Dry mouthed, Raynor watched, particularly noting Georgeanne’s disheveled attire. He felt deflated by her efforts to tidy her appearance, knowing her actions signaled the end of their mock battle. It had been a long time since he could remember shedding his familial and social restrictions and having a truly rousing good time. Regrettably, he considered how improper the situation was.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt, Miss Forsythe?” While he echoed his niece’s concern for her welfare, his tone was no longer playful. The fun was over, and the haughty aristocrat returned.
“Yes, I am quite all right, my lord. And now, Marissa, it is late and you need sleep.”
Taking his cue from Georgeanne, Raynor reached over to give his little niece a quick hug before decorously addressing a good night to her. He looked at Georgeanne’s flushed face and knew she’d shared his passion. “Good night, Miss Forsythe,” he said, and then most reluctantly made his exit. He headed for the library, knowing that sleep would elude him for a good portion of the night.
~~~~~
Many afternoons, Lady Ashbury kept Georgeanne busy with preparations for the upcoming ball. She wrote out invitations in an elegant flowing script and eagerly volunteered to run errands, especially since this provided a good excuse for Marissa and her to escape the schoolroom. The weather had turned unseasonably warm, and the flowers and shrubs were in bloom, making that particular part of town with its formal gardens and numerous parks and squares a scenic delight.
One morning, just as Georgeanne and Marissa were preparing to leave on an errand, they encountered Raynor, also headed for the front entrance. She gave a small smile as a greeting and he checked himself, then returned her smile with one of his own before bending down to give Marissa a hug. When he stood again, his eyes locked with hers for a long moment.
“Where are you ladies off to so early this morning?” he asked in an unusually affable manner.
“We are going to get ices for Aunt Lillian’s party, Uncle Tony,” supplied Marissa, skipping along beside Georgeanne who was finding it difficult not to stare at Raynor. His good humor had her pulse racing.
“Ah, Gunther’s. Do you plan on partaking of a special treat while there?”
“Georgie said I could have one if I am very good,” answered Marissa with a bright smile.
Figuring Raynor had ample ammunition to find fault with their plans, Georgeanne half expected to be ordered back to the schoolroom to resume lessons. Therefore, she was completely taken aback when he said, “Since my curricle is waiting at the door, I’d be delighted if you’d let me take you to the confectionery shop, Miss Forsythe.”
Trailing behind Marissa and her uncle, Georgeanne noted Raynor’s broad shoulders straining the blue riding jacket tapering to his slim waist and the buckskin breeches hugging his muscular thighs. When he glanced over his shoulder, Georgeanne saw the look in his eyes and knew she’d been caught studying his physique. As she felt heat rising in her cheeks, he further surprised her when he asked, “Have you done any more sight-seeing lately, Miss Forsythe?”
“I beg pardon, my lord?”
“That is, since your visit to Astley’s Royal Circus?” he inquired with a crooked smile.
They had reached the pavement in front of the house where a groom stood at the head of two perfectly matched chestnuts. Turning to Marissa, Raynor effortlessly picked up his niece and, with tender care, placed her in the center of the carriage cushion. Then with the gravest courtesy, he reached for Georgeanne’s hand and assisted her in stepping up to the high perch seat.
She continued to avoid answering him by helping Marissa situate herself while Raynor went around to the other side of the curricle. After he took the reins from the groom, he turned his questioning gaze on her.
“Surely you won’t have me believe you’ve kept yourselves locked in the schoolroom all this time?” He gave a chuckle and flicked the reins over the backs of the horses, giving the team its office to pull away from the curb.
“We go to the park almost every day, don’t we, Georgie?” piped up Marissa, ever ready to divulge all to her uncle, much to Georgeanne’s chagrin.
“Sounds rather tame, Marissa,” he said, giving the child a mischievous look. “What would you say to an excursion to the Menagerie. Since it’s located in the Tower of London, which reeks of history, we could safely categorize such an outing as educational, don’t you agree, Miss Forsythe?”
“Oh yes, Uncle Tony,” Marissa cried excitedly and turned to Georgeanne. “Can we go, Georgie?”
“Yes, of course,” Georgeanne replied, laughing with Raynor over the little girl’s enthusiasm as she bounced around on the seat between them. Meeting Raynor’s eye, Georgeanne tried to swallow some of her own excitement at spending time with him.
The ride to Gunther’s was exhilarating. Exhibiting a natural expertise, Raynor tooled his team effortlessly through the crowed streets. To avoid a traffic jam caused by an overturned rig and a coach that blocked the roadway, he turned down a narrow alley and crossed a busy intersection with the ability and confidence of a member of the Four-in-Hand Club. All the while, he regaled his passengers with amusing anecdotes of his youth. Marissa was spellbound by her uncle’s easy manner and at the confectionery shop sat as quiet as a mouse, eating two ices.
When he took time to eat his own treat, and Marissa, staring up at him as though he were some sort of mythical god, said, “Don’t stop, Uncle Tony. Please tell me more?”
Georgeanne went to lay a restraining hand on Marissa, but Raynor, in turn, told her not to fret. “Aren’t you always telling me, Miss Forsythe, that it’s only natural for a child to show excitement?”
Since this was said with a laugh, Georgeanne readily agreed, marveling over how different this experience was from the last time they’d visited the confectionery shop. The affable lord now sharing boyhood stories with them was scarcely like the haughty aristocrat that the polite world of the ton saw.
She remembered once having remarked to Townsend how stern and dour her employer was. “Why, I doubt the man possesses a friendly bone in his body.”
Laughing, Townsend shook his head. “That’s because you’re a female, Georgeanne. Tony learned long ago when he inherited not to trust any of your sex where a title and money were concerned.”
At the time she’d thought it strange, but now experiencing Raynor’s unrestrained laughter and smiles, Georgeanne wondered what sort of disillusionment he’d suffered. For her fertile imagination, it was easy to conjure up the image of Raynor as a callow youth in the hands of some grasping, wanton woman who had ruthlessly used the sensitive young peer, leaving him emotionally scared. Or was it really as Lady Ashbury said? Had his brother’s death and the responsibilities of the title changed him so markedly?
Still, a certain reserve existed between them, almost as though he were afraid to let the barriers completely down for fear she would get too close. And there was the blatant absence of any mention of Townsend. Never once did he mention a time spent with his best friend.
When they arrived at the Tower, Raynor informally acted as their guide, explaining mainly for Marissa’s benefit what each animal was and something of its habitat. There were lions, tigers, bears and a hyena. To Georgeanne, these creatures of the wild looked extremely listless and sad.
“Look how small their cages are. It must be awful being trapped behind bars. There, my lord,” said Georgeanne, pointing to several eagles tied with thongs to huge tree branches and wooden beams. “See how they prohibit the birds from taking flight? Is it not cruel?”
Raynor’s blue eyes studied her for a long moment. Finally, he said barely above a whisper, “So, too, does life treat some people, Miss Forsythe.”
Before Georgeanne could respond to his enigmatic reply, several young school boys joined them, and Raynor indicated he wished to leave. They exited the building and started toward the street, where the groom awaited with the curricle. Suddenly he bent down and scooped Marissa up in his arms, giving her a gr
eat bear hug, much to the little girl’s delight.
“You had a good time today?” His voice had taken on the tenor of the haughty aristocrat again. Patiently, he listened to Marissa’s ecstatic affirmations before extracting a promise from her to work extra hard at her studies next week.
Turning to Georgeanne, he looked directly in her eyes and said, “To answer your earlier question, Miss Forsythe, it is possible the animals are unhappy because of the loss of their freedom. But in return, they are well fed and cared for, living what some would call a pampered existence compared to the trials they would have faced if still in the jungle. So it is the same with people. Sometimes fate forces us to play a hand we’d rather not have been dealt.”
He said little else. Marissa, on the other hand, merrily prattled on about the animals all the way home, fortunately covering the awkward silence that had settled upon the two thoughtful adults on either side of her.
*** Chapter 12 ***
Over the next several days, with preparations well underway for the ball, Georgeanne looked in vain for a repeat of the afternoon like the one they had spent at the Tower Menagerie with a carefree and playful Raynor, reminiscent of the gallant pillow fencer. Although Marissa often referred to the outing, Georgeanne was inclined to wonder at times if it had really occurred. They saw less and less of him, though Georgeanne and Marissa still had tea with Lady Ashbury every day.
And all too often to suit anyone, Olivia Cosgrove dropped by, seeking Raynor. It seemed she, too, was finding it difficult to keep tabs on his lordship, although she went to great pains to hide this fact. But on one afternoon her guard slipped while attempting to pry information from Lady Ashbury.
Marissa was passing around a plate of macaroons, which Olivia declined ever so sweetly. “No thank you, Marissa. It is your uncle who is so fond of them.”
“No, it is me,” replied the little girl with just a hint of peevishness. “Uncle Tony likes those tiny cakes,” she added, pointing to a platter of petit fours.
“A lady never points, my dear,” Lady Ashbury gently reproved her grand niece, before reaching out to draw the child over to sit on the settee next to her.
“So you were expecting Anthony?” asked Olivia, trying for a casual tone.
“Actually, we never know from one day to the next whether Lord Raynor will join us or not.” Lady Ashbury’s manner, while always correct, was excessively polite toward her guest. Also, Georgeanne noted, her ladyship had referred to her nephew’s title in contrast to Olivia’s insistent usage of his Christian name. “I am afraid he does not share his schedule with me, no doubt because he values his privacy so much,” replied the older woman with a hint of irony in her tone.
“We all do, especially during the Season,” laughed Olivia nervously. She knew better than to offend Raynor’s aunt, but still was unable to let the issue lie. “It is only that I saw him last night at the Duchess of Beaufort’s party, and he indicated he had no particular plans for today. I felt sure he would be home.”
When Lady Ashbury pointedly deigned not to give a reply, Georgeanne was glad for once to see the self-assured beauty’s nose out of joint. Unseemly as it was of her, Georgeanne derived a great deal of satisfaction from Olivia Cosgrove’s discomfiture. Her joy was short lived, however, for it was at this juncture that the elusive lord entered the room.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Raynor’s greeting was accompanied with an uncommon smile. Since Marissa had remained by her great aunt on the settee, he took his niece’s vacated seat next to Georgeanne after declining a cup of tea in favor of a brandy, which he poured himself.
“I must say, Olivia, you are looking fit after last night’s tedious affair.”
Though slightly miffed that he had not taken a chair near her, Olivia radiated triumphant smugness when Raynor complimented her appearance. “Really, Anthony, what can you be implying? I am sure the Duchess of Beaufort’s dinner was everything it should have been.”
“You’re sure?” he quizzed her. “I distinctly remember you chocking on a lobster paté, decrying it the vilest thing you’d eaten in an age.”
“How can you tease me so?” She let out a tinkling laugh though a slight flush graced her cheeks as she cut her eyes toward his aunt to gauge her reaction. Lady Ashbury and the Duchess of Beaufort were reputed to be good friends, and the last thing Olivia wanted was to offend her hostess. “The Duchess is known for her hospitality, just like your aunt.”
Georgeanne began to roll her eyes at Olivia’s blatant toadying, but caught herself in time when Raynor turned to her with the corners of his mouth twitching—surely not to smile?
He gave Georgeanne his full attention. “I wonder, Miss Forsythe, if you would be so complimentary, describing Agatha Beaufort’s party?”
Olivia tittered. “A governess can hardly be any judge of such a tonnish affair.”
“How strange,” Georgeanne said, eying the obnoxious beauty as an equal, “for I do recall one ball given at Beaufort House during my Season, and you are correct, my lord. Though a delightful woman, the Duchess has the appalling tendency to allow her Scottish ancestry to surface on such occasions. To save a shilling here or there, she is known for purchasing delicacies as liver paté and certain seafoods from inferior merchants. Needless to say, such critical foods, if not fresh, can be most hazardous to one’s health.”
She let a merry laugh escape. “Why, I recall one poor baronet who had not been forewarned of the Duchess’s frugality. The poor man had eaten a goodly amount of shrimp and, before the evening was over, had to be carried home, looking positively green. He did survive but vowed never to eat another morsel of food from the Duchess’s table again.”
“You see, Olivia, it is just as I said. Eat only the beef. As a good daughter of a Scottish laird, Agatha’s naturally a good beef eater and, stands to reason, won’t tolerate anything of inferior quality in that quarter.”
“You must have attended a good many parties during your come-out,” Olivia said glibly, unexpectedly turning on Georgeanne rather than answering Raynor. “It is a shame you did not take and must now earn a living.”
“You misunderstand,” replied Georgeanne calmly. “I received more than a fair share of offers and refused them all.”
“Oh come, Miss Forsythe, next you will tell us a duke offered for you,” the beauty shot back.
“No, never a duke, for they were all married at the time,” she answered, then promptly hid a smile behind her tea cup as Raynor choked on his brandy.
“Now you are being absurd.” There was no misunderstanding the look of dislike with which Olivia Cosgrove favored her.
But Georgeanne had had enough verbal sparring with the spiteful woman. “You may find fault with me where you will. But the fact is, I have ever been the romantic and find the idea of a marriage for money or social position totally repugnant.”
“You are searching for the grand passion then?” asked Olivia, practically sneering.
Georgeanne sat back in her chair, her eyes never wavering under the blonde’s disdainful glare. She had no intention of letting this she-cat have the last say. Unfortunately, she was also aware of Raynor’s cool blue stare focused on her, making Georgeanne most uncomfortable.
“Scoff if you like, Lady Cosgrove,” she riposted quietly. “But I have seen little happiness where love does not flourish.”
When Olivia appeared ready to refute this, Raynor intervened, requesting Marissa serve her favorite uncle a macaroon.
The child eagerly proffered the plate to him with a silly giggle. “You can’t be my favorite uncle, Uncle Tony.
Raynor gave Marissa a puzzled expression. “Why not?”
Marissa cocked her head and smiled. “Because you’re my only uncle.”
“Does that mean I’m not a favorite person of yours, Marissa?” he asked with a wounded look.
“Oh no,” she quickly replied, “Georgie explained it all to me, about how you really do like me, even if you don’t know how to show it all the time
.”
“Ah.” Raynor nodded his head. “Well, I shall be forever in your governess’s debt for going to such trouble on my behalf,” he said while eying Georgeanne speculatively, causing her to feel the heat of a blush mount her cheeks.
No one thought it strange when Olivia decided to leave at precisely the same time as Raynor announced he was off to his club. In point, once the door had closed upon the beauty, who exited clinging to his lordship’s arm, all three remaining ladies emitted a collective sigh. Georgeanne glanced toward Lady Ashbury, and the two dissolved in laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Marissa asked. “Uncle Tony and Cousin Olivia always go places together.” When neither her great aunt nor Georgeanne answered, she said, “That’s what Cousin Olivia told me.”
Sobering quickly on that thought, Georgeanne ventured to comment, “It does look as if Raynor is showing a partiality toward Lady Cosgrove. I suppose that means he is ready to fix his interest?”
Pouring herself another cup of tea, the older lady observed Georgeanne pleating the serviette in her lap and gave delighted smile. “Oh, I think not, my dear. Why, I doubt he even likes her.”
“But they are seen everywhere together,” Georgeanne answered.
“He tolerates her purely as some sort of diversion, I fancy. Actually,” Lady Ashbury continued with her brow creased in thought, “it is she who assumes the initiative, making sure they attend most of the same functions. Even so, it all means nothing.”
Georgeanne let the subject drop, though somewhat reluctantly. Whether what Lady Ashbury said was true or not, Georgeanne devoutly prayed it was so.
~~~~~
As Lady Ashbury’s ball drew nearer, the household staff picked up its pace, from the pot boy to the butler, all working frantically to have everything in readiness. The townhouse fairly gleamed from top to bottom.
The Impossible Governess Page 13