Mara tugged at Samantha’s hand. “C’mon, I won’t let you fall.”
“You go first, honey.” Samantha urged her forward.
Mara went, and the rope bridge flailed back and forth and up and down under the influence of three leaping children.
“Doesn’t that look like fun?” Agnes asked.
Samantha shook her head. “I’m afraid of heights.”
“Even Emmeline isn’t afraid of heights,” Agnes said.
Emmeline ran right out and started jumping, too, and squealing and laughing.
“Don’t let her go out there alone!” Samantha cried. Somehow she must have generated enough authority to get unthinking obedience, for Agnes ran and grabbed Emmeline’s arm.
Samantha caught Kyla before she could join her sisters. “Stay here, sweetheart.” Kneeling, she grasped the rope loop in both hands. She heard a screech as Agnes realized that she’d been duped. Looking up, Samantha smiled right at the girls, a pleasant, satisfied, toothy smile, and pulled the rope free.
Legs and arms flailing, they tumbled into the thick, rich, black mud with a series of moist plops that satisfied Samantha’s vengeful soul. Agnes went in on her face. Vivian managed to land on her feet, then lost her balance, splatted on her rear, and started to sob. Samantha watched Emmeline carefully—the little girl went over with a shriek, and came up at once, laughing. Henrietta sat, her eyes wide and startled. Mara pushed her bonnet off, and fell back with an expression of bliss. One by one, they floundered to their feet, slipped, grabbed at each other, fell again.
Kyla stomped her foot, yelled, and pointed. “I want to!”
“You do?” Samantha laughed. She loved little children. They had no pretensions. They knew that mud was fun and didn’t care a whit about the trouble involved in bathing and cleaning their clothes. And Kyla did not like being left out.
Picking her up, Samantha placed her on the rim and let her slide down into the mucky wallow with her sisters.
Kyla screamed with joy as she catapulted into Emmeline and they went down together.
Samantha let the girls reel about for a few minutes, laughing or crying as their personalities demanded. Stepping to the edge, she placed her fists on her hips and for the first time, she used her schoolteacher voice. “Young ladies!”
The girls quieted. They recognized that tone.
“I’m smarter and bigger and sneakier than every one of you, and if you continue to fight me, you’ll continue to lose. Perhaps you’ll believe me now, and treat me with the respect I demand. Or”—she stared at Agnes, who wiped the mud from her face and flung it away in jerky, furious motions—“you will not. Make no mistake, you will still lose. I am not one of your former governesses, wan and frightened. Not one of you is as tough and as devious as I am.”
Mara guffawed and turned to Vivian, who stood unsteadily on her feet. “I knew she would be fun.”
“I promised your father I would be here for at least a year. I mean to keep my promise.” Samantha gazed at them all. “Are there any questions?”
“Yeah.” Agnes dragged herself to her feet and staggered toward the rim. Her skirt and petticoats were heavy with mud, and Samantha could only imagine the ire on her mud-encrusted face. Reaching up her hand, she asked, “Would you help me climb out?”
“I’d be delighted.” Samantha put her hand down, and just before Agnes grabbed it to pull her in, Samantha drew back her hand.
Agnes tumbled over backwards, sliding into the depths of the mud pit so rapidly she left a wake.
Samantha leaned over the pit and enunciated very slowly. “Listen to me, Agnes. I’m sneakier than you are. Give up now.” Without waiting for Agnes to answer, or even recover herself, Samantha said, “All right. I’ll give you ten minutes to play in the mud, then everyone out and we’re going back.”
Vivian started crying again. “Father will yell.”
“I’ll take care of your father.” Samantha seated herself on a broad stone and pulled her watch from her watch pocket. “Play. I’ll let you know when it’s time to get out.”
Mara pushed Vivian down. Vivian stopped sobbing, grabbed Mara’s head, and pushed her under.
“Don’t drown your sister, please, Vivian,” Samantha called. Seeing Agnes plowing her way toward the side, Samantha added, “You might as well enjoy yourself, Agnes. You’re not leaving without me.”
Agnes hesitated. Samantha could almost see her turning over her options in her mind. Coming to a decision, she used the tufts of grass on the edge of the hollow to pull herself out, then stalked to a rock and sat down, back to her sisters, arms crossed across her chest, bottom lip thrust out.
Satisfied that she would remain until they were ready to go, Samantha turned her attention to the party below. Mud flew, children rolled, and Samantha watched with amused approval.
It smelled good here, like freshness and mint. Plucking the leaves from a short plant, she brought them to her nose and rolled them between her fingers. That was it. That was the odor. Like wintergreen. Perhaps the flavor came from a plant.
And perhaps the plant disguised itself with a pleasant smell to lure unwary visitors. She dropped the leaves and brushed her gloved fingers against her skirt. She hoped the scent wasn’t lethal to inhale. She should have brought a book from the City, one that warned of the natural hazards of the mountains—like snakes in her desk.
Pushing her bonnet back, she lifted her face to the sunshine. She shouldn’t, she knew; to be so bold was deadly to a genteel complexion, but the sun never shone so brightly in London. In London, the coal dust always coated the air, and she had never seen a sky this blue. If only . . . well, there was no use dwelling on the if onlys. She was in exile from her beloved London, and she had promised Colonel Gregory to stay at Silvermere for a year.
It was a safe promise. Lady Bucknell wouldn’t allow her to return until she’d proven she could live with a family without meddling in their affairs for at least twelve months. And by then, surely the society matrons would have forgotten any malicious accusations Mr. Wordlaw had made, and she could secure a different position. In the meantime, though, she had a year to get through . . . a year spent dealing with young Miss Agnes and her sisters. A year spent laboring under the heavy hand of Colonel Gregory’s authority.
She glanced at her watch and called, “Ten minutes are up!”
Black ooze covered the girls. They climbed out, helping each other, laughing, and looking so little like the grim little group she’d met in the morning she couldn’t help but reflect she’d succeeded already.
She glanced at Agnes’s huddled figure. Except with her, of course. Agnes was a challenge. Colonel Gregory was a challenge. But what was life without its challenges?
Chapter Eight
“We can’t eat like this.” Henrietta spread her mud-encrusted skirt for display.
“After you’re cleaned up, you can eat,” Samantha promised. “Let’s go, now, fleet feet make short work of a journey!”
Agnes followed the hooting, chattering group at a dignified distance, and when Vivian tried to include her, Agnes shook her sister off.
Samantha was going to have to do something about her, and soon. Just as she was going to have to do something about Colonel Gregory and his insistence that the children be kept on a rigid schedule regardless of their age or temperament. But Samantha couldn’t knock Colonel Gregory into a mud puddle.
“Why do you children do these dire things?” Samantha had a pretty good idea of the answer, but she asked anyway.
Henrietta giggled. “What dire things? Like dropping our governess in the mud?”
“Or slipping spiders in her pockets?” Mara asked.
“Or putting thnakes in her desk?” Emmeline piped up.
Samantha glared.
Emmeline’s lip trembled.
Vivian intervened. “Everyone says Father’s so heartbroken because of the death of his dear wife . . . but that’s not true. He was never home, he was off running the perfect regiment.” H
er resentment bubbled over. “We lost our mother, we’re the ones who miss her, he’s selfish and mad because he has to stay home now with us instead of going off and fighting with his soldier friends.”
“And every night after we’re in bed he sneaks away on his horse,” Kyla said.
“Does he think we don’t notice?” Agnes asked.
Samantha wasn’t surprised by the comments, but she was very surprised by their vehemence. Something had to be done, and soon, but what to do? She had to be confident that a proper course would present itself.
“Miss Prendregast!” Emmeline pointed across the lawn toward the lake. “Look!”
Oh, no. A proper course needed to present itself now, for there stood two footmen with buckets full of water, and beside them, Colonel Gregory, his face like a thundercloud, slapping his boot with a riding crop.
“So that’s where Agnes gets that disagreeable habit,” Samantha muttered, and pulled her bonnet up to sit properly on her head. She needed inspiration to get through the coming scene. She had none.
As they drew closer, she saw Colonel Gregory observe his children, muddied from head to toe. His blue eyes chilled. Those straight, saturnine eyebrows lifted.
He spoke to one of the footmen, who put his bucket down and ran for the house.
The children clustered behind Samantha for sanctuary and scurried behind at a distance.
Lacking inspiration, Samantha hoped confidence would take its place. As they came within hearing distance, Samantha fixed a bright smile on her lips. “Colonel! What a fortuitous meeting. I was going to come and find you at once.” Not a lie, really, for the definition of “at once” surely varied from person to person. “The children had a bit of an accident and . . . er . . . fell into a puddle.”
“So . . . I . . . see.” Slap. Slap.
“But no one was hurt, and no harm was done.”
Slap. Scowl. Slap. “They seem to be covered in mud.”
“Really?” Samantha kept her gaze firmly fixed on his face. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Their clothing is ruined.” His eyes, Samantha was alarmed to see, had warmed to the temperature of blue hot coals.
“A little soap . . . a little cold water . . .”
He stepped around her to scrutinize his children, who one by one tried valiantly to look at him, but one by one failed. “The morning Miss Prendregast arrived, I told her what I expected of her. I expect her to follow the schedule.” He slapped his boot, and in a whiplash tone, he said, “I expect the same thing of you. And what does that schedule say you should be doing now?”
Emmeline squirmed toward the front. “Father, we were getting to know Miss Prendregast.”
He ignored her. “What does the schedule say you should be doing now?” He looked at them all, one by one. Each head drooped, and no one would speak. “Agnes?”
“Agnes, don’t!” Vivian admonished in an undertone.
Samantha turned to look at the girl. The temptation to take control of the situation with a combination of spite and honesty must have been almost irresistible, but Agnes glanced around at her sisters. They stared at her with expressions varying from threats to pleading, and apparently she recognized the danger, for she muttered only, “We’re supposed to be in the classroom.”
“That’s right.” Slap. Slap. “Studying. And why aren’t you?”
Mara worked up the nerve to say, “Miss Prendregast wanted to know what we’d already learned so she wouldn’t repeat it.”
Emmeline rushed toward him, dripping mud with every step, and stopped only when he held out an arresting hand. “Please, Father, don’t make her go away.”
He walked toward the mud-encrusted little group. Hand to chin, he considered them. “I am not happy about this. I have a schedule, and I expect you children to follow it.”
Agnes opened her mouth.
He turned on her. “Yes, Agnes? You wanted to say something?”
With a furious scowl, Agnes reported, “Miss Prendregast doesn’t like the mountains.”
Agnes wouldn’t stop making mistakes. In a voice as cool as a mountain stream, Samantha said, “I like the mountains almost as little as I like children who tattle to their papas.”
“Miss Prendregast has stated her dislike for wild creatures and wild places, but I consider her attitude a matter of ignorance.”
Samantha took a breath to retort, then let it out. Some matters weren’t worth fighting over.
“We’ll teach her differently.” He strode along and surveyed the children once again. “Your clothing will never be the same.”
They looked down at themselves.
Mara muttered, “A little soap . . . a little cold water . . .”
Colonel Gregory turned quickly, and Samantha feared he caught her smirk before she wiped it away.
“Perhaps a little soap and cold water will do the trick.” He gestured to the line of servants, footmen and maids, coming down to the lake, each with a bucket in both hands. They were snickering, all of them. The butler and the housekeeper stood on the veranda, staring toward them with incredulity. “I have good news for you. I have ordered the material for your new gowns.”
“Oh, Father!” The children clasped their hands together or jumped up and down.
“The material arrived today.” He smiled with more charm than Samantha had yet seen. “Do you know why I ordered this material?”
“No, Father, why?” the children chorused.
“Miss Prendregast has convinced me you need them.”
The children’s muddy faces came alight with joy. Their eyes glowed. As one, they gave a shriek.
Samantha realized what was coming. She held her hand out to stop them. “No. No, no!”
They rushed at her. She backed up, but nothing could halt them. They surrounded her and enfolded her in their muddy arms, smeared their muddy faces against her skirt, stroked their muddy hands on her arms. Sincere gratitude sounded in their piping voices. “Thank you, Miss Prendregast, thank you!”
She hugged them back, stroked their muddy heads, and glanced at Colonel Gregory. He was grinning—a grin that disappeared so swiftly she might have been hallucinating. But she wasn’t. He’d set her up. He’d set her up! So she said, “Don’t thank me. Your father ordered the material.”
That high, little-girl shriek sounded again. His daughters wheeled around and leaped toward their father, and he was engulfed in muddy embraces.
Samantha stood back and smiled, arms crossed across her chest. “A thoroughly touching display of filial affection.”
He heard her. His gaze met hers, rueful, intent, and for the first time in her life she recognized a kindred soul. A man who hid his true self behind a façade of austerity. A man at war with his own nature.
She was like that. Proper. Sensible. When all she wanted was to run, to dance, to sing. To take joy in life in all its guises.
Surely she was wrong. Surely he wasn’t like her.
They stared for one, very long moment, and Samantha grew warm and flustered.
Hastily, she looked away. Flustered! Nothing flustered her. Never. She was the calm one in every situation, the one who stood back and observed, the intelligent one. She didn’t like this breathless sensation, and she really didn’t like this impression of intimacy.
“All right. All right!” He shooed the children away, and they left behind mud on his dark blue trousers and mud on his shining black boots. Mud on his cream-colored waistcoat and mud on his dark blue jacket.
Samantha enjoyed the sight more than she should.
“Children, go stand in the lake and let the servants splash you with buckets of water,” Colonel Gregory said.
“It’s cold,” Vivian whined.
He bent down to her level. “That is the punishment you get when you fail to dunk your governess in the mud.”
Samantha caught her breath. No wonder he’d been waiting with servants and buckets. He knew the children’s game. He’d let them play it—but why?
He
had betrayed himself, but he didn’t seem to care. He sounded military and precise when he said to her, “When a man has six daughters, he must be prepared for all eventualities.”
“I see he must.” She cleared her throat. “When one is a governess, one must also be prepared for all eventualities. That’s why I believe it’s time the nursemaids were replaced.”
“Indeed?” His expressive eyebrows rose. “Is that your sincere recommendation?”
“It is.”
“Consider it done.”
Samantha wanted to cheer. Sometime during this long, difficult day, she’d won Colonel Gregory’s respect.
His daughters gave a groan.
He turned to them. “If you want to argue against the change, you must be able to tell me why it’s not a good idea.”
The girls exchanged glances, then shook their heads. They were in far too deep for such contention.
“When the mud is washed off, you’ll go upstairs. I’ll send the housekeeper to supervise your baths. Don’t be late for dinner, I have an announcement to make.” He gestured at Samantha’s mud-covered skirt. “Miss Prendregast, you should probably stand in the lake, also.”
She looked pointedly at his encrusted trousers and grubby jacket. “I will if you will.”
“You’re a very insolent young lady.” He offered her his arm as if it were a challenge.
She took it in the spirit in which it had been offered. “You are a very perceptive man.”
Together, they walked to the house, starting rumors that would be impossible to quash.
Chapter Nine
In the elegant dining room, at the head of a long table, Colonel Gregory carved the roast into thin slices. Seated on either side of the table, the children watched with voracious attention.
At the foot of the table, Samantha sat dressed once more in her pink ruffled gown, trying to behave as if she’d done this a hundred times before. In fact, this was her third night to participate in a family dinner; all of her previous employers would rather dine alone than to dine with their governess, and most certainly they would never dine with their children. So with the amazement of someone who had never before participated in a domestic dinner, she observed every expression, every nuance, trying to comprehend how the family worked.
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