“While you are tending to your hygiene, you may want to consider washing your face.”
Henrietta schooled her features while calculating the sensations upon her face.
He was clearly laughing at her, his fine eyebrows practically wiggling like shaved caterpillars. “Your nose, Retta.”
“My name is Henrietta.” Oh, how she wanted to rub her nose. Now that he’d pointed it out, she did feel a dry crustiness upon its tip. She twitched, curling her fingers against her dress, resisting the quick itch that would dispose of the offensive mark. How long had it been there?
* * *
Dominic’s shoulders shook. His former nurse—now governess—had turned a surprisingly becoming shade of pink, her normally porcelain cheeks suffused with color and her dark eyes glinting. Not with anger, but annoyance. Perhaps even feminine embarrassment, which he was certain was a foreign feeling to her.
Such a smart and interesting lady.
The smudge of mud on her nose was not the only imperfection. Small splatters dotted her cheeks, and a long smear ran across her forehead. Henrietta fidgeted while his niece giggled. Forcing his grin into some semblance of sobriety, he moved toward her.
“There is no need to feel ashamed for playing in the mud with Louise. She quite likes getting dirty, and I’m sure no other governess has ever traipsed in the dirt with her. What do you call this lesson?” He raised a brow. “Geography? Soil-ology?”
The way she wrinkled her nose, one side of her pretty lip curling up with the movement, intrigued him unaccountably. Did she have any idea how pretty she was? How her intelligence glowed out of her small and fine-boned features, coupled with a soft compassion that stirred the hardest of hearts.
Namely, his.
He could not recall the last time anyone but Louise had made him laugh. Bending down, so that he and Henrietta’s eyes were level, he grinned. “I do not object to your lessons. They are quite...relevant.”
Her eyebrows narrowed and even with that disapproving expression, he realized she was quite pretty in an understated way. One had to look closely and pay attention to see the beauty. From the Cupid’s-bow lips to the slightly exotic shape of her eyes, all lost behind the serious expressions she often wore. Or perhaps her busy movements and constant opinions hid the quiet details of her loveliness.
And, he realized, still a little closer than necessary, she smelled good. Like summer. Like flowers and woman and sunshine.
“No more, Lord St. Raven.” She put emphasis on his title, as if that would deter him from his antics. “We will be observing English manners, and that is enough of the matter.”
“Ah, but you started this with your talk of the Americas.” He straightened, putting a little space between them. With a wide gesture, he said, “In this house, you shall be Retta. I shall be Dom. And Louise shall be...” He put his finger on his chin.
Jumping up and down, Louise circled them. “Lou, Lou. Call me Lou?”
“This is nonsense. Utter nonsense.” Poor Miss Gordon, with her smudged face and aromatic smell, looked flustered.
“Come now, surely you must know that pet names are signs of affection.”
She shook her head, mouth pursing as though she’d just sucked a lemon. “May I be excused, my lord?”
He held up a finger. “I called you in here for a reason, then you may go. I must know—how are the state of affairs between the two of you? Is Louise behaving as she ought?”
Louise’s face scrunched. “I shall behave just as long as Henrietta does.”
Dominic sent his niece a hard look. “That’s unacceptable, Louise.”
“I’m sorry, Dom. I shall do my best.” Her shoulders sagged.
“It is all I ask.” He touched her head, guilt churning his gut. He should have been here with her, but the St. Raven estate reminded him of Edmund. Even Louise, with her dark hair and stubborn chin. The looks she gave him sometimes...
If he left, then perhaps Old John would cease demanding money. After all, he’d be gone and if Louise had Henrietta, then perhaps Barbara would leave him alone.
“Go change, and we shall work on arithmetic next,” said Miss Gordon.
“Again?” Louise’s pitch soared.
“Would you rather sewing or singing or pianoforte?”
Glum, Louise kicked the floor with her toe. “No.”
“We shall be quick about the sums, and then you may choose the next lesson.”
“Really?” Her head shot up, a bright hope in her eyes that touched Dominic. It had been months since she’d shown any interest in learning.
“Really. But first I must speak to your uncle.”
His niece gave him one more hug, then skipped from the room while attempting, not very successfully, to whistle.
The earl crossed his arms. “You’re doing remarkably well so far.”
“There is still time to fail. I have not been here very long,” she replied. She paused, as though examining her next words before uttering them. “I think your presence curbs her anxieties. She is better behaved when she knows you are here. It is a security issue, I believe.”
“Did she say that?” A very real panic was filling his chest, ballooning inside, making breathing more difficult.
“No, no, I have not spoken to her about this. It is merely an observation. There is another issue.”
Another? He just wanted to leave. Leave for north England and consign himself to hermitude until he could find a cure for his epilepsy.
Being here oppressed him. And Henrietta, with her practical, no-nonsense air, looking at him, demanding things of him. Making him feel emotions he was unwise to feel.
“Go on,” he said in a short tone.
“There is the matter of your estate.”
“My estate?”
She walked past him, gesturing to his desk, where papers spilled haphazardly across its surface. A small bust that he’d given his brother took residence in one corner. Dominic had a sudden and irrational urge to throw the thing. To shatter it.
Just as his family had been shattered when his brother died.
Henrietta trailed her fingers along his desk, her gaze fastened on him.
