A flicker of movement through one of the study’s windows caught Blair’s eye. As if conjured by his thoughts, Miss Harlow walked past. Though her back was to him, he recognized the slim line of her figure beneath her woolen cloak, as well as the simple chestnut knot at the base of her uncovered head.
Where the devil was she headed now? Though a few more hours of gray daylight remained, the air had taken on a decidedly chilly, damp edge in the last day or two. A winter storm could be upon them at any moment.
Blair was all too eager for the excuse to push back from the desk and hasten to retrieve his overcoat, ignoring Scone’s discontented yowl behind him.
As he swung his coat on, he pushed out of the keep and strode to the stables. He waited impatiently while the stable lad—Theo, Blair thought his name was—saddled his horse. But instead of mounting, he led the animal on foot to the far side of the manor.
“Miss Harlow!” he called after her once he reached the sloping expanse of grass on the southeast side of the keep.
She paused and glanced over her shoulder, her gaze fixing on him. Even from some distance, he saw her brows wing in surprise.
But instead of slinking back to the manor, or at a minimum remaining where she was, the wee spitfire merely lifted a hand in acknowledgement. “Good afternoon, Lord Brenmore,” she said before turning away and continuing on.
Muttering a curse, Blair hastened after her, pulling his horse behind him. His long strides ate far more ground than hers, and he was alongside her in a matter of moments.
“I thought I’d made myself clear that ye aren’t to go wandering about the estate alone,” he said without preamble when he reached her.
She glanced at him, not slowing. “You said that I was not to go walking at dusk, and only in fair weather, not that I could not go out at all.”
“Ye call this fair weather?”
“Come now, my lord, if we all stayed indoors unless the sun was shining, the Highlands would be utterly empty eleven months out of the year.”
To his surprise, a smile tugged at his lips at that. She wasn’t wrong.
“Where are ye headed to this time?”
“As before, I am going to the Timms’s croft,” she replied. “I am expected at this time every week for a lesson.”
She’d mentioned giving lessons to the crofters’ children when he’d first encountered her walking in the rain, but Blair had been thrown so off-kilter by her that he hadn’t pressed for more information.
“What could the children of farmers possibly wish to learn from an English governess?”
From the way her mouth subtly compressed, he realized belatedly that his words had come out unnecessarily harsh.
“I believe all children have the right to a basic education,” she commented quietly. “Even those not born into wealth or privilege.”
Bloody hell, he was an arse. And Miss Amelia Harlow didn’t mind letting him know it, either, in her pointed way. For some reason, instead of irritating him, her forthright honesty elevated her in his esteem.
“A forward-thinking sentiment,” he said after a moment. “I must admit, I am curious to see it put into action.”
Her steps faltered at that, and she shot him an uncertain glance.
“Mayhap I’ll accompany ye to the Timms’s croft and see for myself what such modern ideas look like in practice,” he continued. “Besides, I can only glean so much about the estate from the ledgers. I’d like to see the state of a few of the crofts before I determine the necessary steps for protecting Lady Lavinia’s inheritance.”
That much was true, but another reason for wanting to accompany Miss Harlow lurked unspoken. Though he could not quite admit it, even in the privacy of his own thoughts, he longed to be near her—perhaps even as near as they’d been when he’d pulled her onto his horse and whisked her to Glenrose that first day.
It was likely just the cold, but Blair did not miss the way Miss Harlow’s cheeks flushed a faint pink.
“Very well, my lord,” she murmured. After a moment, she pinned him with her gaze, visibly working to make her features stern. “But I’ll warn you, I have limited time with these pupils each week, and I will not shortchange them just because an Earl is in our midst. I trust you will not interfere.”
Another grin tugging at his lips, Blair held up his hands in mock surrender. “And risk the wrath of a wee English governess? I wouldn’t dream of it.”
* * * *
Blair’s backside ached, his shoulders were stiff, and a trickle of sweat rolled down his neck and into his collar. None of that mattered, however, for his attention was riveted on Miss Harlow.
Mrs. Timms was nearly apoplectic at having the Earl of Brenmore arrive at her humble cottage. She’d given him her best seat, a low, wooden stool, and placed him by the roaring fire with assurances that the rest of the cottage was drafty. Though Blair had shed his overcoat, he was hot and uncomfortable, but didn’t dare move and risk not only insulting Mrs. Timms but disrupting Miss Harlow’s lesson.
After the initial flurry and fuss at their arrival, she’d turned her full attention to the children gathered in the center of the cottage’s main room. There were four of them in all, ranging in age from about five to ten, and they were just as captivated by her as Blair was.
They’d begun by taking turns reading aloud from slim
