by Karen Ranney
He’d said her hair smelled of perfume. She put a tiny drop of scent, the last of the bottle she’d been given for her birthday two years ago, behind her ear and on both temples. Would he think she smelled like attar of roses?
She really should show a little more care in his presence. Oh, but he was so handsome, and there was something about him that excited her. Even when he did nothing but stand close to her, she could feel her pulse leap. She was silly to be so affected by his charm, especially since it was quite evident he was practiced at it. She was awkward at social events, and especially with men.
The only person who’d ever shown her so much attention was Jeremy and only for a few short weeks, that was all. After that, his mother had probably sat him down and explained to him Beatrice was a poor teacher’s daughter and no match for him, up and coming in the world as he was.
What would Jeremy say to know she was being charmed by the cousin of a duke?
Did she look too gaunt? A little. A few weeks of eating three meals a day, and she would not look so lean and hungry. Her eyes did not look as haunted as they had a few days ago. It was remarkable what employment could do for one’s hope.
She didn’t fool herself that the position was permanent. She didn’t know if she’d last the week, especially if Robert was as difficult as he appeared to be upon their first meeting. But she would try her very best, and perhaps when this experience, however short-lived, was over she could obtain another position. Surely it would be a good thing to have worked for a duke?
Finally, she sat on the bed and tightened her stockings, then took a cloth and wiped off her shoes until the scuffed leather was clean. She stood again and smoothed her hands down her bodice and skirt before readjusting the fabric at her waist. Should she relace her stays? No, they were tight enough. Perhaps too tight, because they thrust her bosom forward like the prow of a ship.
At least the dress had been ironed that morning by one of the maids and was in better shape, in all honesty, than her other two garments, since it had been her mother’s and rarely worn. The hem still showed where she’d let it out, but there was nothing to be done with that.
She buttoned the bodice, smoothing her hands over her skirt one last time. Her palms were damp, so she washed her hands, and dried them, facing herself in the mirror when she was finished.
The knock on the door was expected, but it wasn’t a maid come to show her to the dining room. Instead, it was Cameron Gordon on the other side of the door, seated in his wheeled chair. A large package sat on his lap, and as she watched, he handed it to her.
She took it from him, and opened the door wide, uncertain whether to curtsy or to invite him into her chamber. He was such a personage, even seated as he was. He gave her the impression of a king on his throne.
He ended her awkward dilemma by putting his hands on the wheels and wheeling himself into the room. With a hand gesture, he indicated she should close the door behind him.
“It’s not a gift,” he said, pointing to the package she’d yet to open. “But a necessity.”
He waited, and she realized he wanted her to open the package right away.
Inside was a beautiful dark blue wool cloak, the fabric so thickly woven she could feel the warmth against her stroking palm.
“It’s lovely.”
“It belonged to my first wife. You’re of the same size, Miss Sinclair. It’s more appropriate than wearing my son’s greatcoat.”
She felt the blush creep to her cheeks. Did he know everything that happened at Castle Crannoch?
“I regret to say I am here in the guise of your employer, Miss Sinclair.”
He wheeled himself to the window and indicated she should sit beside him at the table.
Part of her awkwardness around Cameron Gordon was due to the fact she was so much taller than he. Also, she’d never before known anyone who was confined to a chair.
She wanted to express how very sorry she was that he couldn’t walk. How did she do that, especially when the object of her pity so obviously didn’t want it? Instead, she remained silent, sat and folded her hands on top of the table, waiting for him to continue.
“As your employer, I feel it only fair to warn you about certain things here at Castle Crannoch.”
“Have I done something wrong, Mr. Cameron?”
“Nothing except be a young woman without family, Miss Sinclair.” He paused for a moment. “My son is a very handsome man.”
The warmth was there again, the blush no doubt in full force. Had she blushed so much while living at Kilbridden Village?
“I would hate for you to become one more of his conquests.”
Now she was doubly embarrassed. Being foolish was one thing; to be called on it was quite another.
“You and my son have held several intimate conversations, have you not?”
“I have spoken to him upon occasion, yes.”
“That’s how it begins, Miss Sinclair. Impressionable young ladies such as yourself are caught first by conversation, then charm. Before they know it, they are engaged in behavior that would shock their parents. Since you are alone in the world, I find it necessary to warn you.”
She pressed her hands flat against the table, linking her fingers together. She focused on her nails, clasped her hands together again, then placed them on her lap.
“Simply because I am alone in the world does not make me foolish, sir.”
“I’m heartened to hear it. Therefore, I’m sure you’ll understand why I think it best you not join us for dinner. At least, not until my wife returns from London. We have a bachelor household until then. I think it would be advisable for you to have a tray in your room.”
“Of course.” She kept her gaze focused on her hands, unwilling to show her disappointment.
Cameron Gordon left her, and as she closed the door behind him, she had the oddest thought it wouldn’t be wise to reveal her emotions to any of the Gordons.
A few minutes later, a maid brought her a tray, and like the morning, there was a huge selection. Once laid out, the plates and bowls covered the entire top of the table.
She was still too close to hunger not to savor a meal. After a taste of the onion soup, it simply didn’t matter she was eating alone in her room.
There were potatoes and carrots and beans in a sauce tasting like vinegar and sugar at the same time. There was roast beef so succulent she didn’t need a knife to cut it, and crusty rolls and pots of butter and one of honey. The maid had brought her a carafe of wine, enough for one large glass. She sipped it as she ate, taking an hour for her dinner and enjoying every single morsel.
She didn’t close the drapes while she ate but sat and looked out at the view of the hills and the village below. The lights twinkling on and off looked like faraway stars, but she knew they were candles being lit in rooms where people met and sat and talked and argued, perhaps.
The rest of the world was coming together. The day was being discussed, problems being aired, questions about life and love and the sheer drudgery of living being asked and answered.
Sometimes she missed the touch of another person so much she could cry. Sometimes she simply missed the conversation, the laughter. There was no one in the world who cared whether she lived or died.
For a moment, the temptation to give in to the despair of that thought was too tempting, but she pushed it aside. If she had no one left to love her, then she would simply have to find someone who would, a friend, an acquaintance, perhaps even a child like Robert. Someone who would find some comfort in being with her.
People were not designed to live alone, to live without affection or caring. Nor was it normal to go through days and days without one person saying: How are you? Are you well? Why are you smiling? Are those tears I see?
She’d sipped the wine slowly, but she looked at the empty glass with annoyance. Perhaps the wine had brought about this maudlin mood.
She stood and opened the window, breathing the night air. The wind was mild, but t
he temperature had lowered. Instead of closing the window, however, she gathered her new cloak and covered her shoulders, staring out at the flickering lights below in the village. She was both ferociously lonely and angry about it.
Her friend, Sally, would laugh at her. “Silly girl, you never know what’s going to happen tomorrow. Something wonderful could happen, and here you are, moping about now.” But she had never been as optimistic as Sally or as much of a dreamer. In the end Sally’s dreams had not saved her from the cholera.
The knock on the door roused her from her mood. She opened it, thinking it was the maid come to gather up the dishes. Instead, it was Devlen Gordon.
While she’d felt no reluctance in allowing his father into her room, the voice of caution urged her not to be as welcoming with him. He was not confined to a wheelchair. He was young, handsome, and, according to his father, a rake.
She was not going to be his conquest.
“Miss Sinclair,” he said bowing slightly, “I came to ensure myself of your health. My father said you’re not feeling well.”
“Did he?”
“I wanted to make sure such was not the case. You appeared in good health when I left you earlier.”
“I am well, thank you.”
How very polite they were. His eyes, however, were entirely too invasive. His face suddenly changed. His smile disappeared and his expression became somber.
“Have I done anything to offend you?”
The question so surprised her that she stood looking up at him, her hand on the door. “No, you have not.”
“Then why didn’t you come down to dinner?”
She’d been employed for less than a day and already she was being caught up in family drama. What did she tell him? That his father had warned her against him? Devlen Gordon was not a resident of Castle Crannoch. He was only a visitor, and his father was her employer.
Still, she felt guilty about lying to him, so she didn’t answer him directly. “I thoroughly enjoyed my dinner here,” she said, hoping he would cease questioning her.
He looked dubious, but didn’t say anything else.
She felt too vulnerable at the moment, too desirous of another human being’s company. But he was one man she should not wish to be near. What had his father said? First it begins with conversation, then charm. Oh, and he had charm in abundance, didn’t he?
He reached up and touched her cheek.
“How fascinating you are, Miss Sinclair. Why do you look so sad?”
It was the very worst time to ask a question of that sort. She wanted to tell him she had no armor against kindness. Instead, she began to close the door. When he pressed one hand against it, she looked up at him again.
“Please.” The only word she could manage.
“Miss Sinclair.” He really shouldn’t say her name in such a fashion, in such a low tone it sounded almost like an endearment.
“Please,” she said again, and slid her hand up until it covered his. Slowly, she pulled his fingers away from the wood and then held his hand in midair. He reached out with his other hand and cupped hers.
Shouldn’t she be closing the door?
Then he leaned over and did something entirely shocking. He pressed his lips against her cheek. A kiss. She’d never been kissed.
She expected more of it, and conversely less.
His lips were warm, soft and comforting; his breath against her skin surprisingly and strangely exciting.
He drew back and bowed slightly once more. In apology? Or mere politeness?
She shut the door and leaned against it, her forehead pressing against the wood. She placed her fingers against her cheek. He was gone and yet the memory of this kiss was there still, confusing and unsettling her.
“Leave the sparrow alone.”
Devlen turned to see his father sitting in the shadows at the end of the hall.
“Miss Sinclair? Why do you call her sparrow? Do you see yourself as a hawk? If so, your wings have been clipped, Father.”
“If you were close enough, I would backhand you because of that comment.”
His father rolled himself out into the light. Not for the first time, he gave Devlen the impression of a malevolent spider, creeping around on leather-bound wheels. Cameron had had a series of ramps built at Castle Crannoch so he could navigate almost anywhere, except atop the towers.
“I think it’s time for you to go back to Edinburgh, Devlen. You wear out your welcome very quickly.”
“I think you’re right.”
He walked away, then stopped midway down the hall. He turned and addressed his father again. “Leave her alone. Do not make her another one of your victims.”
Cameron laughed. “Strange, Devlen, but I told her the very same thing about you.”
Chapter 10
Beatrice readied herself for bed, pulling out the nightgown from her valise.
In the morning she would tell Devlen Gordon she wasn’t to be kissed whenever he felt like it. Such expressions of affection were only between couples who were engaged, and only surreptitiously.
As the governess, she was to be considered above such dalliances. She was not the upstairs maid to be grabbed in a shadowy corner, her skirts upturned while she was groped.
How odd the vision came so quickly to her mind of Devlen Gordon doing exactly that. And how very strange that it made her angry to think of him engaged in such an immoral act. Exactly how many conquests had he made at Castle Crannoch? No doubt every single maid employed here had experienced the full extent of his charm.
How dare he kiss her?
As children she and Sally had often talked about such things, wondering exactly what loving was like between a man and woman. Each had ventured several theories as to how it must feel and what exactly a man does. What would Sally have said about Devlen Gordon?
Her friend would no doubt have teased her about that kiss. A kiss on the cheek, that was all it was.
She went to the bed, plumped up the pillows, and pulled down the coverlet.
A snake was in the middle of her bed.
In the middle of the lovely bed, on top of the ivory-colored sheets was a very dead snake with its head bashed in, and its poor twisted body stretched down the middle of the mattress. On the whole, it was an innocuous-looking creature. She’d found one in the garden often enough.
She went to the bell rope and tugged on it. When the maid appeared, looking tired and more than a little groggy, Beatrice asked for directions to Robert’s room.
“You need to know where His Grace’s room is?”
Surely, it couldn’t be a good thing for a seven-year-old to be constantly referred to as His Grace.
“Yes, please.”
“The Duke’s Chamber is at the end of the hallway, miss. The big double doors.”
Beatrice stuck her head out the door and looked down the hall. Just as the maid had said, at the end of the hall was a set of double doors.
“When his parents died, His Grace insisted upon moving to their suite. It’s customary for the Dukes of Brechin to live there.”
“Even if he’s seven?”
The maid looked a little confused at this question, and Beatrice took pity on her and bid her good night.
Before the girl left, Beatrice called out to her. “What is your name?”
“Abigail, miss,” she said, bobbing another curtsy.
“Thank you, Abigail. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”
The girl smiled, her plump cheeks reddening as she did so. “It’s quite all right, miss.”
Beatrice donned her wrapper, buttoned it closed, then gathered the poor snake and left her room. At the end of the hallway, she knocked firmly on one of the doors. When her knock wasn’t answered, she turned the handle and entered.
A small lamp was burning in the foyer. A set of drapes separated the area from the rest of the suite. She pushed them aside and stood marveling at the sheer size of the room. From its dimensions, she gauged it took up the whole easter
n portion of Castle Crannoch.
On a dais at the other side of the room sat a massive canopied bed draped in crimson and gold. The bed itself was easily twice as wide as hers and at least that deep. As she approached it, a small figure sat up in the middle of the bed and stared at her.
“What are you doing here?” Robert asked.
“I came to deliver your snake,” she said, “and to ask you one question.”
She still held the poor dead creature in her hand. Carefully, she laid it on the end of the bed. “Did you kill it? Or did you simply leave it in my bed to frighten me?”
“What difference does it make?”
“If you killed it, I would think you a monster. The snake did nothing to deserve its death.”
He sat back on his haunches, his fists on his thighs.
“It might have bitten me.”
“If it did, it was to protect itself. You’re much larger than it.”
“I didn’t kill it. It was already dead. I think a carriage ran over it.”
“Good,” she said, and turned to leave.
“Weren’t you afraid?”
“I’ve lived through a cholera epidemic. Nothing could frighten me after that. Besides, some snakes are our friends. They eat rodents and bugs.”
“How do you know that?”
“It was in a book I read, I think.”
“Would you show me that book?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “If you don’t put any more snakes in my bed.”
“I command you to show me that book.”
“You can command me until hell comes to earth,” she said calmly. “I’m your governess, not your servant. Nor do I ever want to hear you talking to the servants in such a fashion. If you’re a duke, then behave like one.”
He looked as surprised as if she’d told him he had two heads.
“Now go to sleep. Tomorrow we’ll bury that poor creature.”
“I command you to stay.”
She studied him for a moment. “I think you’re a very spoiled boy who’s had a great deal of sorrow in his life. But that’s no excuse for you to be rude to others, especially to me.”