“Then what do you suggest that I do?” Watson asked, feeling his gut churning with indecision. “I have held this off for long enough and I refuse to begin again.”
“Nobody is asking you to do so,” Miss Percival responded, shaking her head slowly and Watson was sure that he saw a flash of something in her eyes, something akin to sadness. “Though I do ask that you give your daughter time. I believe she will come around in the end. I do believe that she is struggling more for what she has lost than what she has to gain.”
Again, Watson raised an eyebrow. “Please elaborate, Miss Percival.”
“Though she has never known her mother, Your Grace, I believe that your daughter dislikes Lady Florentia because she has reminded her of that loss and the fact that hole is now seeking to be filled,” Miss Percival explained, a twitch of a smile upon her lips as though she was hopeful he would be comforted by her words. “I would venture to say any child would feel the same in Lady Amy’s situation and she merely needs time to come to terms with the idea of finally having a mother.”
Watson sighed with relief. Though time was not exactly an answer to all his problems, Miss Percival’s words did give him hope. After all, since she had arrived, she had not been wrong.
“Thank you, Miss Percival.”
The governess smiled at him and gave a nod in acknowledgement of his gratitude. Then, as if she believed his thanks was permission for her to leave, she started to push herself to her feet. “I shant keep you any longer, Your Grace. That pile of papers looks like it might take you well into the night to get through.”
Watson was once more startled by the abruptness with which she had chosen to leave, and his heart ached at it. He longed for the days when they could talk for hours about his daughter and all the other goings on in the house, even about the books they had both been reading and other such subjects.
Yet there had been a distance between them since the night of the dinner party, one that only seemed to have grown since he had slipped up and kissed her the night before.
As if she sensed his own thoughts, Miss Percival stopped at the side of her chair where she had turned to leave and turned back to him to add, “And, Your Grace, I wished to apologise for last night.”
“Apologise?” Watson repeated, absolutely gob smacked. Unable to stop himself, he got up from his seat and moved around the desk to stand before her. “Whatever could you possibly have to apologise for?”
At his question, the governess’ cheeks blushed so badly that they were practically the colour of the red wax he used to seal his correspondences. He sensed more than saw the way she inched away from him and decided, against his own heart, to take a step away in the hopes that she might look at him again.
“I should not have kissed you, Your Grace,” she responded, “and for that I am sorry.”
She did not look him in the eye until she had spoken, and Watson was sure that he could see a pain in her gaze the likes of which he had not seen for a long time. Yet he felt it deep in his own gut and a part of him wanted to take her into his arms and assure her that all was well. Yet, he also knew there was only one thing he had a right to do.
“No, Miss Percival. The fault was not your own,” Watson assured her. He had to force his hands into the pockets of his breeches to stop himself from reaching out to touch her, knowing that if he did, he might feel the urge to kiss her once more. He was already struggling unimaginably with the urge to draw closer to her again.
“It is I who ought to apologise. I was the one in the wrong. I ought not have kissed you.”
Even as he said the words, he felt his own cheeks beginning to heat with embarrassment. It was not only shame for what he had done the evening before but also for the fact that he wanted so desperately to do it again. Biting the inside of his lip and pinching himself through his pocket, he tried his hardest to stop himself from doing something that he might regret.
Bowing his head in shame, Watson was surprised when he felt a gentle hand land upon his forearm. When he looked up again, he found Miss Percival smiling warmly at him.
“Then we are agreed?” she asked with a hopeful expression.
Watson returned her look with an intrigued one of his own, unsure of what to say. Miss Percival continued to smile even as she explained, “Then we are agreed that we ought to forget it ever happened and return to being strictly professional?”
If not for the hand she had laid upon his forearm, Watson might have whole-heartedly believed that was what she wanted. Yet he could feel the warmth of her palm even through the sleeve of his jacket and he was sure that there was a glint of hope in her eyes that he might refuse.
I cannot do that to her nor to my daughter,he reminded himself and so he slipped his arm out from beneath her hand and nodded. “Yes, Miss Percival. We may forget that anything happened and go about our usual professional business relationship.”
Yet just saying the wordrelationshipmade Watson think of what might have been had this conversation not occurred. What might have happened if Lady Florentia was not already sinking her claws into him or maybe even if Miss Percival had been a lady and not a governess?
There might have been so many possibilities and yet now, Watson’s only choice was to smile and say goodnight and watch her walk away with a heaviness in his heart the likes of which he had never felt before.
Chapter 11
“Are you well, Miss Percival?”
Matilda almost jumped out of her skin at the question. Though she and Mr Hayman had been sitting on the grass watching Lady Amy skim stones on the pond for several minutes, Matilda had been lost in her own thoughts, yawning because even though she and the Duke had discussed their little infraction and had both agreed to forget about it, she simply could not.
She had once more tossed and turned all night long and whenever she had managed to fall asleep all she had been able to dream of was his kiss and where it might have led if she had not run away.
“I…yes, Mr Hayman, forgive me. I did not sleep very well last night,” she admitted, deciding that it was better not to lie when she had been yawning for the better part of the morning while he had been spending time with them. Though she had tried her best to hide it behind her hand or even a handkerchief, it was next to impossible, and she was sure that her eyes were swollen with lack of sleep.
“Is there perhaps something you wish to talk about?” Mr Hayman asked, “Something you might like to get off your chest?”