Rory looked about his bedchamber. The carpet, wallpaper, and upholstery were done in peacock blue and gold. He imagined Miss Brooking would look lovely surrounded bythose colors. But he couldn’t meet with the governess in his bedchamber. “I’ll go down to the library. Have her meet me there as soon as the child is asleep.”
“Yes, my lord.”
*
Chaffer had putout a coat and waistcoat, and offered to tie Rory’s neckcloth, but he declined. Now he wished he’d done as his valet wanted, because he felt undressed in his breeches and shirt sleeves. Of course, he had every right to walk about in his shirt sleeves. This was his home. He entered the library, glad that Gables had made certain the fire in the hearth was built up. Rory’s hair was still damp from his bath, and he sat at his desk and poured two glasses of wine. He didn’t want anything stronger than that. In fact, he didn’t do more than take a single sip. What he had to say to Miss Brooking was too important.
The idea had flashed through his mind when he saw Frances clinging to the governess right after she was found. Miss Brooking had known all the right things to say to the child to calm her. She had known where to look and maintained her composure throughout the search. Rory had not a doubt in his mind that if Miss Brooking had been at Lilacfall Abbey today, his daughter would have never run away. They might all have had a happy dinner—Frances chattering and Miss Brooking looking lovely in green.
But this wasn’t about how lovely the governess looked, or even about that kiss in the closet. This was about his daughter. He didn’t ever want her to go missing again. He didn’t ever want to feel that sense of panic.
And there was only one way to ensure his daughter would stay put and be safe.
He heard a tap on the door to the library and rose as it opened. Miss Brooking stood in the doorway, looking tired and wet and disheveled. She obviously hadn’t had a chance to change or dry off. But then, he had told Gables he wanted her to come directly.
“Gables said you wanted to speak with me, my lord.”
“I do. Come in.”
She did, but left the door open slightly.
“Close the door,” he said. She glanced at him but did as he asked. She came to stand before his desk, her hands clasped before her soggy gray dress. Her hair was half up and half down, falling about her shoulders in dripping red curls. Her bonnet fell down her back. The knot of her ribbons looked small and tight. It would probably have to be cut if she were to remove the bonnet. Looking lower—
No, it was better if he didn’t look lower. The wet fabric of her dress clung to her body and left little of her form to the imagination.
He lifted his glass of wine then pushed hers forward. “You look like you need this,” he said.
She lifted it and took a sip. “I’m dead on my feet, so if you intend to sack me, might it wait until tomorrow?”
“Sack you—why would you think I would send you away?”
“Isn’t that what this is about? You were angry I wasn’t home. Your daughter ran away, and even if I wasn’t at home, I should have taught her well enough not to run away.” She sipped the wine again. “Granted, this is the argument I think you are making in your head. I haven’t been here long enough to do anything of the sort. I should have warned you, though. She acts up when people go away. She fears being left alone more than anything else. So, you see, your threat that I would not return was the worst possible—”
“Miss Brooking,” Rory interrupted before she could say anything else that would anger him or make him feel more culpable than he already did. “You should stop speaking while the hole you are digging is still shallow enough that you might climb out. I didn’t summon you here to terminate your employment or to hear a litany of my offenses. I have enumerated them in my mind often enough.”
“Then why did you summon me?”
“To ask if you would consider becoming Frances’s mother.”
There. He’d said it. He’d made the offer. He hadn’t thought he’d be terrified if he said it that way. Her acceptance or refusal weren’t about him. Or so he’d told himself—but his hands started shaking, and now he could feel his heart beating against his chest.
Miss Brooking took another sip of her wine, her green gaze cool over the rim of the glass, seeming completely unaffected by the proposal he’d just made. “I didn’t hear you correctly, my lord,” she said after a long silence wherein the blood rushing in his ears seemed to grow louder.
“You heard me, Miss Brooking.”
She took another sip of her wine. A very long sip, draining the glass. Rory raised his brows. Perhaps she wasn’t as unaffected as she appeared.
“Another glass, Miss Brooking?”
She nodded and set the crystal goblet on his desk. He filled it halfway, but she didn’t lift it again. “I don’t understand what you are proposing, my lord.”
“You understand perfectly, Miss Brooking. It occurred to me this afternoon, while my household was in a panic and my daughter missing, that everything is calmer and more peaceful when you are here. Furthermore, when we found Frances—largely due to your efforts and insight—her reaction to youshowed me something else. The child needs a mother. You seem like the perfect candidate.”
“May I?” She waved a hand at one of the chairs before the desk.
“Of course.”
She sank into the chair. “My lord, forgive me for being forward, but this situation is new to me. Are you asking me to marry you?”
