When Lillian came down the stairs, she flattered herself that she appeared neat, wearing a clean dress of plain Irish poplin and with her hair once more properly arranged. As she paused on the second flight of stairs, Lillian heard Thorpe giving orders to the maids. “Get the schoolroom dusted, and I want fresh sheets in her room. Tell Garvey to send up some cut flowers. And this rug won’t do at all.”
Lillian successfully mastered the urge to see what he was about. She must call at once upon the lady of the house for her instructions. But it was difficult to turn aside, and more difficult still to remind herself that Thorpe Everard was nothing to do with her. Firstly, she was, however briefly, in the position of governess. Secondly, he was all but promised to Paulina Pritchard. Thirdly ... well, at the moment she could not think of a third reason to resist his devastating good looks, his charm, or the warmth that flowered inside her whenever she met his eyes of clouded jade. She was certain there was a reason, indeed many reasons, but those two would have to do for now.
Lady Genevieve received Lillian in her private salon. The gold and white painted furniture and the pale muslin curtains took Lillian back to the time when absolute classical purity still ruled the fashionable world. Lady Genevieve fitted into this era perfectly, with the merest suggestion of panniers beneath her skirts and a fichu of exquisite lace about her neck. She was not an antique figure in the slightest, however. Her sharply pointed face was too vivid to be relegated to a fluffy portrait by Fragonard.
“If you are to remain at the castle,” the lady began without preamble, “there are certain facts you should know about us.”
“Facts, my lady?”
“I’d not say it was Thorpe’s fault, any more than it was his father’s fault or his grandfather’s. They are all the same, these men of Everard stock. They suffer from it, but not as much as their women suffer.”
Because it seemed to be expected of her, Lillian asked, “What is ‘it,’ my lady?”
‘The Curse of the Everards!” Lady Genevieve paused as though expecting a thunderbolt to sound with awful portent outside, perhaps splitting a mighty oak in twain. The day remained clear, however, with the fragrance of a thousand flowers wafting in through the opened windows.
“Indeed? And what form does this curse take?”
The clear blue eyes under wrinkled lids fixed inexorably upon the younger woman’s face. “Why, my dear, you’ve felt it yourself. Working upon every woman who comes within sight of an Everard man. Can you deny you are powerfully attracted to my grandson?”
“Certainly not.” But how could she hide the telltale color rising in her cheeks? “Now, about Addy’s lessons—”
“There is more to the curse than just the Everard men’s obvious physical qualities. It is very sad. Each man is doomed to love truly but one woman. Only one. If that love is sundered by death or by betrayal, he will never love again. Therefore, each man breaks at least a hundred hearts for the one he wins. This is our tragedy. What do you know of Emily, Adrienne’s mother and Thorpe’s child wife?”
“Why, nothing whatever. I only just arrived.”
“Hers was a rare beauty. Look...” Lady Genevieve fumbled at the fichu over her bosom and brought out a tiny ivory oval set with brilliants. She held it out to Lillian. Coming closer, Lillian gazed upon an unusual face indeed. The artist, inspired by his subject, had painted a face which, in delicacy and rosy hue, might have been the issue of a dream and not of human kind. Her pale blond hair and the dark gray ring about her irises had been passed on to her daughter, but the fragile charm had not yet appeared in the mutinous child Lillian had met earlier. Lillian almost felt it was a sacrilege to note that the girl in the painting had scanty brows and lashes.
‘They met at a ball and, by the end of the evening, Thorpe knew he was infatuated beyond what words can tell. They were married shortly thereafter and lived a life of perfect bliss until Addy. Emily was certain she’d never survive the birth of her child. Emily always ...”
For a moment. Lady Genevieve’s lips thinned as she hesitated. “Of course,” she said, continuing, ‘Thorpe never recovered. He all but left the child to my care. Emily was his one great love.” She sighed and shook her head, a fluttering lace square pinned upon her dark gray hair.
“Very sad,” Lillian said.
“I tell you all this, my dear,” Lady Genevieve went on, tucking away the miniature, “not to alarm you or to drive you off, but merely that you should be warned. Do not allow yourself to fall into the trap of believing you have a
tendre
for my grandson. You must not give in to the curse of the Everards. It will be a useless exercise if you do. Thorpe’s heart is forever lost to another. No living woman can compete with that memory.”
“I will be on my guard, my lady.”
If not for her being out of patience with Paulina for pitchforking her into this situation, Lillian would have delighted in sharing Lady Genevieve’s rigmarole with her friend. It had been quite the fashion at school to be frightened into foolish fits by tales of “Gothick” excesses, read late at night without permission. Lillian had learned more about mad monks, suicide pacts, and curses than she was ever taught about French, history, or the principal exports of the British Isles.
“Now, about Addy’s lessons ...” Lillian said, shifting from foot to foot. She’d still not been asked to seat herself and, though Lillian Canfield would not have hesitated, Miss Cole did not quite dare to sit down uninvited.
“Addy’s lessons? Have you no sensibilities, Miss Cole?”
“Sensibilities? If you mean do I cry while reading an affecting passage in some novel, certainly I do. But I have never been frightened of anything in my life. Now, my lady, does Addy know or does she not know her letters?”
“I have taught her how to form them. And she knows that an A is an
A. As
for the rest...”
“Then she does not know how to read? My—my father always said a child should not learn to read until it was eight, but he did not know I peeked into books at six years old. I will begin by teaching Addy to read. Which do you prefer her to be called, my lady? Adrienne, or will Addy do?”
“Addy!” said a firm yet childish voice from the window. An exceedingly muddy child, possibly female, balanced stomach-down on the low sill.
“Addy it is then. And you may call me Miss Cole.”
The child merely giggled and slid off the sill. The two women in the room could hear thudding footsteps running off, and the laughter of more than one child.
Turning back to Lady Genevieve, Lillian said, “I understood from the landlady at the inn that there’d been little rain here. How, then, did that child contrive to get so grimy?”
Dryly, Lady Genevieve said, “There is a lake, Miss Cole. And the gamekeeper’s children.”
“Ah! Well, a trifle of dirt never hurt anyone as my—my father used to say.” That was two slips of tongue. The daughter of a poor clergyman would have neither governess nor nanny. Curtsying, Lillian smiled at what her father would think if he knew someone thought he was impoverished.
“Enjoying a walk, Miss Cole? A good walk before dinner will give you an appetite.” Thorpe bestrode the path like a colossus in Hessian boots.
“I hope so. I’m not used to being confined in a coach all day.”
The view of the grounds from Lady Genevieve’s window had tempted Lillian to find her way into them. She’d strolled about the winding path for a few minutes, unable to see very far ahead, her view blocked by a healthy hedge on her right. Thorpe had quite startled her when he’d appeared, but she had just sense enough not to show it.
“Every time I’ve had to ride in a coach, I’ve gotten a beast of a headache,” he confessed. “Especially if you must share with someone who won’t put the window down.”
‘There
was
a gentleman who complained of the breeze and refused to open the window for me.”
“I guessed as much. I saw him get out. Fussy old woman. Lives in fear of catching cold. The last time I rode with him, I bribed the driver to let me take the reins.”
“I wish that solution had occurred to me.” She smiled at him and was forced to drop her eyes when he grinned back, his dimple appearing. It really wasn’t fair. Lillian changed the subject. “I thought I heard Addy’s voice not too long ago. Have you seen her?”
“No, but she’s around somewhere. I’m afraid my grandmother and I have let her run a trifle wild this summer. She was rather ill in the spring and Doctor Blandon would not hear of her going out of doors until April.”
“What was her illness?”
A frown crossed his face. “He could never tell me, exactly. Sometimes it was one thing, and sometimes another. She seemed so pale and listless. And she hardly ate, which, as you will learn, is a rare thing for my girl.”
“You must have been frantic with worry.”
“I was.” He walked toward her, making her feel quite small beside his length. “Let’s go and see if we can find her.”
As Lillian walked along beside him, she was thinking busily. If the child had been sick this spring, had her illness begun while her father was away? Was that why Paulina had not received a proposal while visiting the Duke of Grantor’s home in a company that included Thorpe Everard? If this was the case, why would Thorpe hesitate to invite Paulina down once Addy was recovered? Lillian sternly reminded herself that she was not interested.
Thorpe touched her sleeve. “Hush, listen,” he said softly.
“I... I don’t hear anything.”
“I do. Our quarry is near.”
Listening hard, Lillian heard a soft rustle in the hedge. And then someone giggled, quickly followed by a splash. “Has she fallen in?” Her voice rose in alarm.
In a whisper, close to her ear, Thorpe said, “Frog hunting.”
“I beg your pardon?”
His breath stirred the tendrils of hair on her temple, and his voice caused a strange constriction of her own breathing. ‘The shallow end of the lake makes an admirable residence for frogs. Didn’t you ever catch them when you were a child?”
“No, not that I remember.” Her governess turned pale at the sight of a dead spider. Fainting dead away would have been her mildest reaction to a live frog. Lillian wondered at herself for never having presented one. Another opportunity lost.
“What pleasure you have missed.” His chuckle, still low, caused an unusual tremor to shake her midriff. “But I suppose clergymen and their families are obligated to frown on such innocent pleasures. Come along.”
The hedge they’d been paralleling for some time came to an end. Coming around it, Lillian saw three children, mud-mired and slime-streaked. In the hands of the smallest there struggled an extremely large and irritated amphibian. The little girl shot a look over her shoulder. “Papa, look!”
“What a strapper!” Thorpe exclaimed in admiration.
The gleaming brown frog kicked his strong back legs against Addy’s dress. Thrusting free through slippery hands, he sprang into the water. The splash was considerable.
“Too bad,” said a boy in rough trousers and no shirt. He was daubed like a wild Indian with mud. The second girl, somewhat taller than either of the others, shook her head in mute sympathy.
Addy turned to her father. “Frank said I couldn’t catch him, but I did ... I did! Did you see him, Papa?”
Thorpe stepped off into the squishing mud, heedless of the gloss on his boots. The scenic lake had dug its way underneath the bank to make a shallow, leaving the earth to overhang the spot so that the ground never really dried. “I didn’t know we had frogs that big, Addy. He’s a monster. I’m almost glad he got away. I don’t think there’s a tank big enough for him outside of Broadbent’s Aquaria in London. And imagine how much he must eat!”
“Frogs eat worms,” Addy volunteered with relish.
“No, they don’t. They eat the water weeds,” said the boy.
“Yes, they do so eat worms; I’ve seen them. Don’t they, Papa?”
This court of last appeal shook his head. “I don’t know what frogs eat, Addy. Maybe Miss Cole knows.” Thorpe looked up at her and the children followed his example.
Until that moment, Lillian had been hanging back, observing the others from the grassy bank above. “I believe they do eat weeds,” she said. The boy turned a glance of triumph on Addy. “Also, insects that float on top of the water, as well as any worms that happen to enjoy a bathe.” It sounded logical, anyway. Lillian had never imagined that the dietary habits of frogs would be the key issue of any conversation she took part in.
“A varied diet indeed,” Thorpe said. “What’s in the sack?”
“More frogs,” said the gamekeeper’s boy.
Her attention on the slightly pulsing bag, Lillian did not notice how slick the grass was at the edge of the bank until she stepped on it. Her foot slipped and the next she knew, she was looking up at Thorpe’s knees from the ground. Only the ground was mud. Thick mud, about the consistency of a good syllabub. A rich smell of ancient decay rose about her as she flopped about trying to get up. The children were laughing immoderately.
“You might offer me a hand,” she said to Thorpe.
Laughter strangled in his throat even as he tried to look shocked and sorry. Hastily, he held out his arm. Lillian reached for it, her hand slipping in his grasp, and there was a slow sucking sound as he hauled her upright.
She shook down her now heavy skirt to cover the calves exposed by her slide. The mud was cool, but she knew it would stick to the inside of her petticoat. How she wished she had brought a maid with her to the castle! She greatly feared she’d have to clean her dress herself.
The children now were silent. Lillian caught their eyes. “They do say a lady should dress to match her hostess. And then, I do believe mud is prodigiously good for the complexion.”
They were perhaps feeble jokes, and yet the children seemed to find them exquisitely funny. At least two of them did. The gamekeeper’s children threw themselves about in an excess of laughter. Addy, however, only continued to look at Lillian through narrowed eyes.
Lillian said to Thorpe, “I’m glad I haven’t eyes in the back of my head. Is the view very bad?” She turned her back to him and heard him choke. “As bad as that?”