Chapter 8 #3
He left the schoolroom and walked back to his study. He refused to think about the look on her face. Lawrence Feversham was arriving in the morning, and that problem required his full attention.
He told himself that firmly, several times, until he almost believed it.
***
The morning arrived clear and cold, with the kind of light that made everything look sharper and left nowhere to hide.
Jamie stood on the steps with Logan beside him and watched the drive.
Lawrence’s carriage appeared at the end of it precisely when expected.
It was a fine carriage. Jamie noticed that with detached precision.
Well sprung, well maintained, drawn by horses chosen for appearance as well as stamina.
The equipage announced wealth without needing to boast.
The carriage stopped. The door opened. Lawrence descended. He was exactly as Jamie remembered and exactly as he had always been. Dark-haired, fine-featured, immaculately turned out in a coat that had cost what a skilled tradesman earned in six months.
He moved with the unhurried confidence of a man who expected to be received well and had never had sufficient cause to question that expectation.
He looked at the house first. Then at the grounds. Then at Jamie, and his face arranged itself into an expression of warm, unaffected pleasure.
“Jamie.” He crossed the drive with his hand extended. “Good God, it is good to see you.”
The handshake was firm and sincere. Jamie accepted it with a steadiness he did not entirely feel.
“Lawrence. Welcome to the estate.”
“Extraordinary place.” Lawrence looked back at the house with genuine appreciation. “I had forgotten how remote it was. The drive alone is an adventure.”
“It is that,” Jamie said.
The front door opened behind them, and the children appeared. Mrs. Maggie had brought them out, which Jamie had asked her to do, because he wanted to see the reception without managing it.
Lawrence turned, and his face warmed further. It might have been practiced family affection. It might have been genuine. Jamie still could not tell.
“Duncan.” Lawrence opened his arms. “Look at how you have grown.”
Duncan stood very straight and allowed the embrace with the composure of a small soldier submitting to an inspection he had not requested.
Lawrence released him and turned to Maisie. He crouched down, arms open, smile wide.
Maisie stepped backward and pressed herself against Mrs. Maggie’s side.
Lawrence held the pose for a breath, then recovered so smoothly that anyone not watching for the correction would have missed it. He straightened with an easy laugh. “Shy this morning. That is all right.”
He praised the estate again. He shook Logan’s hand and made him laugh within thirty seconds, an achievement Jamie observed with sharp irritation. He offered Mrs. Maggie a gracious remark that produced her careful reserve, and Clara received another that made her soften by a fraction.
Then his attention moved to the hall and to Eloise, who stood a little apart from the household. Lawrence looked at her with immediate appreciation.
He crossed toward her without any hesitation.
“And who is this?” he asked. “Macalpine, you have kept the most elegant member of your household from me.”
Eloise met his gaze steadily. “Eloise Beauchamp. The children’s governess, my lord.”
“Miss Beauchamp,” Lawrence said, as though the name pleased him. He took her hand with polished ease. “What a very great pleasure.”
He held her hand.
“The children must speak of you constantly,” Lawrence said.
“They are fortunate,” he continued. “So is the estate.”
“I had not expected such refinement in so remote a household,” Lawrence said. “You handle a very difficult job with elegance, dignity, and more patience than most people could manage.”
He was still holding her hand.
Jamie cleared his throat.
The sound came out more decisively than he intended. It carried across the hall with naval authority, and every person in the entrance hall turned to look at him.
Including Lawrence. And Eloise.
Lawrence released her hand with untroubled ease and smiled at Jamie like an old friend.
“Of course,” he said. “There is time enough for everything. Shall we go in?”
Jamie held the door and said nothing.
Lawrence passed him with the confidence of a man who had arrived exactly where he intended to be. The household arranged itself around him, and Jamie watched with the burden of what he could not prove settling heavier beneath his ribs.
Eloise had moved to the children’s side. She stood between them and Lawrence with natural ease, as if she had simply found the place where she was needed. She did not look at Jamie. He did not look at her. Neither spoke.
But he had seen, when he stepped between her and Lawrence’s attention, that she had not looked displeased.
That was something.
He was not entirely certain what, but it was something.
He followed his guest inside and told himself, firmly, that he would not spend the next several days watching Lawrence Feversham speak to his governess.
He suspected he was going to be deeply unsuccessful at that.