“May I offer you some tea, sir? I’m afraid this might have cooled.”
Darby sat down opposite Henrietta and eyed her clothing. “No, thank you. Was that gown made up in the village?”
“Yes, it was,” she said. “Was your clothing made up in London?”
“By exiled Parisians,” he said.
“In that case I won’t bother to give you Mrs. Pinnock’s direction. I expect you would find her French inadequate.”
He grinned. “Either that or her needle. I am truly grateful to you, Lady Henrietta, for assisting me with this project. I feel woefully unsuited to choosing a nursemaid.”
Lady Rawlings’s butler, Slope, entered and announced, “The nursemaids are here, Mr. Darby. Shall I show them in one at a time?”
Darby looked at Henrietta. “Better than seeing them all at once, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely.”
Slope bowed and returned with a stocky woman with a prominent nose and a chest like a ledge. She was dressed severely in unrelieved black. Darby’s charming greeting seemed to make her nervous; she took a good hard appraisal of his lace cuffs, sniffed loudly, and thereafter directed her remarks to Henrietta.
Henrietta knew on first glance that Mrs. Bramble was absolutely not the right person, and so she only listened with half an ear until she realized that the nurse was saying, “So you see, madam, I believe that a child’s life must be organized and run by the best Christian principles. In fact, as a member of one of Upper Glimpton’s best Methodist families, I can assure you, madam…”
Henrietta turned pink as she realized that Mrs. Bramble had fallen into the misperception that she was married to Mr. Darby. She must have assumed that “Lady Henrietta” signified “Mrs. Darby” had retained a family title after her marriage. Of course she assumed that. No young unmarried woman would be with Mr. Darby unchaperoned.
Darby shot her a quick look. His eyes were full of laughter. “Ah,” he said, “you sound precisely the kind of woman I have been seeking for my children, Mrs. Bramble. You see our recent nurse had popish tendencies.”
Mrs. Bramble drew in her breath.
“Yes, indeed,” he said with gloomy emphasis. “I truly feared for the souls of my children.”
Henrietta hastily intervened. “Mrs. Bramble, one of the children, Josie, is having a difficult time overcoming her grief at the death of her mother. Have you encountered this sort of situation before?”
“Indeed I have. Indeed I have. In fact, I am mourning the death of my own dear mama, as you can tell by my attire.” Her face softened, and for the first time Henrietta thought that perhaps Mrs. Bramble wasn’t as rigid as she appeared.
“I know full well how distressing the loss of a parent can be.” She smiled in a melancholy sort of way. “I think I can say without reservation that I will be the best of all helps for the poor mite. We can share our sorrow.”
“I am so sorry to hear of your loss,” Henrietta said. “When did your mother die?”
“It will be five years and a fortnight, next Tuesday.” Mrs. Bramble smoothed out the stiff black bombazine of her skirt and said, as if it were all settled, “I could move in Saturday, madam, and very pleased I will be, to take care of a poor, grieving child. We shall take our comfort in the Lord.”
“Mrs. Bramble,” Darby said, rising and helping her to her feet, “this has been a rare pleasure.”
Slope returned two minutes later with a sharp-featured young woman who seemed just out of the schoolroom. She was wearing a dress of printed muslin, with five or six layers of flounces around the bottom and a few flounces around the shoulder for good measure.
This time Darby was much more explicit in outlining his relation to the children, and the fact that Henrietta was merely aiding him in selecting a nursemaid. But Miss Penelope Eckersall wasn’t terribly concerned about their relationship.
She explained in a determined, rather shrill voice, that although she found the house terribly nice, she hadn’t been prepared for how long it took to drive from Bath, where the employment agency was located, to the house. “I simply couldn’t live so far from town,” she said earnestly.
“Limpley Stoke is only a matter of a mile from here,” Henrietta said.
“Well, as to that,” Miss Eckersall said, “we did drive through the village on the way. It’s very small, isn’t it? Just a High Street and an inn, that’s all. If there were a military encampment, or something that brought, well, some liveliness to the region, but all we saw on the way here in the coach were cows, and that’s a fact!”
“It is a farming community,” Henrietta agreed, “but—”
She was about to point out that Darby lived in London, but he intervened. “I agree you would find it tedious. After all, a young woman likes a spot of excitement now and then.”
“That’s it exactly,” said Miss Eckersall. When she nodded, the three rows of flounces at her shoulders all trembled in agreement. “I told my mum that I’d like to find employment in London. That’s what I’d truly wish. But my mum won’t allow that, not on any account. So she won’t allow me to answer advertisements for the city.”
“What a shame,” Darby said sympathetically.
Like Mrs. Bramble, Miss Eckersall didn’t seem overly impressed by his attire. She kept sneaking glances at his cuffs and looking away as if she’d seen something embarrassing.
Without responding to Darby she turned to Henrietta, and said, “Because a young lady does need to make friends now and then, as I’m sure you’ll understand.” She bounced out of her seat. “I’m very sorry to have wasted your time, I truly am. But I am quite certain that this post is not the right one for me.”
As Darby pulled the bell for the butler, Miss Eckersall turned toward Henrietta and said, “May I speak to you for a moment, my lady?”
Darby bowed and strolled to the far end of the sitting room as Henrietta stood up, nodding encouragingly to the nursemaid.
Miss Eckersall whispered loudly, “Don’t let him hire the other lady that traveled with me, my lady. That Mrs. Bramble, or so she calls herself.”
“Oh,” said Henrietta, rather discomforted by this advice.
“You know I don’t want the position, so I’m not saying it for my benefit. That Mrs. Bramble told me that she has her mother’s hand preserved and sitting on her mantelpiece! On her mantelpiece!” the girl repeated in a thrilled whisper. “I didn’t believe her, and she said it’s the hand with her mother’s wedding ring—isn’t that the oddest thing you ever heard?” And she turned and ruffled her way to the door.
Darby showed her gravely from the room and then came back to Henrietta. “I would guess that neither of those candidates passes muster with you, Lady Henrietta.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, and those crinkles made her feel simmering in her belly, even though she knew full well that he was naught but a fribble.
“Confession is good for the soul,” he went on. “Was Miss Eckersall warning you about me?”
Henrietta blinked. “About you?”
He grinned. “From her censorious looks at my attire, I thought she might have decided to warn you away from gentlemen of my type.”
Henrietta deliberately glanced from his head to his foot. “Are you wearing lace?” she asked sweetly. “I didn’t notice. And no, I must disappoint you by confessing that she had nothing to say of you. Are you quite, quite certain that she even noticed your attire? I am afraid to tell you, sir, that outside London people do not take sartorial matters as seriously as you seem to.”
He burst out laughing, and that made the simmering in Henrietta’s stomach spread down her legs.
“Hoist by my own petard, am I? I think you are good for my vanity, Lady Henrietta.” He picked up her hand and brushed her palm against his lips. “You consider me nothing more than a peacock.”
She couldn’t resist smiling at him. “Perhaps not a peacock, but—
“A buck? A swell?”
“I’m not assured in my use of town slang, sir,
given that I have never traveled to London. Could I mean a Tulip?”
He groaned. “Do you see me in cherry-colored stockings, Lady Henrietta? How can you wound me to the bone in such a fashion?”
She raised one delicate eyebrow. “They do say that self-knowledge is a virtue. You are an Exquisite, are you not?”
“Alas, my shoulders are not sufficiently padded, nor are my heels high enough.”
“How padded are your shoulders?” she asked with some interest, peering at his coat as if it were obvious to all that his physique were not his own.
Darby smiled faintly. “While I would be more than pleased to satisfy your curiosity as to my padding, Lady Henrietta, I fear that your request is rather too intimate given that the gardener might join us at any moment. I assure you that I would never refuse such a request in private.”
She didn’t even blink. “I entirely understand that you feel more comfortable in intimate circles,” she said. Damn it, she made it sound as if he were fit for nothing but bedroom matters. “But I have no great interest in your padding. It was simply a passing fancy. One hears so much about London fribbles, if I may use the word without insulting you, Mr. Darby. And yet one so rarely gets to see a fribble up close.” She gazed at him rather as if he were a caged lizard with a slightly disgusting skin condition.
Darby felt an inexplicable stab of pleasure. He didn’t know whether her sharp-tongued remarks or her exquisite face appealed to him more. Every time Henrietta lowered her eyes, he almost felt dazzled by the delicate shape of her face and the plump kissability of her lower lip. But then she would look at him and pin him to the board like an insect.
“I assure you that most people approve of my apparel,” he told her. What a dim-witted comment. Damn it, she was close to making him into a stuttering idiot!
She shook her head. “I am no one to judge your clothing.” She glanced down at her sturdy walking dress. It had a border embroidered with ears of corn. She glanced back up at him, a twinkle in her eye. “Now if you would just put yourself into the hands of Mrs. Pinnock, you might actually gain the label of Tulip.”
“I shall keep that in mind,” he said gravely. “Is Mrs. Pinnock responsible for your gloves?”
She glanced down, puzzled. “Of course. Mrs. Pinnock is good enough to deliver everything that embellishes a suit of clothing. That way, one needn’t think at all before dressing.”
He shuddered visibly and began peeling the wheat-colored glove off her right hand.
“What are you doing?” Henrietta asked, watching as her hand appeared. “Slope is sure to appear with the gardener in a moment. Although perhaps we should ask him to summon Lady Rawlings first. I can’t imagine that she wishes us to interview her gardener.”
“She asked me to speak to the fellow,” Darby said. “Meanwhile, I am just checking to make certain that your fingers were not gravely thickened by illness. The shape of your gloves made me concerned for your health.” He caressed one slender finger. “Swollen fingers are indicative of serious illness.”
He was definitely flirting with her. With her, even though she told him flatly that she couldn’t have children. Henrietta didn’t know what to make of it. He stood there before her, large and male and beautiful, holding her bare hand.
“You see,” he said gravely. “Beautiful. Slender fingers—” He touched her second finger lightly.
“Symmetrical?” she put in, with a lifted eyebrow.
“I think we can agree on that. You wear no rings?”
“I am not very interested in decoration.”
“What a pity,” he said sweetly. “I serve as such lovely decoration, myself.”
Did he mean what she thought he might? That he—himself—was? She must have misunderstood. He drew his finger down to her fingertip, leaving a tingling path in its wake, and then put his palm to hers. “You see,” he said gravely, “there are moments when a woman’s fingers are bettered by addition of a male hand.”
Her palm was tingling, which was absurd. She drew her hand away before he could touch it again, and said, “Mr. Darby, my glove, if you please.”
But Darby didn’t give her the glove back. Instead he looked at her with those golden brown eyes, and there was a wicked, laughing light in them. “There are moments—hours, really—when a woman’s lips are better by the same addition, Henrietta.”
She blinked. By what right did he address her—
He bent his head.
His mouth was hot. That was the first shock. She stood rigidly, wondering what she was supposed to be doing while he put his mouth on hers. Clearly, she was being kissed. The very realization was a second shock. He seemed to be enjoying himself. A large hand curled around the back of her neck and pulled her gently closer. Henrietta’s thoughts had slid into a frantic race. Was she enjoying herself? This might be her only kiss—should she be enjoying herself more?
She probably should push him away. His lips were moving on hers, and it was—it felt almost—
He pulled back. “Was that your first kiss?” he said.
“Yes, it was.” She hesitated. But in the past Darby had seemed undisturbed by her peculiar brand of frankness.
“Kissing is rather overglorified, isn’t it?” She smiled at him. “I don’t mean to impugn your skills in the least, Mr. Darby. I myself have never been very good at physical sports.”
He seemed to be silenced by that. She could only hope that he wasn’t famed for his kissing abilities as well as his sartorial opinions. “May I have my glove back, please?”
He handed it to her.
“Thank you so much.”
Henrietta had barely drawn it on when Slope pushed open the door and said, “The gardener, Mr. Darby. His name is Baring.”
Darby didn’t even turn around. He just watched her, with a half smile, half-inquiring expression that made Henrietta feel agitated. Her agitation was likely due to the unusual circumstance of a gentleman paying her such unusual attention. There was no reason to feel one’s heart tripping along at a raised pace. To find one wondering if he would try to take off both her gloves. Or…kiss her again.
She turned away and greeted Baring. He was a big man, as tall as Darby. And he was good-looking in an outdoors kind of way. He had golden curls and bright blue eyes, and if he hadn’t had a rather stupid expression, she would have thought him capable of raising himself to a better position.
Darby turned around and saw the gardener and for a moment his whole body froze. It happened so quickly that Henrietta wondered if she had imagined it, because the next moment he was saying easily, “Baring, is it? Lady Henrietta, do sit down, and we’ll all discuss whether Baring has any experience in the garden.”
It seemed an odd question to Henrietta. Of course the man must be handy in the garden. But what did she know about interviewing outside staff, after all? Her stepmother always left such hiring to her man of business, since she was only interested in hiring her personal maid.
Darby helped Henrietta to the settee and sat down just next to her. He leaned back casually and flung an arm over the back of the settee. Henrietta sat upright in her usual manner. He was sitting so close that his shoulder actually touched hers. She edged away.
“I expect the employment agency informed you that we are looking for an expert with roses?” Darby said.
“That they did,” Baring replied. “I’ve been around roses since I was a wee child.”
To Henrietta’s mind, Lady Rawlings was sadly negligent as a chaperone. It was interesting to find that the whole chaperoning business actually had its merits. Clearly men were driven to kiss whatever female wandered within their arm’s length.
Luckily, she didn’t seem to be affected by those kisses. She’d heard plenty of talk from other girls about kissing. Molly Maplethorpe swore that when her husband Harold first kissed her, she melted into a bowl of vanilla pudding. Henrietta had puzzled over that image for a while before deciding that Molly was remarkably creative in her language. But other girls had
said much the same sort of thing.
Still, it wasn’t hard to feel pleased, even though she had felt no such liquefaction. She’d been kissed! Now when girls shared confidences she didn’t have to feel like an old maid.
Darby was questioning the gardener about soil-tilling techniques. Where on earth did he learn those things? She had the distinct impression that he lived in London for the entire year. Well, for all she knew they grew roses in London, although it didn’t seem possible, what with all the coal smoke.
“And how will you cure rust?” Darby was asking, with an amused tone in his voice, as if he were about to burst into laughter. What a strange man he was.
She stopped listening and went back to thinking about kissing. To the point: why did Darby kiss her? She’d made it quite clear that she couldn’t have children, but that fact didn’t seem to have warned him off.
In fact, his attentions had only grown more marked. Perhaps, she thought confusedly, he really doesn’t want to have children.
Darby and the gardener had finished their conversation. The man bobbed his head farewell and left with Slope.
“Do you think that Lady Rawlings is quite all right?” she said, gathering her reticule. “Will you give my regrets to her, please, Mr. Darby? It’s a shame that neither of the nursemaids was appropriate. Perhaps we should send an urgent message to the employment agency, asking for more candidates? I’m afraid that I have an appointment in the village and shall have to leave now.”
“Don’t worry about the nursemaids. We’re lucky enough to have Esme’s nanny already at the house. And we did hire a gardener, so the morning wasn’t entirely a loss.” The smile in his eyes when he said that made Henrietta feel almost dizzy.
“Is your appointment in Limpley Stoke?” Darby continued. “I will accompany you, Lady Henrietta, if you would be so kind as to take me up in your carriage. It seemed to be a charming little village. Perhaps I should ascertain whether Miss Eckersall was correct in her assessment of its lack of liveliness.”