Chapter 12
“Such a terrible storm last night,” Lady Merrow remarked.
Louise kept her gaze fixed on Emily, who shrieked with delight as Buttercup bounded through the snow, sending white powder flying in glittering arcs.
The morning sun turned the garden into a crystal palace, every surface sparkling with frozen beauty. Beside her, Lady Merrow pulled her fur wrap closer, but her tone carried far more warmth than the winter air.
“Yes.” Louise watched her sister attempt to build a snowman with Buttercup’s enthusiastic but unhelpful assistance. “Quite unexpected for this time of year.”
“Indeed. The wind rattled the windows something fierce.” Lady Merrow’s breath formed small clouds in the cold air. “I hope you managed to sleep through it all.”
“I slept quite soundly, thank you.” The lie came easily, though heat crept up Louise’s neck.
“How remarkable.” Lady Merrow’s eyes twinkled with something knowing. “I find storms have a way of rearranging things. Doors that were closed suddenly open. People end up in the most unexpected places.”
Louise turned to face her hostess fully, summoning what dignity she could muster while her cheeks burned. “Lady Merrow, I assure you—”
“My dear,” Lady Merrow interrupted gently, “life would be frightfully dull if everything proceeded exactly as expected. Sometimes the most interesting paths are the ones that lead sideways, or backwards, or in circles entirely.”
The kindness in her voice nearly undid Louise. Here was Lady Merrow, who had welcomed her and Emily with such warmth, offering nothing but kindness and understanding, and Louise had complicated everything by kissing her nephew. The weight of that betrayal pressed against her chest.
Before Louise could respond, Emily came running toward them, Buttercup galumphing behind with his tongue lolling out.
“Louise! Lady Merrow!” Snow clung to Emily’s eyelashes like tiny diamonds. “I’m absolutely frozen, and Buttercup ate half my snow fort. May we have some hot chocolate? Please?”
“What a splendid idea!” Lady Merrow caught Emily’s mittened hands in hers. “Hot chocolate with mountains of cream. And perhaps some of Cook’s ginger biscuits.”
“The ones with sugar crystals on top?” Emily bounced on her toes.
“Those exact ones.” Lady Merrow began herding them all toward the house, Buttercup shaking snow from his coat with violent enthusiasm. “Come along, before we all turn into ice sculptures.”
Three days passed in careful avoidance. Aaron appeared at breakfast precisely as the last bite was being taken, at dinner only when Lady Merrow demanded it.
When they passed in hallways, he offered the same polite nod he might give a stranger. The man who had kissed her with desperate hunger had vanished behind walls so thick, Louise wondered if she had imagined that night entirely.
Except for the way his hands clenched when their eyes accidentally met. The way he turned toward windows whenever she entered a room, as if the view suddenly required his complete attention.
On the fourth morning, a woman arrived carrying a worn leather satchel, her bearing suggesting education despite her simple dress. Louise watched from the morning room as Mr. Thornton escorted her to Aaron’s study.
An hour later, the butler found them in the library where Louise was helping Emily with her penmanship.
“Lady Louise, His Grace requests your presence in the blue parlor.”
Louise’s pulse jumped. “Of course. Emily, practice your letters. I’ll return shortly.”
The blue parlor overlooked the garden where they had played in the snow. Aaron stood at his favorite refuge, the window, while the woman from earlier sat primly on the settee.
“Lady Louise.” Aaron did not bother to turn. “Permit me to introduce Miss Margaret Whitfield, a governess of excellent repute.”
Louise studied the woman more carefully: perhaps thirty, with neat brown hair and intelligent hazel eyes that seemed to catalogue everything while revealing nothing.
“Miss Whitfield.” Louise inclined her head. “A pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine, Lady Louise.” The governess’s voice held educated refinement. “His Grace has told me about Lady Emily. She sounds delightful.”
“She is.” Louise moved further into the room, though Aaron remained fixed at the window. “Though perhaps somewhat unconventional in her interests. She prefers exploring to embroidery.”
Miss Whitfield smiled, transforming her serious face. “How refreshing. I’ve always found that children learn best when their natural curiosity is encouraged.”
“Miss Whitfield studied at Queen’s College,” Aaron addressed the glass. “She speaks French, Italian, and German, plays both pianoforte and harp, and has a particular interest in natural philosophy.”
“Natural philosophy?” Louise couldn’t hide her surprise.
“I believe young ladies deserve the same breadth of education as their brothers.” Miss Whitfield’s tone remained pleasant but carried steel beneath. “Within appropriate bounds, of course.”
Louise warmed to the woman immediately. “Emily will adore you. She asks endless questions about why things work.”
“Then we shall investigate together.” Miss Whitfield rose gracefully. “With your permission, Lady Louise, I’d like to meet her today.”
“I think that would be wonderful.”
Aaron finally turned from the window, though his gaze fixed somewhere beyond Louise’s shoulder. “Excellent. Miss Whitfield, Mr. Thornton will show you to the schoolroom. Perhaps Lady Louise could bring Lady Emily there?”
After Miss Whitfield departed, Louise lingered. Aaron moved toward the door.
“She seems perfect,” Louise spoke quickly, stopping him. “Thank you. For thinking of Emily.”
“She needs proper education.” His voice remained carefully neutral. “It’s a practical solution; you’ll be able to focus on your duties regarding my aunt.”
“I see. Well, your practicality is appreciated, Your Grace.”
Aaron’s shoulders tensed. “Practicality prevents complications.”
“I agree. Complications are to be avoided. At all costs.”
“Yes,” he replied, though his jaw twitched slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I have correspondence.”
He left her standing alone in the blue parlor, surrounded by silk walls that suddenly felt suffocating.
As for Emily, she took to Miss Whitfield like a duck to water. Within minutes, they were examining snowflakes through a magnifying glass the governess had brought.
“Each one is completely unique,” Miss Whitfield explained. “No two are exactly alike.”
“Like people,” Emily said solemnly. “We all have faces, but they’re all different.”
“Precisely.” The governess smiled at Louise over Emily’s head. “Your sister is quite perceptive, my lady.”
Louise watched them together, grateful for this kindness even as her chest ached. Aaron had done this for Emily. Had found the perfect governess without discussing it with her, without even looking at her properly.
And he shouldn’t look at you, idiot. You’re only here until George is found.
Despite every rational part of her agreeing with this distance, her lips still tingled, reminding her of that forsaken kiss.
How much longer would she have to endure this?
That night at dinner, Emily chattered about everything Miss Whitfield had taught her. Aaron listened with apparent interest, asking questions that made Emily beam.
“And did you know snowflakes are actually tiny ice crystals?” Emily’s eyes shone with newfound knowledge. “Miss Whitfield says each one forms in the clouds.”
“Fascinating,” Aaron said.
Louise seized the moment. “Do you enjoy natural philosophy, Your Grace? You seem quite interested in Emily’s lessons.”
Aaron’s gaze flickered to her for the briefest instant before returning to his plate. “I find it a worthwhile subject for young minds.”
The dismissal stung. Louise pressed on regardless. “Did you study it at Cambridge?”
“Among other things.” He cut a piece of pheasant with precise movements. “How was your afternoon, aunt? I trust your beast didn’t cause too much mischief.”
Louise’s fingers tightened around her fork. He had turned away from her mid-conversation, as though she had said nothing at all.
“Buttercup was a perfect gentleman,” Lady Merrow replied, her sharp eyes darting between Aaron and Louise. “Though he attempted to steal Cook’s roast. One cannot blame him for having excellent taste.”
Emily giggled and launched into a story about Buttercup’s kitchen adventures. Louise forced herself to smile, to nod at the right time, but her throat had grown tight.
He’s already forgotten about it.
The kiss, the way he had held her, the desperate hunger in his touch. Nothing but a momentary lapse, already erased.
She tried once more when dessert arrived. “The weather seems to be improving, Your Grace. Do you enjoy riding when the roads are clear?”
“When time permits.” He did not look up from his syllabub.
“Perhaps Emily might enjoy learning. She’s asked about horses.”
“Miss Whitfield can arrange lessons, if appropriate.” His tone remained perfectly polite. Perfectly distant. As though Louise were a stranger making idle conversation at a dinner party rather than a woman he had kissed senseless mere days ago.
Louise set down her spoon. Her appetite had vanished.
This is how it will be, she told herself.
The kiss had been an aberration. A natural consequence of proximity and danger, nothing more. Any man and woman thrown together in such circumstances might have succumbed to a momentary attraction. It meant nothing about his feelings, and it should mean nothing about hers.
She repeated this to herself as Emily described her plans for tomorrow’s lessons. Repeated it as Lady Merrow made gentle jokes about Buttercup’s theatrical sighs.
Physical attraction is natural. It will pass.
Emily yawned, and a maid appeared to escort her to bed. Louise kissed her sister’s forehead and watched them go, acutely aware of Aaron rising from his chair.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said. “I have estate matters to attend to.”
He left without looking at Louise.
Lady Merrow watched him go, then turned to Louise with knowing eyes. “He’s not very good at this, I’m afraid.”
“At what?”
“Feeling things.” Lady Merrow sipped her wine. “He’s had so little practice, you see.”
Louise said nothing. What was there to say?
“Patience, my dear,” Lady Merrow said softly. “Walls that take a lifetime to build don’t crumble in a day.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Louise kept her voice carefully neutral, focusing on her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
Lady Merrow’s laugh held gentle disbelief. “If you say so, my dear.”
Louise excused herself shortly after, pleading a headache.
In her room, she pressed her forehead against the cold window and stared out at the moonlit garden.
But her lips still remembered the press of his mouth, and her skin still tingled where his hands had touched her, and no amount of logic could quiet the ache in her chest.