by Olivia Drake
“One o’ the grooms will fetch it if ye write out the directions. The duke would insist on it. ’Tis only right, ye bein’ one o’ the upper staff.”
“Upper? Do you mean upstairs?”
Lolly stared blankly. “Why, ’tis yer rank, Miss. Ye’re higher even than Jiggs and Roebuck. Them’s the duke’s valet and butler. I daresay ye be as high as Miss Knightley, Lady Victor’s companion.”
“Who is Lady Victor?”
“The duke’s aunt. But no mind, ye’ll learn soon enough who’s who.”
“My previous household was smaller,” Tessa said glibly. “I hope you’ll set me straight if I do anything wrong.”
“Aye, miss. If that’s all, I’ll see to milady now.”
Lolly dipped a respectful bob and departed, leaving Tessa alone in the bedchamber and feeling like a fish out of water. How peculiar to have someone curtsy to her—as if she were a born lady. Evidently, the post of governess put her in charge of the nursery servants. There were so many new things to learn about a ducal household that she’d best pay close attention.
But first, she must devise a plan to tame one sassy little girl.
* * *
Later that evening, Tessa stood listening outside Lady Sophy’s closed door. The angry wails of half an hour ago had gradually died away to stillness. The only sounds came from down the corridor, where the maids were finishing the task of tidying the nursery. To assure herself the girl was truly asleep, Tessa opened the door and peeked into the bedchamber.
A candle in a glass chimney cast pale light over a room decorated in rose and yellow, the colors muted by shadow. She blinked in surprise to see that the bedlinens were no longer heaped on the rug where Sophy had flung them in a fit of pique at bedtime. Tessa hadn’t allowed Lolly or Winnie to restore order here. Sophy had made the mess, so she could very well sleep on the floor.
But now alarm struck. Where was the girl? Tessa had once read in a tattered gothic novel about a castle with secret passageways. Had she inadvertently let the duke’s daughter escape?
She stepped inside to look around and was relieved to discover a small shape curled asleep in the gloom of the four-poster bed. Sophy had dragged the sheets back onto the mattress and wrapped herself in a cocoon of coverings. Her dark hair was spilled in disarray over the pillow, and her hand rested beside her mouth as if she’d been sucking her thumb for comfort.
How odd to see her so peaceful when supper in the schoolroom had been a near-disaster. The girl had bounced up and down in her chair, spilled milk over the table, and kept the maids scurrying. Tessa had diligently corrected each lapse. The last straw had been when Sophy used her fingers to snatch morsels of tender beef off Tessa’s plate. Though the meal was only half eaten, the roast and carrots delicious compared with Tessa’s usual fare of bread and cheese, she’d ordered both their trays removed to the kitchen.
Bath time had been equally hectic. Sophy had made a game of running naked around the tub while Lolly chased in pursuit. Tessa had stepped in to catch the girl and deposit her into the copper tub. She’d felt not a jot of sympathy when Sophy wiggled and yelped. If not for the consternation of the maids, who believed bathing a child to be beneath the dignity of a governess, Tessa would have done the washing just to show the girl who was in charge.
It irked her that Sophy didn’t appreciate the tub of steaming water, for Tessa was used to cold sponge baths from a bucket filled at the street well. The girl had no gratitude for her lavish life here, with toys and books galore, warm clothing and ample food, and servants to see to her every need. Meanwhile, not much more than a mile away in the stews of London, ragged children were forced to labor in workhouses. Or they huddled in doorways, begging for a crust of bread to ease the hollow cramp of hunger. Reflecting on that injustice, Tessa had been sorely tempted to resign her post in disgust.
But now the girl’s deviltry had gone dormant, leaving a tiny angel in bed.
Beset by a sudden tenderness, Tessa leaned down to stroke a lock of silky hair from that small cheek. Sophy stirred against the pillow. Without opening her eyes, she gave a whimpering sigh. “Moo-moo. Want moo-moo.”
That sad little voice broke Tessa’s heart. Moo-moo? Did it mean something significant, or was it merely the nonsensical product of a dream?
Whatever the case, she felt certain that what she’d told the duke was true, that Lady Sophy was an unhappy girl lashing out at the world. Tessa knew she couldn’t use the position of governess simply as a means to achieve her own ends. She also wanted to help the girl.
Lud, she must not fail Sophy as others had done.
Quietly closing the door, Tessa returned to her own chamber. A candle on a table illuminated the battered old trunk situated against a wall. Since there had been no sly look from the duke’s groom when her possessions had been delivered, Orrin must have heeded her note asking him not to drop any hint about her past.
As she sank onto the bed, exhaustion pervaded every bit of her body. She had arisen before dawn to go to the millinery shop, had made a sudden stressful change in her life, then had spent hours caring for a wayward child.
And the day was far from over. Although a yawn stretched her lungs, she still needed to forge that letter of recommendation from the fictitious Mr. Blanchet. An earlier search of the desk in her room had turned up nothing more than scraps of cheap notepaper. Likewise, the schoolroom had yielded only ruled pages in copybooks. A request to Lolly had sent the maidservant trotting below stairs to return with a sheet of elegant stationery. Alas, Tessa could hardly give Carlin a letter that was embossed with his own gold crest.
Somewhere in this vast mansion there had to be a plain piece of paper. She would conduct a search once everyone was asleep—especially the duke.
Longing for the comfort of her old flannel nightdress, Tessa lay down fully clothed on the bed and drew up the covers against the chill in the air. It seemed foolishly extravagant to leave the candle burning, but she would need the light in a little while. To pass the time, she gazed out the open draperies at the crescent moon floating in an inky sea of stars. Her old room had looked out on a brick wall. Such a rare treat it was to have a view of the night sky!
Yet the sight also had the tranquilizing effect of a sleeping draught. Perhaps if she planned activities to pique Sophy’s interest, it would help her to stay awake. As disjointed possibilities swirled in Tessa’s mind, her eyelids began to feel impossibly heavy. She would close them for a few moments of rest. Just a few moments and no longer …
The next thing she knew, morning sunlight was flooding her bedchamber. In horror, Tessa realized she had never written that letter.
Chapter 4
“Ho there, Guy! Come, be a good fellow and talk some sense into Mama.”
Guy had been heading down the corridor to his study but felt obliged to detour into the breakfast parlor to greet his cousin and aunt. Though it was past eleven, Edgar Whitby sat at the linen-draped table with Aunt Delia and her companion, Miss Knightley, a quiet, thirtyish spinster.
Guy had returned from abroad to find his relatives ensconced in the east wing of Carlin House. They’d moved in here at his grandfather’s decree upon the death of Guy’s uncle, Lord Victor. Edgar had been only fifteen at the time and under the duke’s guardianship. Guy had had no objection to continuing the arrangement. At least their presence kept him from rattling around this great pile with only servants for company.
Discounting Sophy, of course.
Thinking of his daughter, Guy felt his chest tighten. Would he ever see her settled and happy as a normal child? In light of what he’d just found out, that hope seemed more elusive than ever.
A moment ago, he’d dispatched a servant to fetch the new governess to his study. Miss James would be in a dither, wondering if he’d discovered her secret. Let her wait. She deserved to suffer for her lies.
Having already breakfasted at eight thirty, he ignored the salvers of eggs, kippers, and toast on the sideboard and walked toward the
coffeepot. A footman sprang ahead to fill a porcelain cup from the silver urn. “Your Grace.”
Guy gave a nod of thanks as he accepted the cup. Perhaps in a year or two or ten, he’d become accustomed to the high degree of service Grandfather had demanded of the staff. It was a far cry from boiling his own tea over a camp stove with water from a crocodile-infested river.
As he walked to the table, he eyed his cousin and heir. Edgar lounged with his legs crossed, bootheels propped on the seat of the neighboring chair. At twenty, Edgar had the air of a Corinthian with a steel-blue coat tailored to fit broad shoulders, buckskins and polished top boots, and a patterned Belcher kerchief tied at his throat. By contrast, Aunt Delia wore the black of mourning into her fifth year of widowhood. She had sad eyes and a droopy mouth, and as usual, her manner exuded all the joy of a funeral.
Guy leaned down to plant a peck on her papery cheek. “I trust you’re well this morning, Aunt.”
She cast a long-suffering glance at her son. “If only that were so. But I’m afraid my digestion is sorely overwrought today.”
“No need to be in a pelter, Mama,” Edgar said, cutting a slice of sausage on his plate. “I’m old enough to be at liberty to do as I please.”
“Except to put your boots on the dining chairs,” Guy said.
His cousin grumbled but lowered his feet and straightened his posture.
“See how he heeds you, Guy, but not me,” Aunt Delia lamented. “Why, I’d told him that very thing only a minute ago and he wouldn’t listen. Now, I do hope you can dissuade Eddie from this dreadful course of action!”
“Edgar, if you please,” her son corrected. “And it ain’t dreadful in the least. Just a few days’ jaunt out of town.”
Guy sat down to drink his coffee. Edgar was a keen sportsman who relished a challenge and excelled at athletics. “So what is it this time? A boxing match? Fox hunt? Carriage race?”
“Newmarket,” Edgar said with great enthusiasm. “Chesterton invited me and a couple of mates to stay with him. His papa keeps a stable near the track where we can watch the horses train. One of his prime nags will be running later this week.”
Aunt Delia clutched a black-edged handkerchief to her shriveled bosom. “Only think of all those sharp hooves! Not to mention the drunkards and the gamesters. Why, the very thought of you among them makes me shudder.”
“Bother it, Mama, I’m no longer in short pants,” Edgar griped. “I’ve nearly reached my majority.”
“Not for another six months. If your grandfather were still alive, he would forbid you from associating with such unsavory characters.”
“Fustian! Lord Chesterton is top of the trees, Sedgwick and Hopkins, too. They’d stare to hear themselves described as bounders.”
“Be that as it may, Newmarket is teeming with ne’er-do-wells. And you, just out of university! Guy, surely you’ll agree that it’s far too dangerous.”
“A fellow oughtn’t be kept on leading strings,” Edgar countered. “Tell her, Carlin.”
Both mother and son looked to Guy for a verdict. He studied them over the rim of his cup. Damnation, it was a chore to be head of the family. He was forever being drawn into their squabbles. But in his view, any activities that kept a young gentleman out of gaming dens was to be encouraged. Though he didn’t wish to upset his aunt, he thought it high time that Edgar be allowed to spread his wings.
“His friends sound unexceptional, Aunt. He has my permission to go for a few days so long as he promises to abstain from deep play. A small wager or two will not be amiss, but nothing more whilst I hold the purse strings.”
A grin spread across Edwin’s face. He jumped up from his chair so fast he nearly knocked it over. “You’re a champ, Carlin. A true blood.”
Aunt Delia uttered a strangled cry. “But you’ve a duty to protect him, Guy. He’s heir to the dukedom. Oh, if anything were to happen to my darling Eddie, I would never recover!”
As she fanned herself with the handkerchief, Miss Knightley came to sit beside her, patting the woman’s arm. “There, there, Lady Victor. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”
“No, a terrible misfortune will befall him, I can feel it in my bones. My only child is fated to die like all the other heirs. It’s the Carlin Curse!”
Guy frowned. She was referring, of course, to the passing of his two uncles, his father, and his other cousin, by accidents or ailments. All had happened within a span of five years, and he hadn’t realized until now how hard those deaths must have weighed on his aunt, who was gloomy even under the best of circumstances.
“The Carlin Curse,” he repeated. “Where did you hear such a slur? I trust the tabloids aren’t spreading gossip about our family.”
“Mama coined it herself,” Edgar said, in an expansive humor now that his wish had been granted. “Quite clever of her, eh? The Carlin Curse.”
“You’re not to repeat that,” Guy commanded. “It’s fodder for rumormongers and exactly the sort of rubbish loved by the news rags.”
Just then, a movement across the breakfast parlor caught his attention. One glance in that direction erased all other thought from his mind. Miss James had stepped into the doorway.
Despite the long-sleeved gray gown and the linen cap perched on her blond curls, she looked remarkably alluring. Guy firmed his lips. What the devil was she doing in here? Worse, he had the vexing suspicion she’d eavesdropped on the tail end of the conversation.
Miss James took a few cautious steps forward. Her gaze flitted around the room, scanning the classical statues in niches, the heavy sideboard laden with food, the silver saltcellars and pepper pots on the table, before returning to him. “I hope I’m not intruding, Your Grace. As I was entering your study, I heard your voice from down the corridor and thought to join you here.”
Arising, Guy noted that his aunt and his cousin were staring at her with keen interest. He made the obligatory introductions. He’d intended to send Miss James packing before his family even became aware of her presence. The fact that she was employed here at all was a testament to his poor judgment.
Miss James dipped a curtsy to his aunt. “I’d heard mention of you, Lady Victor. And you, too, Miss Knightley.”
She smiled at his aunt’s companion, who returned the greeting with the same friendly warmth. “Welcome to Carlin House, Miss James.”
“I daresay this one won’t last long,” Aunt Delia murmured to Guy with a mournful shake of her head. “Such a racket I heard coming from the nursery yesterday evening. Poor Sophy’s wailing carried all the way down to my bedchamber. It caused a terrible strain on my nerves.”
Guy had gone out to dinner with friends at his club, and the house had been quiet upon his post-midnight return. Though he usually took whatever his aunt said with a grain of salt, this particular report added fuel to the fire of his displeasure with Miss James.
“I’m sorry Lady Sophy disturbed you, milady,” Miss James said. “I promise you’ll see an improvement in her very soon.”
“I very much doubt that.” Gloom shrouded his aunt’s voice. “Alas, I fear the girl is too young for a governess and still needs the care of a nanny. I warned you, Guy. You oughtn’t have dismissed Mooney.”
Miss James cast an inquiring glance at her. “Mooney, milady?”
Guy noticed that was the second time she’d uttered milady in the manner of a lower servant instead of my lady as a well-bred woman would say. It only raised more questions about her clouded past. Before his naysayer aunt could continue, he said in a clipped tone, “We’ll speak of this later, Aunt Delia. Come, Miss James.”
As he started toward the arched doorway, he saw Miss James sink her teeth into her lower lip. The aura of warm interest faded from her face, and her wary eyes darted to him for an instant before she lowered her gaze.
So, she wasn’t as oblivious as he’d thought. She knew precisely why he’d called her onto the carpet. Her stiff posture brought to mind a condemned prisoner wearing a brave façade on her way to
the gallows. Not that there was any reason in the world why he should feel even a twinge of sympathy for her.
Deceit was the one thing he could never forgive.
* * *
Beset by anxiety, Tessa followed the duke out into the corridor. His swift pace and stern expression caused a quake inside her. There could be no doubt he’d discovered the truth—or at least a part of it. Her error in interrupting a family meal had only made matters worse. Oh, why had she gone in search of him? Partly out of the cowardly hope that the presence of others might blunt his anger. But equally awful had been the prospect of waiting in his study for the ax to fall.
All of her plans had gone awry, from falling asleep without having forged that letter of reference, to failing to notify the employment agency that the position of governess had been filled. Her subtle questioning of the nursery staff as to the name of the agency had yielded nothing. As a last resort, she’d meant to tell the footman at the front door to send the applicant away upon her arrival. But Lady Sophy had been too demanding of Tessa’s time this morning to allow her even a moment to dash downstairs.
Somehow, she had to extract herself from this tangled web of her own making. Her throat tightened. She couldn’t lose this post. Not when it was her best hope of opening a millinery shop. And not when she’d just begun to form a fragile bond with the little girl.
Carlin waved her into the study ahead of him. Walking past his formidable figure, she strove for calm, though his stare chilled her to the marrow. The duke had every right to be furious, Tessa reminded herself. She would think less of him if he didn’t look out for the well-being of his daughter. Yet it was crucial to convince him that Lady Sophy needed her and that no other governess would do.
He walked to the desk, perched on the edge, and crossed his arms. Unlike the previous day, she received no invitation to sit. Those unnerving dark eyes studied her. Without preamble, he stated, “You lied to me, Miss James. Imagine my surprise a short while ago when the real governess arrived for her interview.”