by Valerie King
“I know impertinence and rudeness when I hear it,” Abigail returned, meeting Miss Lavant’s gaze squarely.
Miss Lavant scowled and narrowed her eyes.
Abigail sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, holding the frog in her hands. She looked up at her pupil and, in what she meant to be a demeaning fashion, said, “Dear child.”
Miss Lavant’s complexion colored instantly. “I am not a child.”
Abigail held the frog up for her inspection. “Would a lady do this, then?”
“You…you…you…” She was choked with exasperation.
“Yes, I know. I am an insufferable creature, which I knew were the words fixed on the end of your tongue, and I will credit you this, you did not speak them aloud.”
At that, Sarah crumbled and took up a seat beside Abigail. “I do not need a governess,” she said, taking the frog back from her. “I am fully seventeen—nearly eighteen.—and I resent more than I can say that my father would still hire one to cosset me.”
“I would never do so,” she assured her. Abigail saw the misery on her young face and felt compelled to add, “Miss Lavant, I may not fully comprehend your father’s mind, but do you think it possible he is missing his wife at this moment?”
Her brow puckered into a frown as she pondered the question. “I had not been thinking of my father. Why did I not see that before, and I do try to think of everything. He is the one who needs you here.”
“I believe you have the right of it.”
Sarah drew in a deep breath and rose quickly to return the frog to the pitcher. She then opened the top drawer of the highboy and withdrew a glass jar, into which she lowered two very large spiders that had been hidden in the drawer. Screwing the lid on tightly, she settled it atop the dresser, then opened the bottom drawer, from which a gray mouse slipped over the edge and dropped with some agility onto the floor.
Abigail instinctively lifted her feet, a movement that forced the mouse to freeze, affording Miss Lavant sufficient time to capture him.
Once the mouse recognized Miss Lavant, he quickly scampered up her hand and arm and settled on her shoulder. “He has been my particular friend for the past year.”
Abigail rose and petted his small head and restless whiskers. “What is his name?”
A small sigh escaped her. “Henry,” she said softly.
Abigail wondered at Miss Lavant’s suddenly gentled expression.
Adopting something of her former attitude, Miss Lavant said, “You have been very kind to me, so I believe it is only fair to warn you that I am not overly fond of study or of practicing my pianoforte. I feel I am already sufficiently accomplished. You do not mean to make me do any work, do you, Miss Chailey?”
Abigail took Miss Lavant’s measure. She thought of Henry and did not hesitate to take a strong stab at the truth. “I would only urge you to apply yourself to the degree you desire to make yourself agreeable to the man you love.”
Her words appeared to strike home as a very sad expression overtook Miss Lavant’s features. “Uncle Trey said something very much like that not two days past.”
“Then, I would say he has spoken to you with a degree of wisdom I hope you will take quite seriously. For now, however, I am wondering if there is anything hidden in my wardrobe?”
At that, Miss Lavant’s countenance lightened appreciably. “No, not in the wardrobe,” she responded, giggling.
Abigail could not resist and opened the door. A large yellow-striped cat suddenly bounded from the opening, which caused both ladies to shriek at once. Miss Lavant cupped her hand over Henry, who was still perched on her shoulder, and then called out sharply, “Blinkers. Have you been trapped in there all night? You poor thing.”
The cat came back at the sound of Miss Lavant’s voice, meowed once, then ran from the room, clearly on a mission of some urgency. She turned to Abigail and said, “I promise you I did not know Blinkers was within.”
“I believe you, for I am certain you cried out nearly as loudly as I did.”
After laughing together for a time, Miss Lavant guided Abigail in a friendly manner to a more proper bedchamber on the second floor, where Mrs. Nympton, the housekeeper, awaited her. She apologized for Miss Sarah’s conduct, explaining that she had only recently been released from the buttery, the door sticking more often than not, else she would have intervened earlier. Abigail understood the situation readily and set that good lady at ease by telling her that she had enjoyed many unusual welcomings on her first day as a governess.
Abigail spent the remainder of the morning settling into her bedchamber, unpacking her portmanteaus, and reviewing all that had happened in so short a time. Miss Lavant she found to be strong-willed and quite independent, qualities she valued, since she believed every woman had need of such traits in order to thrive in the world. She also felt she had a natural understanding of her pupil, since they shared something in common that most ladies did not—each of them had been raised almost exclusively by an eccentric but loving father.
As she emptied the last of her bandboxes, she stretched her back and moved to enjoy the view from the windows, which overlooked a duck pond. The setting was truly idyllic, and the frequent quacking that resounded from below was a pleasant change from the harsh clatterings of London. She realized she was very content, regardless of Miss Lavant’s antics. Whatever the struggles of the vale with a thieving highwayman or Lady Waldron’s purposes in keeping Lord Treyford ostracized from Three Rivers Cross society, serving quietly in Mr. Lavant’s manor was of the moment precisely what she needed. For the present, her only concern was how she was going to bring Sarah Lavant around to the notion of applying her mind to her studies and to her music.
* * * * * * * * *
The following evening, Abigail awaited Lord Treyford’s arrival, not knowing precisely what to think of him. Over the past two days she had learned that Miss Lavant was inordinately fond of her ‘Uncle Trey,’ that he was a frequent guest at Oak Hill, and that both Mr. Lavant and his daughter felt he had been exceedingly ill-used by the gentlefolk in the vale.
“He is one of the kindest gentlemen I have ever known,” Miss Lavant had said. “He treats his servants not just equitably but with remarkable generosity, and he works very hard to improve his tenanted lands. He is spoken of highly everywhere except in our most exalted drawing rooms.”
Abigail had listened to her in some bemusement, since these accolades had not aligned with Lady Waldron’s portrayal of Treyford. On the other hand, Miss Lavant had just confirmed what Abigail had overheard at the Mermaid from the local farmers and merchants. So it was that she found herself awaiting his arrival with some interest.
Mr. Lavant approached her. “So you’ve actually lasted as my daughter’s governess beyond twenty-four hours,” he said, teasing her in a manner that was quickly becoming a habit with him. “I confess I am utterly astonished.”
“Mr. Lavant,” she countered, “I should have thought you of an age to know better than to judge a book by its cover.”
“Hah,” he barked. “Much you know, for I still think you are too pretty to be of much use. If I don’t mistake the matter, we will soon have every manner of puppy yipping at my front door once it becomes known Aphrodite is actually residing beneath my roof. Now you are blushing, silly chit. Sarah, I hope you are not paying the least attention to anything Miss Chailey is attempting to teach you.”
“Oh, Papa, do stop tormenting her. Besides, you know very well I have a poor head for learning.”
“Does my daughter have a poor head for learning?” he asked brightly, again addressing Abigail.
“Miss Lavant, as you very well know, is an extremely intelligent young lady, which is why you have gone through at least twenty governesses in the past five years.”
“Only twenty, eh?” he queried jovially, clasping his hands behind his back and admiring his daughter.
“And I must say, Mr. Lavant, you are entirely incorrigible in that you seem to be encouraging he
r to ignore the development of her mind as well as to test her governesses at every turn.”
He dismissed this with a flip of his hand. “Now you are being absurd. I merely want the woman who would undertake the instruction of my daughter to have a little spirit, which you seem to have in abundance. I will give you that much.”
“I am much obliged,” she answered facetiously, resigning herself.
Apparently because of the expression on her face, he was vastly amused, for he laughed heartily.
“What a wretch you are, Papa,” his daughter said. She also appeared resigned to his foibles, yet at the same time approached him by extending her arms to him.
He surrounded her at once in a warm embrace, which was what Abigail had come to value most about her new employer—he did not lack in affection for his offspring. For that reason alone, she had great hopes that under the right tutelage, Miss Lavant would become the exceptional young lady she was so obviously capable of being.
Her reveries ceased abruptly when the clock sounded seven. Voices were heard in the hall, and Abigail could not keep from glancing sharply at the doorway, her heart jumping oddly in her chest. What would this man be like who had caused so much strife in the vale surrounding Three Rivers Cross? Was he the monster Lady Waldron had portrayed him to be or the paragon the inmates of Oak Hill clearly thought him?
Somewhere in the middle, Abigail mused, for he was just a man after all.
A moment more, and Lord Treyford stood on the threshold. Miss Lavant immediately ran to greet him, and together, arm in arm, they moved slowly into the chamber.
Abigail turned toward them, fully intent upon observing dispassionately this unusual gentleman. However, no one had prepared her for what a striking creature he was and she found herself a trifle stunned. Treyford was surely the handsomest gentleman she had ever met. So, this was the man who had seduced the Duchess of Chandos at the age of nineteen. He was quite tall and strongly built with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. He was dressed immaculately in black pantaloons, a black tailcoat of superfine, an embroidered burgundy silk waistcoat, modest shirt points, and an exquisitely tied neckcloth. His black hair was cropped short and brushed in the formal manner known as a la Brutus.
As he moved into the fine old chamber, she realized the sensation she was experiencing was perilously close to a profound admiration. She could not remember the last time she had met a gentleman who had so affected her by his mere presence. Even Geoffrey, though unquestionably a fine-looking man, had never caused a riot of butterflies to begin cavorting in her stomach, as they were now, merely because she had settled her gaze on him. In addition, and quite inexplicably, her thoughts whipped back to the night the highwayman had stopped her coach on the moors. She felt herself returned to the very spot for a brief moment, surrounded by the man’s powerful arms and delighting in the way he kissed her so thoroughly. How very odd. What was it about Treyford that made her think of the highwayman?
“Oh, there was something I forgot to tell you,” Mr. Lavant whispered over her shoulder. “Treyford dislikes governesses excessively.”
She turned to stare at him. “All governesses?” she whispered in return. “Excessively? But why?”
“You may ask him yourself,” he said aloud, laughing happily.
Abigail realized Mr. Lavant had achieved his most content state by placing her in yet another awkward position. She had no way of knowing whether Lord Treyford had overheard their quite uncivil exchange, for he was embracing Miss Lavant of the moment and smiling warmly down into her face.
“How do you like your new governess?” he asked the young lady.
“Very much, and you will like her as well. I am convinced of it, for if you must know, Papa is much taken with her. He has not stopped teasing her since she first crossed the portals of our home. A certain indication of his approval.”
At that, Treyford smiled, a circumstance that caused the butterflies in Abigail’s stomach to begin rioting anew. He was even more handsome when he smiled, if that was possible.
Miss Lavant added, “But allow me to make the introductions.”
* * * * * * * * *
Lord Treyford had had a day and a half in which to contemplate the odd circumstance with which he was now faced, of meeting Sarah Lavant’s new and quite beautiful governess—for the second time.
Earlier that evening, he had found himself dressing for dinner with unusual care, so much so that his preoccupation with his appearance had not escaped the ever-observant Pilton.
“Are you feeling bilious, m’lord?” his servant had asked.
“Of course not,” he had snapped, irritated at the mere suggestion of such a thing. “Why would you say something so ridiculous?”
Pilton shrugged faintly. “Because you have ruined nearly a dozen neckcloths. I cannot account for it otherwise.” He gestured to the floor.
“Have I?” he asked, startled. He glanced about his feet at the mounds of crumpled lengths of white linen strewn everywhere. “Good God, so I have.”
Even then, as he bowed over the lady’s hand, he found himself a trifle out of stride. He had been somewhat agitated at the thought of encountering her so soon after his experience with her on the moors. In the time that had elapsed, he had strived to place the mystery of Miss Chailey in some perspective, for he simply could not comprehend how the lady he had kissed could also be a governess. How does an adventuress, a woman who kisses like heaven, take up such a dull, insipid, and frequently manipulative occupation?
However, he had been unable to do more than admit she baffled him completely. He had come to Oak Hill, therefore, in hopes of knowing her better that he might come to understand what seemed to him an incomprehensible split in her nature.
He was drawn from his reveries by Sarah’s voice.
“Miss Chailey was not in the least overset by little Henry, and though I had not meant to tease her in such a manner, dear old Blinkers startled us both by jumping from the wardrobe. Did we not jump, Miss Chailey?”
“Indeed, we did,” the enigmatic governess responded.
Treyford’s gaze, which had been fixed to Miss Chailey’s, slid toward the fireplace. “Blinkers does not seem to have suffered in the least for the encounter,” he said. The yellow-striped cat reclined on the edge of the hearth, one paw draped negligently over the edge, his eyes squinted contentedly shut.
“Apparently not,” Miss Chailey remarked, chuckling.
He returned to meet her gaze. He hoped he was not staring at her more than he ought, but she was prettier than he remembered. In fact, he had never known such a beauty in all his life. Her hair was wonderfully thick, a lovely deep auburn, and her eyes were brown and soulful. Had he truly kissed this woman before? Had he held her in his arms? He could not credit it was true.
“Is something amiss?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, not in the least. It is merely that I believe we have met before.” He wondered what she would say to this, whether she would somehow recognize him.
“I don’t think so,” she said, smiling faintly.
“Indeed?” he queried. “Are you certain?” He wanted her to guess the truth. He wanted to see just what expression might leap to her eyes were she to remember that little more than a day past, she had thrown her arms about his neck and given him kiss for kiss.
He knew a strong impulse to drag her into his arms and to force her to remember where she had met him before. He realized suddenly that he did not feel like Lord Treyford at all of the moment, but the way he felt when he donned his mask and cape, as though he belonged to a different century entirely. He felt powerfully alive as he continued to meet her gaze. The smell of the moors seemed to be in the air tonight. He wished the experience of stopping her coach back again, of holding her in his arms, of feeling her respond so fully to his embraces. He wondered if she would so easily fall into the arms of a simple Lord Treyford.
She was searching his face rather intently. Her brow was puckered. Was she
remembering?
“I am sorry,” she said at last. “But I have no recollection of having met you before. I have been a governess for many years, though lately of London, so I have not been in the habit of going about in society often.”
“Pity,” he responded. “Only, how do you like being a governess?”
“Very much, thank you. As it happens, I have been most fortunate in all my posts to have been admitted into some of the most unusual and liveliest of households in all of England. Oak Hill is no exception. I was charmed from the first, for I am much taken with Miss Lavant and impressed beyond words at the fine scope of her mind. Of course, Mr. Lavant”—here she turned toward him and smiled warmly—”is a great nuisance, but then, every situation has some obstacle to overcome.”
Treyford laughed outright. This governess most definitely was not in the usual style, not by half.
Mr. Lavant smiled broadly. “Do you see that, Treyford? She comprehends me perfectly and she has been here only little more than a day.”
“She is undoubtedly an exceptional female,” Treyford responded.
Abigail turned back to him. “I am no such thing, but I would say that Mr. Lavant does put me in mind of my own father on occasion. I was used to dealing often with his sort.”
“Hah,” Lavant barked. “What do you mean my sort?”
She turned back to him. “Do you truly wish for a recounting of all your faults at this moment, for that is the question you are posing me. Make no mistake, Mr. Lavant, if you give your assent, I shall not withhold my every opinion.”
He pressed a hand against his chest and pretended to be horrified. “Then I beg you, dear lady, say no more.”
Miss Chailey smiled.
Treyford thought her more beautiful than ever just then, with laughter gleaming in her doe-like eyes. He liked her very much, but he was still unconvinced, whatever her charm and beauty, that she was so very different from governesses in general. He did not doubt that at some point her true nature would assert itself and he would experience a great disgust of her.