Her Secondhand Groom(40)
“Just as well,” Miss Sharpe said, jamming her feet back into her slippers. She stood and walked straight out the door.
Patrick moved to follow her. The least he could do was show her out. Just as he rounded the corner, he saw Links was waiting and gave the man a curt nod. Now he had a clear understanding of how his calm butler looked anything but calm when he showed Miss Sharpe in.
“Are you willing to interview Miss Grant, now?”
His mouth formed a tight line. “No.”
“Well then, I must be off, too,” Juliet said crisply.
Patrick blinked. “Is there a reason you’re unhappy with me?”
“Yes. You refuse to see reason.”
He crossed his arms. “No. I see reason just fine. Hiring Miss Grant is not the solution. I’ll contact the staffing agency again.”
Juliet flicked her wrist. “Don’t bother yourself with such trivial details. We both know you have no real desire to hire a governess when I’m available.”
“Now see here,” he thundered. “I’ve spent the last two days interviewing ladies for the post. You cannot fault me for who the agency sends.”
“No,” she agreed. “But I can fault you for passing up two perfectly good candidates.”
“And who would those be?” Surely she couldn’t be talking about Miss Farrell or Miss Sharpe, or the uneducated ladies from yesterday, Miss Smythe and Miss Temple.
“Miss Grant for one,” Juliet said pointedly. “And Miss Farrell for the other.”
“No and no. As I said, I will not knowingly invite more trouble into this house, nor will I have a lady who spits her fingernail clippings on her lap, then brushes them onto the floor, be responsible for educating my daughters.”
“She was nervous.”
“No. She was disgusting.”
Juliet threw her hands in the air. “Have you ever considered that you might make people uneasy, Lord Presumptuous?”
He bridled at her use of the nickname she’d given him. “No. And whether I made her nervous or not, that is no excuse for her to bite her fingernails and spit them out in my study.”
Juliet sighed. “All right. Fine. I agree she was unsuitable. But what of Miss G―”
“No. Don’t even bring her name up again, Juliet.”
Juliet nodded curtly. “I see how it’s going to be.” She took a sidestep toward the door and he moved to stand in front of her.
“And how is that?”
“My opinions will never matter to you.”
“Yes, they do.”
“No, they don’t.”
He ground his teeth. “Why would you think that?”
“Why shouldn’t I think that?” Her eyes were flashing fire.
“Well, I invited you in here, didn’t I? I could have made the decision all on my own, but I asked you to help.” His eyes narrowed in on her, daring her to object.
“Yes, you did. Though why you bothered to do so when you had no intentions of listening to my suggestions, I’ll never know.” She crossed her arms, and her eyes grew more intense, if such a thing were even possible. “Unless you brought me in here as a way to prove to me there was no one suitable so I’d continue to act my role as motherness.”
“Are you implying, I would be so selfish as to request unsuitable ladies be sent, then invite you in here to witness their unsuitability as some sort of ploy to trick you?”
“Absolutely.”
Chapter 13
Patrick tucked Caroline’s invitation into his breast pocket and stood. It had been more than a day since his argument with Juliet about the governess. After her last damning insinuation that he was some sort of heartless instigator in this whole governess mess, she’d swept from the room before he’d had a chance to ask her to attend Caroline’s dinner party. He hadn’t seen her the rest of the day, which had probably been for the best seeing as how neither of them had been in a mood fit for company. But he’d go see her now. If she stayed true to schedule, she’d be upstairs getting ready to take her afternoon tea with the girls. Which meant it was the perfect time to visit her.
His foot landed on the top step that led to the third floor and Patrick froze. He’d been married to Juliet a full month now and hadn’t heard her hum before. A small smile tugged on his lips, his heart lifting. He didn’t know what was making her so happy, but whatever it was, was in his house! Four weeks ago he wouldn’t have given a fig whether or not she were happy in his house, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little relieved to know she’d found some sort of contentment here. He paused. That wasn’t true. She’d seemed very content in the presence of his girls. He leaned against the door her humming was coming from and folded his arms across his chest. His forearm pressed against the invitation in his breast pocket, reminding him of his purpose. A broad smile spread across his lips. Perhaps he, too, would soon be able to be the reason for her happiness.