Page 15 of The Good Fortune of Miss Robbins

I was disturbing his solitary evening. I shouldn’t have been wandering around the earl’s private park. I turned to leave.

“There is a goshawk’s nest up in this tree, and if you’re very quiet, you can hear the nestlings chirping when the mother bird is near.”

I glanced around, but there was no one else. He must be talking to me.

Six

“I see you’ve found some red-capped mushrooms,” he said, noticing what I had been examining. “Those are poisonous, you know, so don’t eat them.”

“I’ve never seen any like them before, and the only mushrooms I’ve ever picked to eat are chanterelles and penny buns, and only in autumn. How do you know they are poisonous?”

“The red caps and the little white spots. My nurse taught me to identify mushrooms. I have a book of illustrations and information about mushrooms in my library if you’d like to borrow it.” He put the pipe between his lips and puffed once, twice.

“Thank you.” I actually had very little interest in mushrooms, but I didn’t want to offend him after he so generously offered. I’d never thought lords would wish to loan out books to servants, but perhaps it was because I was the governess and therefore had more education.

“Did you have a specific focus of study at Mrs. Southey’s? I believe that’s the school you mentioned.”

“Yes. I did extra studies in literature, and that is the subject I taught.”

“You must feel as if you’re wasting your education with such young pupils as Samuel and Annabelle. They’re only seven years old, after all.” He drew on his pipe again.

“I have taught young children their age before, and it has its ownrewards. I am quite content to teach your siblings. They are very bright and clever children.”

“You do not think it beneath you to teach them?”

“No, of course not.”

He frowned and folded his arms across his chest, again gazing up at the nest. “So you taught literature. I suppose you taught Shakespeare, Burns, and Wordsworth.”

“Among others.” I couldn’t help smiling at his wry way of mentioning such great authors.

“Tell me your opinions. Who do you like best and least? Be honest—and be controversial, if at all possible.”

I couldn’t help the smile of delight I felt spreading across my face. “Well, I adore Wordsworth and Burns, but I don’t care at all for Milton. So dull and sanctimonious.”

“Brava, Miss Robbins!” He was truly smiling now, even showing his teeth. “A true and honest—and controversial—opinion. Thank you for that.”

What would he say next?

“And you?” I asked. “What literary greats do you enjoy most and least?”

“I’m afraid I never developed an appreciation for Shakespeare. So self-important, even in his comedies. And Jonathan Swift is an absolute bore. What say you, Miss Robbins?”

“I’m afraid I cannot agree with you on Shakespeare—”

His brows went up. He almost looked ...delightedthat I would disagree with him.

“—but Swift, yes, he is quite dull. But you haven’t said which authors you admire.”

“So I haven’t.” He cleared his throat again. “Although I generally prefer prose to poetry, when I am in the mood for verse, I like Thomas Gray. But I rather think English writers’ best novel-writing days are ahead of them, as I’ve read one or two recently by living authors that were very entertaining.”

“May I ask which novels these were?”

“Sense and Sensibilityand another,Pride and Prejudice, by the same anonymous author.”

“I must read them as soon as I am able.”

“I shall lend them to you.”