not?” she said finally, her voice wavering.
“Time will tell.”
“Yes.” She nodded and gathered up the cups to place them on the tray. “Time will tell.”
But it wasn’t what time would tell she was worried about.
It was what Lady Oakland would tell.
Chapter Eleven
Christopher didn’t speak again until a grim lipped Josceline finished tidying the cups and had carried the tray to the sideboard. Her hand shook when she reached for the bell pull. She barely had the strength to tug at it and she had to try several times before a distant bell echoed through the house.
A protective impulse surged through him at her obvious distress. It wasn’t her fault Tom had run into the room. In fact, up until then, Josceline had handled the situation with pluck, even covering up her mistake with Philip’s name.
Her misery pierced him through and through. At this particular moment, he didn’t give a fig for what Lady Oakland thought of him - he just wanted to lighten Josceline’s spirits.
He wanted to continue as if yesterday and today had never happened.
He wanted her to smile at him and tease him.
He wanted to learn more about her for she intrigued him.
“Join me for dinner this evening?” The question burst out of his mouth to hang clumsily in the air between them.
She turned startled eyes to him then shook her head. “I thank you for the invitation, Mr. Sharrington, but I prefer to take a tray in my room.”
“You’ve done that every evening since you’ve come here. Please reconsider, I would enjoy your company.”
“It’s what’s proper. Governesses do not mingle with their employers.”
He snorted. “Who made that absurd rule? Join me this evening,” he pleaded. “We should discuss our next step.”
“I wager our next step will depend on what Lady Oakland thinks. No thank you.” She dipped her chin. “I would prefer my own company this evening.”
“Please, Josceline, I’ll have Cook make your favorite meal,” he wheedled. “Tell me what it is and you shall have it.”
She fiddled with the ends of her shawl before lifting her gaze to his. “You are insufferably obstinate, Mr. Sharrington.” A smile tickled the corners of her mouth. “But it is roast squab, if you must know.”
“Nine o’clock in the dining room?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes, nine o’clock. Now may I be excused?” Without waiting for his nod, she turned and walked away.
Anticipation beat a quick tattoo in Christopher’s breast as he watched her leave. Tonight he would treat her as the beautiful young woman she was.
Tonight he would woo her as the beautiful young woman he could love.
* * *
Josceline fretted over what to wear to dinner. Not that she had much to fret over, for besides her brown walking dress, she only had two other choices: The jade green woolen frock she had worn to Bristol yesterday. Or, the watered blue silk she had borrowed from Elizabeth, who had insisted she keep it “Because one never knows when one shall be called upon for an evening out.” At least it had long fitted sleeves and a lace fichu which gave her a modicum of modesty.
She cast a regretful eye towards the bolt of copper satin draped over the wardrobe door. How lovely it would have been to have a new dress to wear.
Nerves fluttered in her stomach as she readied herself, an entirely different set of nerves than those besetting her this afternoon.
These were nerves of eagerness, the nerves of a young woman about to dine alone with a man.
Not just any man - the man she was beginning to adore.
She spent an inordinate amount of time with her hair, brushing it until it shone, then looping it back simply with a matching blue ribbon. She pulled out several tendrils to frame her face, running them through a damp comb before twisting them about her fingers so they would curl just so above her ears. Finally, she pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to give them color.
The little
“Time will tell.”
“Yes.” She nodded and gathered up the cups to place them on the tray. “Time will tell.”
But it wasn’t what time would tell she was worried about.
It was what Lady Oakland would tell.
Chapter Eleven
Christopher didn’t speak again until a grim lipped Josceline finished tidying the cups and had carried the tray to the sideboard. Her hand shook when she reached for the bell pull. She barely had the strength to tug at it and she had to try several times before a distant bell echoed through the house.
A protective impulse surged through him at her obvious distress. It wasn’t her fault Tom had run into the room. In fact, up until then, Josceline had handled the situation with pluck, even covering up her mistake with Philip’s name.
Her misery pierced him through and through. At this particular moment, he didn’t give a fig for what Lady Oakland thought of him - he just wanted to lighten Josceline’s spirits.
He wanted to continue as if yesterday and today had never happened.
He wanted her to smile at him and tease him.
He wanted to learn more about her for she intrigued him.
“Join me for dinner this evening?” The question burst out of his mouth to hang clumsily in the air between them.
She turned startled eyes to him then shook her head. “I thank you for the invitation, Mr. Sharrington, but I prefer to take a tray in my room.”
“You’ve done that every evening since you’ve come here. Please reconsider, I would enjoy your company.”
“It’s what’s proper. Governesses do not mingle with their employers.”
He snorted. “Who made that absurd rule? Join me this evening,” he pleaded. “We should discuss our next step.”
“I wager our next step will depend on what Lady Oakland thinks. No thank you.” She dipped her chin. “I would prefer my own company this evening.”
“Please, Josceline, I’ll have Cook make your favorite meal,” he wheedled. “Tell me what it is and you shall have it.”
She fiddled with the ends of her shawl before lifting her gaze to his. “You are insufferably obstinate, Mr. Sharrington.” A smile tickled the corners of her mouth. “But it is roast squab, if you must know.”
“Nine o’clock in the dining room?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes, nine o’clock. Now may I be excused?” Without waiting for his nod, she turned and walked away.
Anticipation beat a quick tattoo in Christopher’s breast as he watched her leave. Tonight he would treat her as the beautiful young woman she was.
Tonight he would woo her as the beautiful young woman he could love.
* * *
Josceline fretted over what to wear to dinner. Not that she had much to fret over, for besides her brown walking dress, she only had two other choices: The jade green woolen frock she had worn to Bristol yesterday. Or, the watered blue silk she had borrowed from Elizabeth, who had insisted she keep it “Because one never knows when one shall be called upon for an evening out.” At least it had long fitted sleeves and a lace fichu which gave her a modicum of modesty.
She cast a regretful eye towards the bolt of copper satin draped over the wardrobe door. How lovely it would have been to have a new dress to wear.
Nerves fluttered in her stomach as she readied herself, an entirely different set of nerves than those besetting her this afternoon.
These were nerves of eagerness, the nerves of a young woman about to dine alone with a man.
Not just any man - the man she was beginning to adore.
She spent an inordinate amount of time with her hair, brushing it until it shone, then looping it back simply with a matching blue ribbon. She pulled out several tendrils to frame her face, running them through a damp comb before twisting them about her fingers so they would curl just so above her ears. Finally, she pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to give them color.
The little
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