Both Juliet and Patrick stood to greet the woman as Miss Farrell walked into the room and curtsied.
“Why don’t you have a seat on the settee,” Patrick encouraged.
Biting her lip, Miss Farrell nodded vigorously then walked to the settee and sat down. “Thank you for seeing me, my lord,” she rushed to say, wildly rubbing her palms on the front of her skirt.
Patrick cast a glance to Juliet. Her face didn’t indicate she’d thought Miss Farrell’s behavior odd. He dismissed the thought and sat down. “Tell me, Miss Farrell, do you have any experience as a governess?”
Miss Farrell fisted her hands together and swallowed. Then again. And yet again. “Umm―” she shifted in her seat― “no.” She released her right fist and clutched onto the front of her skirt again.
“All right,” Patrick said slowly. “Do you have any experience working with children?”
She shook her head and whispered, “No, my lord.”
“None?”
Miss Farrell released her crushing grip on the front of her skirt and idly used the edge of her thumb to rub the seam that ran down her ring finger. “I have younger siblings,” she said helpfully.
“Very good,” Juliet said with a warm smile. “And did you ever help with the instruction of these younger children?”
Miss Farrell shook her head again. “Oh no. They were all boys. My father, Lord Ravenscar, wouldn’t allow his boys to be taught by anyone other than the finest tutors until it was time to attend Harrow.”
Patrick blinked at her. He remembered attending school for a whole term with two of Ravenscar’s sons. He had no idea that old codger was still procreating. “Tell me then, Miss Farrell, did the earl see to your education?”
“Yes, my lord,” she said with a nervous swallow. Her right thumb no longer tracing the seam of her finger, but had found a little knot of thread near the end to direct its focus.
“Did you attend a school in London?” Juliet asked.
“No, my lady. Nothing so fancy. I had a governess. My father was of the mind that boys learned best outside the estate, and girls better on the estate.”
Patrick almost rolled his eyes. That might be what Ravenscar told them, but the truth was, the man was such a miser, he probably would have let them all learn at home―or not at all―if not for the sake of keeping up appearances. “So I take it you have no difficulty with words and sums?”
Miss Farrell’s eyes widened a touch and she nodded. “Of course not, my lord.” She brought her left hand over to join her right on her lap and was now using her left thumbnail to pick at the knot her right thumb had earlier discovered. In seconds, the knot was loosened, and Miss Farrell had a gaping hole in the end of the ring finger on her right glove. Just inside the hole was a red-tipped finger with a very pronounced hangnail which, of course, her thumb immediately gravitated to.
Forcing his attention away from her thumb-scraping-hangnail spectacle, Patrick asked. “Do you think you could recite your sums for us?”
Juliet shot him a sharp look and he ignored it. If this woman was to be his girls’ governess, he needed to have reason to believe she could perform her job. As of now, he wasn’t convinced.
Miss Farrell swallowed and took a deep breath. “One plus one is two. One plus two is three.”
“No need to start with ones,” Patrick cut in. “Why don’t you count by sevens.”
“Sevens?” she breathed. Her fingers continued to move nervously in her lap. “A―all right. Seven, fourteen, twenty―” she rolled her eyes up to the ceiling― “one.” She smiled and cleared her throat. “Seven, fourteen, twenty one, twenty se―eight.” She licked her lips. “My lord, I must confess. Mathematics is not my academic of choice. And I daresay, I do not think they will matter overmuch for your daughters’ pursuit of a husband.”
Patrick bristled. “Perhaps if you’d―”
“My lord,” Juliet snapped, cutting his unsavory remark off mid-sentence.
“Pardon me,” he said not a bit apologetically.
“What do you think a valuable education consists of?” Juliet asked. Her voice so soft it momentarily calmed both Patrick’s temper and Miss Farrell’s nerves.
Miss Farrell cast Juliet a grateful smile. “I’d say the airier academics.”
Patrick’s jaw dropped. “Airier?”
“Yes, my lord.” Miss Farrell directed her gaze back to him, and her thumb’s attention back to her hangnail.
“Pray explain the airier academics, if you will.”
“Watercolors. Music. Fashion. Manners. Social etiquette. You know, the less logical-type academics. But rather the ones that will help them attract a gentleman.”