She smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”
***
Ash had spent a good portion of the morning riding across Synne’s rolling hills, hiking through the woods, anything to get him out of Caulnedy and the memories it held for him. The place, as big as it was, closed him in until all he could see was the pain in his mother’s eyes, her labored breathing, the pale cast of her skin beneath both old and fresh bruises.
Eventually, however, he had to return to that house, to face not only the memories but also his wards. Something he was not eager to do after their quarrel the day before and their coldness to him since.
What he did not expect when he walked through the back door, however, was Regina rushing up to him. Nor did he expect the words that came out of her mouth, words that left him cold with panic once more.
“Eliza and Nelly have left.”
Dammit, not again.He heaved a weary sigh, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell do you mean, they have left? Have they run away again? Because so help me—”
“Oh! No. They merely walked out with a woman who came calling. At least,” she mused, her dark brows drawing together in the middle, “I assume they were just taking a walk. The woman left her maid here, and her carriage is still in the front drive.”
But Ash was already tugging his gloves back on. “Which way did they go?”
Regina looked suddenly hesitant. She was still smarting from yesterday, when her sisters not only pointedly ignored her for the whole night but also immediately dumped into the fire grate the treats she had offered to keep the peace. “I shouldn’t have come to you with this,” she said, backing away. “I’m certain it’s nothing.”
“Regina,” he barked.
The girl flinched at his harsh tone, her eyes once again suspicious and resentful as they gazed up at him. Guilt flooded him, but he could not back down. They all had to learn boundaries.
Even so, he gentled his voice when he spoke again. “Which way did they go?”
“To the west,” she answered, her voice devoid of emotion.
Fighting the urge to curse that he had once again mucked things up with her, he nodded in thanks and hurried from the house. Not for the first time he wondered despondently how he was going to continue to care for girls who had no wish to be cared for.
What he needed was a constant caregiver for them, someone who could keep the girls in line and mind them. Another governess? A companion? No, he had tried those, and had failed each time.
A wife?
The idea made his steps falter just as he reached the stables. Where the hell had that come from? He had never in his life considered marrying. What need had he for a wife? He had no interest in carrying on the family name, would not wish to burden the next generation with the shame and cruelty that came with the bloodline. That particular albatross had followed him all his life, the reputation of his father, and his father before him, and the generations before that, coloring every interaction and polluting everything that might have been good. The world would certainly be a better place if the dukedom died out, if the sins that had attached themselves to it like barnacles died out as well.
Yet here was just such a thought slinking through his brain. And, to his surprise, it had merit. He could take a wife, and have someone in his life who could take control of the day-to-day workings of his family and home while he continued his work at Brimstone.
Again the thought intruded that with marriage came the possibility of children. And children quite often received an inheritance they never wanted.
For a moment he recalled the whispers and beatings when he was a boy away at school, the cruel reminders of the legacy the Buckley title brought with it. He had fought for all he was worth against such a cursed birthright, certain that if he just tried hard enough, he could break free from it. Until one fateful day, in a fit of rage, he had nearly beaten his father to death, proving that it was not something he could ever escape.
Even so, with all of these warnings clanging about in his head, there was something infinitely more important than the possibility of future children, wasn’t there? For his wards needed someone who could care for them, someone who was there for them without the need to be paid. Someone who could give them the love and affection that he wanted to but never could, for all he was trying to protect them from the truth. And so a wife for him, and a mother figure for them, really was the ideal plan. He saddled his horse and mounted, urging the animal out of the stable yard and after his wayward wards. The only question now was how he would find this paragon of womanhood who was willing and able to take control of three stubborn girls?
***
Bronwyn leaned closer to the feathery greenery, taking care not to move too swiftly, and gingerly lifted a leaf. Her heart pounded as she spied the now familiar shimmer of the tansy beetle hidden beneath. And not just one, but two of the compact insects. She leaned closer for a better look.
“Oh, Miss Pickering, there they are.”
Miss Nelly’s voice was hushed with awe, her eyes wide as Bronwyn glanced over her shoulder at her. Both girls were crouched in the dry grass beside her, their heads bent close together, expressions of intense curiosity on their faces.
It still had the power to shock her, their avid interest in her studies. Never in her life had anyone shown her a portion of the interest in her work that these two girls had.
Smiling slightly, she pulled the small lens from her bodice, easing the long chain over her head and handing it to the younger girl. “Indeed. Do you see that squat thorax?” she asked as the girl peered through the lens to study the specimen. “The faintly pockmarked elytra?”
The girls looked at her blankly. “I don’t understand,” Miss Eliza said, her brows drawn together.
Bronwyn, feeling a strange thrumming of excitement in her veins at the thought of passing on some of her vast knowledge to these young girls, took up a small stick from the ground and used it to carefully point to each part of the beetle. “This right here is the thorax,” she said. “And these plates on the back are the elytra. They cover the insect’s wings.” Miss Eliza and Miss Nelly took turns then, looking through the small gold lens as Bronwyn, pulling a small notebook and pencil from her reticule, opened it to the sketch she had been working on before her parents’ latest mandates. “They are typical of other tansy beetles I have seen illustrations of,” she continued as she jotted notations in the margins of the sketch. “Only these are colored a shimmering green with blue undertones and bits of gold. The otherChrysolina graminisI have studied have red undertones. After my extensive research,” she murmured, more to herself as she settled more comfortably in the grass, hunching farther over her sketch, “I am positive that these specimens are an entirely new species of tansy beetle. Surely, with this discovery, the Royal Society cannot fail to accept my name for membership and publish my paper. Once I manage to send it to them, that is.”