Rules for a Proper Governess by Jennifer Ashley

But when it came to handling governesses, he was apt to go pale, his freckles standing out on his face, and disappear as quickly as he could. The big Scotsman was fearless in the wilds, marching miles alone and facing ferocious beasts without blinking. Macaulay, having delivered the goods, turned and fled, slamming the door behind him. It made a resounding smash, almost as resonant as had the one when Andrew knocked over the decanter. Macaulay’s kilt swung as he pulled the young woman he held by the wrist around him, her dark green wool skirts swirling in ahead of her. Sinclair turned around as Macaulay opened the door so swiftly that it banged into the wall.

Macaulay’s footsteps were firm, those of the governess hesitant, as though Macaulay was having to pull her down here. He heard Macaulay’s voice on the stairs, the man speaking to someone who wasn’t answering.

Sinclair poured a measure of whiskey into a heavy glass and drank it in one go, trying to enjoy the sensation on his tongue. The last time Andrew had been down here, he’d tried to climb onto the table, and had smashed the whiskey decanter to the floor, sending shards of lead crystal and the best Mackenzie malt all over the carpet. The table had an inlaid checkerboard pattern, and Andrew always begged his father to play chess or checkers with him on it. Sinclair gave up on his papers and moved to a little table near the window and the decanter of Scots whiskey on it that was always kept full for him. “Right.” Macaulay hurried off, looking relieved, slamming the door behind him. “If the children are tucked up and sleeping, send her down.” “I agree.” Sinclair shoved the last stack of his papers into some kind of order. “I think you’d better talk to her yourself.”

Rules for a Proper Governess by Jennifer Ashley