Hunting the Hero

by Heather Boyd

  The old woman’s right arm lifted awkwardly to touch Miss Cunningham. “Show her the room and fetch tea,” she mumbled again.

  The girl stood quickly and rushed for a far door. Meredith followed, casting a discreet glance at Ridgeway’s right arm again. Was she injured?

  The gloom was as thick inside as the previous room and Meredith stumbled to the window to draw back the drapes so she could see. Bright light flooded a cheerful, papered room, and feeling better, she smiled at the girl. “Thank you.”

  The girl yanked the drapes closed, hiding the pretty wallpaper in darkness again. “They’re to be kept closed out of respect for the mistress.”

  The mistress had died two years ago. Good heavens. Was the staff expected to mourn her still? The study and the lower rooms hadn’t contained the least look of mourning. If Grayling could move on with his life, surely the staff could, too. “But I cannot see anything with them closed.”

  She shrugged. “Butler’s orders.”

  Ah, perhaps that was the real reason. Was Cunningham a fanatic about the proprieties? Extending full mourning to the whole of the house might not be within his reach, but he could impose it upon the servants under his control and Grayling might never suspect. He did not wear mourning dress and by his own admission had begun to return to society. Did the butler still mourn the lady of the house? Was that the reason for Cunningham’s frosty greeting to a newcomer, a potential temptation?

  Meredith sighed heavily.

  At Ridgeway’s call for Miss Cunningham, the girl bustled out quickly, leaving Meredith alone in the dark. Meredith did not like the dark except when it was supposed to be. At night. She yanked open the drapes again, tied them back out of the way. The view from the room was lovely. She could see the gardens, the distant woods, and the spire of a far structure. A folly, perhaps. If she was still here when warm weather came, she might even enjoy exploring the estate in her free time.

  She turned about to inspect her bedchamber. A narrow bed was crammed against the far wall, and a chair, a cupboard, a tall mirror, and a washbasin on a stand completed the furnishings. An adequate carpet covered a good portion of the hardwood floor to keep her feet warm when she rose from bed. Perfectly enough for a governess and exactly what she’d expected to find. There would never be indecent objects of pleasure in the drawers of the cupboard; there would never be another body to share the bed. Given the proximity to the nursery, Grayling would never visit her.

  Fighting off her disappointment, Meredith hung her bonnet on the point of the mirror and tucked her bag beneath the bed. There. She had moved in. There wasn’t much else to do but return to the children and see what she could make of them. Despite the strangeness of the situation, Meredith was looking forward to the challenge. At the House and other places she’d plied her trade, she’d always offered advice to the new girls, molding their habits to be pleasing, teaching them to dress and present themselves as a lady should, even if they were so new from the farm that they still had manure under the soles of their slippers.

  More than a few had gone on to permanent situations as mistresses. One had even become a wife. Meredith was rather proud of the fact that every one of them was better off with her help and had made something of themselves. They’d found their place.

  What could she do to shape three sad little girls into happy creatures? Only time would tell. When she returned to them, the girls were just as quiet. Their silence bothered Meredith, as most children she’d encountered in her life were chatterers, every last one. She’d spend no time shushing these little mouths. Getting them to talk would be her challenge.

  Determined to draw them out, she carefully parted the drapes, aware that if they were always drawn shut then the brighter light might hurt their little eyes. As she’d feared, when she turned, the children and the old woman were blinking their eyes rapidly.

  With the new light, she studied the old woman quickly, noting an odd slant to her features. Her arm lay unmoving in her lap, her legs were tightly bound in a woolen rug. She was injured. Did Grayling realize he’d left an old woman, who possibly did not have free movement, in charge of his children?

  Fearing it likely, she turned away to hide her rising annoyance. Grayling should have taken better care of such precious treasures. The children needed more than to sit about and do nothing. Resolved to lure the girls away to something pretty, she eyed the rest of the room. Unfortunately, she could see nothing with which to amuse them.

  “No use getting your hopes up,” Ridgeway warned. “Cunningham packed it all away into those far cupboards after the mistress passed.”

  “That’s terrible,” Meredith replied, noticing the little girls had leaned forward at the mention of their mother. She moved back to the warmth of the fire to watch them. When Ridgeway said nothing more of the late Lady Grayling, their little faces dropped back to their dolls.

  They were so sweet and so sad. Meredith was determined to see them smile at least once before the day was through, but she didn’t expect much assistance from the other servants.

  Ridgeway sat stiffly, right arm on her lap, odd smile twisting her lips into a frown. Except she wasn’t frowning. Her eyes were sharp dots of blackness as she cleared her throat. Swallowing seemed to be an effort. “They only have those dolls to play with. Can never get them out of their hands unless they’re asleep,” she offered.

  While Meredith would love to get to the bottom of the puzzle of Ridgeway’s illness, her priority was getting to know the children. Meredith crossed to them and sank to her knees on the worn rug. They each held those little dolls tight against their chests, as if they expected her to snatch them away. “Do they have names?”

  Silence greeted her question.

  Meredith swiveled to look at the old woman. “Do they not speak?”

  “They only speak when their father comes and then very little. The eldest hasn’t said a word to anyone else in close to two years. If not for hearing her with the master, I’d swear she was mute.”

  Meredith turned back to little Lady Willow Hunt. A pretty face peeked out from beneath poorly arranged dark locks. The child’s large eyes were fathomless pools of sadness. Poor angel. “That’s all right. You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, but should you ever, I would love to hear your voice. I’m positive I can talk enough for everybody in the room.”

  Meredith leaned forward and kissed the top of the child’s head. She winked at the middle child and brushed her fingers over the youngest’s cheeks. Such pretty children needed to be loved in the light, not neglected. She left them and opened all the drapes in the room and one window. It was time to end the mourning before these children were irreparably damaged. Grayling couldn’t possibly want his children to live in the dark.

  Dust motes swirled in the air and she regarded the cupboards Ridgeway had spoken of. She tested the door handles, but they merely rattled. Locked. How cruel to store precious things but keep them in plain sight. Meredith raised her hands to her hair in search of a pin but remembered at the last second that she’d cut off her hair. Drat. How was she supposed to pick a lock without one?

  As luck would have it, Lady Willow’s hair provided the needed pin. Meredith inserted it carefully into the lock and concentrated on the task at hand. It proved only the work of a moment before the lock clicked and the doors swung open freely.

  Inside lay a treasure trove of childhood toys. She swiftly took inventory. Dolls, puzzles, pigskin balls to toss about. A closed box caught her eye. When she opened it, Meredith found it contained only brightly painted blocks of wood. Perfect for young Poppy to stack and knock down.

  Meredith carried it across the room and then sat on the rug before the fire. She relished the heat permeating her gown before she upended her treasure and began to play. It took only a minute for the children to slide onto the floor and investigate what she was doing. She made a tall stack with the colored blocks and held her breath as Poppy reached for them.

  When they crashed to
the floor, she laughed and restacked the pile. As she did, she caught the swift exchange of glances between Willow and Maisy before they inched closer. Had they expected Meredith to scold a baby? Meredith gritted her teeth and considered how willing Grayling might be to providing her with a list of his former governesses. They deserved to be hunted down and expelled from their current positions.

  When Poppy again destroyed her tower, the other two joined in and made their own. Meredith eased back a bit to give them room to play. Poppy chortled and stood. The next tower was felled by a wild swing of her foot. Meredith reached for her. “Be careful of your sisters, Poppy, love. Don’t hurt them.”

  Meredith released the child and she squatted down to better view her sister’s work. This time, she used her hand and both Maisy and Willow complained. “We weren’t done yet, Poppy.”

  Willow held Poppy back with one hand. “Wait.”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Now.”

  Meredith smiled as the girls worked together to build a tower as tall as they could make it and then leaned back so Poppy could destroy it. Blocks scattered far and wide and the girls scurried to retrieve them to build again.

  Meredith glanced at the nurse who was staring at her with openmouthed surprise.

  “I think we’re going to need more blocks,” Meredith suggested.

  “That and an increase in your wages,” Ridgeway said. “That was remarkable. How did you know Her Ladyship used to play on the floor with them?”

  “I didn’t, but it seemed the sensible thing to do.” Meredith shrugged. “Wait till you see what else I’m capable of.”

  CHAPTER 14

  SILENCE COULD ONLY be good, surely. That’s what Constantine kept telling himself as the second day of the new governess’s employment progressed. So far, he had managed not to wander upstairs and see for himself how Calista, Meredith (God, he wished he knew what to call her) and his daughters were getting along. Maybe he could continue to call her Calista, but only in his innermost thoughts or when they were alone and no one could hear them. Especially in his fantasies.

  No, he had to get used to the change.

  Meredith Clark—another name that didn’t suit the woman. The name sparked images of a cold bookish spinster. There may be little gentle sweetness in the woman, but steel, nerve and cunning she had in spades. She was kind. He’d never thought her heartless, which was why he had no concerns about her influence over his daughters. Under her guidance they might grow to be strong young women, not one of those listless beauties waiting for a man to sweep them off her feet and propose before their first season had even begun.

  He shook his head and cursed under his breath. What was he doing planning so far ahead? He knew, and Arabella had warned him, that Miss Clark might not stay in his employment for very long. She had a past that would scandalize many if the truth came out. Yet the thought of her leaving wasn’t a pleasant sensation. Not now he had her under his roof where no man would dare touch her.

  By sheer force of will, Constantine had not grumbled about her missing their arranged meeting last night when Cunningham had subtly asked if she should be summoned. As the woman had reminded him yesterday, she was here for his daughters and not him. Her time wasn’t wasted if she was with his girls.

  Yet he had not laid eyes on her all day and curiosity was driving him mad. He’d remained in his study, tending his correspondence in frustrated solitude. But as he’d paused for luncheon, Cunningham had relayed the particulars of what the governess was doing with the children. The butler had sounded aghast that she was seated upon the floor to play with them. Constantine was rather pleased by that news.

  But Miss Clark was causing additional work for the staff with her demands, Cunningham had confided. After breakfast she had demanded tea and sweet cakes to be immediately sent up to the nursery. Warm baths had followed and she had spent an hour dressing hair. She had not even begun conducting lessons. The young maid, Cunningham’s niece, had been assisting nurse but had been excused for other duties for the rest of the day, and the man was afraid of what else Miss Clark might be doing.

  A smile tugged at his lips. Amongst his set lingered the idea that ladies should have little part in the raising of their offspring. Augusta had defied them all and taken an active part in raising their daughters with little assistance from the servants. The girls must miss that. Miss Clark’s behavior, rather relaxed for a servant, would feel familiar for them.

  Many things about Meredith Clark felt familiar. She was easy to be with.

  He picked up the most recent copy of the Times and scanned the pages, looking for a distraction from the direction of his thoughts. He’d spent too long wallowing in the past or contemplating his former lover today. It was time to move ahead with life before he became obsessed with what he didn’t have.

  An entry low down on the page caught his eye. As he read it, his eyes widened. Mr. Leopold Randall was appealing to his sister to come home, and to Romsey Abbey no less. The woman would be welcomed with open arms. Constantine gritted his teeth. The nerve of the man to behave as if the abbey was his. He might be the heir, but he was not the duke. When they finally met, he would lay down the law about Randall’s attitude regarding things that didn’t belong to him. Constantine did not support this marriage. When his children were settled and smiling, he would make the trip to Romsey and tell his sister so.

  Unfortunately, the trip would most likely be after the wedding.

  A nervous giggle caught his attention and he peered past the paper to the doorway. A dark head, Maisy, pretty ringlets bobbing on each side of her head, was peeking at him from the door, waiting to see if he would invite her in. He dropped the paper to the desk and crooked his finger. The little scamp rushed right to him. She was in his arms before his surprise sank in. For the first time in a very long time, his middle daughter wanted him.

  He held her against him as tight as he dared. He’d missed the impulsive hugs more than he’d thought possible. When he raised his head and glanced toward the doorway, he saw Miss Clark had brought Willow too; she held Poppy in her arms. But they, too, were waiting at the doorway for an invitation to enter.

  “Come in. Please, come in,” he urged. He couldn’t remember the last time a governess had brought them to him during the day. “It’s nice to see you all.”

  Willow drew closer, stopping to stare at him and Maisy cuddling behind his desk. Constantine opened his arms and his eldest daughter leapt into them, burrowing against him and her sister. “Hello, Papa,” she whispered softly.

  He eased back to look at her closely. Today she resembled her mother very much. Her hair was brushed till it shone a bright blond; two plaits were looped about her head to keep the long strands neat. A lump formed in his throat. “Hello, Angel. You look very pretty today.”

  His gaze shifted to where Miss Clark stood, arms filled with a wriggling, squirming child.

  “You had better hand Poppy over, too,” he warned, “or you’ll be in danger of dropping her. Never one to be left out is this little lady. We’ll have our hands full when she’s older.”

  Miss Clark said nothing as she placed the child on the center of his chest, between her two sisters. She brushed her fingers over the short curls on Poppy’s head before she turned away.

  Poppy caught his face in her chubby little hands and rubbed their noses together.

  He sighed. “You are lovely too, little one. Is that a new dress you’re wearing, Maisy?”

  Maisy plucked at it. “It’s my new pretty one,” she said proudly.

  “It was mine, but Maisy needs it now,” Willow said quietly. “Miss Clark said she never had a sister to give her prettiest gowns to, but I can show Maisy how to be all grown up.”

  He smiled at his daughter, but his heartbeat sped up. Willow was talking a lot more than she normally would. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “That is very sweet of you.”

  When Maisy wriggled free of his grip, grabbed a heavy glass paperweight from
the desk, and scurried into the desk well at his feet, he let her go without a word of protest. It had been an age since they had all come and he was pleased to see it did not take long for old habits to resurrect themselves. He hadn’t realized they’d stopped coming, and all it had taken was one day and a very crafty woman to tumble his world again.

  He glanced at Miss Clark, surprised to see her frowning at the newssheet spread across his desk. She had even removed her spectacles, proving she did not need them to read. Maybe one day she would stop tormenting him.

  He laughed at the idea and tickled his eldest beneath her chin. “There is no need to grow up too fast. You’re all the perfect size for sitting on my lap.” Including Meredith Clark.

  He hugged Willow again and rejoiced when her arms tightened about his neck. She held him a long time, only releasing him because Poppy was selfishly pushing her away.

  He reached into his desk drawer and withdrew a scrap of paper and stick of lead. “Willow used to draw for me,” he told Miss Clark, who had replaced her spectacles and was standing at the window, looking out at the grounds. “I wonder if she would like to today?”

  Miss Clark did not respond, but his daughter’s eyes lit up with interest. She nodded enthusiastically, hurried around the desk, and climbed onto a chair placed across from him. It wasn’t close enough, but Miss Clark was quick in offering assistance. She drew the chair closer and lingered until Willow was settled. That left him with only Poppy to entertain. The little scamp touched his face, his cravat, and the bright, shining ruby pin holding it in place. Without further ado, she embraced him, a little whimper of sound leaving her lips.