Read Online The Education of Mrs. Brimley by Donna MacMeans - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donna MacMeans
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in evidence. “Would you care to join me for breakfast?”
“I’ve already eaten, thank you.” It was a lie, of course. She couldn’t eat and expect to squeeze into all these clothes, but he wouldn’t know that.
“Then please do me the honor of sitting with me by the fire. We can talk while I take a bit of refreshment.” He motioned her toward a chair with an assertive sweep of his arm.
The seat he had indicated was too close to the fire for comfort, but she couldn’t politely refuse. Hopefully, his lordship was a quick eater. The warmth generated by his presence alone could melt the waxworks at Madame Tussauds. She negotiated her multiple layers into the breadth of the chair.
“Am I to assume by your visit this morning that you have reconsidered my offer?” he asked, after both had been seated at the table. She smiled nervously, reminding herself that her overdressed state allowed her to play the vixen without compromise to her virtue.
“The girls had more questions,” she stated. Beatrice and Cecilia had questions as well, but she didn’t mention them. “I have little choice but to accept your proposal.”
“I see.” His gaze slowly swept from her eyes to momentarily rest on her lips, before a prolonged appraisal of her clothes-inflated chest. She shifted a bit on the chair, afraid he might see too much.
A tight smile pulled at his lips before he carefully, and oh-so-slowly, slathered cream onto some hearty scones. He offered one to her, but at her refusal, placed it on his plate, proceeding to carefully dish eggs, potatoes, and various meats.
The scent of the lavish fare set her stomach to complain. She bit her lip, hoping Chambers didn’t notice. A rivulet of moisture raced between her shoulder blades down to the small of her back. Her black bodice held the heat from the fire too efficiently. What the top layer captured, the two below retained.
“I am honored that you have placed your faith and trust in me by accepting my proposal fairly and honestly,” he said after what seemed to be many protracted moments. “I believe honesty to be one of the great undervalued virtues. Don’t you agree, Miss Brimley?” A dimple flashed for a moment before his face settled into a more serious expression.
“Honesty is important,” she replied. Although at the moment, garbed in every piece of clothing that she owned, she didn’t feel very honest in her representation. She tried to ignore the moisture dampening the first layer of undergarments.
“William Shakespeare once wrote that ‘honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.’ ” Lifting a small jar, he poured a thick stream of amber honey onto a waiting scone. He placed the sweetened biscuit on her plate. “Sugar, Mrs. Brimley?”
“Shakespeare!” Enthusiasm displaced some of her discomfort. “You read the bard as well as Lord Byron?” This was the conversation she longed to share. She leaned forward. “I’m partial to sonnets myself. In fact, I am teaching literature appropriate for young ladies as well as”—she averted her eyes—“other courses.”
She returned her gaze to his. How unfortunate that after today, after she had secured all her answers, she’d not be allowed to talk about literature, or art, or anything else with him again. A pang of remorse twitched at her lips.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes a study of empathy.
Shock sizzled across her chest like snowflakes on heated skin. She pulled back in her chair and stared. Had he read her thoughts? What else did he know?
He reached for the teapot. “I thought Thomas had offered you tea. Allow me to pour. A nice hot cup of tea on such a cold day should warm you for the work ahead.”
He was just well mannered! Almost giddy at her false impression, she shook her head no. He poured the hot liquid anyway. She almost giggled. He certainly wasn’t as perceptive as she had credited him, otherwise he would have honored her refusal. Without thought, she
“I’ve already eaten, thank you.” It was a lie, of course. She couldn’t eat and expect to squeeze into all these clothes, but he wouldn’t know that.
“Then please do me the honor of sitting with me by the fire. We can talk while I take a bit of refreshment.” He motioned her toward a chair with an assertive sweep of his arm.
The seat he had indicated was too close to the fire for comfort, but she couldn’t politely refuse. Hopefully, his lordship was a quick eater. The warmth generated by his presence alone could melt the waxworks at Madame Tussauds. She negotiated her multiple layers into the breadth of the chair.
“Am I to assume by your visit this morning that you have reconsidered my offer?” he asked, after both had been seated at the table. She smiled nervously, reminding herself that her overdressed state allowed her to play the vixen without compromise to her virtue.
“The girls had more questions,” she stated. Beatrice and Cecilia had questions as well, but she didn’t mention them. “I have little choice but to accept your proposal.”
“I see.” His gaze slowly swept from her eyes to momentarily rest on her lips, before a prolonged appraisal of her clothes-inflated chest. She shifted a bit on the chair, afraid he might see too much.
A tight smile pulled at his lips before he carefully, and oh-so-slowly, slathered cream onto some hearty scones. He offered one to her, but at her refusal, placed it on his plate, proceeding to carefully dish eggs, potatoes, and various meats.
The scent of the lavish fare set her stomach to complain. She bit her lip, hoping Chambers didn’t notice. A rivulet of moisture raced between her shoulder blades down to the small of her back. Her black bodice held the heat from the fire too efficiently. What the top layer captured, the two below retained.
“I am honored that you have placed your faith and trust in me by accepting my proposal fairly and honestly,” he said after what seemed to be many protracted moments. “I believe honesty to be one of the great undervalued virtues. Don’t you agree, Miss Brimley?” A dimple flashed for a moment before his face settled into a more serious expression.
“Honesty is important,” she replied. Although at the moment, garbed in every piece of clothing that she owned, she didn’t feel very honest in her representation. She tried to ignore the moisture dampening the first layer of undergarments.
“William Shakespeare once wrote that ‘honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.’ ” Lifting a small jar, he poured a thick stream of amber honey onto a waiting scone. He placed the sweetened biscuit on her plate. “Sugar, Mrs. Brimley?”
“Shakespeare!” Enthusiasm displaced some of her discomfort. “You read the bard as well as Lord Byron?” This was the conversation she longed to share. She leaned forward. “I’m partial to sonnets myself. In fact, I am teaching literature appropriate for young ladies as well as”—she averted her eyes—“other courses.”
She returned her gaze to his. How unfortunate that after today, after she had secured all her answers, she’d not be allowed to talk about literature, or art, or anything else with him again. A pang of remorse twitched at her lips.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes a study of empathy.
Shock sizzled across her chest like snowflakes on heated skin. She pulled back in her chair and stared. Had he read her thoughts? What else did he know?
He reached for the teapot. “I thought Thomas had offered you tea. Allow me to pour. A nice hot cup of tea on such a cold day should warm you for the work ahead.”
He was just well mannered! Almost giddy at her false impression, she shook her head no. He poured the hot liquid anyway. She almost giggled. He certainly wasn’t as perceptive as she had credited him, otherwise he would have honored her refusal. Without thought, she
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