GovernessForaWeek Read online

  She looked up and smiled at Wyle who gave her a relieved nod. Aunt Flora poured for everyone, indicating that she was the matriarch of the family. It was as well. She knew how everyone took their tea. When Marian went for a cup Flora squinted her eyes as though she were consulting some supernatural medium.

  “Milk. No sugar.”

  “How did you guess?”

  “That is how your father drank his tea. So it was just a guess.” Her fading blue eyes shone.

  Marian found herself smiling. “But how did you remember that.”

  “I am too old to have much skill at anything but remembering now. I find I have a facility for it.”

  Marian took a gulp as she studied the comment—idle chatter or a warning? So hard to tell. Isabelle came to sit beside her looking ready for a confrontation. Since her last name was Armstead like Wyle and so were her children’s, Morris and Sophie, Marian though Isabelle an in-law with the name having come down some paternal branch of the family. Morris Armstead must be in line for the title if anything happened to Wyle’s son.

  “This engagement seems very sudden.”

  “In wartime everything seems to happen so fast,” Marian replied. “Wyle may be called back to service at any moment.”

  “Possibly leaving you with child.”

  Though her implication was plain and Alva’s head came up as though she had heard it, Marian faced Isabelle and said, “Two children, actually—Henry and Charlotte. Someone must take responsibility for them while he is gone.”

  “I would think his family would be able to provide a place for them if he is so concerned.”

  She could see Alva whispering to Morris. Goodness, did they mean to rescue her?

  Cousin Morris came to loom over them with the same dent between his brows as Wyle. He was tall and a student if she guessed his age right.

  “Mother, if I recall, you said raising Sophie and me had almost been the death of you. You are in no frame to care for children. My aunts are too busy. I’m sure Wyle has made the right decision.”

  “You know nothing about it, Morris,” Isabelle snapped. “If anything were to happen to young Henry, you would be the Earl, so it’s time you thought of family and responsibility.”

  “You mean if anything happened to both Henry and Wyle,” Marian corrected.

  “Yes, of course. But if Wyle insists on throwing his life away in the army what are we to do about it?”

  Morris shook his head and sent Marian a speaking glance. “Now that Miss Greenway will be marrying Wyle, nothing will happen to Henry or Charlotte.”

  “Still, I think—”

  Alva Ridgeway loomed over them. “That young scamp Henry should be sent to school. We shipped Edward off when he was no more than seven. He turned out fine.”

  Morris laughed and turned to his cousin. “Did you turn out fine, Edward?”

  Alva’s son left off talking to Sophie. “I survived school and that is all that one can hope. As for learning anything I was too busy watching my back.”

  “Henry will not be going to school for some time and that is final.” They had not seen Wyle come up behind the crowd around Marian.

  “But to leave them with a stranger…” Isabelle said.

  “Is quite my affair.” He planted his right hand firmly on the arm of her chair and she noticed a scar between his thumb and index finger.

  “I’m sure you will do just as you please. We must be off. We have another engagement tonight.”

  The exodus of these three guests seemed to give the others the idea they should depart. Ten minutes later, Wyle saw the last of his relatives out and came back into the drawing room to find his hired fiancée sipping a final cup of tea.

  “That must be cold by now.”

  “Still it is very refreshing after the dinner wine and the champagne. Besides I need my wits about me?”

  “Why? Afraid I may cheat you?”

  She put the cup and saucer down with finality. “No, I am afraid I may forget some of the things I have been storing up to say to you.”

  He smiled as he limped toward her, hands behind his back. “Such as?”

  “How dare you presume to treat me like some sort of ornament? I felt almost as though…as though.”

  “Go on.” He smiled wickedly.

  “Never mind. I came here to do an honest job. I did not expect to be thrown into a lunatic asylum.”

  “Well, I know my relatives are odd but it wasn’t as bad as all that.”

  “I meant you.”

  “I thought my request reasonable enough and here is your payment, three hundred guineas. He opened a desk drawer and tossed her a sack which hit the small side table with an audible clink. Three hundred coins, though small and gold, added up to a nice weight.

  She put out her hand and drew the bag toward her. Looking inside she saw enough money to enable her mother to live at her ease for several years. But it made her resentful that it had come so easily.

  “You may count it.”

  “No need.”

  “You trust me?”

  “No but my mistrust of you has nothing to do with money.” She stood up and went toward the door with the purse in her hands.

  Wyle felt he should say something else to her but he realized he had offended her somehow. “Shall I have my carriage put to? After you change I mean.”

  “Your carriage?” She turned to face him, her dark hair coiling around her neck, her luscious brown eyes, sleepy and vacant. “Why? I am not going anywhere.”

  “But it was only for the one night. You understood that?”

  She stared at him as though he were mad. “I understand nothing at the moment. Who knows but with a night’s sleep I may be able to puzzle it out.”

  As she exited the room with the same grace that had carried her through the evening, Wyle looked after her, feeling the effervescence of the wine dissipating from his veins. It had felt good to put one over the relatives. Now they would stop introducing him to every whey-faced miss who entered the ton. Now Cousin Isabelle would have to stop thrusting her daughter Sophie at him.

  But how was he to dislodge the woman? He couldn’t have her here with his children in the same house. Though the ways he might use to discourage her could make for an intriguing dalliance. But if he planned anything like that he would have to send the children to Fair Oaks. And that dratted governess had not arrived yet. What the devil was her name? Mr. Hill had made the arrangements. That he would deal with in the morning. For tonight he must think of a plan to get rid of this harpy without paying her more than he had agreed. He went upstairs to his study in order to struggle with the problem.

  It was only when he became completely sober hours later that he realized how he had put himself in her power. Hiring an actress for an evening was something any man might do. But he had announced that they were engaged to no fewer than fifteen people. She could sue him for breach of promise, unless he made her so miserable that she wanted to break the engagement. These theater people. They never knew their place.

  But she had not always been an actress if her father was indeed Major Greenway. This start probably only happened when her father went missing. And since he was missing and not decreed dead, there would have been no pension for the widow and daughter. On his way to bed he tried her door, just out of curiosity. Bolted. So she had no intention of seducing him. Good. He had no intention of succumbing. He had all night to plan what to do about her.

  Chapter Two

  Marian turned in bed and thought for a moment she was still dreaming. Though she distinctly remembered locking the door and indeed heard someone try it last night, there was a can of hot water waiting for her and a tray with tea and toast by the bed. She slipped her hand under the bank of pillows and found the sack of guineas. Whatever happened now she had more than earned this much and could leave today knowing that if she went to stay with her mother at the cottage she would not have to work for a year or more.

  It was good of her own former gover
ness to give shelter to her mother, lend Marian enough money to get to London and write her a letter of reference for that matter. She certainly wasn’t going to get one from the household which had discharged her after Cousin Cole had made a nuisance of himself.

  Ceres Macomber had rescued Marian so often in the past that it was a matter of habit to run to her. Asking her mother to share her small cottage was generous but they could not impose on her forever. Marian was surprised Ceres had heard of such a good situation but if this position did not work out, Marian must not worry her dearest Ceres again.

  How unjust that one night’s work had bought them a year’s security. But the end of that time would come soon enough, so she may as well stay here and try to make peace with Lord Wyle.

  She washed up, put on her gray morning dress and redid her hair into a prim bun. Then she had the tea at a small table in front of the window. It looked out over the stable yard and stables, an extravagance for a London townhouse. And not even the whole back area was devoted to horses. She could see a small rose garden off to one side behind a hedge. If only she got to walk out there before she had to leave. Really it was unfair of him to judge her inadequate as a governess without even letting her try.

  The whole house was extravagant. As a governess she would not have expected to be so well treated and have a room on the second floor with jonquil wallpaper and a fireplace, not to mention diaphanous bed hangings. Most were relegated to a cold attic.

  But what if he wanted more from her than a governess should supply? On the other hand Lord Wyle could be mentally unstable. She would do well to keep that in mind. His Aunt Flora had mentioned his wounds. Perhaps his head injury manifested itself in such wild flings. He was a soldier and so perhaps that was why his manners were loose.

  But none of his relatives had rolled their gaze heavenward as though his engagement was one of his starts. In fact a few of them had greeted her with expressions of relief. She began to wonder who had preceded her here as governess.

  She secreted the coins in various compartments in her trunk and portable writing desk, with a dozen in her reticule in case she needed them in a hurry. A soon as she had a chance, she would send a bank draft to her mother. No, not too quickly. Else she would wonder how Marian had come by the money. She would wait a day or two and send a portion telling her it was a clothing allowance. That should suffice. It was amazing how practiced she had become at prevarication now that their survival and her mother’s peace of mind depended on it. But having money, real money, was such a novelty she realized she was enjoying keeping want from the door more than she should.

  After donning a gray shawl and covering her hair with a lace cap she explored the other door in the room and discovered it led to a dressing room and thence to another bedchamber. So if Wyle had really wanted to get in he could have. She shook her head. There was no puzzling him out. A maid came along the hall with a tea tray and Marian said, “I am the new governess, Miss Greenway. Could you show me the way to the schoolroom?”

  The maid stared at her with surprise. “Yes, miss. I was just taking tea there.”

  They went up a floor and Marian was shown into a pleasant room where two children were sitting at a wooden worktable plainly eager for their breakfast. The girl wasn’t precisely a child. Marian judged she was fifteen or sixteen while the boy was six or seven. Both had the family stature but the son favored his father while Charlotte’s face was more delicate, her eyes a soft and arresting brown and her hair a golden bounty that would mark her as a beauty next spring or the one after. Both children stared at Marian raptly.

  “I am Miss Greenway, the governess your father has hired. May I join you?”

  The maid put down the tray and left. The girl got up to curtsey and tugged at her brother’s sleeve. He slid off his chair and bowed. “I am Charlotte and this is Henry.” Charlotte carefully picked up the teapot and began to serve quite properly. “How do you take your tea?”

  “Just with milk. Thank you.” Marian sat and placed a napkin in her lap. Henry sat again while Charlotte finished pouring then suffered another glare until he napkined his lap.

  “Scone?” Charlotte asked, offering the plate to Marian first, then to Henry.

  “Yes, please.” She found herself smiling. She had seen children like this at her previous post. The family was wealthy and the children had everything except the attention they craved. They tried so hard to be good but it got them only the kindness of the servants, including her. And in the end she had to leave them because of her Cousin Cole’s interference. She hoped he would not be able to find her in London.

  Henry finally shut his mouth and looked nervously from his sister to Marian. “Are you going to stay with us forever?”

  “I suppose that is up to you two. Though your father engaged…” She swallowed hard. “Though he hired me, I would not stay if you two dislike me. So I think we should try to get acquainted and find out, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Charlotte said. “I will start. I know my grammar and sums. I also read Italian and French a little. I had started to do watercolor when Miss Grey left.”

  Henry had just taken a huge bite of scone and was chewing for all he was worth so he could talk.

  “I’ll go next,” Marian said. “I’ve had only one position before this and was sorry to leave.” She hesitated as she groped for a truth she could tell. “Children do a have a way of growing up. I can teach history, geography, Latin, if there is a need, French and a little Spanish. I also play the pianoforte and dabble in watercolor. Perhaps we can explore that art together.”

  Henry swallowed and cleared his throat. “I am terrible at grammar and sums and I don’t see why I should learn French. They are the enemy.”

  “Father says we need to know our enemies,” Charlotte supplied.

  Marian nodded. “What do you want to learn Henry?”

  The boy looked startled as though no one had ever asked him this before. “How to ride and shoot like my father.”

  “A very admirable ambition. My father is a soldier too and he taught me to shoot a pistol and ride. I suppose I could teach you if your father allows me.”

  “Really?” Henry’s eyes grow round.

  “Where did your father fight?” Charlotte asked.

  “In Spain. Lord Wyle seems to remember my father. Has he told you anything about the war?”

  “He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Charlotte whispered, “or about Mother. He is writing his memoirs but he says when they are done we cannot read them.”

  “Thank you for warning me. We should respect his wishes. Henry, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “That’s easy. A soldier, an artillery officer.”

  “An artillery officer needs to know how his mathematics. He must calculate the distance to the enemy, the trajectory of his missiles and how much powder to use. I can teach you that.”

  “Oh, so there is a use for it?” Henry looked more startled than disappointed.

  Marian nodded and caught a fleeting smile from Charlotte which deepened into a conspiratorial grin when their gazes met. At least Henry was honest and that she could build on.

  * * * * *

  Wyle was nursing a throbbing head in the breakfast parlor and a cup of strong black coffee was just beginning to alleviate the pain when Frobisher was admitted. Like most officers on leave he did not wear his uniform but civilian clothes and he had cast off the sling that supported his broken arm during his recuperation.

  “Morning, Wyle. Sorry about last night.”

  Wyle glared at Frobisher, who had been with him at school and was his lieutenant in the Peninsula. When not in battle Fro’s vacuous gaze might lead one to believe there was nothing going on in his head. But he was Wyle’s best friend. The man had already helped himself to a cup of coffee from the sideboard and was loading a plate. His brown hair was tousled and his blue eyes red from drink.

  “Join me?”

  “Yes, I am famished. Why aren’t you eating?
”

  Wyle sent his friend an accusing look.

  “Oh, the actress. I said I was sorry.” He sawed a chop in two and took an enormous bite, then mumbled, “You should eat something. Bit of a disaster, was it?”

  “Not up to a point. But now she won’t leave. I half expect her to hold me to the engagement.”

  Frobisher choked. “What? But I went round this morning and she said she hadn’t come, that she was too tired.”

  “Well she must have sent a replacement, for an attractive woman appeared last night and was charming and…”

  “And what?”

  Wyle leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know how to describe her but she seemed to fit in, she seemed to belong. She was not nervous, she laughed in all the right places. She made everyone feel at ease. She almost acted like it was all real.”

  “Must have sent her stand-in.” Frobisher chewed another bite as he thought. “Why are you so amazed? She is an actress after all.”

  “Nobody is that good and without any coaching.”

  Frobisher stared at him, knife and fork suspended above his plate. “What do you mean she won’t leave?”

  “She said she didn’t understand the arrangement but that she might by morning. Ten to one if I try to get rid of her she will sue me for breach of promise.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Neither had I.” Wyle downed the rest of his coffee. “All I wanted was to get my relatives off my back until I go back to my unit. Do you think you could reason with her?”

  “Is she pretty?”

  “She’s beautiful really and not an insipid beauty.” Wyle stared out the low window into the rose garden as he pictured Marian. “She has deep brown eyes and glorious long dark hair. She hasn’t cropped it like most of these young twits. And her voice. It’s soft yet distinct as though she is sure of herself and her opinions.”