Lessons In Loving Read Online Free Page A

don’t like beer?’
    â€˜No. It’s perfectly satisfactory. I’m simply …’ To please him, she took a sip. She could hardly admit that she didn’t fancy beer, despite her best efforts to like it.
    â€˜Mmm. Got some questions then?’ He eased his lanky frame into his chair.
    â€˜Yes,’ she said. ‘Several.’ How could she tactfully unravel the tangle of queries buzzing round her head? How old was her prospective pupil? Why had his parents decided he needed a governess? Was he bright, diligent, well behaved? Would he be interested in the things she’d teach him? What stage had he reached in his schooling? What experience of real schools had he had? Who was Mr Fortescue in the scheme of things—the boy’s father?—uncle?—guardian? Was the boy’s mother lurking somewhere in the background? Did Mr Fortescue have a wife?
    â€˜Perhaps if I could meet my pupil?’ she said. ‘The boy I’ll be teaching. Discover how old he is, plan what teaching approaches will work best for him. Then I’ll be able to prepare my lessons to suit.’
    â€˜Youse already have.’
    â€˜Have what?’
    â€˜Met your pupil.’
    â€˜But I—’
    â€˜It’s me.’

CHAPTER 2
    Kate reeled. The man’s face creased as he tried to block a chuckle, then failed.
    â€˜Your eyes—’ He gulped, drew breath, guffawed some more. ‘Looks like youse just spotted a twenty-foot bunyip.’ He choked back his chuckles. ‘Reckon I’ll need another beer. After seeing that look on your face. Youse?’
    â€˜No, thank you.’
    â€˜Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I’ll give youse time to get over the shock.’
    He disappeared round the end of the verandah, still chuckling. Kate fought to recover. If he employed her, this man would be her pupil. All very well. He certainly needed help with his speech. How would she cope, spending long hours, day after day, with a man like that? A handsome, well-built male with that unmistakeable aristocratic look.
    Would there be just the two of them, tucked away in the newly rebuilt study inside the mansion? Then she remembered that she could lock herself safely away in her cottage at the end of the day. Already she saw the cottage as hers, even though he hadn’t yet offered her the position. The quaint old building would give her the seclusion she’d need after working close beside a handsome man for hours at a time.
    Her situation would be no more difficult than that of a housekeeper employed by a solitary man. There must be many such households in this remote corner of the world. From the moment she’d set eyes on him, he had seemed honest, decent. Her position was simple enough. She must behave as a model schoolma’am, twenty-four hours of the day, seven days a week. She must learn to live with his closeness, his smile, his big, strapping body, his blue-collar way of talking. They’d likely become good friends. After lessons, they’d go their separate ways, then meet again next morning. Hadn’t Vida Goldstein urged women to break free from antiquated traditions, be themselves, take up positions hitherto held only by men?
    She heard the clomp of his boots on the verandah. He carried a beer in one hand, a plate of cheese and crackers in the other. Now he looked scrubbed and tidy. Evidently he’d taken a quick wash. His disobedient brown hair had been tamed, and he’d changed into a fresh shirt and trousers. Now he looked even more attractive—a real country gentleman farmer.
    â€˜There.’ He set the cheese platter before her. ‘Youse might be a bit peckish after that long ride. Go ahead, ma’am. Ask your questions.’
    â€˜Thank you.’ She took a triangle of cheese, set it on a cracker, and bit cautiously. The cracker was crisp, the cheese fresh.
    â€˜Why do you want a governess?’ she said.
    â€˜Fair