Lessons In Loving Read Online Free

she?’
    â€˜No. Her father was the local bank manager.’
    â€˜Bankers, eh? S’pose we gotta have ’em.’ He reached for his bottle, held it for a second, then pushed it away. ‘Let’s take a look at the cottage we’ve set aside for the governess.’
    The notice had said ‘accommodation provided’.
    He stood. ‘Not much point in more talk if youse don’t like it. Follow me.’
    Kate twitched. In an hour it would be dark. There seemed to be no-one else about but the two of them. And this red-blooded country man had just offered to show her to a bedroom. What should she do? What would her friends say? Kate hesitated. She’d come this far. And for no sensible reason, she trusted the man. Again, she’d run with her instincts.
    Mr Fortescue led the way down the steps. As she followed, she wondered whether he might sport the bow-legged look that came with spending years on horseback. Thankfully, he didn’t. He walked effortlessly, casually—a man comfortable on his home turf.
    He led the way through a once-formal garden, ringed with espaliered arches now buried under a mass of rampant climbing roses. Soon he stopped at the door of a neat sandstone cottage. Kate looked up at its walls, at the gables with their freshly painted red roofs. The lawn had just been cut. Someone had planned on making the new governess welcome.
    â€˜This was the manager’s cottage once,’ he said. ‘Fifty or more years ago, when Kenilworth was run by hired servants. The owners, my great-grandpapa and his wife, spent most of their time in England.’ He opened the door and beckoned her inside. ‘I had the place cleaned up a bit. For the governess.’ He turned to her. ‘Youse should take a look. I’ll wait outside.’
    Kate relaxed a fraction. The man had the manners to bestow a woman some privacy when she needed it. As she stepped through the ornate door, she watched him flop into a cane chair on the verandah.
    She headed down the hall to a living room with a huge fireplace, its stone arch streaked with the smoke of years. A kitchen adjoined the living room. She stared at it from the doorway. A new stove, its oven door still shiny, gleamed back at her. A freshly sandpapered wooden bench stretched along one wall, under a rack from which dangled saucepans, sieves, egg slices, a funnel. She moved into the sitting room. The furniture—sofa, armchairs, a coffee table—told her the place had been given a no-expense-spared tidying. A vase of freshly picked lavender filled the room with perfume. A fussy maid had recently given the cottage a last minute going-over. Yes, she could be comfortable here—happy even. Then, at last, the bedroom; from the embroidered silk quilt on the four-poster bed to the wide windows overlooking the hills, it was welcoming. And yes, there was a secure bolt on the door. She could sleep in peace whenever she slid that bolt home.
    â€˜Well?’ As she stepped back outside, Mr Fortescue looked up at her from his chair. She pictured herself sitting in that very chair on quiet evenings, perhaps with a cup of tea, taking in the darkening hills as the sun set. It might be a pleasant spot to look over her lessons for the next day before she cooked her dinner.
    â€˜I love it.’ It would be safe to let her enthusiasm show.
    â€˜Good. Now we’ll go to the place I’ve set aside for the lessons. They reckon I should call it the study.’ He led the way to a basement room in the Big House. The room was adequate for the purpose, but missing the furniture needed to convert it to a practical classroom. If she won the job, she’d make a list of things to order—a child-sized desk for her pupil, a large blackboard. When she finished her evaluation, he escorted her back to the verandah.
    â€˜Now we can talk about the nuts and bolts,’ he said. He watched as she took her seat. ‘Hey. Your drink. Youse