the guest bedroom made up for you,” she said, putting Christopher’s valise down by the door.
She then deposited her Parasol Academy umbrella on the rosewood dressing table; the removal of her gloves and bonnet swiftly followed.
“But first, I must take you downstairs to introduce you to my mama, Mrs. Davenport, and my sister, Miss Dorothea. I’ll ask them to call you Master Christopher rather than Lord Fitzwilliam if that’s still all right with you.
Just in case your guardian looks for you here.
I don’t think he will, but it’s best to exercise caution. Just to be on the safe side.”
Christopher nodded, then frowned. “What should I call you now? Mrs. or Miss Davenport? Because I’ve always called you miss. But Lord Kinsale called you missus.”
“I know it’s confusing,” said Mina. “But Lord Kinsale thought I was your mama rather than your governess. So he called me Mrs. Davenport as he believed I was married.”
Christopher fiddled with one of Mr. Hopwell’s long floppy ears. “But you’re neither of those things. You’re not my mama. Nor are you married.”
Mina smiled. “No, I’m not. So you can keep calling me Miss Davenport.
There is one thing though, that must remain our special secret.
We mustn’t talk about the magic cupboard, just like we must not mention Sir Bedivere.
Or that you are Viscount Fitzwilliam. In fact, we might need to give you a different last name for a little while.
” Mina gestured at Christopher’s toy rabbit.
“What about Hopwell? Christopher Hopwell.”