The Perfect Rose

by Diane Greenwood

  "I don't know.” Torie replied truthfully. “But whatever happens, it's not your fault Brodie, nor yours Justin. It's a fact. When your father is in residence you are both better students. Whether it’ s because you like having him near and feel secure, or you want to please him so you try harder, I don't know. Maybe it's a little of both. But I do know your father has a responsibility to do what is best for you. Now finish your breakfast and I shall join you. Your father has left behind a fine feast. But that's his own fault."

  After breakfast Torie herded the boys up to their lessons. This time it was she who was inattentive, wondering why she had confronted his lordship at the breakfast table. It was hardly the time or place to make a point and she could not have been less diplomatic if she had visited Rhionne McLairdin’ s bedchamber. She blushed at the thought. There was no use wondering on it now. The milk was spilt and she was not the crying sort. She would continue with her duties and wait for the repercussions of her foolishness.

  She had not long to wait. The summons came right after she had excused the boys for play. With a final act of defiance Torie changed into the red velvet gown that The Duke of Gaunlin had given her, and pinned the elegant gold brooch on the front. Not to be thought immodest she tucked a piece of lace in the daring décolletage before pulling the ribbon from her hair and brushing it free. It was scarcely the conventional upswept style, but if Rhionne McLairdin wanted to label her a mere governess he had better think again!

  With a spry step, her hair swinging free behind her, Torie descended to the bottom floor. The red gown gave her courage with its fitted bodice and her loose hair made her feel slightly wicked. She didn't bother to pause outside the study, nor did she knock, as the door was open. She swept in regally, a swirl of blonde hair and flowing red velvet.

  The sound of Lord Lairdscroft's spectacles falling to the desktop was discernible before he composed himself. Torie had the satisfaction of knowing she had caught him off guard. She tried to hide the smile that formed on her lips, but Rhionne McLairdin must have caught it for his eyes narrowed.

  But Torie was not about to give him the upper hand, though she did not know where she found the courage to say; “I suppose you have summoned me here to present me with my dismissal. I would apologize, but where my charges’ welfare is concerned, I have no remorse. Therefore, I will expect a well-written reference before I go. And furthermore..."

  His lordship raised a hand to halt her. “Sit down, Miss Beauclaire.” When Torie closed her mouth, then opened it again to speak, he shook his head. “Ah, Ah! Do not bare your fangs again. I am pleased you have taken my sons’ welfare so much to heart. It is I who must apologize for my ill-mannered exit this morning. I will feign tiredness as an excuse."

  "Then I am not to be dismissed?"

  "Pray tell, why? I won't apologize twice so don't provoke me, as I did not eat much breakfast due to your chastisement, and my tolerance level is low when I am hungry. I summoned you here on my sons’ behalves. I have considered your words and am in agreement. As I reflect on their behavior it seems a pattern has developed between my travels and their attentiveness. Therefore, though inconvenient, I will keep my travels limited to urgent matters and will handle less important issues by messenger."

  "I was thinking more along the lines of taking the children with you when you travel.” Torie knew she was stepping over the line again.

  Rhionne McLairdin looked incredulous—his thick eyebrows rose in astonishment. “My dear Miss Beauclaire, it is not as if I am having a grand time traveling across the continent. My business is governmental politics. I have not the time to entertain the children and practice diplomacy. The two do not go hand and hand. Which by the by, may I remind you; your job is the children, and I thank you for taking such interest in their well being, but if you ever challenge my authority in front of them again, I will dismiss you without the reference you so crave. Do I make myself clear?"

  Torie swallowed hard. She had been given a double set-down and was thoroughly chastised. “Yes, sir,” She replied meekly. “May I be excused?"

  "No, you may not. I asked that you sit and there you stand. Is it just me that you single out to disobey, or were you this high-handed with all your employers?"

  Torie flushed rosily and bowed her head so her hair would cascade forward, covering her embarrassment as she sat in ‘her chair'. It seemed Rhionne McLairdin had his own punishment for defiance and Torie did not care a whit for it! Now that the issue did not concern his offspring Torie could not imagine what further business he had with her. “I don't know what you mean."

  Rhionne McLairdin looked exasperated. The woman's hair was distracting him. He put more bite in his next words then he meant. “Did I, or did I not, ask you not to wear that dress?"

  Torie flung her hair back. “I believe you expressed displeasure in it, but as I told you, it is all I have that is suitably tailored."

  "Not any more, it ain't. I took the liberty of taking your measurements to the city where a capable dressmaker was able to stitch a few serviceable garments in time for my return. The maids have hung them in your wardrobe by now, I believe."

  Torie could not find the words to say ‘thank you’ after the recent attack on her character. His lordship did not seem to expect any as he dignified his actions. “After all, I cannot have a man you know little about, buying you clothes. It looks untoward, bordering on unseemly. Besides, I am your employer and it makes me appear ungenerous and miserly. Which brings me to a point. I understand you were seen out riding with the Duke last week. I thought you had better sense. I see I gave you too much credit."

  Torie was stung by his criticism but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing his barb strike a nerve. Demurely she replied; “I, that is ... we enjoy taking the air together. Everett says we can at least be friends."

  "Everett is it? You are quite naive in some matters, Miss Beauclaire. One would assume that a woman of your looks would have walked through the gardens enough to know a rose from a daffodil. Or perhaps you do. Maybe I do not credit you enough. The Duke of Gaunlin is a very wealthy man, though I warn you his father is of old blood and would never acknowledge a legal arrangement. Perhaps, you will make do with mistress, eh? Well, you will do, as you will. I cannot stop you from seeing the Duke, but I do not condone it."

  Shocked beyond belief, Torie jumped to her feet. Perhaps his cruelty was in part due to the lack of breakfast he'd not eaten. She did not know. But she did know she could not listen to another insult! Without asking permission she ran from the room. She wanted to go to her own room, but at the top of the stairs she could hear the boys in the nursery playing tag and could not face their questions; so she headed for the narrow back stairs and gained access to the ground floor. There was no one about as she slipped outdoors and into the maze.

  His lordship was meanwhile pondering over what had just transpired. Confound the girl! Where was she going so hither thither? He had an urge to go after her, but held himself back. That would never do. But, egad! What had come over him? He'd had the fanatical desire to wound the girl's pride. It was not like him to be so careless with words. But what was a man to do when his employee behaved so irresponsibly and took the air so casually with a titled neighbor? Bah! It was not his affair as long as it did not affect his children. So what did he care? That was it. He did not! Suitably reinforced by this resolve he gave his attention to the stack of papers on his desk.

  Torie, meanwhile, sat on a stone bench in the middle of the maze and stubbornly vowed she would not cry. It was not her fault that Rhionne McLairdin was cruel, heartless and mean-spirited. Even the generous act of buying her a few gowns was due to the fact his pride could not stand that another man should give her a gift. What blow had fate dealt her? She was a visible part of the household but while it seemed her beauty did not influence her employer, he hated her all the same. But what choice did she have? She loved the boys as if they were her own and it was a place to call home.

  She was so
intent on her musings she did not hear the rustling of the thick brush around her until a face poked through. Startled, she let out a shriek. The disembodied face spoke. “Shh! It is only I, Jacques, one of the gardeners. Wait, I will come around."

  A few moments later a form appeared. He was young, only in his late teens, but handsome in a rough way. His shoulders were broad from hard labor. His lanky blond hair was not contained but hung down to his shoulders and across a tanned forehead. He pushed it from sparkling blue eyes with a large, callused hand. “See, I am quite harmless."

  Torie could not help but smile, despite her recent woes. “Jacques? You are French?"

  "Oui'. And you are la belle jeune fille I have heard very much of."

  "You've heard?"

  "Oui. Of course servants will talk. And you, the beautiful governess, are talked of often."

  Torie laughed. “Thank you. I am Victoria Beauclaire. But I am called simply, Torie."

  "Beauclaire? Ah, then, you are French?” He wiped a streak of mud from the back of his sun-reddened hand.

  "No, regretfully not. My great-great grandfather was, or so the story goes. But I always liked the language. I was taught it as a small child, but I lost the tongue without practice."

  Jacques paused, curious. “You were raised as a lady? I thought as much. You have the look of class. Like fine champagne. I am a laborer. I was born from a working class family and I will die a laborer. But we are not animals. We have honor, just like the upper class.” He looked down at his rough work clothes.

  "Of course you do. But, you are not uneducated. You have been taught."

  "Oui'. I read when I can and what I can. My mother, she made sure my brothers and I knew how to read and speak English."

  "You speak very well."

  "Merci. Now I must return to work. The topiary grows as fast as I can clip."

  Torie did not know what prompted her to ask, “Wait! Do you come to this part of the garden often?"

  Jacques smiled. “Every Wednesday at this time. Perhaps we shall meet again."

  "Perhaps."

  "Au revoir!"

  After he was gone, Torie was still smiling. She liked the young gardener. Perhaps she was just lonely for someone to talk to, but he cheered her up and gave her something to think about, besides the occupants of Lairdscroft. Especially, one certain arrogant lord! Torie found herself looking forward to next Wednesday.

  She went back into the house feeling better. But she could not face Rhionne McLairdin at dinner and pleaded the headache. Staying absent did not bring the peace of mind she had hoped for. She could not help but wonder what was going on below. Were the boys reciting verse? Did Rhionne wear the smile of pride Torie was accustomed to seeing when he witnessed an accomplishment of one of his sons? Or was laughter the main course as his lordship recounted another far-fetched tale from his travels? Torie dwelled on it so much she did get the headache and had to retire early.

  * * * *

  The next morning passed remarkably easy. Torie awoke to a tap at her door and a maid bearing a missive from her employer that the boys would not require lessons for the day as they were to accompany him to the village. Torie was heartened the boys were to spend an entire day in their father's company. It also gave her a day to herself. The maid who had brought the missive also brought Torie's morning hot water. She was not young and the look she cast Torie was more one of curiosity than envy. She inquired if Torie would like her to layout one of the new dresses.

  New dresses? Torie had completely forgotten the hastily sewn dresses his lordship had brought from the city. She had not a clue as to their style and hues, so she declined the maid's offer. She waited for the woman to leave before nearly running to the wardrobe and flinging it open. It had been years since she'd acquired anything new and the contents within, however sensible and serviceable, were looked on with excitement.

  The ‘few gowns’ were no less than ten. And they were quite lovely! Even on finicky inspection the seams were so closely sewn it was impossible to see the thread. Surely the dressmaker had worked night and day to complete them in so short a time!

  They were in pastel shades for daytime wear, but after her faded gowns they seemed quite brilliant in comparison. Torie could not choose between a tea gown of lilac with black velvet piping, or a light blue gown with an Empress waist. She chose the former. The fit was perfect, she marveled as she piled her hair up and fastened it with pins. Of course it would not all stay and some curls escaped to dangle flirtatiously. Torie ignored the errant strands. Nothing was going to ruin her good mood she vowed, even making a reckless promise to herself to splurge and buy new gloves on her next visit to the village.

  When she was ready she headed downstairs to breakfast, nearly skipping in lighthearted abandonment. She did not care if anybody saw her silliness. It was enough to know she looked her best and did not have to be self-conscious of her garb.

  The housekeeper herself brought in the huge platter of kidney pies and roasted veal. The stout woman nodded her head and deigned to bid Torie a fine day, before making a second trip to the kitchens for black currant jelly and scones. Torie was pleased her infectious spirit had it's effect on others.

  She whittled away the day walking in the gardens and generally enjoying her own company. There was no sign of Jacques, much to her disappointment, but the sunny weather matched her disposition and she soon was much contented to meander slowly down the walks. When the wind began to blow and a chill set in, she returned to the house for a pelisse. Her old drab one looked too worn and threadbare to cover her new gown, so she instead decided to stay inside and take a turn at the majestic pianoforte, positioned inside the ballroom. Torie had not played in many a year and if the house had not been absent of its male heirs she would not have made the attempt. Her fingers rippled along the keys, getting the feel of the smooth ivory. She began with a concerto, bungling it badly and gracefully conceding she was no pianist. She remembered something from her childhood, a piece of music her mother had taught her. It came back to her and haunted her thoughts until she began to play. It was a beautiful tune and her hands did not falter, but played it flawlessly.

  She was so intent she did not hear footsteps behind her until a deep masculine voice said over her shoulder. “I did not realize we had a musician in the house."

  Torie started and her fingers came down on the keys with a crash of chords, unsettling to the ears.

  Rhionne McLairdin and his sons was her avid audience. “I apologize if we startled you.” His lordship did not look very contrite; rather he was staring at the keys of the pianoforte as if in reflection. “That piece of music, where did you learn it?"

  "It is something from my childhood. I am sorry I am rusty, as I have not played for a long while."

  "Nonsense, it was most moving. And to think, if the cold had not come up we would not have returned early and would have missed the recital."

  "It was nothing.” Torie felt herself blushing.

  His lordship continued. “I was simply wondering where a simple governess learned Pietro's Sonata. It was written for the son of the King of Spain who died quite young. Only a handful of aristocracy knows the tune, outside of Europe. I don't suppose you've ever traveled the continent?"

  "No. No...” Torie was flustered. She did not want to go into her past. It was not something she wanted his lordship to know especially how she came to be a governess. She rose. “I am tired. I would like to rest before dinner."

  "Of course. I will keep the boys with me so you may be undisturbed. By the by, the dress is most becoming."

  Torie smiled, ridiculously pleased by the compliment.

  Chapter Seven

  The rest of the week passed surprisingly calmly with no clouds on the horizon. Rhionne McLairdin behaved solicitously towards her and Torie could almost have forgotten their confrontation in the study. Before Torie knew it, it was Sunday morning and time for church. Proudly she wore a dove-gray, demurely cut gown with a capuchin collar, that
she had no way of knowing accentuated her figure, rather than covering it.

  The sermon went quickly as the younger Mr. Pickwick seemed to follow his father's suit and had trouble completing a sentence without losing breath. Unlike his elder, this was not due to health, but rather the habit of glancing at the McLairdin pew where Torie sat. After the service, the younger Mr. Pickwick made sure he was at the door when Torie exited with Justin and Brodie in tow.

  "Miss Beauclaire.” He reached for her hand, holding it slightly longer than others of the congregation. “I am honored you have attended today. And of course, it is always heart-warming to see the youths of today in attendance. It bodes well that the future heir of Lairdscroft and his sibling come to service regularly, now that you are guiding their souls. I hold my breath for the day his lordship may come over to our side."

  Torie did not know why she chose to defend Rhionne McLairdin. It went beyond the duty of employee. “Oh, I don't believe his lordship is against the church, per say. It is just he is preoccupied and has his duty to think of."

  The older Mr. Pickwick was longer in arriving at the door, but once there he took it upon himself to remind everyone that while church was over, the eyes of sin were still upon them. He overheard Torie's statement and took a firm stance. “His first duty should be to the good Lord above."

  "I'm sure it is, father...” The younger Pickwick never contradicted his elder, but with Torie there he felt daring. “It is simply that Lord Lairdscroft worships in the temple of the mind."

  Torie smiled gratefully. The younger Mr. Pickwick lost his train of thought and even the elder let go of the offense. “Ahem ... if you'll excuse me I have some papers to prepare before our dinner at Lairdscroft."

  The younger Mr. Pickwick wanted to detain Torie longer but Brodie was tugging at her hand so he asked the question that tortured his mind. “I trust you will be attending the dinner?"

  Torie gave Brodie a pat. “His lordship has not requested my presence, but I rather think he might.” Torie knew the vocal bishop had one more week in the vicinity, before returning to his own congregation in the city. She knew his lordship well enough to know why he requested her presence at Sunday dinner. If Rhionne McLairdin did not appreciate her beauty, he did appreciate what it could do for him. A pretty face could halt the flow of even the most fanatical fire and brimstone preaching.