Kitabı oku: «The Earl and the Governess», sayfa 3
He didn’t want to marry anyone, but he knew she had a point. His own parents’ marriage had been convenient and for mutual benefit, but not for love—although he’d never actually witnessed their relationship firsthand. His mother had died giving birth to him, and his father remarried a year later, this time to a woman he’d been in love with for many years. Will loved his stepmother, too; she was beautiful, intelligent and charming. But she’d also been an actress, and her background had caused a serious rupture in their family. The marriage had led, if he wanted to be brutally honest, to a great deal of unhappiness for many people.
So when it was his turn to marry, he would be more practical about things.
Luckily, he didn’t have to admit to his cousin that she was right. She’d already risen and was arming herself with her parasol. He rose, too, out of courtesy.
‘You’re leaving?’
She nodded. ‘I have to prepare for tonight. It takes me longer these days to look presentable. I’d avoid these dratted débutante balls all together if it weren’t for you. They make me feel practically ancient.’
‘And if it weren’t for you, then I wouldn’t go, either. It’s most illogical of us. Perhaps we should reconsider?’
The look she gave him as she exited the room was answer enough. He would see her later that evening or pay the consequences.
Isabelle’s tiny room was on the top floor of Hannah Standish’s boarding house. It measured about seven feet by eight and the ceiling sloped sharply, making it suitable only for leprechauns and sundry members of the fairy world. The only personal items it contained were three sturdy, leather bags—stuffed full of clothes and books—and a plaster bust of Athena, given to her by her father. Other than that, it contained a bed, a dresser and a threadbare but clean carpet. A child’s sampler, worked in violent red letters, hung above the small fireplace; FEAR HIM, it said, followed by the entire alphabet and all the numbers from one to ten.
That was the last advice she needed at the moment. She was terrified. What would—could—she do? She probably already faced debtors’ prison, and now she was a thief, too, through no fault of her own.
From her tense position on the bed she could see William Stanton’s watch, gleaming and golden on top of her dresser—proof that yesterday wasn’t just a bad dream. She couldn’t help wishing she’d begun her criminal career in less expensive style.
She could sell it, of course. She needed money, and it was probably worth more than she could earn in a decade as a governess. But selling it would only make things worse. Then she’d be an actual, rather than merely an accidental, thief. She shouldn’t even entertain the thought. She’d think instead about what she could do to improve her situation.
Like finding employment, and since she had an interview later that afternoon, she felt justifiably sanguine. True, she’d no real skills, nor any history of employment. But at least she was well educated, thanks to her father’s tutelage. A good education and a large debt were practically the only possessions she had left. Her father was responsible for both counts, in fact.
He’d raised her alone since she was six, when her mother died; he’d been, as far as she could surmise, unable to cope with the responsibilities of parenthood without a wife to guide him. He led a rarefied life as a dealer of ancient sculpture, and she…well, she was left feeling rather inconsequential most of the time, if not downright inconvenient. So, she’d learned to be interested in his interests. She could speak intelligently about Roman sculpture, Etruscan painting and Attic vases. She could read Greek and Latin, as well as French and German. In retrospect, it probably hadn’t been much of a childhood. She certainly didn’t love these topics in the same way he did, but she’d always hoped her aptitude might make him love her, as well. At least they’d have something to talk about together.
Her early memories of her father were few. Before the war made maritime travel impossible, he’d gone to the Continent for months on end, and it was only when he returned from a long voyage that she realised he did care about her, despite his awkward way of showing it. He always brought back the most exotic treasures: mysterious fragments of crumbling buildings, bits of sculpture, and, when she was seven, a beautiful, carved marble goddess taller than she. Even Napoleon hadn’t impeded his purchases; when hostilities prevented him from travelling, he’d had large numbers of artefacts shipped to London, sight unseen. He’d be so pleased with himself when they arrived that he’d tell her stories about each object, stories that lasted well beyond her bedtime: about Daphne turning into a tree to escape Apollo’s embrace, about Diana turning Actaeon into a stag. However, her father’s finds had filled the corners of their large house only until they found a buyer, and everything inevitably did. His ledgers read like a guide to the great and good, and he became renowned in his own right. George III had even created him Sir Walter Thomas—an ultimately useless title that had died with him three years ago.
Unfortunately, it turned out that much of what he’d sold to those many fine gentlemen wasn’t what he claimed it to be. She’d learned that soon after his death, when Sebastian Cowes first came to call. He’d bought many objects from her father over the years, and when he looked at her his pale, liquid gaze had glided unpleasantly over her body, as if she, too, were for sale. She had disliked him immediately, but she’d still endeavoured to be polite…even when he had imparted terrible news.
He’d just returned from Rome, he told her, where he’d seen a marble bust in a shop window. On closer inspection he realised it matched one he’d bought from her father, down to every chip and crack. When he queried the shop owner, Signor Ricci, he learned that the bust wasn’t old at all, but rather had been made by Signor Ricci himself in the antique style. Ricci claimed to know her father well, although apparently he’d visited the shop only once, and that many years ago, just as hostilities were breaking out in earnest with France. He’d arranged for Signor Ricci to send several large statues to England—a request he was to make repeatedly by correspondence throughout the course of the war. Only Ricci had not known that her father had sold his replications in England for many times his own asking price as genuine artefacts. Neither had Isabelle.
Sebastian Cowes wanted his money back, and she agreed that he should have it. The problem was, she didn’t have much money to give him. She was shocked when he showed her the receipts for his purchases. Where had all her father’s profits gone? She could only assume he’d used them to fund further travels and further purchases, since all he’d left her was a modest annual income and a good house with a leaky roof.
So she started to sell her possessions—china, dresses, silver, jewellery at first, and then finally her home. These monies, even combined with her inheritance, had covered only half the debt, and thus she’d ended up in London, looking for work. As if a governess’s meagre salary would help.
She told herself she wasn’t running away. She knew she had to face Mr Cowes sometime…she just wanted to postpone the inevitable. Before she’d left home he’d hinted that they might come to some other arrangement if she couldn’t pay him. She wasn’t certain what he meant by that, but she sensed she wouldn’t like it.
She also had to accept that he wasn’t the only man her father had swindled. She’d examined his books carefully. He’d meticulously recorded the sources from which he’d acquired every object, as well as each object’s eventual buyer. Nearly everything he had sold during the last fifteen years of his working life had come from Signor Ricci. Luckily, those items had been dispersed to only eleven buyers, but each of them had spent a fortune. If anyone else discovered the secret, she’d be ruined. Out of malice, Mr Cowes might start contacting her father’s other clients—and since the world of collectors wasn’t very big, he could easily determine who they were. How could she be certain that he wouldn’t tell them?
It would be a disaster, and now she’d nothing left to sell—nothing that anyone wanted, anyway. She needed her remaining clothes, and she refused to part with her necklace for less than it was really worth.
She glanced at the gold watch.
No, she couldn’t.
A loud noise interrupted her thoughts. Isabelle rose from her bed to look out the window. Her room faced the narrow mews that ran behind the house, and a rickety cart had just halted by the back door. Samuel, the coal boy, leapt from his perch and began unloading a week’s supply of fuel into the coal chute. He’d leave in a few minutes.
She gave William Stanton’s watch one last, baleful look before sweeping up his sixpence from her dresser and racing down the stairs. Much as she’d like to sell it, she’d have to return it instead. There was a slim chance that Samuel could discover where he lived. He’d been useless when it came to pawnbrokers, but his job must take him all over London. He might be of some help yet.
She slowed when she reached the ground floor, and then tiptoed past the sitting room, not wanting to disturb the pair of spinster sisters who were her fellow lodgers. Miss Standish had introduced them as Respectable Women, and when she’d said this she’d looked suspiciously at Isabelle’s red hair, as if it alone were indecent. They were always in the sitting room and always knitting, like two grey spiders. She couldn’t wait to escape from the oppressive house. Please, let her find a position soon…
She walked faster as she neared the back door. When she stepped outside, Samuel had just finished his job. He was wiping his blackened hands on the front of his apron and preparing to leave.
‘Good morning, Samuel.’
He blushed and mumbled something incomprehensible.
Isabelle fumbled around her pocket for the sixpence. ‘I…I was wondering if you might help me. I, uh…you deliver coal all over town, do you not?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘To lords and ladies, even? In Mayfair and Belgravia?’
He nodded.
‘I’m trying to locate someone. The Earl of Lennox. Do you think you could find his residence?’
He didn’t answer immediately, so she removed the sixpence. ‘I’ll double that if you’re successful.’ She descended the short flight of steps and gave it to him.
He stared at the coin for several seconds. ‘Yes, miss. It won’t take long.’
She wasn’t so sure. He was perfectly respectful, but his mind wasn’t as quick as one might wish. ‘Shall I write down his name?’
‘Can’t read, miss. The Earl of…?’
‘Lennox. William Stanton, Earl of Lennox. Please don’t forget.’
He nodded again and climbed on to his cart. She watched as he jostled down the pitted road, feeling apprehensive. Sixpence meant a lot to her these days. She couldn’t afford to be so generous.
Chapter Four
A fortnight later, Isabelle stood on William Stanton’s doorstep, flanked by fluted, white columns and facing a glossy, black door. The house was so imposing she almost hoped she’d come to the wrong address. Which was silly, since she should be used to grand houses by now. During the two weeks that she’d waited for Samuel to return with his information, she had attended interviews for five governess positions at large houses in Mayfair—although none, perhaps, quite as large as this one.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t been well received at any of those houses, which now only added to her discomfort. She’d actually felt quite optimistic at her first few interviews; she was polite and neat and well spoken, and even though she didn’t know how to be a governess she hoped those qualities would count for something.
But the mothers of Mayfair didn’t see it that way. On one occasion she’d even been turned away before setting foot inside the house, although not before the awful woman who lived there, Mrs Grubb—pronounced groob as Isabelle was mortified to learn—had looked her up and down disapprovingly and said she simply wouldn’t do. Perhaps she appeared to be too young. Maybe it was her dratted red hair again.
At any rate, returning Lord Lennox’s watch could hardly be much worse. She took a deep breath and knocked.
A footman answered promptly. He seemed surprised and confused to see her, as if she were the last person he expected.
‘You’re here to see his lordship?’ he asked.
She nodded uncertainly. It was an oddly direct greeting.
‘There were only six names on the list,’ he said accusingly. ‘I thought we’d finished for the morning. What is your name?’
Now it was her turn to feel confused. What list? ‘Miss Isabelle Thomas. I…perhaps I should explain—’
He sniffed disapprovingly and ushered her inside. ‘Quickly, quickly. There’s little time for explaining. His lordship had hoped to complete these meetings half an hour ago and won’t be too pleased to see you. You might as well sit, Miss Thomas.’
And then he briskly crossed the hall and disappeared behind a door before she had another chance to protest. She sat on a mahogany hall chair, nervously fingering the watch in her pocket. This wasn’t going as planned. Perhaps she should just leave the watch on the table, cross her fingers and run.
She didn’t have time. The footman reappeared. ‘This way, Miss Thomas,’ he said impatiently.
She rose, feeling unsteady. But she didn’t need to feel scared. The theft had been an accident, and she was now returning the watch as was correct and honourable. Lord Lennox would surely understand. He’d been kind to her before.
The footman held the door open wider for her to enter and, somehow, she did so without fainting. She stood anxiously, keeping her gaze fixed on the grey marble chimney-piece that dominated the room. Only when the footman closed the door solidly behind her did she allow her eyes to focus on the tall, masculine form sitting behind the desk.
He was staring right back at her, and he didn’t bother to rise out of respect. He was as handsome as the memory she’d carried around with her for the past fortnight, but now his green eyes were cold and assessing. She should say something…something…anything…
Instead she turned the colour of a radish.
He smiled at her embarrassment, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I must admit, when Rogers told me that a Miss Isabelle Thomas was waiting I thought it must be a coincidence. But it is you, isn’t it?’
‘I…perhaps I should have written first?’
‘Oh? Would you have warned me to hide my silver? I assume that’s what you’ve come for.’
‘I—’ She frowned at his sarcasm. ‘No, I have not.’
‘You haven’t seriously come about the position, have you?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You saw the advertisement. You must have.’
She shook her head. ‘No—’
‘Then why have you come?’He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
With unsteady hands, she removed the watch from her pocket. She crossed the room and placed it on the desk in front of him. ‘I’ve come to return it,’she explained, when all he did was stare at it. Then she took three steps backwards.
The room remained silent for several uncomfortable seconds. He picked up the watch and opened the case to examine it. His eyes showed no emotion when he returned his gaze to her face. ‘You were just…borrowing it, I suppose?’
Oh, God, how could she explain? Her words spilled out in a jumble. ‘No, I mean, I never intended to take it. I saw…’ Start at the beginning. She took a calming breath. ‘When you saved me from that pickpocket…I—I mean the reason I wasn’t paying attention then is that I thought someone was following me, and I was trying to locate him in the crowd. I’d seen the same man several times that morning. And, well, my point is that I thought I was safe while you were accompanying me, but then when you left to converse with your driver I saw him again. I had little choice but to run. I didn’t realise until too late that I’d taken your watch with me. I was too afraid to go back to see if you were still there.’
He was silent for several seconds. ‘Who was he?’
Please let him believe her. ‘I don’t know, but I know it was the same man. I…I’m sorry it took me so long to find you, but all I had was your name, and I had to pay the boy who delivers coal to locate you. But I’ve finally found you. Please believe me.’
He deposited the watch on the desk in front of him. Any anger in his expression had been replaced by curiosity.
‘Please sit, Miss Thomas.’
She did, flushing again as she realised that, as was habit, she’d said too much. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘You can stop apologising. Have you seen this man since then?’
‘No.’
‘That area is teeming with criminals. He was probably another pickpocket.’
‘I think so.’ But she felt certain he wasn’t. It was much more likely that he’d been sent by Sebastian Cowes to make sure she didn’t flee. He could have discovered her London address easily from her housekeeper. Kindly Mrs Vincent would’ve worried terribly if she’d gone without telling her how she could be contacted, but Isabelle now wished she’d given false details.
He turned slightly in his chair and pulled the bell cord that hung down the wall.
She tensed and rose. Maybe he didn’t believe her after all. Maybe he was going to send for the authorities. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Having a tray of…’ He paused when the door opened. This time a butler entered. ‘Oh, Bartholomew, please have a tray of tea brought.’
‘Mrs Graham is just preparing one now, my lord. Shall I ask her to include an extra—?’
‘Yes, yes, enough for two, obviously,’ Will said with a touch of impatience.
The butler left silently.
He turned his attention back to her. ‘You can sit again, Miss Thomas. You’ve nothing to be afraid of.’
‘I must go. Really.’
‘No, sit.’
It was an order, but she continued to stand. Because even if he didn’t want to have her arrested for theft, he still did funny things to her insides. Funny things that made her blush and speak like an imbecile. ‘No, no. I have to leave.’
‘Why? Do you have plans for the afternoon?’
‘Yes.’ That wasn’t true.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I do. I’m having lunch. With…uh—’
‘The king?’
Her gaze met his, and he challenged her to come up with another excuse. His eyes were so disconcerting that
she couldn’t think fast enough.
So she sat uneasily on the sofa. ‘I can’t stay for long.’
‘You’ll have a cup of tea. And thank you, by the way.’
‘Why?’
‘Because even if you didn’t mean to take my watch, you still didn’t have to return it. It belonged to my grandfather. I could not have replaced it. I must reward you.’
‘I don’t need a reward for returning something I took in the first place.’
Just then, a maid arrived with a finely chased silver teapot, a milk jug and a sugar bowl. Another maid followed, carrying cups and saucers. They quietly placed everything on a side table before leaving without saying a word or making eye contact.
Will rose when the door closed and crossed the room. He began pouring the tea.
‘Milk?’ he asked over his shoulder.
She’d have to stay. There was no polite way out of it, and for all her faults she did try to be polite. ‘A little, please.’
He brought her a cup and saucer and then sat again, this time on a chair next to the sofa. He was coming closer, and she regarded him warily as one might an approaching shark. ‘I’m still willing to buy your necklace.’
She shook her head firmly. ‘No. No, I’ve changed my mind about selling it.’
And then he asked, completely unexpectedly, ‘You said it was a gift—who gave it to you?’
She shrugged. She didn’t want to talk about it. Doing so would only sadden her.
‘Who?’ he pressed her. ‘A beau?’
Hardly that. ‘My mother.’
He looked as if he wanted to ask another question, but he changed the subject at the last minute as if to spare her further discomfort.
‘I assume you’ve found employment, then.’
Had she told him she was looking for work? Yes, of course; he’d said she was too pretty—and even though she didn’t think he’d meant it, butterflies had started flapping their wings in her stomach. ‘Why?’
‘Because if you no longer want to sell your necklace, then that can only mean you’re less in need of money.’
‘Oh.’ She didn’t want to tell him about her many rejections. She sat forwards and placed her teacup on the table beside the sofa. ‘Well, I’ve met several people—’
‘And they’ve responded favourably? You’ve been offered a position?’
She shifted her weight, and the room descended into awkward silence. She looked at the wall. Why was he keeping her?
‘Then…perhaps you might help me,’ he said slowly.
She returned her gaze to him, warily this time. ‘How do you mean?’
He rose and walked back to his desk. He shuffled through some documents until he found what he wanted. A newspaper, folded open to one of the back pages. He handed it to her as he resumed his seat. She stared at it, not knowing what to think. All she saw was line after line of advertisements—for tutors, governesses, lady’s maids…
‘I advertised for a governess last week,’ he explained. ‘One of those listings is mine…somewhere in the middle column, I think. I’ve been interviewing candidates all morning. My footman assumed you were another one, and he told me as much when he announced you.’
She was so bewildered that all the words started swimming together, and she couldn’t tell which posting was his. She focused on his face instead. ‘Oh. No, that’s not why…You want a governess?’
‘Yes. Rather urgently.’
‘I see.’His words finally made sense. He wanted a governess, which meant he obviously had a child. Children, maybe, as well as a wife, since the two normally went together. The thought caused a sudden, dull pain in her chest. Just another reminder that she was well and truly on the shelf and that, in her current straits, she’d never get married and have a family of her own. It was foolish for her to feel any excitement when he looked at her with his green eyes. And why had he flirted with her if he was married? Perhaps it hadn’t been flirting; it wasn’t as if she was so accustomed to male attention that she’d necessarily know the difference.
‘I hope you found someone appropriate?’ she said neutrally.
‘Well, my cousin did most of the interviewing—left just a few minutes before you arrived. I’m afraid we’ve different ideas about what makes a person suitable. She supplied me with six terribly proper women of mature years. They were nothing like you.’
She flushed with anger. ‘I’ve been reminded of my shortcomings all week. You needn’t remind me, as well.’
He frowned slightly. ‘I didn’t say you had any. The women were ghastly, and the post is still open. Just thought perhaps you might also want to apply for it, while you’re here. It wouldn’t be any trouble.’
Work for him? She couldn’t think of anything worse. She could barely look at him without her knees turning to porridge. ‘I’m not qualified.’
He sighed patiently. ‘Right. Well, for the future that’s probably not the best way to begin. Have you introduced yourself like that to everyone you’ve met?’
‘No. I should have, though, for it would have saved a lot of time. Additionally, I’ve no references.’
He leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. She suspected he was laughing at her silently. ‘None? And you expected someone to hire you?’
She rose. ‘I think our interview is over.’
‘Sit down, Miss Thomas,’he ordered, rising himself. His voice was firm, and he looked prepared to pick her up and toss her back on to the sofa if she didn’t obey him.
So she sat. He might be warm and kind most of the time, but she still didn’t want to test the limits of his generosity.
He didn’t return to his seat. He crossed the room again to deposit his teacup on the side table. ‘What you ought to be doing is drawing attention to your strong suits. For example, you’re honest.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘I know that you returned my watch. Still short sixpence—’
She reddened defensively. ‘I forgot about the sixpence. Do add absentmindedness to the list.’
‘—but you’ve a sense of humor. You’re attractive, too—some might see that as a drawback in a governess, but I for one see it only as an advantage.’ He turned around as he spoke, and she was reminded once more of how very attractive he was. But he must be teasing her. She didn’t think she was very pretty—how could he?
She wouldn’t let him fluster her. ‘Surely my education is more important.’
He sat again, not looking terribly interested in her education. ‘I was getting to that. What languages do you know?’
‘French and Latin, a bit of Greek and German.’
‘Far too many. How old are you?’
‘What?’
‘How old, Miss Thomas? I wouldn’t normally ask such a personal question, but it is relevant.’
She was touchy about her age. ‘I’m seven and twenty.’
He considered that for a moment. ‘Well, that’s a very sensible age. If you were a flighty nineteen-year-old I’d have to worry that you might elope with one of my footmen.’ He paused. ‘So why are you not married?’
Because she’d known very few men her age. Because she hadn’t had a mother to introduce her to new people and take her to parties—just a rather cerebral father who didn’t see the point of such trivial things. ‘I’ve been holding out for a duke.’
He burst out laughing.
‘Do I amuse you?’
He stopped, but he couldn’t get his grin in order. ‘Very much so, Miss Thomas.’
She rose and headed straight for the door. ‘I will not waste your time, nor do I wish you to waste mine.’
Unfortunately, he beat her to it, literally standing in front of the door to prevent her from leaving. He looked as if he were losing patience with her. ‘But I thought you wanted a job.’
She just raised her chin.
‘I’m offering you one, you know. It wouldn’t be too difficult. Mary’s twelve, so she’s fairly independent.You’d just have to spend a few hours doing lessons with her each day.’
Perfect, if only he wasn’t be part of the deal. ‘I imagine her mother would prefer to make these decisions.’
‘Her mother is dead.’
Isabelle’s irritation fizzled instantly, and she experienced a tinge of unwanted sympathy. He wasn’t married after all. A widower. It was rather sad, and even rather romantic.
Stop it, you fool, she ordered herself. Be sensible, like your father taught you.
‘I’m sorry for your loss, my lord. If you’ll step aside, then I will bid you good morning.’
He looked momentarily confused, but then it dawned on him what she’d meant. ‘It wasn’t my loss, Miss Thomas. Mary is my ward. She was left in my care when her father died three months ago. Her mother’s been dead for years.’
She took this in slowly. Not a widower. Not his child. She’d no reason to feel sorry for him. Instead, she felt suddenly defensive, as if he’d been misleading her. ‘It was brave of her father to entrust her to you.’
‘Then you agree I need your help?’
‘Help, yes, but not mine. I’ve no experience, and you’ve seen half-a-dozen competent governesses this morning alone. I suggest you hire one of them.’
‘But I prefer you.’
Strange sensations, making even her toes tingle. ‘I’ve already told you how I feel about your charity.’
‘I assure you, my motives are completely selfish. I did mention I was desperate? You wouldn’t have to work here for very long. I’ll soon start looking for a school to take her in the autumn, so I’d probably only require you for a matter of months.’
Ah—an escape route. ‘Months? But I need a permanent position. It will be better if I just keep looking.’ And keep getting rejected…
‘You won’t find one without experience.’
It was true, and she knew it. He’d persuade her if she didn’t leave soon. ‘I recognise that is a problem—’
‘Do you think I would simply leave you to wander the streets with no money?’ he asked, irritation entering his voice. ‘Do you know what happens to penniless young women with nowhere to go?’
‘I imagine many such women wander the streets without you noticing them.’
He couldn’t argue with that. She’d managed to fluster him, but not for long.
‘If you accept this position, Miss Thomas, I will give you a reference.’
‘For a summer’s work?’
‘It would be better than nothing.’
It would be. She realised that he would continue to obstruct the door until she agreed, so she returned to the sofa, feeling deflated.
She closed her eyes briefly and saw an image of Sebastian Cowes, who most likely knew where she was staying and had sent a man to follow her. Who she suspected had the most ignominious designs on her person and who would no doubt have her charged with debt if she didn’t give in. She didn’t know if the charges would hold, considering she hadn’t committed her father’s crimes, but they might if it could be proved she’d known about and benefited from them. And if not…well, no matter how badly her father had behaved, she didn’t want his reputation to suffer—as it surely would, if his secret was made public.
She thought also of her diminishing funds and of the long list of people who might one day realise what a fraud her father had been. Lord Lennox had returned to his desk, and she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She felt, instinctively, that he wouldn’t hurt her, and living in his house would at least offer her temporary protection. True, she half-suspected that he harboured dishonourable designs of his own, but she was fairly certain she was imagining most of it. He probably flirted with every woman he met.
