His bluntness sparked resentment in Margaret’s eyes, and he was more convinced than ever that the governess plan wouldn’t fly. “She did, but they’d disowned her when she married Papa, and they wouldn’t take her back when she was widowed. Dr. Black was the only person to offer us any help.”
“Was your father such an unacceptable husband?”
Bitterness twisted Margaret’s lips. “For the beautiful daughter of Sir John Macclesfield, he was. He’d been a scholarship boy at Oxford, and he was a poor curate when he and Mamma fell in love. Her parents had arranged a match with an earl. In their view, a penniless clergyman was no substitute, even if he was a good man and he adored her. Mamma and Papa were blissfully happy in our poor seaside parish, until he drowned, mounting a rescue mission in a winter storm.”
When she spoke of her parents, her voice was warm with love. Whereas Joss wanted to hunt down the unknown John Macclesfield and beat him to a pulp. “How old were you when your father died?”
“Seventeen. Mamma and I lived here together for three years, but she wasn’t well and eventually a fever took her. She never recovered from losing Papa.”
“You’ve been alone at Thorncroft Hall for the last five years?”
By heaven, Uncle Thomas wasn’t going to get
away with this. When he returned south, Joss intended to have some stern words with his godfather about the duty he owed his cousin, however distant the relationship.
“As I said, there’s Jane. And Mr. Welby. And if the weather allows, I go to church and shop in the village.”
“Boundless excitement, I’m sure,” Joss said grimly. “It’s no life for a young lady.”
She flared up, as he knew she would. “It’s an honest life.”
“Undoubtedly.” Honest. And lonely.
When he didn’t say anything more, her spurt of temper subsided. “Perhaps I’ll like governessing. Being part of a family again.”
When he bent to run his hand up Emilia’s sore leg, she snorted and shied away. Guilt gnawed at him. She really was in a bad way. He shouldn’t have forced her through the snow last night, but by the time he’d understood his dilemma, he was too far from the last village to turn back.
“You don’t think so?” Margaret asked in a challenging tone, when the silence extended.
He straightened, smacking his hands together to knock away the dust and straw. “I’ll put a compress on that fetlock.” He glanced at Margaret. “I won’t be able to ride her for a few days. I’ll have to stay.”
“I know that,” she said, as if it hardly mattered. If the chit knew what was in his mind, she’d be less sanguine. “Why don’t you think I’ll make a good governess?”
He gestured for her to stand back while he opened the gate and stepped through into the aisle. Behind him, Emilia bent her head to the bucket and drank noisily. “I think you’re perfectly capable of teaching the children.”
“But?”
He shrugged. “You’re devilish pretty, Margaret. No woman with a brain in her head would take a girl like you into her household.”
Margaret looked appalled, whether at the compliment or the implications of impropriety, he wasn’t sure. “You’re suggesting I’d set out to…to flirt with the master of the house?”
He was suggesting more than that. “I’m sure your intentions would be pure.”
“But I’m too young?”
“Yes.” He cast her a straight look. “And pardon my frankness, even if you found a place, your outspoken attitude means you’d be unlikely to keep it.”
She looked troubled. “Last night, you caught me by surprise.”
“And I’m exceptionally annoying.”
When she didn’t reply, he laughed. “Bravo. You resisted responding to that.”
She set Smith down on the floor. “Proving I have some manners.”
“Hmm.” He headed off to fetch more oats from the bin.
She watched him curiously. “Do you always take such interest in the hired help?”