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Authors: Valentine's Change of Heart
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Olive? Shall I find all three of you huddled together for safety in the morning if I read this dragon’s tale?”
Mrs. Olive made an offended huffing noise. “I think not, my lord. It is not the dragon’s tail one must fear, but his teeth, and fiery breath.”
“Shall we all of us sleep in one bed tonight for safety’s sake?” he asked his daughter. “I might be frightened myself if I keep on reading.”
Felicity giggled and fell back against her pillows. “No, papa. We would not fit. Besides, it would not be proper.”
“I should think not,” Mrs. Olive said starchily.
“Surely dragons are not the best of bedtime reading, my lord,” Elaine dared to suggest.
“Oh no, Miss Deering!” Felicity hopped out of the bed to comfort her. “Do not be afraid,” she soothed, spreading her arms wide for a hug. “Dragons are only make-believe.”
“So your father claims,” Elaine embraced her warmly, remembering poor Felicity had no mother to fling arms about her.
She looked up to find Wharton watching them in that instant, longing in his gaze. The affectionate yearning meant for his daughter rocked Elaine. Too intimate his glance--too warm--too needy. She did not know what to do with such a look now that she had crossed the room, and sat next to him, Felicity in her arms. Her own father had never, to her knowledge, regarded her with such yearning. And yet, in turning her attention to her charge, she realized that Felicity had no notion her father examined her so intently.
She was playing with a lock of Elaine’s hair, curling the straight, dark strand about her little finger. “I am not afraid, so you must not be either,” the child said firmly.
“Why is that, when a whole village lives in fear?”
“Because, silly.” She shook the lock from her finger, smoothing it. “There is always a brave knight, or a prince, who slays the dragon.”
“That’s right.” Mrs. Olive nodded.
Elaine felt compelled to ask. “Never a woman?”
“I do not know.” Felicity looked to her father for answers.
His lips quirked. “I heard tale once of a woman brave enough.”
“A princess?” Felicity wanted to know.
Lord Wharton shook his head. “No. A brave governess.”
Felicity glanced from Elaine to her father and back again. “A governess?” she asked in disbelief. “Like Miss Deering?”
“Very much like our dear Miss Deering,” her father said smoothly.
Mrs. Olive, brows raised, regarded Elaine as well. “Really?”
His lordship nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Smote him in the heart, she did.”
“And what, pray tell, became of the dragon?” Mrs. Olive laced the question with sarcasm.
“Oh, he roared a bit. But in the end he limped away and was never heard from again.”
Elaine had to smile at that. She knew just the dragon he meant.
“Let us hope so anyway,” she murmured as he began to read again.
Chapter Ten
H alf an hour later, stories finished, Val tucked Felicity back into bed and kissed her on the forehead. He pinched out the candles, gathered up books, the lamp that would light his way back to his room and bid them goodnight from the door.
“Nightie night, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Felicity called sleepily from the depths of her pillows.
“Good night, my lord,” Mrs. Olive sounded almost as tired.
Val glanced at Miss Deering, brows raised. “A good night to you, ladies.”
“Sweet dreams, Lord Widnot.” Her voice was gentle.
As if she knew his dreams were anything but sweet. He shut the door and returned to his own bedchamber where he stripped off his clothing, wondering, What sweetens the dreams of a governess?
It had been a good day, despite the rain, despite Miss Deering’s reluctance to work for him--an inconvenience--no more than an inconvenience. He had known bad days. This was not one by any stretch of the imagination.
A good evening. Felicity and Mrs. Olive had been spellbound by the story, Miss Deering watchful, as was
Mrs. Olive made an offended huffing noise. “I think not, my lord. It is not the dragon’s tail one must fear, but his teeth, and fiery breath.”
“Shall we all of us sleep in one bed tonight for safety’s sake?” he asked his daughter. “I might be frightened myself if I keep on reading.”
Felicity giggled and fell back against her pillows. “No, papa. We would not fit. Besides, it would not be proper.”
“I should think not,” Mrs. Olive said starchily.
“Surely dragons are not the best of bedtime reading, my lord,” Elaine dared to suggest.
“Oh no, Miss Deering!” Felicity hopped out of the bed to comfort her. “Do not be afraid,” she soothed, spreading her arms wide for a hug. “Dragons are only make-believe.”
“So your father claims,” Elaine embraced her warmly, remembering poor Felicity had no mother to fling arms about her.
She looked up to find Wharton watching them in that instant, longing in his gaze. The affectionate yearning meant for his daughter rocked Elaine. Too intimate his glance--too warm--too needy. She did not know what to do with such a look now that she had crossed the room, and sat next to him, Felicity in her arms. Her own father had never, to her knowledge, regarded her with such yearning. And yet, in turning her attention to her charge, she realized that Felicity had no notion her father examined her so intently.
She was playing with a lock of Elaine’s hair, curling the straight, dark strand about her little finger. “I am not afraid, so you must not be either,” the child said firmly.
“Why is that, when a whole village lives in fear?”
“Because, silly.” She shook the lock from her finger, smoothing it. “There is always a brave knight, or a prince, who slays the dragon.”
“That’s right.” Mrs. Olive nodded.
Elaine felt compelled to ask. “Never a woman?”
“I do not know.” Felicity looked to her father for answers.
His lips quirked. “I heard tale once of a woman brave enough.”
“A princess?” Felicity wanted to know.
Lord Wharton shook his head. “No. A brave governess.”
Felicity glanced from Elaine to her father and back again. “A governess?” she asked in disbelief. “Like Miss Deering?”
“Very much like our dear Miss Deering,” her father said smoothly.
Mrs. Olive, brows raised, regarded Elaine as well. “Really?”
His lordship nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Smote him in the heart, she did.”
“And what, pray tell, became of the dragon?” Mrs. Olive laced the question with sarcasm.
“Oh, he roared a bit. But in the end he limped away and was never heard from again.”
Elaine had to smile at that. She knew just the dragon he meant.
“Let us hope so anyway,” she murmured as he began to read again.
Chapter Ten
H alf an hour later, stories finished, Val tucked Felicity back into bed and kissed her on the forehead. He pinched out the candles, gathered up books, the lamp that would light his way back to his room and bid them goodnight from the door.
“Nightie night, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Felicity called sleepily from the depths of her pillows.
“Good night, my lord,” Mrs. Olive sounded almost as tired.
Val glanced at Miss Deering, brows raised. “A good night to you, ladies.”
“Sweet dreams, Lord Widnot.” Her voice was gentle.
As if she knew his dreams were anything but sweet. He shut the door and returned to his own bedchamber where he stripped off his clothing, wondering, What sweetens the dreams of a governess?
It had been a good day, despite the rain, despite Miss Deering’s reluctance to work for him--an inconvenience--no more than an inconvenience. He had known bad days. This was not one by any stretch of the imagination.
A good evening. Felicity and Mrs. Olive had been spellbound by the story, Miss Deering watchful, as was
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