or her tomorrow or where she was going to sleep. One more sip of the hot tea laced with rum—more like rum laced with tea, by now—and she’d sleep right there, on the spaniel-smelling sofa. Nanny put another blanket over her.
“You did as you ought,” the older woman told the viscount when he came in from the carriage mews behind the small row house, stamping snow off his boots. “But then, you always do.” She took away an empty dish whose remains looked suspiciously like his favorite lamb stew, nodding toward the mound on the couch. “Poor dear looks worn to a shade.”
She looked like a ragamuffin to him, with a comforter pulled up to her reddened nose, black hair every which way on a towel, and skin the color of the snow he was still brushing off his pant legs. “You don’t think she’s ailing, do you?”
“No, a few days in bed will see roses back in her cheeks, I’m sure.”
Mrs. Dawson’s words roused Kathlyn from her stupor, not enough to sit up, but enough to mumble through the blankets over her face, “No, I have to go to the agencies tomorrow, to find a position and a place to stay.”
“You’ll do no such thing, miss. You have years ahead of you to be a governess. I won’t hear of you starting until you’ve had a good long rest. Why, you might have taken a chill, isn’t that right, my lord?”
Courtney was sipping his brandy, standing on his bad leg, still in his damp clothes. No one was going to invite him to sit by the fire, he was beginning to realize, or offer him stew or sympathy. “You’ll find that you cannot tell Miss Partland anything, Nanny. She has to do things her own pigheaded way.”
Kathlyn couldn’t let such an insult pass over her, lest Mrs. Dawson think she was an obstinate, ungrateful chit. She sat up, pulled the quilt down, and opened her eyes. “I’m sure Mrs. Dawson’s advice is sensible and well founded, not simply an ultimatum issued out of a misguided feeling of superiority.”
“Ah, coming the soldier with you, was he? That’s what comes of sending boys off to war, I always say. You spend a lifetime smoothing the rough edges off the little hellions, and the army puts them back. Give his lordship time with gentler folks, he’ll come around.”
Courtney didn’t even bother defending himself or the army. Nanny was still riled that he’d gone off to war, he knew, outraged that he’d come home injured. She blamed Lord Wellington personally for not looking after her nursling better.
“I thought that kind of arrogance was bred in the blood,” Kathlyn noted, still smarting from the viscount’s ill opinion of her. Pigheaded indeed. She glared at him.
“I—” Courtney got no further. The chit had the most glorious black-rimmed, blue eyes he’d ever seen. They were shadowed with weariness, but still flashing with spirit and little dancing flecks. And all that black hair must come to past her waist, at least. The girl was too thin, of course, with a pinched look about her, but, by George, Lady Rotterdean must never have seen Miss Partland in person!
Nanny hadn’t even noticed his lapse, refilling Kathlyn’s cup and retucking the blankets around her. “You want some pride in a lad, dearie, else you’ve got a man with no strength of his convictions.”
Lord Chase’s convictions were undergoing a severe trial. At least his blood was warm again.
“And if it’s governessing you want to do”—Nanny talked while she toweled those long, silky, black locks— “why, I have just the thing. My daughter Meg is close to being confined with her third child and feeling poorly. I’ve been watching over the other two, but I’d like to sit more with my girl. Her husband’s a law clerk and can’t stay home with her or the youngsters. The boy is a bright one who should be off to school, but his mam can’t part with him. And my little Angela is ready to learn her letters, I’d guess. So you can look after them a bit in a day or two, while
“You did as you ought,” the older woman told the viscount when he came in from the carriage mews behind the small row house, stamping snow off his boots. “But then, you always do.” She took away an empty dish whose remains looked suspiciously like his favorite lamb stew, nodding toward the mound on the couch. “Poor dear looks worn to a shade.”
She looked like a ragamuffin to him, with a comforter pulled up to her reddened nose, black hair every which way on a towel, and skin the color of the snow he was still brushing off his pant legs. “You don’t think she’s ailing, do you?”
“No, a few days in bed will see roses back in her cheeks, I’m sure.”
Mrs. Dawson’s words roused Kathlyn from her stupor, not enough to sit up, but enough to mumble through the blankets over her face, “No, I have to go to the agencies tomorrow, to find a position and a place to stay.”
“You’ll do no such thing, miss. You have years ahead of you to be a governess. I won’t hear of you starting until you’ve had a good long rest. Why, you might have taken a chill, isn’t that right, my lord?”
Courtney was sipping his brandy, standing on his bad leg, still in his damp clothes. No one was going to invite him to sit by the fire, he was beginning to realize, or offer him stew or sympathy. “You’ll find that you cannot tell Miss Partland anything, Nanny. She has to do things her own pigheaded way.”
Kathlyn couldn’t let such an insult pass over her, lest Mrs. Dawson think she was an obstinate, ungrateful chit. She sat up, pulled the quilt down, and opened her eyes. “I’m sure Mrs. Dawson’s advice is sensible and well founded, not simply an ultimatum issued out of a misguided feeling of superiority.”
“Ah, coming the soldier with you, was he? That’s what comes of sending boys off to war, I always say. You spend a lifetime smoothing the rough edges off the little hellions, and the army puts them back. Give his lordship time with gentler folks, he’ll come around.”
Courtney didn’t even bother defending himself or the army. Nanny was still riled that he’d gone off to war, he knew, outraged that he’d come home injured. She blamed Lord Wellington personally for not looking after her nursling better.
“I thought that kind of arrogance was bred in the blood,” Kathlyn noted, still smarting from the viscount’s ill opinion of her. Pigheaded indeed. She glared at him.
“I—” Courtney got no further. The chit had the most glorious black-rimmed, blue eyes he’d ever seen. They were shadowed with weariness, but still flashing with spirit and little dancing flecks. And all that black hair must come to past her waist, at least. The girl was too thin, of course, with a pinched look about her, but, by George, Lady Rotterdean must never have seen Miss Partland in person!
Nanny hadn’t even noticed his lapse, refilling Kathlyn’s cup and retucking the blankets around her. “You want some pride in a lad, dearie, else you’ve got a man with no strength of his convictions.”
Lord Chase’s convictions were undergoing a severe trial. At least his blood was warm again.
“And if it’s governessing you want to do”—Nanny talked while she toweled those long, silky, black locks— “why, I have just the thing. My daughter Meg is close to being confined with her third child and feeling poorly. I’ve been watching over the other two, but I’d like to sit more with my girl. Her husband’s a law clerk and can’t stay home with her or the youngsters. The boy is a bright one who should be off to school, but his mam can’t part with him. And my little Angela is ready to learn her letters, I’d guess. So you can look after them a bit in a day or two, while
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