Where she’d managed to procure supplies for the children Blair did not know, though given what he’d seen in Glenrose’s ledgers, Blair highly doubted that the children’s hardworking parents could afford such luxuries. Perhaps Lord Glenrose had provided them. Miss Harlow had spoken warmly of the late Earl’s kindness and dedication to his people. Or perhaps Miss Harlow herself had scraped and saved her modest salary for these children’s betterment.
For the last half hour, she’d guided them in an arithmetic lesson. She moved through addition and subtraction problems, and even a few multiplications, using objects and examples that were familiar to life on a farm—chickens laying eggs and losing some to a wily fox, the number of loaves that could be baked given a certain portion of grain, and the like.
Nor had Blair missed the way Mrs. Timms had been leaning in from her seat on a wooden bench behind the children. Though she appeared to be darning a pair of thick wool socks, she was actually as engrossed in the lessons as the children.
Her interest clearly wasn’t lost on Miss Harlow. Though Mrs. Timms lacked a slate and remained silent throughout the entirety of the instruction, Amelia often glanced at Mrs. Timms for confirmation that she understood before moving on. So it seemed that the clever governess was not only teaching the crofters’ children, but the parents as well.
Blair sat stunned by all he saw—her enthusiasm, her patience, her gentle correction when one of the children’s attention drifted. And given the vibrant light behind her rich chestnut eyes, she would walk through a thousand Highland rainstorms if it meant continuing this work.
An overwhelming urge to understand what drove Amelia Harlow settled deep in Blair’s chest. Where did such passion, such skill, come from in a woman who couldn’t be more than five and twenty? He felt almost ravenous with the need to know more about her.
Just as Miss Harlow was concluding her instruction, the cottage’s door swung open, letting in a blast of frosty air.
A grizzled man of middling years stepped through the doorway, the scents of hay and the outdoors clinging to him. A strong memory of childhood came over Blair at the smells—of the Highlands and hard work.
“Good evening, Mr. Timms,” Miss Harlow said with a smile. The children began packing up their supplies as Miss Harlow gave them a few tasks to practice at home until next week’s meeting.
Mr. Timms noticed Blair then. The man stiffened and tugged off his cap.
“This is Lord Brenmore, the estate’s new guardian,” Mrs. Timms said hastily, setting aside her darning. “He has come down from Glenrose to observe Miss Harlow’s lessons.”
It seemed word of Blair’s arrival had already reached Mr. Timms, however, for even before Mrs. Timms had finished speaking, the man’s brown eyes had hardened with wariness. No doubt he understood that a new master meant the possibility of change—and perhaps not for the better from Mr. Timms’s perspective.
To ease the sudden tension in the small room, Blair stood and said, “I thought I smelled snow in the air earlier today. Have the skies made up their mind yet?”
“Still deciding, milord,” Mr. Timms replied gruffly. “Though I readied the animals today. It will snow by week’s end, mark it.”
As Blair nodded, Miss Harlow stepped forward. “Rabbie did wonderfully today,” she said softly, tipping her head toward the eldest boy, who must have been Mr. and Mrs. Timms’s son.
Miss Harlow then described each subject they’d covered that afternoon. Mr. Timms looked rather befuddled as she showed him the passages they’d read from their primers, but nodded along when she recounted their arithmetic problems. It seemed that this little rehash served the same purpose as letting Mrs. Timms eavesdrop on the lessons. Miss Harlow was gently providing instruction to the adults as well as the children.
When the children—excluding Rabbie—had finished saying their goodbyes and filed out, Miss Harlow bid the Timms family a good evening and slung on her cloak. Nodding to Mr. and Mrs. Timms, Blair followed.
It had grown later than he’d realized. Judging from the weak light, the sun was already setting somewhere behind the dense clouds. He retrieved his horse from the other side of the cottage, almost sorry it wasn’t raining so that he’d have an excuse to ride with Miss Harlow in his lap once more.
But the dry weather would give them more time together on their walk back to Glenrose. And Blair meant to use every moment unwrapping the enigma that was Amelia Harlow.
Chapter Six
Despite her fatigue from the day’s work, Amelia’s nerves crackled with awareness as she and Lord Brenmore walked side by side in the falling darkness. His rapt attention all afternoon left her insides tangled and her skin warm beneath her corset and chemise.
But she found it difficult to read his mood, both in the Timms’s cottage and now as they walked in silence. His lowered brows and firmly set mouth—the usual cast of his features, she’d learned over the past week—gave nothing away.
When he spoke at last, his voice was low and wondering.
“That was…ye were…”
She hung suspended, shamefully desperate for him to finish and tell her what he’d made of her.
He cleared his throat, and to her disappointment, his next words were held in check by a more formal tone.
“Ye clearly have a gift, Miss Harlow.”
“Thank you,” she managed. “I believe quite firmly in the power an education can bring to all those willing to apply themselves, highborn or low.”
“I find myself…curious about ye,” he continued, keeping his gaze forward. “Where did such a passion come from? And how did a young Englishwoman such as yerself end up a governess in this wee corner of the Highlands?”
She hesitated. How much should she tell him? Amelia wasn’t ashamed
