Barbara Metzger (13 page)

No, Mrs. Henning was not safe in his home, neither her reputation nor her virtue. Something about the aggravating female made him forget his lifelong tenets about soiling his own nest, about keeping to his own class, about seducing respectable women. She was respectable, innocent of carnal knowledge with anyone but her dead husband, chaste. He would swear by it. And he would destroy it all.

One way or the other, or both, Mrs. Henning would be ruined. And she was poor, so she had to accept his offer.

Lord Rockford felt sick, despite riding outside the carriage.

*

From the kitchen, Alissa heard the horses coming up the seldom-used drive, and the boys shouting, so she took off her apron and tried to push a stray curl back into place. Rockford was back, come to fetch Billy away unless she could change his mind. She did not have time to check for flour on her cheek or stains on her skirts. She would have to do, and hope for the best.

The best she could hope for, she had decided after another sleepless night, was the position of governess to Rockford’s sons until he sent them away. She meant to ask him the moment he returned, before she lost her nerve or he hired someone else. Taking a post meant giving up any chance of taking Amy to parties and balls, but Alissa did not wish to go to social gatherings where she would have to face Sir George Ganyon. In addition, she did not think the baronet would threaten her if she were known to be in the earl’s employ. He would not want a wife who had been in service; he would not want to anger his noble neighbor, a man with the ear of the prince and the eye of a marksman. After seeing the condition of Fred Nivens, only a fool would rile Lord Rockford. Sir George was an immoral maggot, but he was not a fool.

To be safer still, she would carry the loaded pistol when she traveled back and forth to Rock Hill, the way she had been carrying it since the baronet’s visit.

On the other hand, the earl might wish her to live at his home, to be in constant attendance for the boys, and that would suit her also, if she could take her sons and her sister. Surely there was room at the vast manor house. Goodness, there was room to barrack half the peninsular troops. Rockford could not begrudge them the space, she prayed. The boys could share a chamber, the way they always had, and she could share with Amy. That way Amy could help with the children without being an actual servant, and Rockford would be getting two caregivers for one price. He simply had to see the advantages of such an arrangement, for Alissa surely did.

She could earn more money by being a governess than by teaching painting, she calculated, and perhaps the earl might keep her on permanently, or until Billy outgrew the need for a woman’s attention. After all, the boys would return from school for holidays and such, if they became ill or misbehaved and got sent down, a distinct possibility in Billy’s case, and someone should be at their home to greet them. Rockford would not want that burden.

And he would not be there often, thank goodness. Alissa could not like working for the hard-eyed, hard-to-please man, but he seldom visited Rock Hill. He was sure to return to his London life and the
ton’s
diversions soon. The quiet country life could hold no appeal for the earl, or he would have been here often.

She smoothed the skirts of her gray gown and straightened the scrap of lace she wore as a cap over her coiled braids. Yes, she looked like a proper governess. And Billy wanted to stay with her, if Rockford cared for a child’s wishes. The vicar said he would add his recommendations, too. He also said that no one would think ill of her for taking the post, for the whole village knew how hard she was working, trying to keep her family together. The vicar lived in a world of faith, hope, and charity, though. Alissa lived in the real world. There would be talk, and there was nothing she could do about it except hope her friends did not believe any gossip.

At least she was not asking for charity. Nor, she would have to make clear, was she asking for any post other than that of governess, lest Rockford get ideas. Judging by that kiss, a libertine like Rockford always had those ideas. She believed he would never force himself on a woman, especially one in his employ, but she would carry the pistol anyway. To his credit, he had never looked at Amy with that swinish leer of Sir George; otherwise Alissa would never consider asking for the position. She would simply have started packing to leave, to go heaven knew where.

She wanted to stay, and she wanted the job. With so much—not just her future but that of her entire family—dependent on the earl’s whim, she gave him a bright smile when he leaped down from the driver’s bench of his coach. She might have smiled anyway, he looked so fine. The journey had added a golden tan to his cheeks, and she liked his dark hair mussed by the wind this way, instead of pomaded into some fashionable arrangement. It made him seem more ordinary, more approachable. Otherwise he could have stepped from a gentleman’s fashion plate. His neckcloth was spotless and tied in some intricate knot, its stark white a gleaming contrast to his firm, slightly shadowed jaw. His midnight-blue coat stretched across the broad shoulders she would never forget, and York tan gloves covered his strong, masterful hands. Below strong, muscular thighs, his high boots gleamed, a tribute to his valet after such a long journey, and the golden tassels on them swayed with his graceful stride. He was altogether magnificent, like a champion Thoroughbred at the racetrack, perfectly groomed, perfectly conditioned, the finest specimen that money and breeding could create. And Rockford knew it.

It was a good thing he was seldom at Rock Hill or Alissa would have lost her courage to ask him for the position. He’d most likely laugh at the pretensions of a lowly country widow.

Before she could speak, Rockford groaned. Lud, he thought, if the widow was going to turn charming on him, he was sunk. He’d been hoping to find Mrs. Henning still in the boughs, still angry over his manhandling her. That way he could restore his brain to the rule of order, with a chance to erase his wayward thoughts. That radiant smile just etched them permanently on his brain.

Hearing the earl’s moan, Alissa ran back inside and fetched the tin of peppermints she kept handy. “Here, my lord,” she said with another smile, “this should make you feel better.”

Better than what, he wondered, a slug?

Chapter Ten

“I
am fine, madam,” he said brusquely, turning his back on her and her hopes. He went to let down the steps of the carriage, though, and opened the door. For a minute Alissa could forget about the arrogant earl and her need for his approval. She wanted his elder son’s approval too.

Hugo stepped out of the carriage and blinked against the bright sunlight. He reached up to adjust his spectacles, and to push the warm cap off his head. She did not see much of the earl in the boy’s much fairer looks and far slighter build, but his air of confidence proclaimed his paternity. Here he was, thrust among strangers, and the youngster did not appear the least bit disconcerted. He was Rockford’s son, all right. He made her a polite bow, and then gave her the smile Rockford so seldom showed, and her heart went out to the poor motherless boy on the instant.

“Welcome, Lord Rothmore,” she said when Rockford did not make the introductions. He was talking to the driver and ignoring her and the children. “I am Mrs. Henning, a neighbor, and I am delighted to meet you. I should like to introduce my sister, Miss Aminta Bourke, and my sons, Kendall and William Bourke. Children, please welcome Hugo, Lord Rothmore.”

The last of her charges was nearly jumping up and down in excitement, his eyes beseeching her to hurry. “And this,” she told Hugo with a smile, “is the Honorable William Rothmore. Your half brother, whom we call Billy.”

The earl turned and frowned at that, but did not interrupt the introduction.

Billy rushed forward, then skidded to a stop inches from Hugo and made a half bow. “May I call you Hugo or do I have to use your title? Are you really sickly or just pretending so you don’t have to go to school? Do you like strawberry tarts? Aunt Lissie—that’s what I call Mrs. Henning; she said it was all right, so maybe you can, too—said most boys do, so I saved you one. They are the best in the world.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flattened, oozing pastry with one corner missing.

Hugo’s brows raised as he inspected the unappetizing offering, and he shook his head. “We just stopped for a bite a few miles ago when the horses were changed, so I am not hungry. But thank you, and I should like to be called Hugo, I think.”

A fastidious diplomat too, just like his father, Alissa thought, hoping he had not hurt Billy’s feelings, after the younger boy had been so looking forward to his half brother’s arrival.

She should not have worried. Billy crammed half the tart in his mouth, strawberry preserves dripping down his chin. Then he reached into the same pocket where he’d kept the pastry and pulled out a frog. “I saved this for you too.”

Amy giggled, but Alissa was horrified. She started to step forward, but Hugo reached out first. He carefully transferred the amphibian from Billy’s grubby hand onto his own gloved palm.

“Oh, capital!
Bufo calamita,
the Natterjack toad,” he said happily. “It is quite rare, especially in this area, you know, so you were lucky to spot him, and clever to catch such a handsome specimen.” He gently handed the creature back. “You’ll have to release him soon so he can make his winter home, of course. In the same place you found him would be best. But thank you for the opportunity to see one up close.”

Billy looked up at Alissa, strawberry-smeared lips spread in a wide grin. “I told you he’d be the best brother in the whole world!”

“So you did, Billy. So you did.”

Alissa was relieved and impressed, and so was Rockford, as he came around the side of the carriage. He held up his hand to stop his younger son’s enthusiastic greeting before William could transfer any of his mess onto Rockford’s clothes. “Why don’t you and the Hennings take Rothmore around to see the pig or the ponies?” Hugo had an honorary title and it should be used out of respect for the ancient lineage he represented, Rockford thought. No one ever called him by his given name, Robert, which was as it should be. The widow most likely had her own, more casual rules, which would have to change. He sighed at the task ahead. “I would like a few moments with Mrs. Henning.”

Now that the opportunity had come, Alissa was not certain she wished to take it. He looked so large, towering over the children, and so disapproving, his dark eyes fixed on the dust of her pathway, the unraked leaves. “Amy, you can join us for—”

“Alone,” was all he said.

“—tea later, if you wish,” Alissa finished, while embarrassment tinged her sister’s cheeks red. Amy fled with the boys, and Alissa was alone with the earl and her doubts. What choice had she but to ask him, though? Her hands nervously fussed with the knot of her shawl, but she squared her shoulders and led him into the parlor.

She did not look well, Rockford thought as he took the same hard chair he’d had before, across from Mrs. Henning’s seat on the sofa. Now that he had a closer look at the widow without her sunshine smile, she appeared drabber than he recalled, her eyes older, more tired, her complexion the color of her ugly gray gown. Lud, she wasn’t sickly, was she? That would never do at all. Even worse, she seemed agitated, high-strung. But then she took a deep breath—he watched the rise and fall of her breasts with appreciation—clasped her hands in her lap, and smiled. Good, she was steady and sure, in control of her emotions. His intuition was not entirely unreliable.

“Mrs. Henning—” he began, just as she said, “My lord.”

They both smiled and both started over.

She said, “I have a proposition—”

While he said, “I have a proposal for you.”

“Yes?” she asked, eager enough to let him go first.

“Yes, you will?”

Alissa’s brow knit in confusion. “Yes, I will what? I have not heard your proposal yet.”

“Yes, you did. I just made it.”

She retraced the peculiar conversation in her mind. “A proposal of…?”

“Marriage, of course. The usual thing.”

First Sir George, now this. It was, indeed, getting to be the usual thing, Alissa thought, a nervous laugh rising like a bubble in her throat. “Marriage to…you?”

“Well, not to Hugo, that is, Lord Rothmore. Of course to me.”

Of course. Earls marched through her doorway every day and asked for her hand—her work-roughened hand, at that—in marriage. The world had gone insane, the walls tipped on their sides, the floor risen to the ceiling, the—

“Deuce take it, woman, you are not going to swoon, are you?”

She opened her eyes. “Of course not. I never faint.”

He shoved her head down between her knees anyway. “Fiend seize it, I knew this was a bad idea!”

She pushed him away and raised herself from that undignified position. “No, it is not a bad idea, if you mean it.”

He was still standing, pacing, actually, in the small room. “Of course I mean it. I am not in the habit of saying things I do not mean.”

Alissa needed a moment to gather her wits, now that blood had returned to her brain. “Would you pour a cordial, please? There is a tray near the window.”

He found the bottle of brambleberry wine, poured a glass, and drank it down in one swallow. When she coughed politely, he recalled himself, cleared his throat, and poured out another glass. He put it in her hand and said, “I am making a hash of this, aren’t I? I had planned it better in my mind.”