Chapter 6 #2
Now that the initial shock had worn off, Mina would be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge that she was just a tad excited about the prospect of seeing Lord Kinsale again.
She did think it slightly odd that he hadn’t mentioned his ward when they’d been discussing the fact he was unmarried and hadn’t any children.
Unless she’d somehow misinterpreted the conversation …
No. No, he’d clearly told her that he didn’t need a nanny or governess. But that had been almost a week ago, Mina reminded herself. Evidently the marquess’s situation had changed in the interim.
“Lord Kinsale’s ward,” began Mina, “I would be keen to learn a little about the child before the interview. Just so I have an idea of what to expect.”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Temple, folding her hands together on her desk.
“His name is Tom Fleet, and as I mentioned before he’s eight years old.
I’m not entirely sure of the relationship between the marquess and young Tom, but I gather the guardianship has all come about rather suddenly and both Lord Kinsale and his ward are still finding their way. ”
Mina nodded. That aligned with what she already knew about the marquess. “I take it that Master Tom is an orphan?”
Mrs. Temple’s brow wrinkled slightly. “I believe so? The boy himself has been rather quiet and has barely said a word in my presence. I wasn’t able to ascertain if he’s received any formal education to date, but I have the feeling his circumstances have been somewhat”—she drummed her fingers on the blotter for a moment as though looking for the right word—“straitened, shall we say? Although, he does seem to have rather a hearty appetite and has polished off most of the afternoon tea tray. After I’ve taken you through to my sitting room, I shall repair to the Academy kitchen to arrange another plate of sandwiches and a fresh pot of tea. ”
“And the marquess? Is there anything I should know about him?” ventured Mina. It would be useful to hear what Mrs. Temple thought of the Irishman.
“Oh, Lord Kinsale is quite lovely. Although, he does seem a trifle uncertain about his own situation,” said Mrs. Temple.
Leaning forward, she lowered her voice. “He disclosed to me that he inherited the marquessate quite recently and unexpectedly—in fact, he used to be a prizefighter of some renown back in Ireland—so he’s still learning how to navigate the waters of the upper class …
and finding them particularly treacherous.
Which is all perfectly understandable given his background. ”
A prizefighter? Heavens, no wonder Lord Kinsale possessed such a magnificent muscular build.
Steadfastly steering her thoughts away from the marquess’s admirable physique because she was bound to blush, Mina said, “Yes, I can imagine it would be very difficult if you hadn’t been brought up with the expectation that you would be a nobleman one day and were then suddenly forced to deal with all the responsibilities that go along with that.
It would certainly be a daunting prospect.
But perhaps the Duke and Duchess of St Lawrence will be able to provide Lord Kinsale with support in that regard. When they return from the seaside.”
The headmistress inclined her head. “No doubt they will. I’m sure you might have some pearls of wisdom to dispense, too, Miss Davenport. Who better than a Parasol Academy governess to know the ins and outs of the nobility’s social conventions?”
“I’m more than happy to help my employer and his new ward in whatever way that I can,” said Mina. Then she gave a little laugh. “If the marquess does indeed wish to employ me as a governess.”
Mrs. Temple rose to her feet. “There’s only one way to find out, Miss Davenport. I think it’s time I made the introductions.”
As soon as the headmistress ushered Mina into the adjoining sitting room and she laid eyes on the marquess, Mina felt as though she’d been struck by a virulent bout of ninnyhammer-itis.
She was tongue-tied and as witless as a newborn kitten as the dark-haired Irishman rose from his seat and inclined his head in greeting.
Her week-old memories hadn’t done the nobleman justice.
She’d forgotten how tall he was. How ruggedly handsome.
His tailor, whoever he was, did a sterling job.
The marquess’s clothes looked like they’d been painted on, framing his muscular boxer’s body to perfection: his herculean shoulders, the swell of his substantial biceps, the breadth of his chest and taut middle, his thick, muscular thighs.
Mina’s gaze traveled over the man in quiet awe … until Mrs. Temple cleared her throat.
“Miss Davenport,” she prompted. “This is Lord Kinsale.” And then she threw her a meaningful look as she affected the tiniest bob—a cue to remind Mina to curtsy.
“Oh. Yes … my lord.” Even though she suddenly felt as unsteady as she had on the marquess’s ship, Mina managed to execute a passable curtsy. “It’s an honor and a pleasure to meet you, my lord. How do you do, my lord?”
Ugh. Had she really just said “my lord” three times in a row? She felt as though she’d lost control of her mouth and far too many words had tumbled out all at once. And she hadn’t even acknowledged the marquess’s ward, which was very rude of her.
Although, the boy didn’t appear to mind. He was presently seated upon a wing chair, his feet propped on a footstool while he munched away on a jam-and-cream-slathered scone. From beneath a shaggy mop of sandy-brown hair, his dark eyes regarded her with keen interest.
“M-M-Miss Daven-Davenport,” said the marquess with a smile. And was that a mischievous twinkle in his emerald-green eyes? “Mrs. T-Temple has been … has been telling m-m-me all about you.”
“Lord Kinsale ’as a stammer,” said the marquess’s ward. He put down his plate, climbed to his feet, and placed his fisted hands on his thin hips. “But don’t let it bovver you none. ’E’s a decent geezer for a nob.”
Mina blinked at the boy in astonishment. She had not expected him to speak with a cockney accent. Or to be so waif-like. His clothes virtually hung off his slight frame. No wonder he’d been wolfing down whatever he could lay his hands on. “I … er … You must be Tom,” she said.
“Tom Fleet,” declared the boy with a tidy bow. “Pleased to meet you, miss.”
“Well then,” said Mrs. Temple brightly. “Now that you’re all acquainted, I will repair to the kitchen to organize another afternoon tea tray. If that is all right with you, Lord Kinsale?”
The marquess nodded. “Aye. It-it is.”
“I wouldn’t say no to more o’ those li’l tarts wiv the cherries on ’em,” said Tom. Then after Lord Kinsale exchanged a speaking look with him, the boy continued, “Please. If you wouldn’t mind. I don’t want to be a bovver.”
“Oh, it’s no bother at all. The tray won’t be too long,” said Mrs. Temple. Catching Mina’s eye she added, “Just ring if you need anything else.”
As soon as the door snicked shut, Mina smiled at the marquess and his ward. “Well,” she said, “this is a pleasant surprise.” She met Lord Kinsale’s gaze. “I had no idea that you had a ward, my lord.”
“It’s … it’s a re-recent development,” said the marquess. “So while I did-didn’t need a gov-governess a week ago, it seems I d-d-do now. O’ course, I im-immediately thought of you, Mrs.”—his mouth hitched in a conspiratorial smile—“I mean Miss Dav-Davenport.”
Mina winced. Glancing at Tom, she noticed that he seemed engrossed in helping himself to another scone so she ventured in a low voice, “Christopher is presently staying with my mother and sister in the country, my lord. I don’t like keeping secrets, but I would be most grateful if you didn’t say anything to Mrs. Temple.
She doesn’t know about him, and I’m not sure where I would stand with the Parasol Academy if it came to light that I had transgressed—” She broke off and dropped her gaze to the floor.
“Here at the Parasol Academy, moral integrity and decorum are valued very highly. After all, our unofficial motto is ‘we’re prim, proper, and prepared for anything.’ So, I hope you understand why I let you believe I was a widow with a child rather than sharing the truth.
” She leaned even closer to Lord Kinsale so Tom wouldn’t hear.
“As forward-thinking as the Parasol Academy is, nannies and governesses who are unwed mothers are probably not in keeping with the organization’s pristine reputation. ”
She hated lying to the marquess by only sharing half the story and implying things that were utterly false—that she’d had a child out of wedlock.
But the alternative—confessing that Christopher wasn’t actually her son but Sir Bedivere’s ward, who she’d essentially kidnapped—was something she just simply could not do.