by Dorothy Mack
“Well,” he said briskly, “it only remains to present you to your charges, and you should meet Mrs. Haskins, the housekeeper.” He pulled the rope summoning Chilham and asked him to send Mrs. Haskins to the study.
Angelica sat outwardly serene, but her thoughts were chasing each other around in her head. This had certainly been a strange interview. The viscount was so completely different from her romanticized memories. She slanted a glance at the set face. Could that tight-lipped mouth ever have smiled so freely and boyishly as she remembered?
Intercepting her look, the viscount smiled mockingly. “Well, do you find me much changed in ten years?”
Angelica felt the betraying colour steal over her cheeks again. What could she possibly say that would not sound insulting? The silence lengthened. The viscount raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“You — you — I look older, my lord,” she stammered. To her intense relief, a discreet knock was heard at the door and the viscount called to Mrs. Haskins to enter.
During the viscount’s introduction, Angelica was struggling to recover her customary self-possession. Her inability to tell a polite social lie had almost led her to blurt out that he had changed beyond recognition. She took a deep breath and managed to respond politely to the housekeeper’s greeting.
Suddenly the doors to the study were thrown open, and a diminutive brunette came impetuously into the room. “I’m so glad you are still here, Giles. Marie and I are going shopping and I need some money. Please may — oh!” she broke off abruptly, catching sight of Angelica, partly hidden behind the ample figure of Mrs. Haskins. “I beg your pardon; I did not realize you were occupied.”
She turned to leave the room, but the viscount moved toward her. “Wait, Lydia,” she said, taking her hand and leading her up to Angelica. “I want you to meet Jenny’s new governess. Miss Wayne, this is my sister, Lydia.”
Angelica had been marvelling at how closely the Honourable Miss Weston resembled her brother, while appearing his antithesis in personality. She also had raven dark hair and eyes, but her skin was creamy and the hawkish nose of the brother was a delicate aquiline on the sister. Her pointed little chin, however, looked to be quite as capable of stubbornness as the viscount’s. She was smiling now with delight, her face lighting up in response to Angelica’s warm greeting.
“Oh, you are quite young!” she exclaimed impetuously, holding out her hand. “It is quite terribly dull in this house, and I am never allowed out without my maid… You will change all that, and Giles tells me you are going to teach me Italian.” She clapped her tiny hands enthusiastically. “What fun we shall have together!”
The disappointment Angelica had felt at the coldness of the viscount melted like snow in the sunshine of his sister’s warmth. “Thank you for such a marvellous welcome,” she said sincerely. “I, too, am looking forward to our lessons together.”
Mrs. Haskins, who had watched this exchange complacently, now bustled into action, proposing to show Miss Wayne her rooms. Angelica glanced inquiringly at her employer, who dismissed her formally:
“I shan’t see you again until dinner, Miss Wayne. I hope you will find your accommodation satisfactory.”
She curtsied slightly, returned Lydia’s smile and followed Mrs. Haskins into the hall and up the beautiful staircase, feeling more than slightly drained of energy after the tension of the interview with her employer and the unbounded spirits of his sister. If it were not for Lydia’s buoyant friendliness, she would be experiencing a faint dread at being absorbed into a household headed by such a cold man.
Mrs. Haskins paused for breath at the top of the stairs before tackling the next flight. “The saloons and the main bedrooms are here on the first floor. My quarters, the nursery suite and your rooms are on the next, and the servants are above. I’m not so young as I was — these stairs get worse every year.”
She saved her breath for the rest of the climb, then began again in a friendly fashion which cheered Angelica immeasurably. “It will be nice for Miss Jenny to have someone young around. Miss Jenkins — she was the governess before you — was getting on and not really lively enough to interest a little girl. Miss Jenny’s a rare handful, she is, and if you take my advice, begging your pardon, miss, you’ll let her know who’s boss right off. There’s not an ounce of harm in her, mind you, but with no mother to set the limits, Nurse and the servants let her call the tune so to speak; and as for Lady Orbridge, his lordship’s aunt — well, Miss Jenny has her wrapped round her thumb. Miss Lydia’s the only one who can make her mind, but she’ll soon be too busy with the social round to spend much time with her.”
While Angelica was trying to assimilate this spate of information and advice, Mrs. Haskins paused and opened a door leading into a small but attractive sitting room. Up here, the fireplace mantelpiece was of wood rather than marble and the colours in the leaf-and-floral-patterned carpet were muted by time and use, but the small settee with its upholstered seat looked comfortable enough and there were three other chairs in the room, one a charming gilt-and-painted affair with a cane seat. Angelica noted with appreciation a mahogany hanging cabinet inlaid with brass and other woods. So there would be a place for the few lovely Lowestoft pieces that had belonged to her mother.
Mrs. Haskins swept up to a door on the left side wall and indicated the room beyond. Angelica followed her and was equally reassured by her first glimpse of her new bedroom. It might not be large, but the single bed with its carved posts looked attractive with brocaded hangings and coverlet. The blue might be faded to a silvery shade, but the fabric was heavy and in good condition, as were the draperies at the window on the wall opposite. There was a large mirror over the fireplace with a gilt frame, and a small one on a modest dressing table. The washstand was utilitarian, but the china pitcher and bowl were ornamented with dainty blue and yellow flowers. Angelica had no time to study her surroundings further before her attention was claimed by the housekeeper, who was explaining that she was to eat luncheon in company with Jenny and Nurse in the schoolroom. Today they would be joined by Miss Lydia, since his lordship was lunching out. Angelica wasn’t too surprised to learn she would dine with the viscount and his sister, in view of his intention that she be a sort of temporary companion to Lydia until she should acquire a new sister-in-law.
A knock on the sitting room door turned out to be the footman, who had been dispatched earlier for her trunk. He had returned with what Angelica realized, with a faintly sinking heart, represented almost all her worldly possessions.
Left alone to settle herself into her new environment, she attempted a sorting out of the blur of impressions she had received since entering this house scarcely an hour ago. She glanced at the pewter clock on the sitting room mantel and was frankly amazed that so little time had passed since she had bade Annie a tearful goodbye and turned to face her future.
As she unpacked her trunk and disposed her belongings in the commodious wardrobe in the bedroom, her thoughts were anywhere but on what her busy hands were accomplishing. Her expression was faintly troubled. Despite the obvious friendliness of Mrs. Haskins and the effervescent Lydia, she was not completely reassured that her coming to this house was after all such a wise decision. All her doubts revolved around the unfathomable, and, she suspected, difficult personage of her employer. She must admit that her imagination had certainly been inadequate to the task of picturing possible changes in the man who had made a brief but lasting impression on a thirteen-year-old child. Heavens! She would have passed him in the street without a glimmer of recognition. How could anyone have altered so basically in ten years? Indeed, this cynical individual appeared considerably older than his years. Surely he must be near her cousin Gervaise’s age, having been up at Oxford together. She did a hasty mental calculation; Gervaise, had he lived, would now be three and thirty. Billy had said the viscount had been widowed some six years or more. Could grief for his lovely wife (Billy said she was an acclaimed beauty) have so warped his life as to leave his ey
es granite hard and bitter lines around his mouth?
In the ordinary way of things, a governess for such a young child would seldom come in the way of the master of the house, but as she was also to bear Lydia company, she must necessarily dine with the family and come under that sardonic regard. The thought chilled her blood, but she chided herself briskly for cowardice and resolved to do her best to carry out her duties. At least she would enjoy exploring London with the vivacious Lydia.
At this point in her reflections, a knock sounded on the sitting room door. She had scarcely time to call out permission to enter when a quick light step was behind her and she turned, barely suppressing a gasp at the sight of her charge hovering in the doorway.
CHAPTER THREE
Jenny was quite frankly the loveliest child Angelica had ever seen. A good height for her age, she was delicately made and coloured, with thick pale hair seeming more in the Scandinavian than the English style. Her fair skin was healthily tinged with pink on the cheeks and adorable mouth, and her short, straight nose would be a decided asset to any budding beauty. Two large, deep blue eyes were candidly appraising as the little girl returned Angelica’s stare with complete assurance. The child spoke first.
“How do you do?” she said politely. “I know you are Miss Wayne. I am Jennifer Louise Minerva Weston. The Louise is for my grandmother and the Minerva,” here the little nose wrinkled in distaste, “is for Papa’s aunt who lives with us to lend countenance to Lydia.” Angelica suppressed a smile as the little girl continued: “I am always called Jenny except when Papa is displeased with me, but I mean to be called Jennifer when I am presented. It is much more grown-up, don’t you agree?”
“I think Jennifer is a beautiful name,” Angelica answered truthfully, “and, yes, more grown-up than Jenny. Would you prefer that I call you Jennifer now so you may become accustomed to the sound of it?”
The child considered this thoughtfully and repeated it twice before laughing merrily. “No, thank you, it sounds strange to me yet. You may call me Jenny for now. I will let you know when I wish to be called Jennifer,” she added graciously. “Pray, what is your given name?”
“Angelica,” said Angelica.
“That is a very pretty name. Papa gave Lydia a lovely fan painted by Angelica Kauffmann, but I do not know of anyone else by that name.”
“I am named that because I am half Italian.”
“Really? I don’t know anyone at all who is Italian, but my cousin Fanny has a French governess.” She clapped her hands delightedly. “This is ever so much better. I can’t wait to tell Fanny. You do speak Italian, don’t you?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes,” Angelica answered, and then remembering that her father had said Jenny disliked lessons, added casually, “if you do very well with your other lessons, I will teach you some Italian phrases with which you may dazzle Fanny.” She gave her attention to shaking the wrinkles out of a dress, but managed to study the little girl’s reaction out of the corner of her eye.
Jenny’s expression, which had clouded at the mention of lessons, was now thoughtful, and Angelica, deciding she had ventured far enough, refrained from pursuing the topic. Instead, she continued to arrange her belongings, humming softly to herself.
Jenny broke the short silence, and there was no mistaking the challenge in her voice. “I feel I should tell you that I do not like above half having lessons all day long. Girls do not need to study like boys, and Aunt Lydia says nothing could be more shocking than to be thought blue.”
“I quite agree,” Angelica said calmly. “A lady must know how to conduct herself in all situations, however, and if she finds herself unable to converse intelligently with her dinner partner because she has been remiss in learning the use of the globe, for example, when he is discussing Napoleons route into Russia or the duke’s campaign in Portugal or Spain — well, you must see that he will soon abandon her for a more responsive companion.”
Jenny looked quite struck by this dreadful possibility, but pursued her course undaunted. “Yes, but you must know that I find mathematics a dead bore.”
“So do I,” replied her governess promptly. “In fact, any lesson that is too long is a dead bore. With your help, we shall try to find the easiest and shortest way to learn those things a lady must know.”
“With my help?” Jenny asked, diverted.
“Oh, yes, a slow, inattentive pupil takes so long to finish a task that there is never time to go on to more interesting matters.”
Jenny was nothing if not persistent. “What more interesting matters?”
For a palpitating moment Angelica’s mind was blank, then she grasped at her earlier straw. “Things like learning Italian phrases and — and setting up battle plans for the armies in the peninsula.” Gracious, where had that thought come from, she wondered frantically, while continuing to unfold gowns and casting a surreptitious glance at Jenny to see how that young lady had taken it.
“Could we really plan battles and study how the duke beat Napoleon at Waterloo?” this utterly feminine little girl asked delightedly. “How I should like that! And of course it would be nice to learn some Italian, too. Fanny is insufferably proud because her French is much better than mine. I am going to like having you here, Miss Wayne. Of course, you aren’t as beautiful as my mama was, but I like your face and you have a very pretty voice.” She added quickly, as if afraid Angelica’s feelings might have been wounded, “No one could be as beautiful as Mama, you know. I have her portrait in my room; would you like to see it?”
Her governess’s smile was quick and warm. “Of course I should. I’m told your mother was indeed very beautiful.”
“Who told you — Papa? He never talks about Mama to me. Nurse and Miss Jenkins said I mustn’t try to talk about her because it upsets him. No one mentions Mama, and I do not remember her at all.” The lovely little face looked strangely forlorn, and Angelica was wrung by a swift compassion. How heartless to deny the child the comfort of hearing about her mother.
She answered Jenny’s question. “My cousin told me that your mama was very beautiful, and your papa said you were going to be just like her.”
The child’s face glowed with pleasure. “Papa said that? He has never told me so, indeed.”
Angelica hastened to repair damages. “Well you know, Jenny, it doesn’t really matter if a person looks beautiful if she is not beautiful inside as well. Your papa wants to be sure you learn that it is much more important to be kind and generous and helpful than merely to be lovely on the outside.”
Jenny considered this with a furrowed brow, but remained unconvinced. “Yes, so Nurse says, but if a lady is very lovely on the inside and plain on the outside, she may not have anyone offer for her, while if she is beautiful to look at, she will have many suitors even if she is not at all beautiful inside.”
Angelica felt herself in deep waters, but struggled gamely on. “It is certainly true, unfortunately, that gentleman are — are attracted to beauty of face and form, and may overlook for a time a lady of shining virtue who does not happen to possess such a happy arrangement of features, but in the end, you know, true worth must always be appreciated, and many a proud beauty has seen her circle of admirers dwindle when her, shall we say, less amiable traits became known.”
“I think gentlemen must always prefer ladies who are beautiful,” Jenny said very firmly. “My papa does.”
A giggle from the doorway saved Angelica from ignominious defeat, for she knew not how to answer Jenny without perjuring herself. Her relieved eyes flew to Lydia’s face, alight with amusement.
“Well, Jenny, Nurse sent you to bring Miss Wayne to the schoolroom for lunch and has been waiting this half hour and more.”
The rest of the day passed smoothly and pleasantly. Nurse, who was so seldom called by her name that Lydia had to scramble around in her mind to dredge up Mrs. Priddy for Angelica’s benefit, seemed at first slightly suspicious of the new governess, who although she looked mild enough, might take it into
her head to try to undermine her own important position in Jenny’s life. When the conversation at lunch revealed that Lydia would be requiring a great deal of Angelica’s time, leaving only the morning free for Jenny’s lessons, she allowed her feathers to be smoothed by Angelica’s deferential manner and, in a subsequent conversation with Murdock, his lordship’s valet, was judged by that individual to be well-disposed toward the new teacher.
Immediately after lunch, Angelica was led by Jenny to view her mother’s portrait. She was perfectly willing to praise the late Lady Alicia Weston to her eager daughter, but was feminine enough to have to suppress an uncharitable pang of envy at sight of such beauty. For reputation hadn’t exceeded truth in this case. Angelica had seen several Incomparables during her season, but all had been as nothing compared with Alicia Weston.
Her hair was of the same spectacular blondness as Jenny’s, and her eyes large and of an incredible blue. Her brows were perfectly arched and much darker than her hair. Well-shaped lips were parted in a slight smile above a delicate chin. The portrait was a half-length; Lady Desmond wore a low-necked gown of sapphire blue velvet, revealing lovely shoulders and a long graceful neck adorned with a fabulous necklace of sapphires and diamonds. One shapely hand with tapering fingers held a single white rose in a graceful attitude against her breast.
Feeling positively drab, Angelica repressed a sigh of sheer envy and managed to praise the portrait with sufficient warmth to please Jenny. In all honesty, no one could fail to find such exquisite loveliness pleasing to the eye. Only the most captious of critics would have said that perhaps the Lady Alicia’s expression held a touch of pride and lacked something of the sweetness of her daughter’s. It was very lowering to reflect that she was just such a critic, Angelica mused. She was grateful to be able to retire to her room to finish unpacking and directing the maids to press the travel wrinkles from her garments, but her thoughts remained on the woman whose portrait she had admired.