nourishment on hand?”
Clearly intending to annoy her, he stuffed them in his mouth, daring her to challenge him on his manners. Instead, she ignored him, readying his math primer and using the opportunity while he couldn’t speak to talk to him about the day’s plan. From what she had already observed of him, he was an active boy, so she decided to intersperse writing and sitting lessons with some physical exercise and a bit of fresh air.
After he finished, he sat at his desk, at first quite rude and uncooperative. Genevieve gently persisted, keeping the lesson light and easy. Eventually he began to come around as she increased the difficulty of the material. Most likely, she suspected, to prove that an Englishwoman couldn’t possibly know as much as a Scot. She kept adapting the lesson, making it more competitive between the two of them and much harder.
To her astonishment, Ewan met her challenges. Unlike the reports he had heard from Connor, the boy was neither slow nor dimwitted and, in fact, had a curious and lively mind.
She was grateful when Connor stopped by about an hour into the lesson. He leaned against the doorjamb, clad in dark riding breeches, a white linen shirt and boots. His hair had been combed back and tied with a leather strip at the nape of his neck and his intense blue eyes raked over her as if taking in every detail of her appearance. Emotion caught in her throat at the simple sight of him, and she was barely able to tear her gaze away.
“Good morning, Miss Fitzsimmons. Ewan, lad, it warms my heart to see ye hard at your lessons.”
Ewan grunted something and Genevieve realized it had fallen to her to carry on the conversation. “Are you riding this morning, Mr. Douglas?”
“I am. I’m preparing for the foxhunt to be held in a fortnight here at the castle.”
Genevieve blinked in surprise. “Here? A foxhunt?”
To her chagrin, his mouth twitched with amusement. “From the tone of your voice I get the impression that this particular activity does not sit favorably with ye.”
“I did not state my opinion in any way.” Nonetheless, she could not help but be annoyed he could read her so well.
“Aye, but your expression did.”
She sighed. “Well then, no use denying it. I just don’t see the point in hunting down a poor defenseless animal.”
He chuckled. “Defenseless, hardly. The fox has a remarkable wit.”
“All the more reason not to hunt it.”
“Miss Fitzsimmons, I had no idea ye were a champion for the defenseless.” He was openly teasing her now.
“I am a champion for reasonable, not barbaric sport.”
Ewan interrupted excitedly, “Well, I think foxhunts are grand. If ye would let me come, Da, I would—”
“Nay.” The word came out so sharp that Genevieve blinked in surprise.
“But, Da…”
Connor cut him off with a curt wave of his hand. “I said nay. A foxhunt is no place for a bairn.”
“I’m no’ a bairn.”
“Then show me by behaving.”
Pouting Ewan slumped back in his chair, disappointment evident on his face. Genevieve watched the interaction both with interest and dismay. Something changed in Connor’s demeanor when he spoke to the boy. His tone was cooler, almost indifferent. She sensed no warmth, no affection. How strange. Tragedy should have brought them closer together.
Connor directed a question at her. “How are the lessons going?”
Genevieve brightened. “Quite well, actually. Ewan is an apt pupil.”
“That’s no’ what I’ve heard.” Connor’s gaze turned back to Ewan.
Irritated at the thoughtlessness of the comment, Genevieve put a hand on Ewan’s shoulder as if in some way to comfort him from his father’s coolness.
It was a mistake. Ewan practically snarled at her and leaped from his chair so quickly he knocked it over.
“Well, I have interrupted enough.” Amusement shone in his eyes. “I can see ye have your hands full, so I shall let ye return to your lessons.”
With those words, he walked away,
Clearly intending to annoy her, he stuffed them in his mouth, daring her to challenge him on his manners. Instead, she ignored him, readying his math primer and using the opportunity while he couldn’t speak to talk to him about the day’s plan. From what she had already observed of him, he was an active boy, so she decided to intersperse writing and sitting lessons with some physical exercise and a bit of fresh air.
After he finished, he sat at his desk, at first quite rude and uncooperative. Genevieve gently persisted, keeping the lesson light and easy. Eventually he began to come around as she increased the difficulty of the material. Most likely, she suspected, to prove that an Englishwoman couldn’t possibly know as much as a Scot. She kept adapting the lesson, making it more competitive between the two of them and much harder.
To her astonishment, Ewan met her challenges. Unlike the reports he had heard from Connor, the boy was neither slow nor dimwitted and, in fact, had a curious and lively mind.
She was grateful when Connor stopped by about an hour into the lesson. He leaned against the doorjamb, clad in dark riding breeches, a white linen shirt and boots. His hair had been combed back and tied with a leather strip at the nape of his neck and his intense blue eyes raked over her as if taking in every detail of her appearance. Emotion caught in her throat at the simple sight of him, and she was barely able to tear her gaze away.
“Good morning, Miss Fitzsimmons. Ewan, lad, it warms my heart to see ye hard at your lessons.”
Ewan grunted something and Genevieve realized it had fallen to her to carry on the conversation. “Are you riding this morning, Mr. Douglas?”
“I am. I’m preparing for the foxhunt to be held in a fortnight here at the castle.”
Genevieve blinked in surprise. “Here? A foxhunt?”
To her chagrin, his mouth twitched with amusement. “From the tone of your voice I get the impression that this particular activity does not sit favorably with ye.”
“I did not state my opinion in any way.” Nonetheless, she could not help but be annoyed he could read her so well.
“Aye, but your expression did.”
She sighed. “Well then, no use denying it. I just don’t see the point in hunting down a poor defenseless animal.”
He chuckled. “Defenseless, hardly. The fox has a remarkable wit.”
“All the more reason not to hunt it.”
“Miss Fitzsimmons, I had no idea ye were a champion for the defenseless.” He was openly teasing her now.
“I am a champion for reasonable, not barbaric sport.”
Ewan interrupted excitedly, “Well, I think foxhunts are grand. If ye would let me come, Da, I would—”
“Nay.” The word came out so sharp that Genevieve blinked in surprise.
“But, Da…”
Connor cut him off with a curt wave of his hand. “I said nay. A foxhunt is no place for a bairn.”
“I’m no’ a bairn.”
“Then show me by behaving.”
Pouting Ewan slumped back in his chair, disappointment evident on his face. Genevieve watched the interaction both with interest and dismay. Something changed in Connor’s demeanor when he spoke to the boy. His tone was cooler, almost indifferent. She sensed no warmth, no affection. How strange. Tragedy should have brought them closer together.
Connor directed a question at her. “How are the lessons going?”
Genevieve brightened. “Quite well, actually. Ewan is an apt pupil.”
“That’s no’ what I’ve heard.” Connor’s gaze turned back to Ewan.
Irritated at the thoughtlessness of the comment, Genevieve put a hand on Ewan’s shoulder as if in some way to comfort him from his father’s coolness.
It was a mistake. Ewan practically snarled at her and leaped from his chair so quickly he knocked it over.
“Well, I have interrupted enough.” Amusement shone in his eyes. “I can see ye have your hands full, so I shall let ye return to your lessons.”
With those words, he walked away,
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