Brave New Earl

by Jane Ashford

  “And their references were splendid.”

  “Mrs. Phillipson says that all references are good—because if they aren’t, you never see them.”

  “Ah.”

  “Miss Carter had a quiet dignity,” Jean said.

  “Geoffrey could certainly use a bit of that. But could she keep up with him? Hah, we should have sent each of them out to catch him. To test their gait and wind.”

  “You could stage a footrace before they go,” replied Jean dryly.

  He acknowledged her tone with a smile. “It isn’t a terrible idea. Chasing Geoffrey is a large part of the position.”

  “Until their fabled discipline takes hold.” Every applicant had used that word with careful reverence.

  “Indeed. The way one of them said that made me shudder.”

  “Which?” asked Jean.

  “Which do you think?”

  She knew the answer, but this game was beguiling. She wanted to prolong it. “Not Miss Enderby. She was very sweet.”

  “But she’s only looked after an angelic little girl.” Benjamin made a cherubic face.

  “Still, she took Geoffrey’s antics in stride.”

  “If that’s what you call sitting like a stone with dread in her eyes. I predict that she will remove herself from the running.”

  Jean smiled in agreement. “Miss Phipps wasn’t bothered. She scowled.”

  “At one point, I thought she was going to lunge for him and drag him into the library.”

  “I didn’t like her remarks on caning.”

  “Which came after she saw Geoffrey.”

  “She was the one who made you shudder,” Jean concluded.

  “She was.” Benjamin took a stub of pencil from his pocket. “Do we agree that she is unsuitable?” When Jean nodded, he made a mark on his list. “One applicant eliminated. Two, really. Because I don’t think Miss Enderby will do. She seemed no more capable than Lily.”

  “Lily has done very well,” Jean said. “She’s young.”

  “And so we want to hire someone she will like, who will help her along. What did you think of Miss Warren?”

  “She seemed the saddest at losing her previous charges.”

  “Two boys sent off to school together,” he said.

  “Even though the younger was scarcely ready,” Jean added, echoing Miss Warren’s description.

  “But it will be good for them to have each other’s company in a strange place,” said Benjamin, doing the same.

  Jean nodded to show she recognized the phrases. “When she saw Geoffrey, I thought at first she wanted to laugh.”

  “But she didn’t, of course, because that wouldn’t have been right for a proper nanny. Her eyes danced, however.”

  “I think we have come to the same conclusion,” Jean said.

  “Miss Warren.”

  “Yes.”

  “We have a similar way of thinking. I like that.” His gaze was warm on her again.

  Jean’s cheeks flushed in response. “Or simple good judgment. Common sense.”

  “Not so common.” He reached for her hand. “The house requires more staff, I’m told. We must do this again soon.”

  “I’m sure your housekeeper would be better at finding them.” Must she always argue? Jean wondered. Yes, replied that militant inner voice. She had to hold her own.

  “Perhaps. But this was so stimulating.”

  It had been. Jean was about to admit it when her stomach growled. One of the lengthy, gurgling sounds it could produce when she was hungry. Almost always when she really didn’t want it to, of course. She flushed. The interviews had stretched on long past midday.

  One side of Benjamin’s mouth quirked up. He rose. “Stay here,” he said.

  “I should just—” How to say that her stomach required placating?

  “You should just promise to stay here,” he said.

  “But we’re finished with our task.”

  He pointed at her. “Here.”

  “Oh, very well,” Jean said, a little irritated.

  He went out. Jean’s stomach growled again. At least this time she was alone. She’d go to the kitchen in a few minutes and ask for tea and bread and butter. That would have to hold her until dinner. Why had he made her wait? she wondered.

  In a remarkably short time, considering his burden, Benjamin returned carrying a tray. It held appetizing slices of cold roast beef and cheese, a round of bread, a bottle of local cider, and a dish of early strawberries, whose fragrance immediately filled the room. Jean’s stomach voiced its approval of the scent with unusual vigor.

  “I beg your pardon,” she said, uncertain whether she was more embarrassed about the sound or grateful for the bounty he brought.

  “For what?”

  Her stubborn stomach provided the answer with a particularly artistic gurgle. “I’ve always been like this. Mama said—”

  “Don’t tell me. It’s bound to be something idiotic.”

  Jean gazed at him. He wasn’t laughing at her. And he looked quite unembarrassed.

  “It’s perfectly natural that a fiery spirit requires regular fuel,” he went on. “How else could it burn so bright?”

  Sudden tears filled her eyes. She blinked them back and swallowed. “Is that cheddar?”

  He laughed. “It is indeed.”

  Heart full, but stomach empty, Jean reached for a slice.

  Benjamin held up a hand. “Allow me.”

  Rapidly, he sliced bread, added ham and the cheese. There was butter, too, Jean saw. He offered her the resulting hearty sandwich with a flourish and gestured for her to go ahead as he repeated the process for himself. She bit into what seemed like the best meal she’d ever eaten.

  They munched in silence for a while. When the sandwiches were gone and glasses of cider consumed, Benjamin picked up a strawberry and held it out as if he meant her to eat from his fingers. Like a baby, Jean thought, or a little girl who could never be sure whether her mother would give her the treat or pull it away with a trill of mocking laughter. She reached out and took the berry from him. “I prefer to feed myself.”

  “As you wish.”

  “I don’t mean to seem—”

  “You seem yourself, which is exactly as it should be.” He popped a strawberry into his mouth. “Marriage could be, would be, like this,” he added before she could reply. “Pulling in tandem. Deciding on the course of our lives together.”

  He didn’t run roughshod over her as all men yearned to do, according to her mother. But she hadn’t vowed at the altar to obey him either. Even though she didn’t want to, Jean could clearly hear her mother spitting out the word husband, explaining how they treated you like the dirt under their feet once you were shackled to them. Of course her mother had been wrong about nearly everything. Yet…to surrender her freedom… How could she do it? “Was your marriage like that? With Alice?”

  Benjamin hesitated. Jean wondered if he would lie. But he shook his head. “No. But I’m a different man now.”

  It was true. She’d seen him change before her eyes. She wanted to agree. But she couldn’t, quite. “I’ll think about it.”

  Benjamin exulted silently. This was more than he’d gotten from her before. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and cover her with kisses. Which would not be wise. He’d seen her pull away before she answered. “I’ll go and tell the applicants our decision,” he said instead.

  “Tell them you’ll write and let them know,” Jean replied.

  “Are we not decided?”

  “Yes, but they have to ride all the way back to Bristol together.”

  “Ah. You’re wonderfully acute.”

  “You would have thought of it.”

  “Perhaps. Probably after we saw them off. You’ve spared me that regret. Thank you.”

 
She flushed. He liked it when she did that.

  Her brain felt overstuffed, Jean thought when he’d gone—as if a great crowd of ideas was jostling to push through a narrow passage. She retreated to her room, where Tab immediately pounced on her toes. She picked up the cat and carried him to a chair. But Tab had no interest in lap sitting at the moment. He squirmed from her grasp and jumped down. “Very well,” said Jean. She found his ball of yarn and dangled the end before him. He snatched it with every appearance of delight.

  “My mother hated cats, you know, Tab.”

  The cat leaped, captured the ball of yarn with his front claws, and then curled around it, back feet pumping to disembowel his woolen prey.

  “If a dog fawned over her, she enjoyed it. As long as it didn’t paw at her.”

  Rolling on the floor, Tab bit at the yarn.

  “Neighbor dogs,” Jean added. “She wouldn’t have one in the house. ‘Too dirty and smelly,’ she said. I expect you’d agree.”

  He released the ball, struck it, then batted it across the floor. It unrolled, leaving a trail of yarn in its wake.

  How did she know that about the neighbor dogs? Jean wondered. Her mother or one of the servants must have mentioned them. “Mama was acquainted with our neighbors,” she continued, working out the idea as she spoke. “She’d grown up in the area. Why did I never think of that? She went visiting. She wasn’t left all alone.”

  Tab harried the diminishing ball of yarn around the floor.

  “She never took me along on her calls or allowed me to meet them. I was… I…” She faltered, trying to put half-formed thoughts into words. “I became the fate she complained about.”

  “Meow,” said her cat.

  “Confusing, yes. What I mean is, the plight Mama bemoaned over and over—being alone, having nothing. That wasn’t really true for her. She made that my life.” Jean was shaken by a mixture of anger and sadness.

  Tab growled around a mouthful of yarn.

  “Of course, we couldn’t afford much of anything. Papa gave us a pittance to live on.” Jean could hear her mother’s voice repeating these phrases, a truism of her childhood. “That was the word she always used, a pittance. With such venom, you can’t imagine. I don’t know how much it was really. And she kept no records. None that made sense anyway.” Jean had had to deal with her mother’s tangled affairs when she died. She’d left most of it to a helpful solicitor, and by the time he’d sorted everything out, her father’s fortune had come to her by law a year later. Jean had spent her time learning to manage her new income, rather than dwelling on the past.

  “Meow.”

  “But I’m just realizing, Tab, that if she wanted a new gown or trinket, she always got it.” There’d been no talk of hardship when such things arrived. Jean remembered bouts of wild gaiety, dancing through corridors, until her mother’s discontent descended again. “Why did I never see this before?”

  She’d pushed away her memories in the years since her mother died, Jean realized. She’d been so eager to put her early life behind her, and to establish herself on her own terms. Now, with some distance, the picture looked different. “Mama hardly ever told the truth,” she said meditatively.

  “Meow,” declared Tab.

  “Or, she had a distorted picture of life.” Jean nodded, better pleased with this phrase. “So why would I believe her about anything? Including the nature of husbands. She was probably—almost certainly—wrong. I should ignore her dreadful advice. I will!”

  “Meow!” said the cat more emphatically.

  The trouble was, there were ideas and resolutions, and then there was how she felt, Jean thought. You could be in a dark cupboard even when you weren’t.

  A scrabbling, scraping sound made her turn. Tab was thoroughly entangled in the yarn he’d unraveled, like a parcel of cat tied up with woolen bonds.

  “Oh dear.” Jean went to kneel beside him and undo the snarl. “Stay still while I get it off.”

  He did not, of course, but tried to hurry the process along with teeth and claws. Jean avoided these hazards as she accepted the lesson circumstance had offered. Freedom sometimes required time and patience. The slowness and setbacks could be irritating, but it didn’t do to give up.

  Sixteen

  “Miss Warren will be joining the household in a week,” Benjamin told his son. He’d decided to give Geoffrey this news during a riding…session. One could hardly call them lessons at this point. In truth, despite his small stature, Geoffrey was now capable of handling his pony at any gait. He took a daily ride with Tom and a groom in tow, and he always seemed happiest at these times. Benjamin often joined in and asked Jean along as well, as he had today. He wanted her everywhere he was. His uncle came less frequently; he seemed preoccupied with matters of business, if the number of letters he wrote and received was any measure.

  “Is she the one with the horrid eyebrows?” Geoffrey asked.

  Benjamin had no recollection of such a feature on any of the hopefuls. Was this a trap? “No.”

  “The scared one?” the boy asked slyly.

  “And why would any of them have been scared?” They hadn’t discussed Geoffrey’s performance outside the library. Benjamin had decided to leave this issue to the new nanny, telling himself it was a good test of her skills. But if Geoffrey chose to bring it up, he wouldn’t shy away.

  “Bugs,” said his son promptly. “Or maybe rats.”

  All of them looked at him. He grinned as if he knew very well he was being absurd. “Miss Warren was the last one we talked with,” Benjamin said.

  “Oh, the one who almost…” Geoffrey paused, then said, “She was the best.”

  “Who almost what?” asked Jean Saunders.

  She looked as curious as Benjamin felt. How had he been graced with such a precocious son? Though he didn’t undervalue his own intellect, Benjamin was certain he’d never been as sharp as Geoffrey at this age.

  “Did you help choose?” Geoffrey asked her instead of replying.

  Jean nodded. “I hope you’ll be kind to her.”

  “Me?” The boy turned to stare at her, angelic blue eyes wide. “What about her? She might beat me!”

  “She won’t be allowed to do so,” Jean replied at once. Benjamin watched her expression shift from militancy to a rueful consciousness of having been goaded. He would never tire of reading the emotions on that face, he thought.

  “Nor would she wish to,” Jean added. “Miss Warren is coming to a new household where she hopes to be a…success. We should try to make it pleasant for her.”

  Benjamin liked the use of we. It hinted of permanence and buoyed his spirits.

  “What about me?” Geoffrey asked.

  “Pleasant for you, too,” Jean answered. “Kindness does that.”

  “How?”

  Benjamin watched her puzzle over an answer, watched Geoffrey wait for one. He wanted to observe this process for the rest of his life, he realized.

  “You could think of it like throwing a ball back and forth,” she said. “Having fun together.”

  “But I could throw it really hard and break somebody’s nose.”

  Jean snorted adorably. “That would certainly not be kindness. Let us say that it’s more like riding Fergus then. You want to command him. Perhaps you’d like to kick him to make him gallop. But you want him to enjoy the ride, too, and feel happy. So you’re kind to him. And he learns affection for you.”

  Geoffrey looked down at his pony. The boy actually seemed impressed. A real achievement, Benjamin thought. Oddly, he felt proud of them both.

  Their group rounded a stand of trees and continued along the base of a low hill. Catching movement in the corner of his eye, Benjamin looked up to find Teddy and Anna Wandrell riding down the slope toward them.

  It was absurd to think the two young neighbors had been lying in wait here near th
e border between their two estates, but this sort of accidental encounter had happened before.

  The newcomers naturally joined them. It would have been churlish to protest, but Benjamin evaded Anna by falling back between Geoffrey and Tom. Anna always ignored the youngsters, as much as she did the groom, focusing all her attention on Benjamin. She looked disgruntled as she settled for riding beside Jean instead.

  They moved on, chatting. And so his entertainment was reduced from fascinating sparring to polite nothings, Benjamin thought. He wondered how soon he could be rid of the newcomers.

  Teddy Wandrell gradually brought his horse closer, finally inserting himself between Benjamin and Geoffrey. He swerved, forcing Benjamin to slow and allowing the boys to draw ahead. “I should like to say something to you,” he said.

  Benjamin waited, not particularly interested. He thought of the young man as an amiable dolt.

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t, but…well, I should like to.”

  What was Anna telling Jean? Benjamin wondered. Neither woman looked pleased by their conversation. Quite the opposite.

  “It’s my mother, you see.”

  Jean was frowning. Should he ride to her rescue? But what could he do, actually? It would be the height of rudeness to gather her up and gallop away.

  “She’s going a bit beyond the line,” said his young companion.

  “Your sister?”

  “My mother,” replied Teddy. He looked at Benjamin like an aggrieved sheep.

  “Your mother is going beyond the line?” He repeated the lad’s words because Mrs. Wandrell was the very definition of conventional.

  “Don’t like to mention it.” Teddy practically squirmed in his saddle. “But we should stay on good terms, you and me. When I take over from Papa—years from now, God willing—we’ll be neighbors. Have to work together on boundaries and the like. Well, for the rest of our lives, eh? Could be a long stretch of time.”

  “God willing,” Benjamin replied, beginning to be fascinated.

  Teddy nodded. “Don’t want any bad feelings hanging about.”

  “That would be unfortunate.”

  “Exactly.” The younger man seemed relieved, as if he’d actually communicated some important bit of news.