Chapter 8 #2
The observation irritated him, though not for the reasons one might assume. He did not resent their happiness. Quite the opposite. The problem was that he disliked being confronted with shortcomings he could not easily solve through effort, authority, or determination.
Amelia, meanwhile, appeared entirely unaware that she was causing problems.
Or perhaps she is aware and simply does not care.
Both possibilities seemed equally likely.
With a muttered curse, Gabriel turned away from the window and forced his attention back to the papers on his desk.
Clearly, the household required better structure.
Better boundaries. Better oversight. Miss Amelia Shirley had arrived and immediately begun disrupting routines that had existed for months.
The fact that those disruptions appeared beneficial changed absolutely nothing.
Gabriel reached for a fresh sheet of paper and began making notes. There would be rules. Clear rules. Specific rules. Rules designed to ensure that governesses sought permission before transforming kitchens into bakeries and gardens into picnic grounds.
The plan felt entirely sensible. It remained sensible for nearly three minutes. Then another burst of laughter drifted through the open window.
Gabriel stared at the figures written across the account ledger before him. Slowly, against his better judgment and with considerable annoyance, he found himself looking back towards the garden once more.
That evening, shortly before dinner, Gabriel sat behind his desk attempting to review correspondence from his steward.
Unfortunately, every time he looked down at the papers, he found himself remembering flour-covered children and a governess who seemed determined to overturn his household one outrageous idea at a time.
By the third letter, he had abandoned all hope of concentration.
Reaching the limit of his patience, he rang the bell beside his desk. When Mrs. Jacobs appeared, he looked up and said, “Fetch Miss Shirley to my study.” The housekeeper curtsied and departed at once, looking entirely too interested in the request.
Several minutes later, a knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” Gabriel called.
Amelia stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She looked composed, though there was a spark of caution in her eyes that suggested she knew perfectly well why she had been summoned. Gabriel rose from his chair and folded his arms.
“You have already broken my rule,” he informed her.
Amelia blinked. “How?” she asked, stopping a few feet away.
Gabriel stared at her in disbelief. “How?” he repeated. “Miss Shirley, I specifically informed you that nothing was to happen in this household without my knowledge and approval.”
She opened her mouth to answer, but he continued before she could.
“First, you decided to take the children into the kitchen,” he said, ticking the offenses off on his fingers.
“Then you decided to prepare food with them, making them into common servants. Then you organized a picnic. At no point was I consulted. And I have been informed that you sent off a letter.”
Amelia crossed her arms. “That is because I did not think I required written permission to make custard or to write a letter.”
“You require permission to alter routines,” he said as he stopped short of his pacing.
“You are being unreasonable, Your Grace, and…” she said but stopped after he gave her a sharp look.
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “Unreasonable? How?”
“You see enemies where none exist,” Amelia continued, shaking her head. “Honestly, Your Grace, one would think I had organized a military uprising rather than dessert and a harmless picnic.”
“Did you? Who was that letter to? What are you scheming at?” he said.
She narrowed her eyes. “I do not scheme. It was a letter to my sister to let her know I am well. I did not tell her where I was, only that I am safe and in good health.”
Before he could reply, she turned towards the door. Gabriel moved instinctively. His hand closed around her wrist. Amelia froze.
The moment stretched between them.
“Do not walk away while I am speaking,” Gabriel said quietly.
Her gaze dropped briefly to his hand before lifting back to his face. “Then perhaps you should say something worth hearing.”
The response should have irritated him.
Instead, it almost impressed him.
Challenging woman, indeed.
“You think I am unreasonable,” Gabriel said, releasing her wrist but remaining where he was. “Perhaps I am. But betrayal always comes from the person one least expects. That is the cruel irony of betrayal. No one ever sees it coming.”
The words left his mouth before he intended them to.
Immediately, old memories stirred.
My father’s failures. His dangerous aggressions. The people who should have protected those they loved had not. Then Benedict’s wife. Another wound. Another absence. Another person who should not have been given access to those who should be loved, not harmed.
Gabriel looked away, annoyed by the direction of his thoughts.
For a moment, Amelia said nothing. Then her voice softened.
“Does this mean you intend to dismiss me?” she asked, her voice small and helpless.
Gabriel turned back towards her. “No.”
Something eased in her expression. “So I am banned from the kitchen?” she asked. “Because I found it rather useful.”
Gabriel frowned. “Useful?”
“Yes.” Amelia uncrossed her arms and gestured lightly with one hand. “I realized something about David.”
Gabriel immediately paid attention. “What?”
Amelia hesitated before answering. “I do not think he will learn from someone he does not feel safe with.”
The word struck him unexpectedly.
Safe.
His thoughts immediately returned to David’s scar.
To the nightmares. To the fear the boy still carried despite everyone’s efforts. To David’s vile mother—the one woman who was supposed to make him feel safe and had failed miserably.
As Amelia continued speaking, Gabriel found himself studying her more closely than intended. His gaze flickered briefly downward before returning to her eyes, though the brief glimpse of her pink lips only left him oddly distracted and more confused than before.
“How does cooking make him feel safe?” he asked.
Amelia brightened slightly, clearly pleased to be discussing something other than dismissal.
“Because it allows him to follow instructions without pressure,” she explained. “When we make custard, I tell him what to do, but the task is enjoyable. He associates being guided with something pleasant rather than something oppressive.”
Gabriel listened carefully.
Amelia continued, growing more animated. “If he becomes accustomed to listening to me while enjoying himself, then eventually lessons will feel natural. He will trust me. Once he trusts me, he will listen on matters of letters and numbers.”
Gabriel turned away and began pacing. The explanation was surprisingly logical.
More logical than I want it to be.
For the past year, he had attempted discipline, structure, tutors, schedules, and endless patience he did not naturally possess. Yet this ridiculous woman had achieved more progress with custard than anyone else had managed through formal instruction.
The thought is deeply irritating.
After several moments, he stopped pacing and looked back at her.
“Did it work?” he asked.
Amelia considered the question carefully. “I think it has,” she decided, “but time will tell.”
Gabriel studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded once. “Very well.”
Amelia blinked.
“Cooking will become a weekly activity from now on,” Gabriel declared. “You will continue if you believe it benefits David.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“And,” he added, pointing a finger towards her, “you must not disappoint the children. If you mean to do this activity with them, then do not miss it. You must show up.”
A smile spread across her face. It was not a dramatic smile. Not flirtatious. Not calculated.
Simply warm.
For reasons Gabriel could not immediately explain, the sight unsettled him far more than any argument ever had.
Something shifted unpleasantly in his chest. He disliked it at once.
“You are dismissed,” he said abruptly, crossing the room and opening the door before she could say anything further.
Amelia looked surprised. “Very well,” she replied. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
“Good evening, Miss Shirley.”
She walked into the corridor, and Gabriel closed the door behind her. Silence settled over the study once more.
For several moments, he stood motionless, staring at the closed door as though it had personally offended him.
Then he exhaled sharply and dragged a hand across his face. This woman was becoming a problem.
Not because she ignored rules. Not because she challenged him. Not even because she somehow persuaded the children to smile and laugh. No.
The problem, Gabriel realized with growing annoyance, was… those pink lips.