Almost an Angel

by Katherine Greyle

  Which meant heeding Mrs. Potherby's advice. Carolly was here on James's good will. It would be best to remember that.

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Potherby. I'll try to act better."

  Her resolve lasted for exactly two and a half minutes.

  ***

  James stood in the door to the nursery and bristled. Carolly had groaned. Actually groaned. He'd heard it quite distinctly.

  He glanced around the pristine room. Everything appeared in order, every toy in its allotted place. Margaret sat at her desk holding open a book of edifying sermons for girls. But she was not looking at that; she was staring at him, her blue-green eyes open wide with surprise, her chin lifted in quiet defiance. To her right, the governess Miss Hornswallow, a beanpole in austere black, rose from behind her desk with regal formality.

  "My lord, you did not inform me you intended to visit the nursery this morning." There was only the slightest hint of censure in her voice.

  Then he heard it again: another of Carolly's groans. Or maybe it was one of those sighs that seemed to start from her toes, gathering momentum as it traveled through her system in search of escape. Whatever it was, it annoyed him greatly.

  "Is there something wrong, Miss Carolly?"

  "Hmmm? No, of course not. Whatever could be wrong?” Her tone clearly indicated the opposite.

  James's eyes returned to his niece, and finally he divined the source of Carolly's dismay. Margaret had on one of her most shapeless brown dresses, the same one she had been wearing this morning when he refused to allow her to join him during his morning exercise. He had not been averse to sharing the ride with her, but her attire had been completely inappropriate. The light fabric she wore would not protect her from scrapes and bruises as her riding habit would. And now, looking at his sullen ward, he realized her dress was not only completely inappropriate for riding, it made her look like a formless lump.

  His frown deepened as he tried to recall Miss Hornswallow's exact reason for dressing his ward in such ugly attire. She'd said something about neutral colors quieting a distressed child's mind. James had become so used to seeing Margaret in such clothing, he had initially missed how it must look to an outsider. "Miss Hornswallow, have you been allowing Margaret to eat sweets again? I distinctly told you she seems to be gaining."

  The governess opened her mouth to respond, but she never got the chance. Carolly spun on her heel and began screeching: "James, what a cruel thing to say! And you said you love her!"

  "But—"

  "No, I don't want to hear it. I just don't! You men are impossible—hear me, impossible—when it comes to even the basics of raising a girl."

  "Carolly." This time he infused his voice with all the annoyance he felt. That always controlled even the most unruly of his subordinates. It had worked marvels on the soldiers in Spain. As for his domestic staff, the tone had once reduced his impeccable butler to near blubbering idiocy.

  But it seemed to have absolutely no effect on Carolly. Or rather, it appeared to have the opposite effect of the one he intended. Instead of bringing the woman into an acute awareness of her failings, it pushed her to further excesses of emotionalism.

  "Don't try to freeze me out, James. It won't work. Not this time." She made a sweeping gesture at the nursery. "This is even worse than I feared! What could you be thinking, James, raising a little girl like this for the last four years?"

  "I was caring for my ward—"

  "You were ignoring her. Oh!" She cut herself off, whirling back to face the room like a soldier preparing for battle. As she spun, her soft gray skirts twisted and flared around her ankles in a most distracting display, but her aggrieved tone did not allow James the luxury of appreciating it. "I thought she was a servant, James. I saw you both this morning and I thought she was some servant's child. That's how you treat her."

  James felt his words freeze in his throat. Was it possible? Could Carolly truly have thought his niece a servant?

  Meanwhile, Carolly continued, her hands waving about in agitation. "What could you have been thinking? You can't throw her in a dull room with ugly clothing and hope no one will notice. I notice. She notices. James, think!" And when he did not immediately respond, she once again threw up her hands in disgust. "Oh, just leave me alone while I talk with her. And take Miss Hornwigging—Hornsweeney—"

  "Hornswallow," corrected the governess in a cold tone of her own.

  "Whatever. Take her with you."

  James shook his head. "Carolly, if you wish to be alone, I suggest you return to your room."

  She twisted around, once again presenting him with a magnificent view of her flushed face and heaving bosom. Initially he'd thought the dove-gray dress too drab for her, but now he saw she infused whatever was around her, whatever she wore, with vibrancy. Though the hastily-obtained gown's color was almost grim, its fabric clung to Carolly's curves with anything but modesty. He could not think for watching the lace around her breasts rise and fall with her agitated breathing.

  "I will not be bullied, James. It's my job to rescue this situation, and I take that very seriously."

  "Carolly," he repeated. He made his voice a near whisper. "You are overwrought. I suggest you return to your room. Now."

  She stared at him, her mouth falling open in surprise. He could tell by the shock on her face that no one had ever refused her when she spoke so forcefully. In fact, she looked so completely thrown, he gave a small smile of pure masculine satisfaction.

  It was a mistake.

  Within seconds of his self-congratulation, her expression changed. He saw the look. He had seen it before in the few men he openly admired. An unshakable determination, a certain steel of the soul.

  His smile faded.

  Carolly snapped her mouth shut and lifted her chin. "My room? An excellent idea, James." She turned and smiled sweetly at the young girl. "Margaret, I am Carolly. Will you please come with me? I would like very much to talk with you for a few moments, and I believe his lordship is correct. We will be much more comfortable in my bedroom." She released a soft snort. "Lord knows, my prison can't be much worse than yours."

  Margaret stared at her, clearly torn between admiration and fear. James could readily sympathize. He often felt that way himself around Carolly. But true to the girl's innate good sense, she turned to her uncle seeking his opinion.

  He deliberated. Given Margaret's mood lately, she was likely to rush headlong into outright disobedience if he told her to stay put. Then again, the last thing his recalcitrant ward needed was the added influence of his unstable guest.

  James was still contemplating his response when Miss Hornswallow stepped forward. "My lord, truly I must insist. I cannot have Margaret's day disrupted. As you yourself have told me, structure and schedule are exceedingly important in the rearing of young children."

  Carolly did it again. She groaned, only this time she did nothing to disguise the sound. "By all means, James, stifle the poor girl. At least if you break her spirit, you won't have to worry about her acting out."

  James felt his fury grow. So, while he still had some control of himself, he made a final stab at resolving the situation. "Miss Carolly, I find your meddling impertinent and exceedingly—"

  "Yes, yes. We've already established that I'm impertinent, totally insane, and let's not forget immodest." Behind her desk, Miss Hornswallow gasped, but Carolly only rolled her eyes. "Henceforth we can add stubborn, intemperate, and . . . " She waved her arms, searching for another adjective. "And . . . "

  "And you are an inappropriate role model for Margaret."

  Carolly snorted. "That has yet to be seen. One would think my, uh, chosen profession would make me . . . " She fell silent at his raised eyebrow. "All right, we'll leave a discussion of my profession for another day."

  "Yes, do. Or perhaps we should continue our discussion in the library and leave Margaret to her lessons."

  He opened the nursery door, clearly indicating it was time to leave. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw
Margaret sink an inch lower in her seat. Miss Hornswallow sniffed in victory as she too settled back into her chair. Everyone, it seemed, had come to the conclusion that he was the victor.

  Everyone, that is, except Carolly.

  Carolly folded her arms across her chest and stared at him, her expression almost pleading. "Look, James. Really look. Does your niece look happy? Does she ever seem happy?"

  James felt his shoulders tense. Indeed, no, he thought. He had been aware for some time that his niece seemed out of sorts. But for the life of him, he could not understand why. Was it possible that his mad guest somehow knew—had determined in the space of a few seconds, no less—what was missing in his ward's life? Something he and a score of governesses had not discovered in months and years of concerted effort?

  The thought set him back on his heels. Yet he could not discount the possibility. After all, madness had its own logic. Perhaps the answer to Margaret's difficulties merely required a new perspective. Carolly's thoughts certainly were . . . unusual.

  As if sensing his indecision, Carolly stepped forward. Her tone became soft and pleading. "James . . . " she began, but he glared at her, effectively telling her that feminine wiles would get her nowhere. She sighed and turned away from him, apparently deep in thought.

  Relaxing against the doorway, James found himself admiring the delicate curve of her neck, smiling at the childish way she chewed on her lower lip, even feeling mesmerized by the simple play of her fingers in her hair. He found himself pleased. Her temerity inspired him. He had forgotten the sheer joy of a real hell-for-leather argument. The only other person to fight him like this had been his older brother. They had done it with the daily frequency possible only for siblings, and had driven their nanny close to distraction. That had been half the fun. Glancing over at the outraged face of Miss Hornswallow, James could not help but feel a similar childish glee.

  Carolly's soft voice interrupted his reminisces, bringing him abruptly back to earth. She'd moved nearer to him. This is fun," she said in a low tone, startling him. Could she read his mind? "I love challenging you, trying to make you think." She gave him a glance filled with wonder. "I like arguing with you. But you know, James, there are so many less important things we could fight about. I'd rather not do it over Margaret."

  James stared at her. Would she ever cease to surprise him? "I agree," he said slowly. "I suggest we remove to the library and leave Margaret to her lessons."

  Carolly sighed and shook her head. "I'm determined to talk to her." She shifted to look directly at him. "It's important."

  "Why?" he asked. His voice was harsher, more abrupt than he intended. "So you can disrupt her routine, upset her delicate emotions, and generally throw her life into chaos?”

  "No. That's what I'll do for you." Carolly said, her light blue eyes shimmering with . . . glee? "Yes," she continued. "I can see I already do. I disorient you. I challenge your neatly ordered world." She lifted her chin with clear pleasure. "Good. Maybe there's hope for you after all." Turning back to Margaret, Carolly suggested, "I know! Why don't you stay with us, James? Be with me when I talk to her. See how harmless I can be." She slanted a sideways look at him. It was filled with devilry and mischief, but despite all his mental warnings, James found himself warming to the excitement her eyes promised him. "I truly am trying to help," she added.

  He was going to give in. He felt it in his bones. She had a way of setting his blood on fire that he found absolutely irresistible.

  Yet something held him back.

  Margaret. She was still very young. He was a man. He could walk with his eyes open into the disaster Carolly would no doubt visit on his head and have no one to blame but himself. But Margaret was a child. He would be remiss in his duties if he allowed her to be influenced by such a strange woman. And letting Carolly talk to the girl would just be the beginning. It was a slippery slope.

  Reluctantly, he hardened his heart and shook his head. "I cannot allow Margaret's life to be disrupted."

  Carolly snorted. "I'd say Margaret's life could use a good disruption. Oh James, look around. Can't you see how stifling this room is?"

  James let his gaze wander around the room. The walls were a pristine white; the hard wood furniture, though sparse, appeared more than sufficient for Margaret's needs. The only other objects in the room were three books of sermons stacked neatly in front of Mrs. Homswallow. The fourth lay open in front of Margaret.

  Things did seem a bit dull.

  "I see nothing wrong with this room," he lied. He didn't want to promise too much too quickly, especially since Margaret was prone to flights of fancy. The last thing he wished to do was promise the child something vague only to see her disappointed. He smiled at his niece. Though perhaps we can get you a few new books." And maybe he'd even paint the room a different color.

  Carolly sighed. "Books aren't going to cut it. She needs excitement. Playfulness. A childhood in her childhood." As James was trying to puzzle out those words, she grinned at Margaret. "Well, since we can't meet now, how about a midnight rendezvous? I’ll climb along the wall tonight to meet you. Sound like fun? Then we'll talk boys or clothes or whatever you want. Truly. I promise."

  James gave in. He told himself his capitulation had nothing to do with the image of Carolly's small body flattened against the manor as she tried to inch her way to Margaret's window. He ignored the imagined sight of her broken body lying on the ground after she inevitably fell to her death.

  No, he was thinking only of Margaret.

  "Very well," he groaned. "Margaret, you may come with us to the library." He ignored Miss Hornswallow's gasp of outrage. Rounding on Carolly he added, "But you will not—I repeat, not—walk along the wall. Tonight or ever! Is that clear?" His voice brooked no disobedience.

  Carolly responded with a laugh: that joyful cascade of notes which never failed to stir his soul. "Relax, James. Don't you remember my . . . chosen profession? I couldn't possibly be hurt unless it was time for me to leave anyway."

  ***

  Moments later, the three of them marched quietly into James's library. James led the little procession, then immediately crossed to his desk and sat behind it like a judge. Carolly shook her head at him, then left him alone behind his barricade.

  Margaret followed, a precise three steps behind her uncle. Despite her obvious resentment toward her guardian, she had apparently learned her place in his household quite well. She stood at attention in front of his desk, looking very much like a prisoner about to be sentenced.

  Carolly bit her lower lip as she stood to one side and tried to think. The problem wasn't that James didn't love his niece; it was that he had no clue how to translate that warmth into real life. He obviously hadn't had any guidance on how to love, so he merely repeated the patterns of his own childhood—which had apparently been bleak.

  Carolly spared a moment's grief for the child James must have been. It broke her heart to imagine him so alone, even while she recognized it was probably that very adversity that had molded him into the commanding figure she saw today.

  But now she had her chance to shine. Now was her opportunity to show him just how to handle a young girl. She sauntered around the library, conspicuously letting her gaze travel over the sumptuous ceiling and walls. "Beautiful," she breathed. "Absolutely beautiful."

  Whatever poetry James possessed, he'd clearly lavished on this room. It was quite large, easily holding eight huge mahogany bookcases with openwork silver panels, each filled almost to collapse. Interspersed between each case were huge windows that let in the sweet spring breeze and illuminated the thick mattress-like carpet. Most amazing of all was the painted ceiling.

  Drawn in bold lines above their heads was an exquisite painting of Prometheus descending from Mt. Olympus with the gods' fire. Everywhere Carolly looked in the scene, she saw something new and amazing—whether the shock on the face of the gods, or the awe of the primitive humans. It was incredible, and Carolly knew she could spend hours staring
at the painting and still see something new in it the next day.

  Compared to this room, the nursery was a dungeon.

  "Tell me, Margaret. How do you think your uncle would feel if you two traded rooms for a week or so?"

  Margaret, smart girl that she was, didn't answer. But the comment hadn't really been directed at her. It had been aimed at James, and from the sudden frown on the earl's face, Carolly knew she'd made her point.

  Now all she had to do was establish a rapport with Margaret. She decided to start with seating arrangements. She settled onto a velvet couch angled just enough away from James's huge desk that she and Margaret could have the illusion of privacy without actually excluding the earl. After all, he was the one who'd sat behind his desk. Let him come out from behind his fortress if he wanted to talk.

  Patting the seat beside her, Carolly smiled at Margaret. "Come and sit here, dear. There's no reason for you to stand at attention. Your uncle will let me run this particular show." She directed a pointed glance at James, praying he wouldn't contradict her.

  The seconds ticked by as both Margaret and Carolly held their breath, waiting for James's verdict. Finally he nodded, and the girl hesitantly joined Carolly on the couch. Immeasurably relieved, Carolly took a deep breath and decided to plunge right in. "First off, Margaret, please allow me to apologize."

  She saw the little girl's shock. She couldn't quite see James's face, but she guessed he wore a similar expression of astonishment.

  "You seem surprised, dear," Carolly continued. "Is that because no one has ever apologized to you before? Well, rest assured, when I make a mistake, I try to apologize immediately."

  "Do—do not regard it, madame." Margaret's voice was high and uncertain, and Carolly could already see that, just like a wall, just like her uncle, Margaret had a great deal of reserve. It would take nothing short of a full-blown force of nature to break through.