After the War Is Over by Jennifer Robson

stopping at the lodge for a moment to check her
     pigeonhole once more, and as she left, empty-handed, she came face-to-face with the
     same man she’d bumped into the day before, only this time he wore a wrinkled undergraduate’s
     gown on top of his coat. He was perspiring and out of breath, though no less handsome
     for it.
    Recognizing her, he smiled and moved out of her way. “My apologies once again. I’m
     very late to meet someone, I’m afraid.”
    Could it be? “You aren’t Lord Ashford, are you? Because I’m—”
    “Miss Brown,” he said, his smile widening. “I ought to have known. I do beg your pardon—I
     overslept, and for some reason my scout didn’t come to wake me early, as I’d asked.
     I shouldn’t be at all offended if you decided to walk away and wash your hands of
     me.”
    She couldn’t help but grin back at him. “I’m quite all right, Lord Ashford. Shall
     we walk down to Boffin’s now?”
    “Yes, please. I’ll need at least one enormous mug of coffee before I can speak intelligibly.”
    It was a fine morning, as was often the case in Oxford in late May, with a sky so
     clear and blue it made her eyes ache. They walked side by side, Lord Ashford matching
     his pace tohers, and after a few hundred yards he looked at her and asked, “What course are you
     taking?”
    “English. My finals are in a fortnight.”
    “Nervous?”
    “A little. I did well in Honor Mods, though, so if that’s any indication of what’s
     to come, I should be fine. What about you?”
    “I’m taking Greats. I sat my Honor Mods a few weeks back and scraped by, so I’m hoping
     they’ll let me continue on.”
    “Do you like classics?”
    “I do, oddly enough. Wasn’t at all keen when I began—more a case of taking the degree
     because I couldn’t think of what else to do—but I’ve warmed to it over the past two
     years. Though Greek still gives me nightmares,” he added, and shuddered theatrically.
    “Your notice said you were looking for a governess for your sister.”
    “Yes. Her name is Lilly. She’s thirteen. Very intelligent girl, but her previous tutors
     have been hopeless. My other sisters are thick as mud—unkind of me, but true—and they’d
     have been fine with nothing more than the bare essentials. But Lilly needs more.”
    They were at Carfax now. Crossing the High Street, they walked east to the Oxford
     Restaurant, known locally as Boffin’s, and found an empty table at the very back.
     Lord Ashford ordered them a plate of scones, a pot of tea for Charlotte, and a mug
     of coffee for himself, and then he continued to tell Charlotte about his sister.
    “As I said, Lilly is bright. My parents, though, are as antediluvian as Noah himself.
     Won’t allow her to go away to school, nor will they let her attend any of the good
     day schools forgirls in London. I have managed to persuade them to take on a better class of tutor
     for her alone, and to let my sisters continue on with the idiot they have at present.
     That’s what the notice was about.”
    “Why aren’t your parents conducting the interviews, then?”
    “To be bald about it, I don’t think they care. I mean, they care about the final candidate,
     but they’re profoundly uninterested in the search itself. So I volunteered, which
     is for the best, really. Left to themselves, they’d surely dig up someone even worse
     than the woman teaching the girls now.”
    “Your sister is fortunate to have such a caring brother,” Charlotte said, deciding
     it was best to avoid any commentary on the relative idiocy of previous governesses.
    “Nonsense. I simply can’t stand the thought of her turning into a feather head like
     the other two.”
    “Would you like to see my references? I have one from my English tutor, as well as
     from Miss Penrose, our new principal at Somerville.”
    “I will look at them at one point, thank you. Right now I’d rather talk about you.
     Where did you grow up?”
    “In Somerset.