“You ought to look where you are going.” He abruptly turned away from her. The man released a long-suffering sigh. “It’s gone. An absolute perfect specimen.”
Narrowing her eyes, Alice glanced down where she had landed and crushed more than a few flowers. “There are many unhurt. Perhaps you might find another.”
“Another. I suppose that will have to do.” He sighed and stripped off his leather gloves, dropping them into an open wooden box filled with odd tools.
Though his accent was educated, not the same which she had caught sound of from the servants, his rough style of dress seemingly marked him as under the duke’s employment. The box on the ground as someone who worked outdoors, with his hands. Botheration. Had she stumbled over a groundskeeper?
Alice twisted the ring around her right thumb with the fingers of the opposite hand. “Are there more beds of narcissus?”
“Hm?” His gaze left the ground to meet hers. “Narcissus?”
She gestured to the white and yellow flowers. “Are there more elsewhere in the castle’s gardens?”
“Yes.” He looked down at the flowers again, his shoulders slumping forward beneath his dirt-smudged coat. “I suppose finding more of that particular type of flora might lead me back to the Pieris napi. Though I cannot say I have seen those two coincide often.”
Alice could identify many flowers by their common names, but his Latin immediately showed the state of her ignorance. Did gardeners usually refer to flowers in Latin? Perhaps he had a better education than most servants, which explained his lack of the local accent. Perhaps he was someone’s younger son, who had found himself in need of employment beneath the status he had once enjoyed. She knew well enough that an adequate education might not lead to a favorable position in Society.
“I do apologize for disturbing you. I am afraid I was not paying attention in my hurry.” A butterfly fluttered in the breeze, coming nearer the gentleman’s shoulder.
He cocked one of those dark eyebrows at her. “A hurry? In a garden?” He finally seemed to give notice to her, his eyes sweeping up and down her frame in a cursory manner.
She reached up to tuck the hook of her spectacles more firmly behind one ear, sneakily ensuring her unruly curls had stayed in place during her fall. Though she wore no bonnet or gloves, Alice knew she appeared respectable enough.
“My name is Miss Sharpe. I’m the new governess to Her Grace’s children. I thought to take in the gardens, but my time is short. I must return to the schoolroom.” She gripped the side of her skirt, a sudden and dreadful thought coming to her. “I hope I did not venture out of bounds. No one said whether or not I could explore the gardens—” She cut herself off, recalling well enough how often her aunts had warned her against “prattling on and on.”
The man tipped his head to one side at the same moment the little green and white butterfly—or was it a moth?—landed upon his shoulder. The effect was rather comical, given the situation, and Alice bit her bottom lip against a giggle.
“I cannot think why a member of the household, even a governess, would be barred from the gardens.” His forehead wrinkled as he stared at her. “You have some dirt on your cheek. Just here.” He tapped his own left cheek, beneath his eye.
A brief laugh tripped from her at last. “So do you, actually.” She withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped at her cheek, then held the cloth out to him. He stared at the linen, edged in embroidered rosebuds, as though surprised by it. Then he smiled and shook his head. It was a charming smile, a little crooked on one side.
“I’ll have more than a bit of soil on my cheek by the end of the day. But thank you, Miss Sharpe.”
She tucked the handkerchief away, then cut a glance at the butterfly, now resting with open wings.
“Um.” She took a quick step to the side. “You have a bit more than dirt on your shoulder, too, sir. There is a butterfly—I should not like it to be hurt. May I remove it?” A silly thing to ask, really. But what if he brushed it off and damaged the poor creature?
He stilled, as though her words had turned him into stone—every bit as much of a statue as the Aphrodite who stood above them while they spoke. It has to be Aphrodite, really, given that she is pointing at a bed of Narcissus. Greek myths had captivated Alice during her years of ducking into libraries to avoid the severe criticisms of relatives.
He spoke through barely parted lips, obviously trying to move as little as possible. “Is it white and green?”
Alice blinked up at him. “Yes?” What difference did the color make? And he acted as though she had told him he had a wasp waiting to sting him.
“I have forceps in that box.” He pointed with a finger, not even raising his hand. “They have little nets on either side. Do you think...that is, would you mind using them to capture the butterfly?”
“Netted forceps?” Alice looked down again at the box, then up at the man. “I could use my hands. I will be gentle.”
“No. Humans secrete oils and minerals which would be harmful to the wings. The forceps would be best, please.”
Having never had anyone mention secretions of any kind to her, Alice hesitated while she wondered if she ought to take offense. He had said humans. And it sounded as though his last wish was to hurt the delicate creature. She bent down and reached for the box, pulling it closer to her. If he was trying to minimize his movements, she ought to do the same.
There were many odd things in the box, including small crates lined with netted fabric. But the forceps were easily found. She took them in hand, opened them, and stood slowly. The gardener hadn’t moved at all. Neither had the butterfly.
Alice positioned the netted forceps carefully, then closed them gently over the little creature. It raised its wings as she moved, which seemed to be better for it. Alice brought the little net closer, peering at the butterfly and biting her lip.
“I do hope we haven’t hurt it.”
The antennae continued to move, as did the little legs. Alice let out the breath she had held the moment she captured the creature, rocking back on her heels. She had not crushed it. She raised her gaze to the man in front of her, unable to hold back her grin. “I caught it.”
Rupert rarely interacted with the fairer members of his species for a reason. He had seen more than one Society miss latch onto a gentleman the way a female Mantis religiosa latched onto her mate before eating him. Not that a gentlewoman would literally eat him. But the figurative devouring of his life, his person, his time, and his funds, kept him from fully trusting the women who sent flirtatious smiles his way.
Miss Sharpe’s smile was not at all coy, nor was it calculating. There was only true joy and surprise in her eyes and the curve of her lips. Indeed, her smile grew wide enough that he caught a flash of her teeth—something most women of his acquaintance would rather die than expose for fear of being perceived as vulgar.
When Miss Sharpe grinned, holding the netted forceps in a gentle grasp, he only saw beauty.
Blinking away that thought, Rupert rushed instead to find an empty insect cage for the butterfly, Pieris napi. “The green-veined white.” He slid open the wooden door to the cage. “Would you release it in here, please, and then withdraw the forceps quickly?”