"They would do better to study the Bible and recite a passage to prepare their souls for eternity."
Torie was still recovering from Lord Lairdscroft's glowing praise when she was introduced to the mutterer of this prosaic advice. The regally robed Bishop Eiffel was introduced, along with eight followers; all mute except when agreeing with their superior. Torie merely smiled and bowed her head slightly to the retinue, saving the reverent greeting for the bishop. She had never met a man of his religious magnitude before and was unsure of the proper etiquette. With a dash of inspiration she grasped his hand and daintily kissed the embossed ring on his stubby finger.
The Bishop Eiffel, who had noticed the clasp of the girl's hand on Lord Lairdscroft's arm, had already formed an opinion and was about to expound a tirade on the dangers of beauty and sin, when Torie's actions stopped him in mid-sentence, leaving his mouth hanging open. He shut it crisply and smiled an unheralded smile that stunned his retinue. Even his deeply buried vanity was piqued by her elevation of his status to popery.
This was more good fortune than Rhionne McLairdin had hoped for. Torie had charmed even the staunchest Cromwell throwback. But he was not to be let off so lightly.
A beautiful face might charm the bishop but Lord Lairdscroft's own countenance was a reminder that monetary obligations had to be met. The short-shouldered, long-winded bishop had a sermon already prepared for milord. He began; “Lord Lairdscroft, are you familiar with the free thinking principle that the Lord is everywhere, therefore it is not necessary to attend mass to seek atonement?"
Rhionne McLairdin took this as his signal and disengaged Torie's hand from his arm. He then took the bishop by the elbow and shepherded him to a corner of the room where he pressed a plump packet into the folds of the holy man's voluminous robes. It was a generous sum, but small payment for his peace of mind. The footmen standing guard knew the ritual well and took this as the gesture that announced dinner. A bell chimed and in response they threw open the adjoining double doors with a flourish. The senior of the two boomed; “Dinner is served!"
Torie found her arm taken by the younger Mr. Pickwick who had discovered his tongue and was more than happy to sit beside the most beautiful woman he had ever imagined.
* * * *
After the church dinner Torie was once again thrust into the background of life at Lairdscroft. It was not that she minded her post. She did not feel slighted as a governess; she felt ignored as a person. At the dinner she had felt a connection between herself and Rhionne McLairdin. Nothing of great magnitude—just a kindred spirit over the discipline of his sons.
Only now, she had the distinct feeling Lord Lairdscroft had merely been using her, and now that it was over, she was again relegated to being just another servant. He spoke civilly enough to her at the meals taken with the children in the dining room, but it was just polite conversation and stilted at best.
But the church dinner had served a purpose Torie was grateful for. Every Sunday morning she dressed as best she could in her worn, drab gowns and readied the boys in their best knee breeches and coats, before taking the dogcart into the village to attend service at the small, but impressive stone church. The boys grumbled about this but surprisingly Lord Lairdscroft, though he did not attend himself, approved and did not throw any obstacles in the way.
Torie felt conspicuous in the elaborately carved pew reserved for the McLairdin family. The villagers stared to see it occupied, then stared again at the beauty occupying it. If there was speculation to be had at the transformation of pock-mocked governess to flawless beauty, it was said out of earshot, for the villagers treated Torie with the utmost respect as they left the services. Friendly greetings were exchanged and compliments on the boys’ growth and exemplary behavior. They did not know his lordship reminded the boys every Sunday before service that he would deal with any antics of misbehavior severely. It was enough to keep the boys from fidgeting and giggle-free for the duration of the morning.
Torie liked the quaint little church and the feeling she belonged. It had been so long since she had felt such; she had forgotten what security it presented. She sang hymns confidently and smiled at the parsons, both elder and younger. The elder Mr. Pickwick could not discern this facial feature from the podium, so it was not this that made his wheezing increase till he had to sit.
The younger Mr. Pickwick took over and caught Torie's smile of encouragement. For a moment he thought he himself would stop breathing, and dropped the Bible he had been gripping so tenaciously. The action broke the spell and he was able to continue the sermon.
At the doorway as they departed, both Pickwicks bade their parishioners adieu till the following week .The younger Pickwick found the courage to take Torie's gloved hand and press it timidly. “I hope you will attend next Sunday."
"I shall make it a regular visit. I so find comfort in the service."
Whether it was the words, or the husky tone in which they were uttered that mesmerized him, it was impossible to tell. The younger parson could only nod as Torie and the boys descended the stone steps to the awaiting dogcart.
When they arrived back at Lairdscroft it was to find the carriage waiting on the cobblestone drive. It seemed his lordship had been called to the city suddenly and would be gone a week. Torie did not know why this news should dismay her, but it did. The boys were not too upset. After all, they were used to their father's sudden departures. And it really should not make one whit of difference in Torie's life, but for some reason she was decidedly out of sorts over the news.
It was therefore in this mood of piquancy that she did something she knew his lordship would not have approved had he been in residence. It was midweek and Torie had just finished Brodie and Justin's morning lessons. They were beginning to be quite pliant now and stayed in the schoolroom at Torie's request. No more running helter-skelter through the maze until official playtime.
As it were, Torie had just excused the boys when she heard the clatter of hooves on cobblestone. Thinking impulsively it must be his lordship returned early, Torie smiled and hurriedly descended the stairs. It was certainly not her place to greet his arrival but she wanted to be present all the same. She waited in a discreet antechamber where she could observe without being seen.
But Torie was to be disappointed as the door did not open. Instead the knocker fell and a liveried servant hastened to answer. For no reason she became more obstinate in her annoyance with the absent Rhionne. When the Duke of Gaunlin was announced, Torie straightened the wrinkled flounce of her faded gown and gracefully floated to the entrance hall.
The Duke's face lit up with pleasure at the sight of her. For no other reason than she felt like it, Torie returned the smile. Her hand was seized and kissed fervently. Torie was slightly taken aback and withdrew it as propriety demanded.
The Duke was flushed. Not even in his first bloom of boyhood was he accustomed to being so offset by a lady. But this was no ordinary woman, though she behaved as if she were. “Miss Beauclaire, you are more ravishing than I remember, if that is possible."
"You flatter me, sir. Lord Lairdscroft is not at home."
The Duke bowed slightly, taking a moment to brush an imaginary crumb of dust from the sleeve of his powder blue frock coat, ornately trimmed with gold braid. “I am aware of this. If I had wanted to see Rhionne I would have left my card on being informed of his absence. But as you can see, I have asked to be announced to you"
"I don't understand. I am not at liberty to receive visitors. I am but an employee of Lord Lairdscroft."
"I am well aware of this travesty of fate. You should be an empress, nay a queen, with your beauty!” The Duke got on one knee and Torie feared he was about to press his suit again and propose.
"Oh, please sir! Do not let the other servants see you thus. It would be unseemly for my position."
"Then come with me. I have brought my park phaeton and a pair of high-steppers. We can take the air together. I am an accomplished whip, I can assure you."
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Torie shook her head. “I know Lord Lairdscroft would not approve."
"Bah, Rhionne does not care. He is scarce aware of you. He does not know what treasure he possesses. You should be in diamonds and satins, not withering away in the schoolroom!” Seeing she was unmoved by this appeal to a material nature, he tried a more compassionate approach. “At least if you will not marry me, take the air with me. It is the least you can do after breaking my heart!"
Torie seized on a sensible excuse. “I am not suitably gowned to be seen in your presence."
"Your beauty would make even the most elegant gown drab by comparison. This is not London. You will not be judged for fashion. All eyes will be blinded by you. Rhionne is a fool!"
This remark suited Torie's petulance towards the absent lord. “I accept. But only if you promise not to make absurd proposals. You know I cannot marry you. You are a Duke and I am a governess. Now that I think of it, I cannot go. It is ridiculous!"
"Too late, you have consented. You will not go back on your word, will you? You are an honorable person, else you would have made the most of your looks."
Torie did not blush at this bald statement and capitulated. Besides, it was only a drive in the country. What harm was there? And when it was all said and done it was a very pleasant outing. The morning chill had waned into a sunny afternoon. The leaves were turning and all around there were bright bursts of color. There was not a cloud in the sky, nor a breeze to bring a shiver.
The Duke behaved impeccably, leaving Torie's misgivings unfounded. He helped Torie into the phaeton and if his hand lingered too long on her arm, it was over-looked, as he pulled a blanket over her lap, just in case she should take chill.
He drove competently, if not a little too fast for Torie's taste. But she knew men who fancied themselves handy whips were prone to speed to show their skill. And when he struck up conversation it was about amiable topics; such as who was seen with whom at the last soiree and who was setting their cap at what eligible bachelor. While Torie was not a gossip, she did like to hear about life in the haut monde'. It was a life she could barely remember when her parents had been alive, but it brought back warm memories. She must have looked wistful for the Duke pulled up the phaeton.
"What is it my dear? The smile has left your face and I would not put a frown on your perfect brow for all the tea in India."
"Oh, no, it is not you. I was just remembering when my mother and father were alive. Things were different then."
"Ah, you are an orphan? Your parents, I take it, served on the staff of a great house in London? As a young girl you must have seen a great many social coups."
Torie remembered who she was talking to and hastily checked her tongue, which had been about to correct his mistaking her parents for servants. But her fall from grace was not a topic she cared to discuss, so she let his assumption stand. “What about Lord Lairdscroft? Surely he has his share of caps tossed his way?"
"Oh, to be sure. But mamas and daughters alike have given up on Rhionne. Some things are unattainable. Even a wily mama knows a cold stone when she spies it. Nay, though he is a good fellow, Rhionne is not the marriageable sort. He has his heir in Justin; therefore he is content to let things stand. No, if you're worried about a young, jealous wife coming along and booting you from your post, do not trouble yourself with the thought. For after the boys’ mother died, Rhionne swore he'd never marry again. And in all the time I've known him, Rhionne has always kept his word."
They had driven out farther and longer than Torie had meant to allow. There were faint shadows along the road, which had been sun-lit earlier. “It is getting late. I should be getting back before the boys get into mischief."
The Duke sighed, “My little time in heaven is to be over, then? Well, it is to be expected, as angels must flit away and you most certainly are a heavenly creature!"
"You flatter me. I am honored by your attention but you must not send further gifts or flowers. It will jeopardize my post. Lord Lairdscroft is not a sympathetic employer when it comes to suitors, no matter how high their ranking title."
The Duke shook his head in remorse. “It is I who am honored. Rhionne does not deserve you. I will respect your wishes, if you will respect mine."
Torie looked bewildered.
"I ask only a small thing. Call me Everett. It will do much to mend my broken heart if I hear it from your lips when I come to call. You will allow us to continue to be friends?"
Torie did not know how to answer. She could not very well slight the Duke and refuse his friendship. It was a different matter altogether than rejecting a proposal of marriage. She chose her words carefully. “I shall have to consult his lordship. I do not wish to do anything that would cast me in a bad light."
"Come now. He is your employer, not your guardian. He cannot possibly object to our friendship."
"No, but if you make it a habit of dropping by, it will make it awkward. I have my position to think of."
They were nearing Lairdscroft. “All-right, have it your way. Ask Rhionne. But I daresay he will not care a whit. If it ain't to do with his sons’ or politics, he won't concern himself in it."
As he helped her alight, he kissed her hand. “To friendship. I would it could be more. But maybe in time...?” He let the thought dangle as he jumped onto the phaeton and with a flourish, slapped the ribbons, causing the horses to move out smartly. Torie was woman enough to be flattered at this display for her benefit. After all, it was not every day a Duke came to call!
Chapter Six
It was more than a week before Lord Lairdscroft came back into residence. His return was unheralded and as haphazard as his departure. Torie found this coming and going willy-nilly to be disruptive to her charges’ schedule.
Before his lordship had departed for the city, the boys had been on their best behavior. But after a week of dining in the nursery, they were becoming rambunctious and quarrelsome to each other. Justin had a petulant streak that even Torie could not placate. While Brodie, always amiable, had developed the habit of pinching Justin when he was unaware, then denying the action. Torie was about at wit's end. She had thought she was progressing well with the boys, but now they were regressing.
She could only think of one reason ... Rhionne McLairdin's absence. His being in state kept the boys in check. It was not merely a matter of discipline. It was rather an indefinable quality that kept the whole of Lairdscroft running on an even keel.
The Duke of Gaunlin kept his word and did not press his suit. Torie wondered if when the master of the house returned, the Duke would pay court to her. His remark of friendship was all and well if you were a naive girl just out if the schoolroom, but in Torie's experience, friendship and men were not possible. If the Duke came calling it would not be as a friend but rather a wolf in disguise. Luckily he was still young enough to keep his intentions honorable, so Torie wasn't worried about being compromised.
His lordship arrived back at Lairdscroft sometime in the middle of the night. Torie went to bed to a quiet house and awoke to an asylum. She dressed hurriedly and padded downstairs. There were giggles coming from the breakfast parlor. Numerous servants were bustling here and there as if the house had been abandoned for the season, rather than just a week, minus its master. Torie hastily glanced in one of the tall, gilded mirrors that lined the hall. Her once lilac faded velvet, now a pale pink, was the best of the lot she possessed as a morning dress, and her hair swept back with a pink ribbon and loosely bobbed, was attractively demure.
Torie paused outside the breakfast parlor door and listened. A deep baritone was recounting the tale of a rooster that could not crow, to a giggling Brodie. Torie entered just as Lord Lairdscroft began barking like a dog to demonstrate how the rooster sounded. Justin was sitting grinning at the other side of the table. The pale mauve Dresden plates on the table were almost full, denoting breakfast had not been long under way.
Rhionne McLairdin's mouth froze wide open as he caught sight of Torie coming thr
ough the door. He shut it quickly with a snap, snuffling the bark into a yelp of sorts. He made a show of straightening the white linen cravat he wore in starched Brummell fashion.
Torie hid her smile. It would not do to appear impertinent. “Your lordship has had an enlightening trip, I trust?"
He cleared his throat. “Yes well ... the purpose was accomplished. The boys did well under your tutelage?"
Justin's and Brodie's eyes widened beseechingly. “They were as well behaved as they knew how, under the circumstances.” Torie did not intend to hedge the issue.
"Circumstances? What circumstances?"
Torie was already in over her head and had no choice but to plunge on. “I believe your impulsive absences are detrimental to their behavior."
"Their behavior? What have they done?"
"It's not so much what they have done, but rather how they behave. They grow restive when you are away. They lack concentration and attentiveness in their studies."
Justin pulled at his collar points as if they constricted his breathing. Brodie did not fully understand the words she spoke but from the look on his father's face, he knew it was not good and squirmed in his chair.
His lordship threw down his napkin and rose. “Bah! You know not of what you speak. Furthermore, you take too much upon yourself to reprove me. I am Lord Lairdscroft and you are a mere governess!"
He stormed from the room, leaving Torie shocked and offended. A mere governess? Wasn't she employed to look after the welfare of his sons? It seemed Rhionne McLairdin had a weakness. He would not stand for criticism!
Justin shook his head. “You shouldn't have said that, Torie. I've never seen him that angry."
Brodie looked about to cry. “He won't send you away, will he Torie? Say he won't! We'll be better, honest we will!"
The Perfect Rose Page 7