The Reluctant Governess by Maggie Robinson Read Free Book Online Page B

stairs before Dr. Samuelson came she hadn’t even thought to dress. She glanced down at her ancient gray woolen robe. It had belonged to her father and was still perfectly good to wear once it had been hemmed at the ankle and wrist. Eliza remembered sitting in her father’s lap as he wore it reading her a story or challenging her to a mathematical puzzle before bedtime. It was nothing like Mr. Raeburn’s flamboyant silk dressing gown. Eliza tried to imagine her father wearing something like it and failed.
    â€œI’m sorry you do not care for my ensemble. I did not expect to be doing anything but sleeping at this hour,” she said sourly.
    â€œOf course you didn’t, poor lamb. What a lion’s den my sister-in-law has abandoned you to. I’ll have to give you a bonus.”
    There had been no talk of her salary in all of the tumult after her arrival, but now was probably not time to broach the subject. She’d have to trust that Lady Raeburn would do right by her eventually. It wouldn’t do to have to filch money out of the Evensong Agency’s petty cash box.
    Eliza’s father had been a risk-adverse man and had invested far too carefully. And of course he had not planned on dying so suddenly at a relatively young age. Eliza and her mother had sufficient funds after receiving their unfair share of the accounting firm, but there was not much left over for the frivolous little extras her mother so enjoyed. Eliza liked working both for the stimulation of it and the small pleasures she could provide her mother. A novelette or silk rose for an old hat did wonders to cheer the woman up. Her arthritis limited the opportunities to wear the refurbished hat, but she knew it was tucked away in the closet waiting for one of her good days.
    Her mother would not like her current occupation at all. Here Eliza was in a strange man’s bedroom, both of them in nightclothes. Their chaperone was three floors below in the kitchen caring for three ill people. Eliza wished she’d had the forethought to change places with Dr. Samuelson.
    She bit a lip. Would Nicholas Raeburn want to sketch the doctor with his kind wrinkled face and wild white eyebrows? She thought not.
    â€œYou’re almost smiling. What’s so amusing?”
    â€œNothing, sir. Where can I find your pad and pencil?”
    Mr. Raeburn squinted in the gloom. Dr. Samuelson had been firm about keeping the lights low. “They’re around here somewhere. Try the desk.”
    Eliza went to a tiny marquetry desk that looked as if it would collapse if its owner leaned one elbow on it. Sure enough, there was a medium-sized notebook and several soft artists’ pencils. She paged through the book, impressed with the detail within. “You’re good, aren’t you?”
    â€œSuch effusive praise. Do you know my work?”
    â€œI am no art expert.” She wouldn’t tell him she’d never heard of him—she really hadn’t heard of anyone save the inevitable Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo, and she wasn’t sure she knew much about them except they were both long dead.
    â€œI have crates of paintings being shipped,” Mr. Raeburn said. “I’ll give you a private viewing when they come.”
    â€œI hope I won’t be here,” Eliza said, handing him the materials and sitting back down on the chair. “I know that sounds rude. But I love my office job, and while Sunny is a delightful little girl, my training is secretarial rather than educational.”
    Mr. Raeburn raised his bad eyebrow and looked regretful immediately. “Then why did Mary send you here?”
    â€œI served as a governess for just under a year. My previous employer is a barrister—a King’s Counsel, actually. I worked in his chambers, and when his wife died, he needed someone sympathetic for his children. Their original governess was not, I gather.” Eliza had heard the children’s