Anne crinkled her brow. “He likes chicken. And lamb…” The child looked up to the ceiling. “And meat pies.”
Mary gave her an appreciative smile. “Excellent. I bet you can pack him all his favorite things.”
Anne nodded eagerly. “Wouldn’t that be grand. I’ll go tell Cook.” And with that the girl darted off.
“Well,” Lord Sinclair rumbled as the girl disappeared. “You’ve certainly go
t her excited.”
Mary nodded. “Indeed.”
“Is there a method to all this enthusiasm?” He moved closer. She felt his heat through her clothes. Her fingers clenched into her skirts.
“There is,” she answered. “Being useful. Doing for others builds confidence in ourselves.” She drew in a deep breath. “And she seems interested in drawing. I want her to be good at things. But…” This made her smile. “For our first days, I thought we would stay on the property. Test out her fears and what drives them.”
His hand came up to her shoulder. She hadn’t expected it and a shiver raced down her spine at his touch. “Thank you for taking on the position. I’m very hopeful to see what the next few weeks bring.”
Heat radiated from her face. “I haven’t done anything yet. Reserve your thanks until I’ve been successful.”
He brushed his fingers down her arm. “I see a difference in her already and for my part…” He hesitated. “You were right yesterday. I thought by guiding her on proper presentation for a lady I was doing the job of a mother—”
Her insides twisted. How difficult it must be for him to raise a daughter on his own. “I spoke out of turn and truly, you are a caring and concerned father. She couldn’t ask for more.”
Silence fell between them, but he didn’t move away. In fact, if anything, he drifted closer. Her own breath stalled in her chest. “Thank you,” he finally whispered.
“You’re welcome,” she replied, a lump of nerves clogging her throat. “I should go help Anne.” Then, breaking from his side, she lifted her skirts to walk more quickly to the door. She needed a bit of space because wild fantasies of kissing him and Ada’s words had begun echoing through her head.
Mary was going to be the death of him. Sin stood in her room and did a slow circle as he assessed her bags and trunk. Nothing had been unpacked, most were neatly stacked under the window where the valet had likely left them.
One sat open on the bed, the very one that had sent Anne into cries of elation. Why hadn’t art lessons occurred to him? And picnics?
He’d watched Mary stroke his daughter’s braid with gentle fingers and something inside him had shifted. Anne hadn’t been this excited in months. Perhaps Mary was just the change that Anne had needed after all.
He found himself leaving the room and heading down the back stairs toward the kitchen. She was breathing life into him too. His insides were a twisting mess, he’d barely slept last night in anticipation of her arrival, and the thought of picnicking with her sounded…delightful.
He stopped on the steps, halfway between the first and second floor. He’d felt this way once before. Clara had been a small woman of fragile beauty. Later he’d learned that she’d spent much of her childhood ill, but as an adult, she’d outgrown the illness.
He’d loved the way she’d fit under his arm, and Mary was right about people finding joy in caring for others. He’d taken great delight in shielding her from the world. Of course, he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing about planting his seed in her womb. And he’d been completely helpless when birthing had been too much for her.
His head dropped in his hands. Yes, he felt a pull toward Mary. But she wasn’t the type of woman he should marry. The next time, he’d take a wife of strong stock. Though Mary was strong-willed, that still didn’t mean she could survive pregnancy and childbirth given her small stature.
Dropping his hands, he continued down to the kitchen. He stopped, watching Mary help Anne cut bread, her hands gently guiding his daughter’s.
He closed his eyes. She’d been here for mere minutes and he’d already resorted to lurking in doorways and spying. Mary’s voice washed over him. “That’s perfect. Just like that. Slow, even strokes.”
His hands clenched into fists. Bloody hell, he wanted her to speak to him with those same words and soft tone. Just on an entirely different subject.
“Like this?” Anne asked, eager for approval. “Am I doing a good job?”
“Wonderful,” Mary answered. “Your father is going to love this picnic.”
He was going to love it. Every damned second.
“And then after the picnic, we can draw?”
“I’m sure we can. But first we’ll have to pick the perfect thing to draw. Something that is relatively easy for our first time and something that sparks our imagination and strikes our fancy.”
Sin knew what he’d draw if given the chance. He pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes. He wouldn’t survive a week with Mary in the house, let alone two. He was certain of it. Stepping into the kitchen, he dropped his hands. “Anne, come get me when you’re ready for the picnic.”