Was he trying to scare her?
“You did not have your sons’ trust, Mr. Grey,” Alice said. “You can’t simply command them to trust you. They have to see and experience you as trustworthy. You can’t do that if you’re shut away with your ledgers and they’re off with a groom on their ponies.”
This would nicely scotch his schemes, and without them having to argue about it. Alice congratulated herself on her brilliance as she relaxed against his chest. She was out from under his offer, and nobody need be offended. For the first time in years, she almost enjoyed being on a horse.
“Three days a week,” he said, “I will spend at least an hour in recreation with both boys.”
Drat. Her brothers had taught her some rudimentary gambling as she’d recovered from her injuries; being a governess had taught her strategy. She raised the stakes. “And you’ll take a walk with each child once a week, weather permitting, or play cards, or somehow spend an hour with each child individually.”
“I can do that.”
“And you will join them for breakfast,” Alice plunged on, concluding Mr. Grey must not be thinking sensibly. “And one evening meal a week.”
Behind her, Alice felt Mr. Grey draw in a breath and go silent.
“Fridays would suit,” he said at length, “and you must agree to join me at that meal too.”
“Of… of course.” Alice felt her world slipping, and she inadvertently held more tightly to Mr. Grey, whose arm tucked around her closely in response.
“You’ll have pin money and a clothing allowance besides,” he went on, while Alice grappled with the import of their discussion. “And a half day every Saturday. Nobody is expected to work on Sunday at Tydings, including the kitchen. You will have two weeks paid in the summer to see friends, such as Miss Priscilla, and the use of a horse or pony trap, should you need it. We are agreed?”
Alice was quiet, stunned at how her world could change in the space of a half mile. She had not lined up another position because she preferred to deal with agencies to screen potential employers. Any place in London itself would not do, there being a surfeit of titles around the place, and Collins—may he rot slowly in a malodorous corner of hell—was liable to visit other titles from time to time.
Any household that had too many grown sons or uncles or male cousins was out of the question as well. Any place that expected her to ride with the children or march them about the estate every day of the week, any place that would not pay a decent wage or give her even a half day a week to catch her breath…
Mr. Grey was offering her more than she usually demanded, in every regard. He had no title; his children were dear and very much in need of someone who would care for them.
“This is temporary,” Alice said as the horse shuffled into the stable yard. “You said this was temporary.”
He nudged the beast to a halt. “I said I’d hire you even if you were only willing to take us on temporarily. I suggest we give the matter a three-month trial. If you are not content, we can agree to part at that point, but you must allow me at least that long again to search for a successor.”
The condition was practical and would ensure the children did not suffer a lapse in studies. It also ensured that for six months Mr. Grey would not be left with the dilemma of finding another tutor.
“So it’s a six-month position, at least.”
“At least,” he agreed, then swung off the horse, leaving Alice perched on the pommel, mind reeling. “Miss Portman?”
Alice glanced down to see Mr. Grey regarding her patiently from the ground. She put her hands on his shoulders and felt herself lifted easily from the saddle. Though Mr. Grey was careful to settle her onto her feet slowly, her left leg buckled when she tried to put weight on it.
“Steady.” He held her still, letting her lean against him once more. “Give it a minute.”
She bit her lip and blinked. “It’s shot,” she muttered miserably as the horse was led away. “The only thing that helps now is bed rest.”
“Can you lean on me?” Mr. Grey asked, wrapping an arm around her waist. But he was too tall to be properly leaned on, and Alice hadn’t the strength or the balance to hop up three flights of stairs on one foot.
She shook her head, feeling tears threaten, not exclusively as a result of the ache in her hip.
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “bugger this,” and Alice felt herself being swept up against his chest.
“We’ll have you surrounded by hot-water bottles in no time.” He headed across the gardens to one of the house’s back entrances.
“The servants’ stairs are closer,” Alice said, looping her arms around his neck. She hadn’t been carried like this since she’d fallen off that horse, and though she was full grown and well fed, Mr. Grey carried her as if she weighed no more than little Priscilla. It was disconcerting, sweet, comforting, and awful, all at once.
He bent his knees a little at her door, so Alice could lift the latch, then he kicked the door shut behind them. Alice found herself gently deposited on the edge of the bed, facing a stern-faced Mr. Grey, who was glaring down at her, his hands on his hips. Without warning, he dropped to hunker before her and took one of her boots in his hands.
She stared down at him. “What are you doing?”
“Removing your shoes,” he replied, unlacing her half boot as he spoke. “Bending at the waist is likely uncomfortable for you.”
Protests dammed up behind the truth—bending at the waist hurt abysmally, though Alice nearly died of mortification and shock when she felt Mr. Grey’s hands slip under her skirts and tug down her stockings.
“Mr. Grey!” She tried to scoot back on the bed, but that hurt like blue blazes, so she had to settle for glaring at him as he rolled her stockings like a practiced lady’s maid.
“Oh, simmer down.” His tone disgruntled, he looked around and put the stockings on her vanity. “I was married for several years, you know, and it isn’t as if I’ll be ravishing you over the sight of your dainty feet.”
Alice went still on the bed, all other indignities and imprecations forgotten. “What do you mean, you were married?”
“My sons are legitimate.” He frowned at her, his hands back on his hips. “I would not wish bastardy on any child, much less my own.”
“But you said you were married,” Alice pressed. “You aren’t married now?”
“I am not,” he replied, cocking his head. “And were I not in polite company, and did it not sound insufferably callous, I would add, ‘thank God.’ My wife expired of typhoid fever a little more than three years into our union. I would not have wished her dead, but she is, and I quite honestly do not miss her.”
“Mr. Grey! Surely you haven’t voiced those sentiments before your children?”
“And if I have?”
“You would have much to apologize for,” Alice shot back. “Much to be forgiven for. She might have been the worst mother in the world, but those little boys need to believe she was in some way lovable, much as they would need to believe the same about you, lest they see themselves as unlovable.”
His gaze narrowed. “You presume to know a great deal about my sons.”
“I knew well before you did that one of them had been birched too severely,” Alice retorted. “And I know they need to regard their parents in some reasonably positive fashion.”
“Well, then, fine.” He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture Alice had seen his younger brother make often. “Your expertise confirms my choice of you as the boys’ next governess.”
Alice opened her mouth to say something, then shut it abruptly.