Page 15 of A Scoundrel Under the Mistletoe
She smiled faintly, recalling the curve of his short beard as it framed his lips—lips that had uttered sweet sentiments in the dark and had explored hers with equal measures of urgency and reverence. Her thoughts wandered to their intimate moments, those instances where time seemed as malleable as the clay he sometimes molded, where the space between them was charged with the urgency of unspoken promises and the thrill of discovery.
As she walked towards the inn, her mind played over their conversations. They were lighthearted jousts of wit on her part, met with the stoic humor that only Moses could convey through his terse replies. Yet even in brevity, there was a depth to their exchanges that felt like a connection.
“Perhaps,” she mused, the inn coming into view with its cozy thatched roof blanketed in snow, “it is not the length of time spent together that defines the connection, but the intensity with which it is lived.” The thought brought a melancholic smile to her lips as her heart held tight to the imprint of Moses, the enigmatic artist with the soul of a poet, whose presence had threatened to become as vital as the very air she breathed.
Memories refused to be tucked aside. Moments shared with Moses—his sardonic chuckle, the way his eyes seemed to pierce through to her very soul, the rough warmth of his hands enveloping hers—were both solace and torment.
Did he feel it too, she wondered. But then, his private sketchbook told her all she needed to know. She wasn’t the only woman to have bared her most intimate needs to him, and had allowed him to capture her in her brazen glory afterward.
But the heat of his gaze as he’d sketched her portrait, the tremble in his voice when he whispered her name, these were not the marks of fleeting fancy, were they? Yet, as the distance grew, so did the seeds of doubt, nurtured by the barren soil of Moses’ taciturn farewell.
Her soft sighs mingled with the wind, carrying her unresolved desires across the expanse, reaching out to a man who was both everything and nothing, a riddle wrapped in the enigma of his own solitary world.
The heavy door of the inn whispered shut behind her, severing her from the frostbitten world outside. She stood for a moment in the threshold, her gaze lingering on the warm glow that bathed the rustic interior, the flicker of candles casting lively shadows upon the walls. The innkeeper, a portly man with a mop of grizzled hair, glanced up from his ledger, his eyes crinkling into a sympathetic smile.
“Mrs. Sinclair,” he greeted jovially. “You’ve arrived in time. The coach should be ready for boarding shortly.”
Finding a seat at a table near the fireplace, Joy tried to remember what her thoughts had been before the snowstorm intervened, before she met Moses. Her life had returned to normal and she had much to look forward to.
Chapter 11
The morning mists still clung to the rolling hills of the countryside as Joy’s carriage rolled to a stop before the stately manor house near Sheffield, a full four days past when she’d been scheduled to arrive. The grandeur of her new place of employment loomed above her, its windows reflecting the winter sunlight across the meticulously groomed gardens. A gentle wind picked up strands of Joy’s hair that framed her face beneath her bonnet as she stepped down from the carriage.
“Mrs. Sinclair?” a young voice called, and Joy turned to see two young girls, Susan and Anna, charging towards her through the large door with all the unbridled enthusiasm of youth. Their cheeks were flushed with the chill of the morning, and their bright eyes sparkled with curiosity. At their heels, a frisky spaniel, ears flopping, made a beeline for Joy, his tail wagging a welcome.
“Good morning.” She opened her arms just in time to catch the girls as they threw themselves into her embrace. The spaniel, not to be left out, scurried around them, barking joyously.
“Welcome to our home,” exclaimed Susan, her words tumbling over one another in her eagerness. She was the older sister, six years according to Lady Peasemore’s letter, with blonde ringlets falling past her shoulders.
“Mother says you’re very clever,” Anna added, peering up at Joy with a wide-eyed seriousness that belied her four years. Her hair was straight, pulled into a ribbon at the base of her neck.
“Your mother is very kind,” Joy replied. “And I am very much looking forward to being your governess.”
As the spaniel nudged at Joy’s hand with his wet nose, she couldn’t help but chuckle. She knelt down briefly to pet the enthusiastic creature, its joyful disposition a mirror to the children’s own.
“Are you ready to show me inside?” Joy asked as she stood, brushing her hands on her skirts. Her intelligent gaze took in the eager nods of her charges. She smiled warmly, prepared to follow them into the house that hummed with life and the promise of a new beginning.
“Absolutely. This way, Mrs. Sinclair,” the girls chorused, each grabbing one of her hands and pulling her forward with surprising strength.
“Very well, lead the way, my dears.” Joy allowed herself to be ushered forward by her young guides, the spaniel bounding ahead as if to clear the path for their new adventure together.
The butler, who introduced himself as Mr. Carruthers, intervened as he hurried through the open door. “Children, you must allow Mrs. Sinclair to get settled. She’ll find you later in the nursery. Nurse should be tending you better. On your way.”
The girls laughed and hurried inside.
Mr. Carruthers led her through the house to the servants’ stairs, and on to the housekeeper’s office, where he handed her off to Mrs. Kilmer, a round, older woman with a mound of silver curls piled on her head. That woman showed Joy the room where she would live, gave her the rules of the household, and left her with instructions on where to find the nursery after she unpacked. Lady Peasemore would find her there later, she was informed.
After the woman left, Joy unpacked her bag and picked up her notebook in which she planned to log her daily schedules for the girls’ studies. Then, she neatened her hair, gathered her wits, and went in search of the nursery.
There she found her charges sitting on a rug surrounded by a few toys. Joy lowered herself gracefully to the level of the two beaming children, her skirts billowing softly around her. “My, what a lovely room you have here.”
“Mrs. Sinclair, do you like games?” Susan asked, clasping her hands together as if holding a secret too delightful to keep.
“Games?” Joy responded, feigning contemplation. “Why, I do believe games are one of life’s most charming pursuits.” The spaniel, sensing the excitement, circled them with an exuberance that matched the children’s own.
“Then you must play hide and seek with us.” Anna’s plea rang out, clear and hopeful.
“Perhaps a little later, my dear,” Joy suggested. “But first, might you show me some of your treasures?”
