Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 05]

by The Governess Wears Scarlet

  In a matter of seconds, Steele worked through the familiar push and pull of intellectual debate inside his head and quickly came to a decision. Ultimately, no matter how much he regarded Sir Lee, he couldn’t simply trust something so important to another’s word.

  So Miss Abigail West, no matter how perfectly suited Sir Lee considered her to be, would have to go.

  Steele cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to inform you—”

  “Stop! Stop this instant! I command you!” a male voice boomed from near the threshold.

  Concealing his irritation, Steele glanced toward the door.

  A plump, baldheaded gentleman dressed in a fine burgundy coat with shiny brass buttons stood in the doorway. His features were twisted into a look that could sour the milk in a cow’s udder.

  “You cannot hire that Jezebel!” Benbrook’s watery brown eyes glared daggers at Miss West. “I know all about her and I will not have her in my house!”

  The young lady stepped backward, closer to Steele as if for protection.

  For the thousandth time, Steele questioned if he was mad to have taken up this Herculean task. “It’s my house, not yours, Benbrook. But that aside, I have this matter well in hand.”

  The Viscount Benbrook shook his fat finger at Steele as if he were some school lad up to mischief. “Clearly you’re unfit!”

  Steele gritted his teeth, the dig poking into the old wound that never seemed to heal. “I handle legal matters for the Crown, Benbrook. I can certainly manage a simple interview.”

  “Not if you’re even considering this…common…lowly…”

  “Now see here, Benbrook—” Steele felt for the lady, having faced his father-in-law’s hostile snobbery on many occasions himself.

  “You will do as I say! She’s the worst sort of grasping…” Benbrook’s face twisted in disgust. “…brassy…” His lips curled. “…presumptuous…”

  With each word, Miss West seemed to shrink into herself.

  Steele scowled. “Enough, Benbrook!”

  “…strumpet!”

  Steele stepped in front of Miss West, shielding her from the ranting prig. “Get out!” He pointed toward the door. “I’ll not have you insulting my guest in my house!”

  Benbrook’s brown eyes narrowed, and his lip curled into a sneer. “It’s no wonder you defend her! Neither of you knows your place!”

  Something shifted inside Steele, and he felt the familiar coldness envelop him like steely armor. No one, and especially not a priggish sod like Benbrook, could tell Steele what to do and with whom to do it.

  With a smile, Steele turned to the cowering young lady. “Congratulations, Miss West. The position is yours.”

  Chapter 3

  Steele grinned while his father-in-law sputtered, “But you cannot!”

  Straightening her spine, Miss West quickly recovered. “Ah…thank you, Lord Steele. When would you like me to begin?” Questions may have been swirling in her slate blue eyes, but she kept her head about her.

  Good. Mayhap Sir Lee was right about her. Still, she’d been pretty mousy when it came to Benbrook’s attack. Did she have the necessary backbone to get the job done? Regardless, Steele couldn’t look backward now; the deed was done and he would make hay with it.

  Steele looked to Benbrook. “I assume you brought the boys with you and that they are here.”

  Benbrook shrieked, his face molten with fury, “Of course I did! But I’ll not stand for this…this…unsuitable wench…”

  Steele stepped toward his father-in-law, getting so close as to see the man’s enlarged irises. The odor of port wafted around the fat lord like a foul mist. “Don’t say one more word, you self-righteous prig. Or I’ll kick you, your grandsons, and your bloody troubles right out my door!”

  At the mention of his troubles, Benbrook’s eyes widened and he closed his pudgy lips and sulked. “This is not the end of it,” he retorted churlishly.

  Miss West pointedly ignored Benbrook. “I will start right away, Lord Steele.”

  Nodding, Steele placed his hand on the small of Miss West’s back as he gently steered her around Benbrook and toward the door. His hand fit perfectly there, he was surprised to note, and she responded quickly to his touch. Clearly she was quite willing to leave him to the petulant Lord Benbrook. Smart girl. “Excellent. Speak to my butler, Carlton, about the details.”

  In the threshold, she paused and looked up at him. Her golden brow furrowed and then cleared, as if she was finding the words difficult. “Your trust has not been misplaced, my lord. I promise, I will not disappoint you.”

  “Be careful what you promise. My good opinion is hard to come by.”

  “Then I will earn it, my lord.”

  The sincerity reflected in her eyes and in her voice gave him a moment’s pause. Steele trusted very few people, and one of those had recently disappointed him. Heath Bartlett, the barrister that Steele relied on most in his staff, had gone behind his back and freed a suspected murderess without so much as a by-your-leave. All had turned out well in the end, since the lady in question was innocent. But still, that sense of betrayal lingered like a chill he couldn’t shake.

  Holding her skirts, Miss West curtsied, and Steele caught a whiff of her clean, sweet scent, reminding him of ling, the low-growing heather with tiny pink bellflowers. “If you will excuse me, my lord.”

  Exhaling, he nodded.

  A fleeting sense of loss overcame him as he closed the door behind her. Her freshness and sincerity were a marked contrast to the fractious, inebriated lord standing behind him.

  Girding himself, Steele turned and motioned toward the chair before his desk. “Let us sit and discuss this calmly, shall we?” Although the decision was not up for reconsideration, as Benbrook would soon learn.

  Benbrook dropped into the chair with a huff. “She’s a grasping harpy.”

  “You’ve been drinking.”

  “I must, to maintain my sanity!”

  Steele found it hard to argue; the man had been through a lot, and had much more yet to face. A few drinks were a small consolation under the circumstances.

  Benbrook leaned forward and placed his pudgy arm on Steele’s desk, straining the seams of his burgundy coat. “Look. I know of what I speak. I have it on good authority that that woman tried to seduce Lord Byrnwyck’s son. You know, the grown one from his first marriage to Lady Paige.”

  “Oh, please,” Steele scoffed. The leather creaked as he lowered himself into his chair. “She’s a babe in the wood compared to Byrnwyck.”

  “Not that son. Phineas, the younger, more impressionable one. She was retained to care for Byrnwyck’s daughters by his latest wife, but was more interested in playing with the full-grown son, if you know what I mean.”

  Steele waved his hand in dismissal. “I don’t care which of that clan you mean, she’s about as predatory as a lamb. Besides”—he raised a brow—“do you really fear for my virtue?”

  Shifting in his seat, Benbrook harrumphed. “You’re a viscount now…”

  “Finally worth catching, eh?” Steele experienced the old hurt like a splinter in his flesh.

  Benbrook bristled. “You were a ruffian! Hardly worthy of my Deidre! And if it weren’t for you…” He swallowed, looking away.

  “If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t be dead,” Steele finished the thought.

  “She certainly wouldn’t have had to sneak around…”

  “The same could be said if you’d accepted me and our marriage! She was so terrified of upsetting you and was trying to give me the chance to prove myself before breaking the news to you, that we never even had one night under the same roof! Married, but sneaking around as if we’d committed some crime!”

  “It was a crime! You were hardly worthy of my daughter!”

  Every time Steele and Benbrook got together, it was as if Deidre hung over them like an angry specter. Each man was raw with guilt and shame and grief, and the other man was a glaringly conspicuous target. It was the reason the
two men had, by tacit agreement, stayed apart these almost nine years.

  Benbrook smacked the desk with his palm. “But enough of that! We’re talking about Miss West, not ancient history! She’ll be a bad influence on my grandsons.”

  Exhaling, Steele forced himself to calm down; he had promised Sir Lee to try not to harp on the past, and he would keep his word no matter how difficult that charge might be. “Sir Lee believes that Miss West is perfect for the job.”

  “I wouldn’t even have a bloody governess if it weren’t for…” Benbrook’s voice trailed off, his grief for his lost son and daughter-in-law etched on his face.

  Lord Benbrook’s daughter-in-law, Emily, mother to Felix and Seth, had left a note written in the event of anything ever happening to her. Lord Steele and Sir Lee had determined that it was drafted without fear of a specific threat in mind; it was merely a precaution written out of love for her children.

  In the letter, Emily had expressed her desire that if she died, the boys were to have a governess until the age of twelve. She’d explained in the note that she wanted the boys to have a female influence in their lives, separate and apart from their formal education. A tutor, she’d written, will be necessary as well, but a female must be the primary giver of care.

  Wiping a hand across his eyes, Benbrook recovered. “Miss Lorena Farmer is a better choice, I tell you, and you will have more peace in your home if you do as I say!”

  “Who’s Miss Farmer?”

  “She rode along with us from Dorset and was quite useful with the lads. The girl who’d been helping out with the boys since the last governess suddenly became ill and resigned. Luckily for us, our cook had heard that Miss Farmer was headed to London to seek out a post as a governess.”

  Steele rubbed his chin. “Very lucky indeed.”

  Ignoring the obvious notion that he’d been played, Benbrook reached into his coat and pulled out a sheet of vellum. “Miss Farmer comes highly recommended and has impeccable references, unlike your Miss West.”

  Steele’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t bark up that tree, Benbrook. Sir Lee selected Miss West, not me. I don’t consort with my staff. I never have and never will.”

  Benbrook slid the paper across the desk. “I want Miss Farmer.”

  Steele ignored the vellum. “Well, we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

  “You are only their guardian temporarily!”

  “Thank the heavens.”

  “You don’t know how to handle such things! You’ve never been a father!”

  Steele leaned forward, his anger steeping. “And why is that, Benbrook? Why is it that I never had any children with my lovely wife?”

  Benbrook looked away, his face pained.

  Steele smile was cold. “Thanks to you—”

  “And to you!”

  “Yes, and to me, I have no children and never will. I know how it feels to know with certainty that there will be no heirs in my line. Do you want to start gambling with yours now?”

  Benbrook swallowed.

  Now was as good a place as any to draw his line in the sand. Benbrook had best get used to the new arrangement, for Steele wasn’t about to be bullied. “You agreed to follow my judgment and accept my decisions in all things in exchange for my help. That price starts coming due now.”

  Benbrook stood. “This is preposterous! I agreed to accept your help as it regarded the investigation and finding the villain who killed my son! I never agreed to accept your decisions as it regards raising my grandchildren!”

  “So I’m good enough to place myself in the line of fire, yet not good enough to decide who wipes your grandchildren’s noses?”

  “You’re hardly fit!”

  “You’re the one who asked for my help!”

  “I had little enough choice! My children are dead! Dead! First Deidre and now Robert and Emily…” Benbrook shook like a wet dog, and then suddenly his face fell and he collapsed into the chair like a deflated balloon. “They’re all dead!” Wiping his meaty hand across his eyes, he sobbed. “Dead…”

  Exhaling, Steele stood and walked over to the open window, giving Benbrook the pretense of privacy. With his back to his father-in-law, he found that he had no words of comfort for this man. But Steele felt for him nonetheless. Steele knew a thing or two about loss. He understood the overwhelming grief that shattered your soul and made waking each day a nightmare. Benbrook was living in his, and only the grandchildren in need of his help were keeping him going at the moment.

  As if called forth, a shout reverberated from the garden below.

  Steele leaned out, catching the heady scent of roses. His garden was an untamed mess, as he’d given it little care since acquiring this house two years ago. This was the first time that he’d noticed that he seemed to have an abundance of rose blossoms.

  The younger son, Seth was his name, was five years old. He sat with his legs spread out before him in a V as he dug into the dirt with a stick.

  The older lad, Felix, stood nearby, chucking stones at an orange cat racing along the far wall. The boy was tall for his age and had a strong arm. A stone just barely missed the feline, cracking loudly against the brick wall. The cat shrieked and changed direction.

  Steele was about to shout out the window for the lad to stop, but suddenly a lady in navy skirts and golden hair came into view. She moved with graceful alacrity toward the boys. Felix would be as tall as she within a few years, Steele realized, and he wondered how Miss West was going to handle her first situation as governess.

  Miss West spoke to the boys for a moment, and neither of them seemed to respond.

  Steele frowned. These lads needed a strong hand. Was Miss West too meek to be effective? What had Sir Lee been thinking?

  Miss West turned and moved with purpose toward a bramble pile. Reaching down, she lifted a long stick from the heap, swung around, and pointed it toward Felix. She raised her other hand behind her and cried, “En garde!”

  Felix started and turned.

  Seth looked up, smiled, and then stood, shaking the dirt out of his breeches.

  “En garde!” Miss West pranced forward, slashing her stick through the air like a sword.

  Benbrook came up next to Steele, his face blotchy and swollen. “Felix! He’ll be hurt! We must stop this at once!”

  Steele held up his hand. “No, wait and see.”

  Squaring his shoulders, Felix stepped over to the bramble pile and selected his own stick.

  Seth hopped about like an excited bunny.

  Felix squatted, and with one arm held high behind him and the branch pointed directly at Miss West’s heart, he lunged.

  Miss West smacked his branch with hers and then skipped out of harm’s way.

  Felix charged after her, his stick thrust forward and swinging.

  She neatly swept aside his stick and swirled, like a dancer at a ball with her skirts twirling around her.

  Seth squeaked with delight, waving his own little stick in the air.

  Thwarted, Felix stomped his foot in frustration. But to his credit, instead of throwing a tantrum, he raised his sword once more. “En garde!”

  With a mischievous grin, Miss West raised her sword.

  The combatants circled each other.

  Felix’s face was twisted with determination.

  Miss West’s cheeks glowed pink, and she was beaming with delight. Steele realized that he’d been right; when she wasn’t so starched, she was lovely to behold.

  Felix charged.

  Miss West brilliantly swept him aside. “Ha!”

  The clank of the combatants’ skirmishing sticks echoed through the garden. They parried and pranced like dancers at a soirée, meeting then receding so neatly as if in harmony.

  Felix was panting; Miss West looked as if she could go at it all day.

  The sticks locked and Miss West gave a push that sent Felix falling backward. The lad regained his balance and glared daggers at Miss West.

  Steele wondered where Miss West h
ad learned to fence so well.

  Her sword arm was still extended when, with her other hand, she motioned for Felix to advance. The challenge in her movement was clear even from the window.

  Raising his sword, Felix lunged once more.

  Miss West knocked his stick aside and spun around him, landing a loud thwack to the boy’s behind.

  “Ow!” Felix yelped, grabbing his rear and scowling.

  “Saucy,” Steele murmured with admiration.

  “Impertinent!” Benbrook huffed. “How dare she?”

  Smiling, Steele pointed. “Look.”

  Miss West had lowered her sword and spoke quietly to the boys. They listened with rapt attention. Then each boy nodded vigorously.

  With great solemnity, Miss West stepped backward and raised her stick to her forehead.

  Straightening, the two boys did the same.

  She bowed.

  The boys followed suit.

  Miss West tossed aside her stick and turned, with her hand extended. Seth bounced forward, grasped her hand, and the two headed toward the house.

  After a moment, Felix tossed aside his stick and followed quickly at her heels.

  Scratching his chin, Steele nodded. “Now that’s a governess.” Mayhap this crazy scheme would work out.

  Now if only he could keep the boys alive until their next birthdays.

  Chapter 4

  Abigail shook her head, wondering if she’d heard right. “What do you mean, I’m going to be sleeping here?” Her eyes traveled the expansive room decorated in Chippendale furnishings and gilded splendor. “These chambers are for the mistress of the house!”

  Carlton, Lord Steele’s butler, stood in the doorway rubbing a cloth over the four silver spoons in his hand. Each spoon was given meticulous attention before he moved on to the next. “Cursed first footman,” he muttered to himself. “Doesn’t he know I’m too busy for him to break his arm? This isn’t a charity hospital. Everyone must carry his weight.”