by Anne Gracie
The woman considered him a moment. “Very well, I’ll have to ask Miss Mallard. Wait here.” She pointed to the chairs in the hallway.
He told Miss Mallard, when she condescended to see him, that he merely wished to ask Miss Westwood for advice about his sisters. “I noticed her on my last visit and liked the way she handled the girls in her charge. And my sisters speak well of her, so I thought she might be able to offer me some advice on how to handle them,” he lied. He wasn’t going to admit he was going to try to poach one of her teachers.
Miss Mallard gave her gracious assent, and the gorgon headed upstairs to fetch Miss Westwood. She came down the stairs, looking puzzled and a little wary. “Lord Ashendon? Is everything all right?”
A delicate flush suffused her creamy complexion, and he had an immediate rush of recollection of how she’d felt in his arms. And how she’d tasted.
It wasn’t important, he reminded himself. All that counted was that she could silence Rose with a single word.
“You can talk in there,” the gorgon told Cal, and pointed to an elegant sitting room. “And leave the door open. I’ll be out here.”
“Ghastly woman,” Cal muttered. He closed the door and pulled out a chair for Miss Westwood. She sat gracefully, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes meeting his steadily.
He scanned her face for signs of injury. He could see a faint sign of the bruised cheekbone, but she’d covered it with some kind of cosmetic. Her nose was slightly swollen, but otherwise she looked as he’d remembered. Elegant. Composed. Intriguing.
Silence filled the room. Her flush deepened, and Cal realized he’d been staring at her mouth. Again.
“You are recovered from your mishap?” He realized she might take that to mean his kiss, so added hastily, “The altercation at the political meeting, I mean.”
“Quite recovered, thank you.” She moistened her lips, and he found his gaze riveted to her damp, rosy mouth again. Damn!
He rose, walked to the fireplace, cleared his throat and addressed himself to her left eyebrow. “Before I explain the purpose of my visit today, I must apologize for my behavior last night. It seems I had a little too much to drink and my actions crossed the bounds of, of gentlemanly behavior.”
Her eyes met his for a long moment. They seemed to see into his very soul. She gave a little nod. “I thought it must be that. Apology accepted.” She glanced down and smoothed her skirt with long, slender fingers. The delicate rose flush faded.
Cal stiffened. Was she implying he’d been clumsy? “It was an unusual circumstance,” he began.
“Are the girls all right?” she asked in a brisk, teacherly voice.
Clearly the subject of the kiss was closed. He didn’t know whether he was relieved or annoyed. “Yes, yes, of course. At least, I haven’t seen them yet—they’re still abed, but they’ll be all right.”
She frowned slightly. “Still in bed at this hour?”
“Avoiding me,” Cal said. “Putting off the moment where they’ll have to face the music.”
“You mean you’re going to punish them? Tell me, I’m curious as to what you plan to do.”
“Well, that’s just it,” he said, grateful for the opening. “I don’t know how the devil—excuse me—how the deuce I can punish them. Nothing I say or do seems to have the slightest effect. Lily cries at the slightest criticism—”
“Crocodile tears or the real thing?”
“What?”
“Lily has the ability to cry at will. If she’s crying big crystal tears with no other sign of distress, they’re crocodile tears. If she’s weeping noisily, red-faced and gulping, her distress is real. So which is it?”
He looked at her in amazement. “I knew you were the person to ask. What do they pay you here?”
She stiffened. “I beg your pardon. What business is it of yours?”
“Whatever it is, I’ll double it if you’ll come and work for me.”
Her brows, fine and elegantly winged, rose. “Work for you? As what? Governess? Companion? Duenna?”
He nodded, relieved she hadn’t added mistress.
“All of those. My aunt is utterly unable to control the girls, and I need someone responsible to take charge.”
“Not you, I presume.”
“No, I have commitments elsewhere to which I must return. So what do you say? Will you take them on?”
“No, thank you.” She said it without the slightest hesitation, as if she didn’t even need to think it over.
“What? But I offered to double your wage.” It was a handsome offer.
“Yes, but you want me to give up a permanent position here in exchange for a short-term position. Moreover, from what you tell me, I’d need to watch over your sisters twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, whereas now I get a half day off a week and two evenings free to do whatever I want.”
He frowned. He couldn’t afford to give her time off. Who knew what the girls would get up to if she was off somewhere having a free evening? “I’d pay you extra not to take those free times.”
She appeared to consider it, then shook her head. “Your sisters will marry in a year or two and then where would I be? Out of a job and unemployed.” She folded her hands. “So thank you for the very generous offer, but I must decline it.”
“Blast!” He stood and took a few impatient strides around the room. “I can’t change your mind?”
“No.” She rose. “Will that be all?”
“Sit down!” She stiffened and he said, “Sorry—I forget myself. I have the habit of barking out orders sometimes. I mean, stay a little while longer. Please.”
“I shan’t change my mind.”
“I understand. I won’t press you, I promise.”
She hesitated, then resumed her seat.
He sat down opposite her, ran his fingers through his hair and thought about what to say. “Look, you know my sisters better than I do. I truly want what’s best for them, but I freely admit, I’ve been a soldier most of my adult life, and I’m out of my depth with young girls. I would welcome some advice from an expert.”
Her brows rose. There was a short silence. “You’ve surprised me, Lord Ashendon. I don’t know many men—no, make that any men—who would seek advice from a woman.”
He shrugged. “Ten years in the army teaches a man to take advantage of local, expert knowledge, no matter what the source.”
She gave him a long, level look, then gave that brisk little nod he was coming to recognize. “Very well. Your sisters are bright, they’re young and they’re bored.”
“I know that, but their behavior is— Look at the way they sneaked out last night. And it’s not the first time.”
“What did you expect? That they’d be happy to spend a year—and now another year—wearing unrelieved black, with limited society, attending repetitious and dull social events with mostly elderly and infirm companionship—oh, yes, they told me all about how their lives had become since leaving the seminary. What sort of society is that for lively young ladies? From what I understand, a visit to the Pump Room, chatting with octogenarians or a walk in the park is the highlight of their day! Is it any wonder they’re rebelling?” She rolled her eyes, those very fine sage-green eyes. Her pale complexion was now a delicate pink. Indignation rather than . . . embarrassment? Whatever it was, it suited her.
“You could change that if you accepted my offer of employment.”
“I told you, it’s out of the question. And please don’t try to shift your responsibility onto me.”
She had claws, this teacher. “So what do you advise?”
“Give them something real to occupy them, something challenging and interesting. Something useful, that’s worthwhile doing. Something fun.”
He tried to imagine what that might be. “My aunt knits—”
She made a scornful soun
d. “Would you be happy to sit indoors and knit and sew all day and most evenings?”
“No, of course not. But men are different.”
She curled her lip. “They certainly are—they get to choose what they do!”
“Not always,” he said. Interesting. The passion with which she was arguing suggested he’d hit a nerve. “Most of the decisions that materially affected my life were made by my father, without any consultation as to my preferences. I didn’t choose to be sent away to school at the age of seven, and I was told at the age of about ten that I would be joining the army when I grew up. As a younger son it was that or the church, and my father had no time for priests.”
She opened her mouth and he added, “And then I was sent abroad to fight at the age of seventeen, and if you think any soldier gets to choose anything, you’ve got rats in your attic.”
It also wasn’t his choice to inherit the title and the responsibilities that went with it, but he doubted she’d have any sympathy for that. Most people expected him to be thrilled by the acquisition of a title and a fortune. Most people had no idea.
“I suppose you’re right,” she said after a moment. “But it seems to me you must have enjoyed your army life. Is that not what you’re so anxious to return to? Or am I mistaken?”
“You’re not mistaken, but it’s not for my own pleasure. I have work to do—important work. Government work.”
“Yes, of course,” she agreed with deceptive smoothness. “And compared with ‘important government work,’ what does the welfare and happiness of your sisters matter? Forgive me, I meant your half sisters.”
The implication that they mattered less to him because they were only half sisters was infuriating. Vixen. She had the ability to deliver the sharpest of insults in the subtlest of ways. It reminded him of—
“You taught my sister Rose quite a bit, didn’t you?” He put a slight emphasis on the word sister.
She frowned at the abrupt change of subject but responded coolly, “I taught both your sisters.”
“Did you indeed? Then why can’t Lily read? You seem competent enough.” It was deliberate provocation. He was interested to see how she’d respond.
She met his gaze squarely. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t know or don’t care?” Her eyes flashed. Ah, that touched a nerve.
Her mouth tightened. “Lily is a dear, sweet girl who has tried harder to learn than any pupil I have ever known. I have tried every method of instruction I know, and some unorthodox methods as well. It is a mystery to me—and a tragedy—that she can still barely read or write.”
“You’re telling me my sister is stupid?”
“She is not at all stupid,” she said fiercely. “But for some reason known only to God, she cannot learn to read or write.”
“Can she count?” There was that flash again.
“She can count,” she said evenly. “She cannot, however, do simple sums—not on paper.”
“Anything else she cannot do?”
“She gets her left and right mixed up.”
“Is that all?”
She glared at him. “Isn’t that enough for the poor child to deal with?”
He shrugged and got up to leave. “It need not be a huge disadvantage in the long run. Most men don’t look for brains in a wife, and as you say, Lily is very sweet-natured.”
Miss Westwood clenched her fists. “Lord Ashendon.”
He waited, one brow raised.
“Lily is affectionate, intelligent, loyal and hardworking! Only a bully punishes a person for what she cannot help.”
He gave her a flinty look. “I don’t bully my sisters, Miss Westwood. I’m trying to help them.”
She looked him straight in the eye. “No, you’re trying to get them off your hands with the least amount of trouble to yourself.”
It was just close enough to the bone to have Cal’s own fists clenching. Damned impertinent schoolmistress. He gave her a curt nod. “Good day to you, madam.”
* * *
Well! Emm sat for a moment after Lord Ashendon had left. Double her current wage! It was a very generous offer.
Had Miss Mallard not decided this morning to offer her the headmistress position, she might have accepted his job.
His job.
When the message had come to her this morning that Lord Ashendon was downstairs asking to speak to her, all kinds of thoughts had rushed through her mind. Foolish thoughts. Scandalous thoughts.
And when he’d stood there at the beginning, staring at her mouth, her heart started thumping in her chest when she thought . . . wondered if he was going to ask her to become . . . But of course, she was foolish even thinking it.
Luckily she hadn’t said a thing, because he’d apologized for the kiss—it was the brandy, after all—and made her a job offer. Governess. Companion. Duenna to his sisters.
Which was so much more reasonable and practical—and respectable—than anything Emm was thinking of. Really, she was as bad as the girls, reading more into any gentleman’s attentions than existed.
Thank goodness Miss Mallard had chosen this morning, of all mornings, to make her plans for the school clear. Because if she hadn’t, Emm might have accepted Lord Ashendon’s job. And with all these foolish yearnings she was subject to lately, anything could have happened.
If he was a rake, and if he thought to combine the role of governess/chaperone with the extra position of mistress . . . well, if she was honest with herself, Emm might be tempted.
And that would never do.
* * *
Rose and Lily came downstairs shortly after noon, subdued but eyeing him warily. Rose’s eye was badly swollen, a mere slit of red-rimmed silver-blue in a sea of nasty-looking dark purple. Several other abrasions marked her face. The whole side of Lily’s face was swollen and bruised and her mouth was lopsided. She could barely talk.
Cal was appalled. He’d intended to read them the riot act, but at the sight of their poor battered faces—his little sisters—he was filled with a mix of helpless anger, belated protectiveness and shame. Because he was supposed to be looking after them.
Aunt Dottie came with them, clucking distressfully and fussing over the girls. She gave Logan a dozen contradictory orders, sending for various remedies, demanding something be done! and ordering the girls’ favorite dishes for luncheon. Treating them like little heroines.
Which they damn well weren’t! They’d sneaked out against his specific orders and now they’d reaped the rewards of their disobedience and recklessness.
Maybe they’d learned their lesson at last. He ought to be pleased.
But looking at the dreadful mess some unknown swine had made of his sisters’ faces, Cal couldn’t bring himself to be pleased at all. He wanted to murder the bastard who’d dared to lay hands on them.
“If you’d told me you wanted to go out last night I would have—”
“What? Taken us?” Rose snorted. “To a political meeting? About working women?”
“I might. You never mentioned you had any interest in politics.”
Rose shrugged. “We don’t. It was the first meeting we’ve been to and it was boring, wasn’t it, Lily? We were all ready to leave, but then—things livened up.” Rose tried for an airy grin but winced in pain.
“But what happened?” Aunt Dottie exclaimed. “Tell me! How did this dreadful thing happen?”
“This man tried to touch me . . . personally. And when I objected, he got nasty,” Lily said, her words muffled because of her swollen mouth.
“Nasty? He hit Lily! Gave her a backhander across the face and did that to her.” Rose indicated Lily’s swollen face. “So then I punched him!”
“Rose! You punched someone?” Aunt Dottie exclaimed in horror.
Rose said in a hard little voice, “He deserved it, Aunt Dottie! Nobody hurts my si
ster and gets away with it.” She flexed her hand gingerly and added with satisfaction, “I bet I’m not the only one with a black eye this morning. But I wish I’d broken his nose.”
Both girls had swollen, scraped and badly bruised knuckles on their right hands. Cal rounded the table, picked up Rose’s hand and gently examined it. Rose watched him with an odd expression.
“You’re lucky you didn’t break your hand,” he told her as he released it.
Aunt Dottie moaned. “Whatever has happened to my sweet young nieces? Punching people. A vulgar public brawl!”
He examined Lily’s hand next. Luckily neither girl seemed to have broken any bones. “You’re lucky too.”
“Lily! Do you mean—don’t tell me you hit a perfect stranger too!” Aunt Dottie said in failing accents.
“No, she punched Miss Westwood,” Rose said, her good eye brimming with amusement.
What? Cal stiffened. That was how the teacher had been hurt? Lily had punched her?
Aunt Dottie’s eyes almost popped. “That nice young teacher? Lily—why on earth would you punch dear Miss Westwood? I thought you liked her.”
“I do. It was an accident.” Lily awkwardly removed her hand from Cal’s light grip. “I was trying to stop the man from hurting Rose.”
“But Lily, a lady should never . . .” Aunt Dottie shook her head, lost for words.
The teacher’s words came back to him. Should they have simply fainted, then, as society suggests is the proper ladylike response?
The teacher had never breathed a word of this last night. Protecting Lily from his disapproval.
Was he such an ogre?
No one could blame Lily for resisting molestation. Of course Rose would rush to her sister’s defense. He’d seen how protective she was of her younger sister.
And Rutherfords naturally fought back.
Rose glared at Cal as if it were his fault. “Don’t look at me like that, Cal. Nobody hurts my sister and gets away with it! I’m glad I did it! I showed him!”
“Rose, you cannot be boasting about this dreadful thing, surely,” Aunt Dottie said, appalled.