“How lovely,” Amanda said.
“And your room,” Miss Green said, pushing open a door off the side of the nursery to a much smaller, darker room. Still, it had its own window, and the wallpaper only peeled in the very upper corners. The room had two doors, which stuck Amanda as odd until she realized that one led to the nursery, and one led to the hallway.
“Tea will be ready at two. Until then, I suggest you try on the dresses in the wardrobe and begin alterations.”
And then Amanda was alone. She dropped her things on the simple bed and pulled out two identical gray dresses from the wardrobe. They were without ornamentation, very plain, but meticulously well-made. She studied the seams in awe of the fine workmanship before slipping gratefully out of her traveling clothes and trying them on.
Apparently, whoever had the dresses made had assumed that Amanda would be somewhat stockier than she was. She would need to take in both the waist and the sleeves. She frowned; it seemed such a waste to have to add her own shoddy stitching to such fine dresses.
She got to work immediately, slipping the new dresses off again and putting on one of her own before sitting down in the stiff-backed chair in the corner to make the needed alterations.
It was an odd feeling, coming into a new place and being required to dress only in clothing provided for her. It felt as though her identity was being washed away. She worried that this Lord Ethelred must be a very exacting sort. What would happen if he disliked her or was displeased with her performance? Would she be sent away? The thought of going back to the Dowager Marchioness in disgrace after being sacked filled her with dread.
She had to carry on and do her best, no matter how strict her employer was.
With determination strengthening her resolve, she stitched until the clock struck two.
When she went to tea, she had to rack her brain to remember the circuitous route that Miss Green had taken her. The nature of a building that had been built and re-built formed a maze that was very easy to get lost in. She imagined that such a place must be great fun for a child to grow up in, but for a new governess who was doing her best to impress, it was quite nerve-racking.
Finally, she managed to find the kitchens. There was a long table across one end of the room where servants were already sitting down to eat. For a manor of this size, the staff seemed minimal. There were no more than seven people eating, chief among them seeming to be Miss Green herself, who was seated at the head of the table.
“I was beginning to think that you weren’t hungry,” she said when Amanda came into the room. The heads of the other strangers all turned to look at her, and Amanda felt her face growing red.
“I got lost,” she murmured nervously.
A couple of young women who had to be maids tittered, and Amanda sat down in an empty seat.
Miss Green cleared her throat after a minute or two.
“When Lord Ethelred returns tomorrow morning, we will be warned by the footman when he is at the drive, and we will gather in the foyer to welcome him. Miss O’Neil, I will introduce you. At which time, you will take Lady Heather to the nursery where food will be waiting for her. At some point in the evening, likely after the girl has gone to bed, I expect that Lord Ethelred will ask to see you.”
Amanda swallowed thickly and nodded.
“Be sure that you are scrubbed and neat. I assume your dress is on its way to being ready for tomorrow?”
“Yes, Madam,” Amanda said.
The young maids giggled again.
After the meal, Amanda returned to her room, only losing her way twice as she went. It seemed that she would not find a warm welcome from any of the staff of the house, and the knot of anxiety in her stomach tightened as she continued to fix the dresses.
Chapter 4
The following morning, Amanda woke up to the sound of light knocking on the door that led out into the hallway. Wrapping her shawl around her, she padded to it and cracked it open. One of the tittering maids stood there.
“You must have a bath before he arrives,” she said simply.
As the young woman led her back in the direction of the kitchen, she continued. “The master is very particular about cleanliness. That won’t matter much to you since you aren’t a maid, except in the matters of your dress and keeping Lady Heather neat.”
“What sort of gentleman is he?” Amanda couldn’t help but ask as they arrived at a cramped room that housed a large tub. Together they walked back and forth from the stove where water was being heated and the bathroom.
The maid shrugged. “Can’t hardly say. He doesn’t speak to servants. Only to his valet, the butler, and Miss Green. Orders are carried out through them.”
This did little to reassure her, and when Amanda was left alone in the room, she undressed anxiously and scrubbed herself until her skin was pink and tender. Everyone at Ethelred Manor seemed so stiff and lifeless and so polite while managing to remain firmly unfriendly. She feared that the staff was a reflection of the master, and she braced herself for what was to come.
Back in her own room, she was just finishing pinning her hair when another rap came to her door.
“They’re coming,” the maid said.
Amanda’s heart raced as she joined the ranks of the others in the foyer. Miss Green quickly gave her a once-over to see that her dress was in order. With a curt nod that Amanda took as satisfaction, she was instructed to stand at the end of the line.
Silence fell over the staff as voices were heard outside: a man’s low tones and a high chiming of a child’s laughter. Amanda clenched her hands together in front of her.
That must be her.
She said a quick prayer in her mind that the child, at least, would be lively and easy to get along with, even if no one else was.
The doors swung open, and Lord Ethelred strode in.
There was no hesitation, no moment of wondering whether or not it was him. He had an air about him of complete authority. His back was stiff, and his gait confident. He dressed all in black, cutting a harsh line against the light that streamed in from behind him.
The other servants curtsied or bowed. Amanda did the same, following their lead.
“Welcome back, My Lord,” Miss Green said, stepping forward.
The Marquess of Ethelred inclined his head to her in greeting. “The governess?”
Amanda’s heart clenched in fear as his black eyes scanned the servants, finally landing on her. Something in his jaw seemed to tighten at the sight of her, and Amanda feared that he was displeased. Perhaps she was not what he expected.
“Yes, here she is,” Miss Green said, leading him toward her. As he stepped closer, Amanda saw that his eyes, while dark, were not black. No, they were green. Deep, forest green. Ringed with thick, dark lashes that matched the shining jet black of his hair. When he was standing right before her, she was struck by his size. He towered over her, and while he was lean, there was an undeniable sense of strength and athleticism that no severe black clothing could fully mask.
“Miss Amanda O’Neil,” the housekeeper introduced.
Amanda dropped into a curtsy, lowering her gaze under the weight of his open scrutiny of her appearance.
“Miss O’Neil,” he said. His voice was as stark as his clothing. Commanding, but not loud. “You will take my daughter to the nursery and see that she rests before tea.”
“I’m not sleepy, Papa!” The little girl bounded up behind him. She was her father’s opposite. Where his appearance was spartan and severe, she was dressed all in frills and lace. Where he was dark, his eyes, his hair, his demeanor, she was all light. Amanda’s heart leaped, particularly, at the girl’s hair. It was orange as a carrot and tightly curled. She had coppery freckles to match. If you stood the young Lady next to Amanda, one would think that the little girl was the Irish one. Amanda smiled at her, and Lady Heather beamed back, showing a prominent gap where one of her baby teeth must have been shortly before.
“You will have a nap,” her father de
manded, his tone gentler with her than it was with the servants, but still brooking no disagreement. The little girl pressed her lips together in such a way that Amanda knew that it would be a struggle to get her to sleep.
There were no further introductions nor instructions. The Marquess passed her and strode into the house, followed by his valet. The other servants dispersed, and Amanda was left alone with the miniature lady.
Amanda crouched down.
“My name is Miss O’Neil,” she said. “I am to be your governess from now on.”
“Can I call you Miss Amanda?” the girl asked with a gleam in her eye.
Amanda considered it. “Not in front of your father.”
Lady Heather beamed again and slipped her little hand into Amanda’s. Amanda breathed a sigh of relief as the two of them mounted the stairs to the nursery hand in hand. The daughter, at least, seemed to be perfectly normal for a girl of her age. She could laugh at herself now, and how she had feared that the seven-year-old would be as stern and formal as the rest of the house. How foolish she had been to fear a child.
“I’m really not sleepy at all,” Lady Heather said as they entered the spacious nursery. A basin of hot water had been brought up for the girl to wash up. “I slept in the carriage.”
“Well, whether you feel sleepy or not, as it is only my first day here, I think it best that I follow Lord Ethelred’s orders to the letter. Do you not agree?”
“I almost never follow his orders,” the girl declared proudly as Amanda helped her out of her cloak and hung it on a hook behind the door. She had to stifle a laugh.
“Daughters are given somewhat more leniency than governesses, I’m afraid,” she answered once she could trust her voice to speak without laughing.
“Everyone else is afraid of him,” the girl continued, “but I’m not. He’s not really mean, he just dresses like it. Don’t you think he looks like a priest? I keep telling him that he shouldn’t wear black every day, but he’s very stubborn.”
“I…”
The girl continued chirping away as she washed her face and began to tug at the ribbons that held her hair. “He can be rather fun if you choose to ignore his bad habits. Of course, having one’s father as one’s only friend has many drawbacks. That’s why you’re here. He says you’re to teach me Irish things, but really you are to keep me from being lonely and to keep me away from him. I bother him sometimes, I suppose. Though I can’t see why. What kind of father doesn’t want his daughter to be with him all the time?”
Amanda couldn’t get a word in edgewise. She had been desirous of information about her mysterious new employer. Now it seemed she only had to wait silently by, and she would presently receive a full biography and character sketch from his loquacious daughter.
“I imagine he has business to attend to, unfortunately,” Amanda managed to get in as the daughter took a breath.
“Unfortunately, is right. I can’t stand when he’s writing his letters. It’s terribly dull. He can write for hours, though what he could possibly be writing about is a mystery to me. He hardly can string a sentence together with me; he’s so tight-lipped.”
Amanda chuckled softly. She could understand very plainly why her father would struggle to get a sentence together if his daughter was as talkative as this all the time.
“At any rate, I will never get a mother if he keeps dressing like a clergyman. Or an undertaker. Do you think he looks like an undertaker, Miss Amanda?”
Amanda was gently herding the girl toward the bed, and, despite her protestations about not being sleepy, she climbed right under the covers and laid down without argument.
“I…well, I don’t really know how a Marquess is meant to look. I haven’t met many of them. I suppose he dresses how he likes, as is his right.”
“But do you think he’s handsome?”
Amanda scoffed, not knowing the best way to answer. She had the impression that to insult her father’s good looks would be quite offensive to Lady Heather, who seemed to idolize him. But then, as little as Amanda knew about the role of a governess, she felt certain that expressing attraction to her employer would be most inappropriate. Luckily, she did not need to answer, as the girl talked even with her eyes closed.
“I think he looks like an undertaker. It will be good for my eyes to get to play with someone pretty now.”
Amanda chuckled, crossing to a nearby chair to sit and work on her embroidery while the girl slipped into a light slumber. Amanda smiled as she stitched in the quiet that followed the tornado of words from the little girl. All of her fears were washed away by Lady Heather’s unguarded and cheerful demeanor, and she felt that familiar, buoyant feeling of hope returning to her after her dreadful night on the ship followed by such an unpromising introduction to life at Ethelred Manor.
Even if the Marquess was frighteningly formal and dressed like an undertaker, Amanda felt confident that she could weather his expectations with grace and the help of his daughter’s cheeriness.
Something the girl had said stuck in her mind, though. Lady Heather had mentioned that Amanda was “to teach her Irish things”. She also remembered the Dowager Marchioness mentioning something about the Marquess being in search of, specifically, an Irish governess. Amanda knew nothing at all about Lady Heather’s mother except that she had died after delivering the girl. Now, she could guess that the late Marchioness must have been Irish herself.
For the rest of the day, Amanda spent time getting to know Lady Heather. The young girl was eager to give Amanda a much more thorough tour of the manor than she had received from Miss Green. Lady Heather, of course, knew all of the short cuts and hidden routes to get from place to place.
Before she knew it, the sun was setting, and Amanda attended to her duties in getting her charge into bed for the night. Lady Heather burned bright and fast, expending her energy in quick bursts of rapid movement and talk. But she fell asleep just as quickly as she did everything else, tucking into her blankets and burying her nose underneath them, she began to snore quietly almost instantly. Amanda stretched her arms over her head. She was worn out from following the small lady all over the house. Her shoes had rubbed blisters into the back of her heel, and she wondered what it would be like to try to get the little girl to attend to lessons once they began.
Amanda hovered near her door, remembering what Miss Green had said about being sent for to meet with the Marquess after the daughter was in bed. Although her confidence had been greatly boosted by her afternoon with the child, meeting with the father was as dreadful a thought as it had been in the beginning. She twisted her hands in front of her, and her mouth went dry as she waited.
Finally, there was a quiet knock at her door. She opened to Miss Green, who greeted her.
Amanda swallowed and chewed on her bottom lip as she followed the housekeeper down long, darkened corridors. At a set of double doors that seemed to lead to a drawing room, Miss Green glanced over Amanda’s appearance quickly.
“Don’t chew your lip,” she instructed. “Relax your shoulders.”
Amanda obeyed her, trying to take on a posture of polite calmness, despite the hammering in her chest.
There were lamps in the drawing room, but none of them were lit. The warm orange light that filled the space came only from the fire that crackled noisily in the fireplace. Dark shadows danced along the walls, flickering and swaying so that the whole space seemed to be filled with movement.
Her eyes sought him automatically. He was seated in a chair near the fire; one long leg draped over the other as he reclined, staring at her. He had changed his clothes. At least she thought he had. But his everyday ensemble closely resembled his traveling clothes in that they were stiff, black and, severe.
“Miss O’Neil,” he said, as she stood, frozen, near the door. She curtsied low. “Sit down.”
She did as he bade, lowering herself gingerly in a matching chair that was across from his. He sat quietly near the fire so that when she sat opposite him, the heat o
f it licked at her cheek.
Strictly speaking, Lord Ethelred’s rank was more or less equal to that of the Dowager Marchioness. She was a Marchioness, the female equivalent of his Marquess. And yet, the Dowager Marchioness had such a non-self-conscious and eccentric air about her that it was easy for even someone like Amanda to feel quite comfortable in her presence.
The same could not be said for Lord Ethelred. He wore his title like a badge; every inch of him seemed to burst with nobility. His square jaw was locked, tilted slightly up as he appraised her openly. For several excruciating moments, he merely gazed at her, saying nothing. Amanda longed to fidget under his scrutiny, but she held herself upright and still as a statue, not quite meeting his gaze, for that could be seen as challenging. Her face grew hot, and it was not only due to the flames that blazed so near them.
Seducing The Perfectly Enchanting Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 3