Page 21 of When She Was a Governess
“And I told you she’d learned to walk.”
“Clearly the foundation of a grand romance.”
A laugh escaped before Sophia could stop it. Lord Montrose’s eyes widened slightly, as though her laughter surprised him, and then, remarkably, he smiled. A real smile that transformed his entire face, softening the severe lines and hardness of his jaw.
Oh my, he was dangerous when he smiled like that.
She set that observation aside. “Perhaps, we could determine what being in love actually looks like? So we can approximate it convincingly.”
“A practical approach.” He leaned back in his chair, studying her. “How do we do that, exactly?”
“I’m not entirely certain. I’ve never been in love.” The admission came out before she could stop it, and heat flooded her cheeks. “However, I have read many romantic novels from which I could draw.”
“Do tell,” he said.
“Well, the hero and heroine always want to be near each other. They talk the hours away, fascinated by the other. Share confidences they would share with no one else.”
“Which means we would know personal details about each other.”
“Yes. Childhood memories, favorite things.”
“Fears and dreams,” Lord Montrose said.
“Precisely.” Sophia picked up her wine glass, grateful for something to do with her hands. “We should share such things. If we’re to be convincing.”
“Like an interview?”
“A romantic interview.”
“Is there such a thing?”
“There is now, apparently.” She took a sip of wine for courage. “Perhaps we should practice.”
“Practice?”
“Looking at each other fondly. Gaze at each other as if we’re in love.”
Lord Montrose’s lips twitched. “I see. These romantic novels of yours have been greatly edifying.”
“It is all I’ve had, my lord. Living vicariously through the characters. With no hope of finding a true love of my own.”
He looked down at his plate for a moment and brought his napkin to his mouth. When he looked up again, his expression had softened. “I am sorry, Miss Ashford.”
“For what, my lord?”
“For how lonely your life has been,” Lord Montrose said. “I wish it were not so, but I understand all too well.” He paused, seeming to wrestle with something. “When I told Mrs. Bromley of my intention to marry you, she looked… sad. Not for me, mind you. But for you. She didn’t say the words, but I had the distinct feeling she wishes better for you than me. A love match. A man who worships you. She sees you as a woman who deserves far better than what I’m offering.”
Sophia’s throat tightened at his honesty. “Mrs. Bromley is kind to think of my welfare.”
“She’s right to,” he said quietly. “But shall we practice looking fondly at each other?”
He turned his chair slightly toward her, his expression grave but his eyes dancing with suppressed amusement. “Very well. On the count of three, we shall gaze at each other with a loving countenance.”
Sophia bit back a laugh. “Yes. Count of three.”
“One. Two.”
She composed her features into something she hoped approximated fondness.
