The Bluestocking

by Caldwell, Christi

And he knew her. His words revealed as much. She cleared her throat in a bid to rid it of the tight wad of emotion there. “Your father is right. In addition to our time visiting Draven’s and seeing your new rooms readied, we have to also be certain that we give proper attention to your future governess.” Which she hadn’t given thought to until this moment. Because seeing Stephen settled comfortably in his surroundings had been the pressing concern.

  “Fine,” Stephen conceded, and then he swiftly shot another finger up. “But I don’t want a stuffy snob.”

  Edwin lifted his head in acknowledgment. “Never.”

  “And I don’t want someone who’s going to faint or squeal or try to make me into someone I’m not.”

  Whoever was ultimately hired and charged with his education wouldn’t make him into someone he wasn’t, but rather, that young woman would restore him to who he’d once been. What could she say to him that wasn’t a lie?

  Edwin answered for her. “We wouldn’t tolerate someone attempting to change your spirit, Stephen.”

  We. A single syllable. One word that twined Gertrude and Edwin as one. And it was pure madness, surely a product of a stolen embrace that had seared her soul, but had felt so wholly right.

  Her brother nodded slowly. “All right, then. I’ll trust you . . .” Then he added on a rush, “Until you give me reason not to.”

  It was an enormous concession from a boy who never made one.

  “Fair enough,” Edwin vowed.

  Tears pricked at her lashes. And it was an equally significant concession made by a father scarred by treachery.

  Stephen started for the doorway, then stopped. “You coming?” he asked Gertrude.

  “I’ll be along shortly,” she murmured. “I wanted to finish speaking with Edwin.” Which was also not an untruth.

  He nodded and then continued on. After the door closed, she trained her ears on Stephen’s faintest of footfalls, until they receded and faded altogether. With his absence, a sobering reality descended on the room: her purpose in being here. “We’ll need to find and interview suitable governesses. For when I’m gone,” she added.

  Edwin rescued his snifter and drank the rest of it. “It is essential we do not rush the process. It matters more that Stephen has the right person.”

  “Yes.” She smiled wistfully at him. Who would have imagined just days ago he’d utter those words?

  Gertrude lingered. She should leave. Stephen was no doubt even now monitoring her absence. And yet, she waited. Wanting . . . something more. Uncertain what that was. When it became apparent after a long stretch that Edwin intended to add nothing else, she bowed her head. “Edwin,” she murmured as she began to leave the room.

  When she had the door handle in her fingers, she cast a last look over her shoulder. “Edwin?”

  He lifted a blond brow.

  “You spoke about the world being off-balance. But . . . setting all this to right, and including Stephen in the process, will help you find a semblance of normality.” How am I this steady? How, when it spoke of her leaving Stephen behind and his education to another? If she could be honest with herself, she could admit she’d begun to enjoy life outside the hell and found joy in this household. Her mind shied away from that.

  “Good night, Gertrude,” he murmured.

  Good night, which was really just another form of goodbye. “Good night,” she returned, oddly bereft.

  And as she took her leave, Gertrude could not rid herself of the feeling that everything had shifted this night, and despite her promises for him, nothing for herself would be normal, ever again.

  Chapter 17

  In the week that followed, Gertrude and Edwin settled into an easy existence. The rage that had simmered between them had receded, and in its place they’d forged a companionable relationship where they each worked with Stephen’s best interests in mind.

  They took meals together. Gertrude reported to Edwin on Stephen’s progress with his lessons. They interviewed candidates for the position of governess and then discussed each woman’s suitability to the post.

  There was such an ease between them that Gertrude could almost forget that a blood feud divided them. She and Edwin had become unlikely friends.

  In fact, so much had changed she could almost forget the explosive moment of passion shared in his library, late one night when all reason had fled and only desire had raged.

  Almost.

  Liar. You’ve thought of little else, since.

  “We’ve already interviewed two candidates today,” Edwin muttered, adjusting his cravat. He was all cool formality, perfunctory. No-nonsense. All business. And as such, he bore no hint of the one who’d been so overtaken with passion that he’d laid her down under him, framing her body with his elbows. “We agreed to two per day.”

  Heat prickled on her neck. How could he be so . . . unaffected after their embrace and just relegate them so easily to the role of employer and . . . and . . . whatever she was? How? When their embrace had been the singularly most breathtaking moment of her existence, and she’d felt at last what it was to be beautiful and desired.

  “Gertrude?” he asked impatiently.

  “Er . . . yes.” Dropping her gaze to the leather folder atop her lap, she went through the pretense of drawing out the résumé of the candidate they even now debated. And a wave of shame battered at her. Here she sat, longing for some evidence of caring, when she should be wholly attending to the hiring process for Stephen’s governess. Fighting back those pathetic ponderings, Gertrude composed her thoughts and brought her attention back into focus, where it should be—on Stephen. “Mrs. Upton’s services have not been strictly relegated to the nobility,” she explained, brandishing one page for him to read. Gertrude laid it out before him. “As you can see, she’s had charges born outside the peerage.”

  Edwin picked up the sheet and proceeded to read.

  “She’s also dealt with children who’ve had . . . complex pasts.”

  “Not as complex as Stephen’s,” he muttered, directing that observation without inflection at the page in his hands.

  Nonetheless, that statement landed like a physical punch she’d taken to the chest by one of Diggory’s most lethal fighters. It had robbed her of breath and thought, knocking her square on her buttocks, until the stars dancing behind her eyes had lifted.

  For despite the ease they’d settled into, the truth remained that her father had destroyed Edwin’s life. And how much better a person he was than she or any of the Killorans, with his ability to set aside that hatred and allow her a say in Stephen’s future. It left her humbled and hurting all at the same time.

  Edwin lifted his head, and a frown grazed his lips. “What is it?” he asked with an intuition she would have never believed a nobleman capable of. They were all supposed to be self-absorbed, pompous bastards, unaware of the feelings or suffering of anyone around them. How narrow she’d been in her thinking.

  “I believe you should give the young lady a chance,” she brought herself to say. Gertrude was saved from having to add anything more by Marlow’s familiar knock.

  A moment later, the door opened.

  “Mrs. Upton,” he announced.

  This was Mrs. Upton.

  She was a breathtaking vision of English beauty personified. Her hair a flaxen blonde, her eyes a cornflower blue, and her cheeks a pale cream white, she was a sight.

  “Mrs. Upton,” Edwin called out, coming around his desk.

  Taking that as an invitation, the young woman glided forward with the regal grace of a queen. “My lord,” she greeted in singsong tones.

  And oddly, Gertrude had a sudden inclination to cry. Governesses weren’t supposed to be . . . beautiful.

  Edwin turned to Gertrude. “May I present Miss Killoran?”

  Belatedly, she came to her feet and hovered behind the leather wingback chair. “How do you do?”

  Mrs. Upton dropped a perfect curtsy. “Miss Killoran, it is a pleasure.” She spoke as though she mean
t it. And she wore a smile, to boot. A wide, generous one that bespoke kindness. Unlike the other dour-faced matrons who’d sat before them with fear riddling their eyes when they’d looked upon both Edwin and Gertrude.

  And Gertrude, who’d led every previous interview, found herself at sea.

  Edwin neatly stepped in. “Won’t you sit?” After Gertrude sat, Mrs. Upton slid into the indicated chair beside her. “Perhaps you can begin by sharing your work history with us?”

  As the young candidate enumerated her four years of experience, Gertrude listened on. Wanting to find fault. Selfishly, she didn’t want to like her. It was wrong and piteous and humiliating to acknowledge, even to herself, but there was something . . . easier in imagining a grandmotherly figure left behind here with Edwin and Stephen and not . . . not . . . this flawlessly gorgeous woman who had full use of both eyes.

  Edwin briefly slid his gaze away from Mrs. Upton. There was a question in his eyes. Gertrude forced a smile and then returned all her attention to the young governess.

  When Mrs. Upton concluded her recitation, Edwin steepled his fingers and studied her over the tops of them with an unflinching gaze that would have had most any other woman cowering . . .

  Not Mrs. Upton. She met his stare unwaveringly.

  “And what of your experience with recalcitrant charges, Mrs. Upton?” Edwin urged.

  A wry smile pulled at her lips, a perfect cupid’s bow. “Vast, my lord. Most of my charges begin recalcitrant.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “And when you leave them?”

  “They retain their spirit but are polite and respectful.”

  It was a perfect answer. She wasn’t a woman come to crush children, but to shape them.

  “My brother collects weapons,” Gertrude blurted, and two sets of gazes swung her way. She cleared her throat and smoothed her palms down her skirts. “What are your opinions on . . . such a pastime?”

  Mrs. Upton furrowed a perfectly noble brow. “It is my opinion that as long as he does not use those weapons to hurt or harm, then though unconventional, it is not uncommon. Most of my previous employers held on display ancient weapons, relics of some significance to their family. I trust Master Stephen’s are significant to him in their own way.”

  Gertrude didn’t move.

  She was . . . “The One.” The very candidate they’d been searching days for, and she also signified the end of Gertrude’s time here. This time, she didn’t even attempt to speak through the ball of misery knotting her throat. When it came to hiring staff, Gertrude didn’t have unreasonable standards. She was, however, attuned to the character of individuals in her family’s employ and those who sought posts. As such, she’d known after seven days of nonstop interviews with possible governesses that the first fourteen candidates would never do. And the most recent woman seeking the post would.

  Edwin stood. “Thank you, Mrs. Upton. At this time, I feel we’re looking for someone with different experience for my son.”

  “I understand, my lord,” the young woman said with perfect aplomb as she came to her feet. “Should you find you might benefit from my services, I am available to assist His Lordship.”

  What? Gertrude swiveled her head back and forth between them. What in blazes was happening? As much as she despised the idea of the beautiful Mrs. Upton with her experience schooling all manner of children remaining on while she left, neither could she simply just allow her to leave. Not when she would be the perfect governess for Stephen.

  She scrambled to her feet. “But . . .”

  Edwin withered that interruption to silence with a single glare.

  Gertrude clamped her lips shut.

  Mrs. Upton walked proudly from the room, shoulders back, turned away by Edwin just like the other women to come before her.

  As soon as she’d gone, Gertrude shut the door behind her and waited.

  And given every lesson she’d learned on the streets about the importance of private conversations, she restrained the words on the tip of her tongue and continued waiting until those footsteps receded altogether. “What is the meaning of this? Surely she is the one.”

  “No. She is not.”

  “What do you mean, ‘No, she is not’?” Gertrude exploded, stalking across the room and planting her palms on the smooth mahogany surface of Edwin’s desk, in what had become an all-too-familiar exchange.

  “I meant . . . no,” he said with an infuriating simplicity.

  Interview, dismiss, reject . . . Repeat.

  That had become the process she and Edwin had followed these past seven days, interviewing candidates put forward by the distinguished agency.

  “She would never do,” Edwin said, and with an air of “I’m done speaking on this; find another” that he’d struck before, he climbed to his feet and started across the room.

  Gertrude stared incredulously past him. “And just why not?”

  “Do I really need to tell you?” he asked in beleaguered tones as he came to a stop at his sideboard.

  Beleaguered? He was beleaguered? Straightening, Gertrude perched her hands on her hips and stared after him. They had at last found a woman who’d suit Stephen, and Edwin had spared her no more than the customary fifteen minutes he had when interviewing all the ones before her? “Actually, I just told you that you do. So yes. You really do need to tell me why Mrs. Upton won’t make a suitable governess for Stephen.”

  Edwin picked up a crystal decanter and contemplated it for several moments before setting it down. He reached for another.

  She growled. He’d be this . . . casual?

  The door burst open, and Stephen came rushing inside. He skidded to an abrupt stop. “We’re going to be late.” Bloody damn. Gertrude consulted the brooch timepiece at the bodice of her dress. They would be late to their meeting at Draven’s. “Did you forget?” Stephen demanded.

  Gertrude and Edwin spoke simultaneously.

  “We did not.”

  Color spilled along Edwin’s high, chiseled cheekbones, and as he took a quick sip of his brandy, Gertrude frowned. After days of meeting and discussing the qualities and characteristics of the governess Stephen would require, then debating the merits of each candidate who left, their thoughts had begun to move in an alarmingly synchronic harmony. It was a level of closeness she didn’t know with even her siblings, and with this man it disquieted her all the more—for reasons she didn’t care to consider.

  “Are you paying attention?” Stephen snapped, giving the oak panel a shove that shook its frame and Gertrude from her reverie.

  “I’m paying attention. Wait for us in the foyer, Stephen. Edwin and I will be along shortly.” After Gertrude brought him around to bringing Mrs. Upton back for another interview. “We’re just discussing . . . business.”

  Stephen alternated a suspicious stare between them. “You’re fighting again.”

  Gertrude and Edwin spoke as one.

  “Yes.”

  “We are not fighting.”

  She glared at Edwin. “We are not fighting,” she repeated. And they weren’t. Not really. Fighting had been the volatile display he’d put on when she’d first arrived and they’d been foes. Now they were two people working as a pair with Stephen’s best interests and needs compelling them both. From the boy, an unlikely bond had been forged.

  Stephen dropped a shoulder against the panel of the door. “Well? Which is it?”

  Edwin set aside his snifter. “Very well. Your sister is one for semantics this day.” Your sister. Warmth built in her chest at that admission. He’d been adamant at the beginning that Gertrude’s ties to Stephen were false ones. In a short time, however, he’d acknowledged that bond he had every right to deny. “We are debating yet another candidate for the position of governess. Isn’t that correct, Gertrude?”

  She hurriedly sought to regain her footing and focus, not on the conundrum this man was proving to be but on the immediate issue before them.

  Stephen’s slender frame went taut. “And?”


  “I do not believe this is a discussion to be had at this time.”

  Her brother tossed a withering glance her way. “Because I’m here?”

  “Uh . . .” Unwittingly, her gaze went to Edwin.

  The ghost of a grin on his lips, however, said she’d find no hope there. “Your sister was inclined to hire the young woman, and I invited the young lady to leave and suggested she look elsewhere for a post.”

  Stephen angled his head. “I don’t see what the problem is with that.”

  “Mrs. Upton did not balk at the idea of your weapons collections.”

  “That supposed to impress me?” the boy asked bluntly.

  “Exactly,” Edwin said.

  Gertrude shot him a glare and then presented her shoulder to him and directed her focus entirely to Stephen. “We are searching for an unconventional governess for you. Mrs. Upton—”

  “That’s a bloody rotted name.”

  “Hush. It’s hardly her fault, the name she’s been given.” Gertrude tossed her arms up. “Furthermore, her name is irrelevant. What is not”—she directed that to Edwin—“is how she might or might not prove an adequate governess.”

  “And is that all we’re searching for in my governess?” Stephen drawled with his father’s droll tones. “Adequate.”

  “Precisely.” Edwin toasted his son.

  And Gertrude identified that slight lift of a glass, and the look that passed between Edwin and Stephen, as the precise moment her brother’s loyalties shifted . . . or at least on the subject of his governess. It was a loss to her, when the Killorans didn’t relish, tolerate, or accept defeat in any form. But in this . . . this moment between father and son, too long divided, she’d willingly concede, if only to see that fledgling bond grow all the more. She sighed. “Very well. That will be all the interviews for today. We’ll meet with Draven—” Stephen let out a loud, excited whoop and bolted from the room. Alone once more, Gertrude looked to Edwin. “And then we’ll return to the matter of finding Stephen a governess.”

  Chapter 18

  Mrs. Upton would have made for an adequate governess.

  Nearly an hour later, seated on one end of the sapphire-blue satin, checkered tête-à-tête chair and watching his son engrossed in his daily conversation with Draven, Edwin could admit that to himself.