Her smile faded, but her nod was firm. He held the box in both hands, and she stepped nearer in order to peer into it before releasing the winged insect. He slid the door shut, then held the box up so they both could peer through the netting as the butterfly opened and closed its wings inside.
“How lovely.” The whispered words brought his focus away from the white and green wings, settling it instead on the woman no more than a foot away from him. “What a magnificent way to study butterflies.”
“And other insects.” He stood to his full height, noting absently that she was rather tall for a woman. “Thank you for your help. I thought it had escaped.”
Her bright blue eyes narrowed. They were rather an interesting color. What did they remind him of?
“Are you going to pin it to a box somewhere?” she asked, sounding terribly disapproving.
“I should not have the need to do so, this time. I prefer to study creatures while they’re in movement. But I do have a rather extensive collection of insects.”
Her nose wrinkled in a familiar expression of disgust. “Boxes of dead things.” She shuddered. “What is the point of that?”
Rupert tucked the butterfly’s box back into his crate. He had heard this opinion from any number of people before. He released a sigh. “It is for science, Miss Sharpe.”
“Science?” She took a step back, tugging at the end of one sleeve. “I understand the initial study, but why keep them after they are no longer useful?”
He looked up at her from where he crouched, considering the question. “Because they are always useful. What if I find a new species? How would I know without comparing it to what I already know to be cataloged? Or, perhaps, I come upon a stronger magnification method. I could make greater inspection of a creature already in my collection, rather than finding a new one.”
“I suppose a non-living insect would be easier to study through a microscope.” The way she spoke, as though conceding the argument, made him study her more closely. “Have you a microscope? How extraordinary. I thought to ask for one, for the schoolroom. I did not see one this morning amid the shelves.”
Before he could answer, she fixed him with a sudden wide-eyed expression. “Oh. I’ve been out too long. I must go. Do forgive me for rushing away. It was a pleasure to have met you.” She dropped the slightest dip of a curtsy and darted away. She ran behind the statue looming over them, and when he leaned backward enough to follow her progress through the hedges, he saw she was moving with great speed back to the castle.
Rupert considered her fleeing form long after she had disappeared. Though dressed in dark clothing, she had bright, lively eyes that hinted at intelligence and good humor. She was young for a governess. Pretty, too.
The duke’s three youngest children needed a firm hand. Given Miss Sharpe’s worry over harming a delicate butterfly, he doubted she had one. And yet. When she had challenged his habit of keeping insects in boxes, her jaw tight and eyes full of censure, she had appeared rather severe.
Not that it mattered to him. The governess was none of his concern. He had promised the duke to catalog insects and plants alike, and that daunting task required his full attention.
He rubbed at his cheek and felt the dirt flake away. His valet would certainly tut over Rupert that evening, before dinner. There were guests coming, too, though Rupert could not remember who they were. That meant sitting at a table and trying to make conversation on topics other than his studies.
Rupert glanced at the disheveled flowerbed and chuckled. It was really too bad the governess would not be there. He had not even introduced himself.
Not that it mattered. A governess would stay in her schoolroom, apart from the family and servants alike. Which meant he would likely see no more of her quick smile.
What a shame.
Chapter 4
The schoolroom’s disorder would not endear Alice to her employers.
When she stepped inside the door to survey the damage of her first day in her position, her heart sank. “Oh, dear. Perhaps we should have tidied up before dinner.”
A book had been left open on the floor, pages spread like a bird had crashed mid-flight. Ink blots upon paper scattered across the round table reminded Alice of insects on flower petals.
No one had told her how much they expected her to tidy up and what she could leave for a maid.
The children ate their dinner with her in a small room near the kitchen, as would be the custom unless their father invited them to the formal dining table. Then they disappeared for their baths and beds.
She alone stood in the schoolroom.
Picking up the book, Alice saw from its title it had to belong to Lady Rosalind. At twelve, the girl should have known better than to leave it out like that.
The children and Alice had spent the afternoon looking through the schoolbooks to find topics that interested the children. If Alice could build an educational schedule around things that made Lady Isabelle, Lady Rosalind, and Lord James curious, she would have a better time at keeping their attention.
The idea had struck her when she thought about the gardener, and how interested he seemed in insects. If a gardener could study the creeping things of the earth as well as flowers, why shouldn’t children learn of things that mattered to them in addition to the work everyone expected them to do?
She needed to put some books aside for her own study and make lists of what they had discussed to see if the duke’s library had more books they might use.
“Miss Sharpe? Are you in here?” When a maid came into the room in a rush, Alice looked up from the table, over a stack of books nearly as tall as she was when sitting down.
“Here I am!” She waved her hand in the air above the books. “Is anything wrong?”
“Wrong?” The maid spluttered. “Miss Sharpe, Her Grace sent for you to join them at dinner this evening. One of her guests is ill, and now the table is all put-out and uneven.”
Alice froze, mid-way out of her seat. “Dinner with His Grace and their guests? You must be mistaken. Even if the numbers are wrong, they cannot want a governess.”
“They do, Miss Sharpe.” The maid gestured to the door. “Hurry. I’m to send you down straight away, but it took me too long to find you.”
“But—but—” Alice’s hands went up to her hair, then she touched her skirt. “I am not dressed for dinner.”
“Then get dressed. Hurry.” The maid came forward, took Alice by the arm, and pulled until Alice started walking. “You must hurry. There’s no time for frippery. You’re just an extra body at the table. Nearly everyone else is titled.”
Alice knew well enough that the maid spoke the truth. Her presence would be ignored, most likely. They meant her to keep numbers even, the way some might put a block beneath a table leg to keep it from tilting too much to one side.
With the maid’s help, Alice was out of her midnight blue dress and into one of the few evening gowns her great-aunt had told her to pack. There would be times when she must be present, if the children were invited to important events or performed in musical entertainment, and she had to dress properly for that.
“But never can you compete with a guest in your finery,” her great-aunt had warned, casting all of Alice’s favorite gowns into a trunk bound for the attic. She had left Alice only two evening gowns. One was the color of a crushed and wilted lilac, a shade Alice found rather mournful, and the other was a pale pink that did nothing for her complexion.