Elisabeth Fairchild by Valentine's Change of Heart Read Free Book Online Page A

In her? She ought to be relieved if such was the case, and yet, strangely, she was not. The emotion that flit through her, like a bird on the wing, was disappointment--the faintest sense of melancholy. An impression that she, as governess, and a plain one at that, did not in any way, shape, or form, figure into Valentine Wharton’s idea of pleasure.
    “Why does it have so many names and flavors, Miss Deering?” Felicity reminded her of who she was--what she was--her place—her question.
    She refocused her eyes, on the tea, not its owner--on the fine, richly perfumed leaves that were carefully separated into small boxes and bags. “Fine tea,” She closed her eyes to breathe deep the aroma, “is much like fine wine, and so precious a commodity that there are underhanded merchants who make a practice of drying out the used leaves and mixing them with other sorts of leaves.” She chuckled wryly. “Inferior stuff.”
    Wharton glanced their way. This time with more focused interest.
    “You see, like the grapes that are used in wine there are many factors in growing tea that give it its noble flavor.”
    “Like sun, soil and rain?” Felicity guessed.
    “Precisely. Like any crop. Where you plant your seed makes a difference.”
    “Indeed.” Wharton said with a chuckle.
    Elaine immediately regretted her word choice. She had not intended innuendo in what she said. Frowning, she went on. “Tea takes on the flavor of a region.”
    “Rather like people,” Felicity said.
    Elaine nodded. “Yes. We are all shaped by place and time.”
    Felicity stood over the box of tea regarding the different containers.
    Lord Wharton removed himself from the window, joining them at the table. He tilted his head to regard Elaine rather closely as he passed. “Almost anything is fascinating when you take a closer look,” he said.
    Elaine’s pulse fluttered. What did he mean to imply?
    “There are lessons to be found in everything,” she said quietly.
    Something changed in his eyes. For the briefest of moments Valentine Wharton seemed to let down a wall. He nodded. And then, the moment was gone, and his lips curled sardonically, and he shut her out again with a derisive, “Is there ever a time when you are not the governess, Miss Deering?”
    Her back stiffened. “There was a time I never dreamed of being a governess.” She shrugged, and tried not to let his barbed tone wound her. “We must each of us choose a path when life hands us the unexpected.”
    “And lessons?” He seemed to mock her, rebuilding walls.
    “Paths and lessons,” she said thoughtfully, considering where his had led him. “The trick is to recognize which is which.”
    He braced his hand on one side of the tea chest, hers on the other. “And you are convinced your path must diverge from mine? From Felicity’s?”
    So direct that question. The look in his eyes. Not flirtation. A challenge.
    She considered the path that had led her to a box of teas, and a tea drinking monster who might not be monster at all. “The harder lessons in my life would seem to teach me as much,” she said with regret.
    His lips thinned, but anything he might have said was interrupted by the arrival of their food. The innkeeper’s wife herself carried in a steaming kettle full of hot water, which she used, first to warm, and then to fill a fat, white teapot.
    Valentine Wharton, true to his word, brewed a generous pot, the precious tea leaves kept from the concoction by way of a silver strainer. The first pale amber, milky cup full was given to Felicity, who added three lumps of sugar before lifting it to her lips with a happy sigh.
    Wharton ate in silence, his gaze drawn to the fire on the hearth. Felicity chattered with Mrs. Olive. He glanced often at the child, his expression gentle, observant, vaguely puzzled, even sad, as if he studied an unknown he had little hope of understanding.
    Elaine understood completely that probing, even frustrated regard. She wondered more than once