Page 26 of The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor
“Eloise had experience,” the duke retorted but they chose to ignore him as footfall met their ears.
Betsey appeared first, her high-waisted green dress, cinched at the bosom with a charming bow. Her chestnut hair was pinned becomingly at the sides in a set of pearl combs.
“Lady Arlington, is that truly you?” Nicholas gasped in feigned surprise.
“Indeed, my lord,” she laughed, skipping into the room to take her seat.
Harry followed and waited for his aunt’s nod of approval of his unmarred suit of yellow before following his sister’s lead.
“You look very presentable, children,” Duchess Buford told them. Before Nicholas could add to his mother’s compliment, he was distracted by the appearance of the governess.
Rose Parsons stood awkwardly in the doorway, her hands primly folded against the empire skirt of her flattering pink gown. Like Betsey’s dress, it was high, sashed below her full bosom to bright about the swell of pale breasts against the candlelight.
She was as fair a maid as Nicholas had ever seen, her pale skin reminiscent of moonlight on the still pond on the east property. Her cheeks were tinged pink, presumably of embarrassment. She cast dark lashed eyes downward to her hands, but even so, he could see the intense cobalt of her eyes. Her flaxen hair lay over her bare neck, scooped up at the ears to expose a creamy neck. Nicholas could not pull his gaze away, entranced by her ethereal beauty.
He felt he had been deceived, expecting a middle-aged shrew with greying hair and a plain face. Yet it was clear that Rose Parsons was anything but the woman he had expected to meet.
“Duke Buford, Lord Buford, may I present Mrs. Rose Parsons,” Peter announced. “Mrs. Parsons, His Grace and Lord Buford.”
“Charmed!” both men called in unison and she blushed deeper.
“Come in, my dear,” Duchess Buford called. “You cannot govern nor eat from the doorway.”
She stepped forward cautiously as if she expected the floor to swallow her and slowly made her way toward the table.
“You may sit at Harry’s right,” his mother told her before she could ask.
The governess obliged immediately, her bright eyes darting about the table as if to note the manners of the others. Nicholas watched in fascination as she mimicked their habits with ease.
“How are you finding Rosecliff, Mrs. Parsons?” the duke called to her as the staff brought the courses into the dining room. “Are you comfortable in your chambers?”
“Indeed,” she answered quickly, and Nicholas was in tune with how husky and delicate it sounded to his ears. “I am well situated, and your kindness has been overwhelming.”
“Should you want for anything, please inform Peter and he will see to it.”
“Thank you, my lord. I do not believe I have experienced such comfort in a long while.”
His parents smiled modestly but Nicholas knew they were pleased she was happy. They were known as good landlords and masters, yet another spot of ridicule among their peers.
Nicholas was finally able to pull his eyes away from her face to glance at his parents, waiting to see if they intended to ask her any more questions. They seemed to have felt they had done their due diligence and turned instead to their soup. Yet Nicholas longed to learn more about the bonnie widow who had graced their supper table.
“You have come from Dartford, Mrs. Parsons?”
Almost as if she was forced to do so, she lifted her head and stared at him, his eyes meeting hers intently.
“Please,” she said quietly. “I would prefer to be known as Miss Rose.”
There was such a deep sadness in the words that Nicholas felt as if his heart had been knifed by a well-honed blade. An uncomfortable silence fell about the room.
“Of course,” Nicholas mumbled, unsure of how else to respond. “Forgive my slip.”
“We prefer Miss Rose,” Harry interjected. “Mrs. Parsons sounds like the name of an old lady and you are certainly not.”
“Indeed, she is not,” the duke and Nicholas agreed simultaneously.
What the dickens is amiss with us?Nicholas wondered, hanging his head to avoid his mother’s eye.
“How do you like your soup, Lord Buford?”
