Charlotte Louise Dolan (17 page)

* * * *

“The chickens was drunk, Miss Hemsworth. Them two devils had used one of my tubs to concoct a batch of home brew strong enough to knock your socks off,” Kate the washerwoman explained to Anne.

* * * *

“They said it was an excavation, m’lord, and they was going to find some Roman ruins. But it was nothin’ more than a mammoth hole, m’lord. Took two of the undergard’ners three days to fill it in—”

Before the head gardener could continue, a groom pounded on the French doors, calling out frantically, “M’lord, m’lord, you got to come quick!”

Bronson opened the door just in time to hear a woman scream and men yelling. Rushing out into the courtyard, he saw a scullery maid point with horror at the roof of the east wing, before she fainted dead away.

Turning, he saw a sight that chilled his own blood.

One of the twins had climbed out an attic window onto the steep slate roof and had lost his footing. He was dangling from the eaves, and even while Bronson watched, he slipped a bit more.

Yelling at the boy to hang on, Bronson set off at a run, but before he had gone more than a few steps, the child lost his grip and fell, plummeting more than fifty feet to lie motionless on the paving stones.

Even though it was too late to help, Bronson did not check his headlong rush, hoping against hope that somehow the boy had survived the fall. In his heart, he knew there was no chance. Once before he had seen the sickening results of such a fall—in his mind’s eye he could still see the mangled limbs, the blood, the contorted features, the sand—

The sand?

He looked down at the “corpse.” There was no blood, only sand ... and the remains of an old linen sheet that had been stitched into a crude effigy and then dressed in an old suit of boy’s clothing.

The servants who had followed Bronson now stood silently in a circle around the dummy, but they were not looking at the twins’ handiwork; they were watching the twins’ guardian to see what he would do.

Without a word he turned and entered the house by a side door, walking faster and faster through the maze of corridors. Taking the stairs two at a time, he wasted not a minute in getting to the schoolroom. He threw open the door and saw the twins sitting at their desks, apparently busily engaged with their lessons.

At the sound of his arrival, their heads turned in unison toward the door. “Have you persuaded Anne to stay?” one of them asked.

“Not yet,” Bronson replied, unable to hold back a touch of admiration for their sangfroid even while he wished he were a proponent of corporal punishment.

“She hasn’t left for London yet, has she?”

Bronson could hear the merest suggestion of anxiety in that twin’s voice, and he had to remind himself that fiends though these boys might be on occasion, they were, in fact, still children. “No, she has not yet left.”

“You might try clotted cream—”

“With strawberries.”

* * * *

She was a coward, there was no getting around it. Anne sat in the breakfast room listlessly stirring her cup of tea and postponing the moment she would have to say good-bye to the twins. She could already see the reproach in Andrew’s eyes and the tears in Anthony’s.

It was not as if she had long been a part of their lives; she had scarce been in Devon a month. So short a time really—a few weeks, no more. They would soon get over her, soon forget her—or so she had been trying to convince herself.

She was a coward and a hypocrite. If she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that time had nothing to do with the depth of emotion she felt for the boys, and she was sure they returned her love and affection in full measure. Her premature departure would destroy all the trust she had worked so hard to earn, and would negate all the lessons she had so cleverly interwoven with the fun.

But she had to leave Wylington Manor, had to leave Devon. She could not bear to stay under the same roof as Lord Least-in-Sight, that rake, that cad, that despoiler of women.

She was a coward and a hypocrite and a liar. No matter how hard she tried to pretend to herself, what she could not bear was the thought of never seeing Lord Leatham again.

Taking a sip of her tea, she found it stone-cold. Hardly surprising, since she had been sitting at the table for over an hour trying to stiffen her resolution.

The door opened, and she looked up, expecting to see one of the servants. Instead, Lord Leatham himself stood in the doorway. For a few moments she allowed herself the luxury of gazing
at him before she stood up to leave.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I am finished with my packing and need only say my farewells to the twins.”

“Sit down,” he said curtly, striding over to the table.

“Please,” he added in a more restrained voice when she remained standing.

She sat, and he took the seat opposite her.

“Since seven this morning I have been bombarded by tales of the twins’ misbehavior. Every servant seems to have firsthand experience with their outrageous plots.”

“They are very ingenious,” Anne admitted. “I have also been hearing of their mischief. While I realize full well that they cannot be allowed to continue such activities, I still find it hard not to admire the cleverness that they have displayed.”

Lord Leatham grimaced. “I have just discovered for myself that hearing about their pranks is not exactly the same as experiencing one first-hand.”

“Oh, no, they did not—”

“Oh, yes, Miss Hemsworth, they did.” In graphic detail Lord Leatham described what it was like to watch a “child” fall to his “death.”

For the first time she noticed the ashen pallor of his countenance, and she realized he was, if anything, understating the horror and despair he had felt.

“I do hope, my lord, that you can dissuade the twins from doing such things in the future. They are truly not malicious. Perhaps if you explain to them.”

“Miss Hemsworth, do not be naive.” Lord Leatham had regained his color nicely and now looked positively choleric. “The episode this morning was an object lesson in what I may expect if I allow you to resign your position. If you wish to give the boys the benefit of the doubt, you may call it a warning, but it was a threat, Miss Hemsworth, a
threat.
Do you understand threats?”

Anne looked across the table at the baron. He was glaring at her. “Are you threatening me, my lord?”

“No, Miss Hemsworth, I am not. I have been told that you are a woman of superior understanding so you should recognize groveling when you see it.”

She could not hold back a faint smile. The scowl on his face reminded her so much of the way the twins invariably looked when she told them it was time to put away their books and toys and make ready for bed. “Just so, my lord. You are groveling, and it was silly of me not to recognize it.”

There was a light scratching at the door, and Lord Leatham went to open it. He returned bearing the largest bowl of strawberries and clotted cream that Anne had ever seen. It was more than enough to satisfy the appetites of at least five starving people.

“Here,” he said, thumping it down on the table in front of her. “And this, in case you do not recognize it, is a bribe. And if that is not enough to persuade you, I shall also accept your challenge if you agree to stay.”

“Challenge?”

“I shall endeavor to learn to tell which twin is which.”

She had meant, almost from the first moment he appeared, to tell him she would stay, but apparently she hesitated too long with her answer. Before she could stop him, he was down on his knees beside her. A lock of his hair had fallen across his forehead, and she wanted nothing more than to brush it back into place.

“Well, Miss Hemsworth, you have brought me to my knees. I hope you are satisfied. You may name your price.”

The first thought that popped into her head was the line from the fairy story: I want your firstborn son.

But Lord Leatham already had a son; she had seen the boy in Tavistock with his mother.

No longer feeling the slightest urge to smile, Anne said simply, “Very well, then, I shall stay until the end of the summer.”

Lord Leatham rose with alacrity to his feet and brushed off his unmentionables, which were fawn-colored and fit very well over his muscular legs.

“I shall hold you to that, Miss Hemsworth. And now that the matter is settled, do not think that I shall allow you to play the role of fickle female all summer, blowing now hot and now cold. The matter is settled, once and for all.”

With effort Anne pulled her attention off her contemplation of the baron’s lower limbs. “I give you my word, my lord,” she said, standing up and laying her napkin neatly on the table.

“And is your word good?”

Anne looked at him in disbelief. Surely he could not have said such an insulting thing? But he had, and now waited impatiently for an answer.

“If I were a man, I would call you out for such an insult.”

“If you were a man, I would not question your word.”

“And since you are a man, I would be a fool to put my reliance on anything you promised.”

He now looked as angry as she felt. She could barely keep from screaming imprecations at him, and he looked as if he wanted nothing more than to throttle her.

“I assume that since I have now so
insulted
you, you shall fall back on your sex’s favorite prerogative and change your mind about staying.” His voice was laced with contempt.

“No, my lord,” she responded in kind, “I shall not change my mind. In fact, there is nothing you can do now that will persuade me to leave the boys alone in the care of a man like you.”

He started to say something more, but then he paused, and a slow smile spread over his face. “I shall hold you to that also, Miss Hemsworth.”

* * * *

An hour later there was a loud rapping at Anne’s door, which she assumed must be the footman she had requested to come and fetch her again empty portmanteau and return it to storage. She was therefore caught off guard when she opened the door and found three lords smiling at her.

Lord Wylington and Lord Anthony had their usual angelic smiles. Lord Leatham’s smile was more ... devilish.

“Good morning, Anne, we were hoping—” Anthony said.

“We could ride over to Thorverton Hall—” Andrew continued.

“So that I can be introduced to the newest colts and fillies,” Lord Leatham finished.

“Yes, of course you may ride over there. But do not stay too long. I shall expect you back here in time for lunch.”

Three lords slowly shook their heads in unison.

“Only an hour ago you swore that you were never going to leave the twins alone with me,” Lord Leatham said in a silky voice. “You were not planning to break your vow so quickly, were you?”

Anne looked desperately at the twins for help, but they were openly grinning now. However had she, the very model of a clear-thinking, rational being, who remained calm no matter what the crisis, allowed her tongue to betray her into such a predicament?

“Well, Miss Hemsworth? Have you reached a decision?”

Declining to give him the satisfaction of hearing her object, she merely said, “I must change into my riding habit. I shall be ready in half an hour.” Then she shut the bedroom door in Lord Leatham’s face and leaned weakly against the cream-colored panels.

The two remaining months of summer stretched before her like an eternity—like a prison sentence to be endured, rather than an enjoyable interlude.

Then adjuring herself to show a little more gumption, she resolutely pushed herself away from the door, straightened her shoulders, and firmly resolved to win this battle of nerves with the arrogant Lord Least-in-Sight.

She was pulling on the heavy blue velvet skirt of her riding habit when it occurred to her that she would have to find a better nickname for Lord Leatham, since he had apparently decided to reverse his role and become Lord Always-Underfoot.

He would lose interest soon, she reassured herself while buttoning her jacket. As he himself had virtually admitted, the twins were not yet of an age to be of interest to an adult male, especially a man like Lord Leatham, who had traveled all over the world.

Sheer boredom would have him packing his bags within a week, two weeks at the most.

Anne looked in the mirror and then adjusted her hat at a more jaunty angle. In the meantime, as long as the arrogant baron was going to be underfoot, perhaps she could teach him a lesson or two about the dangers of underestimating the female of the species. Lord Leatham was considerably older than her usual pupils, she had to admit, but that would just make him more of a challenge. And she did relish a challenge.

With a smile of anticipation, she picked up her riding gloves and set out to meet her two—no, her three pupils.

* * * *

Creighton stood at his window and watched the party ride away toward Thorverton Hall. The hoity-toity governess, who had acted as if she was too good for him, was now giving all her smiles to Leatham, that insufferable, conceited, arrogant baron.

Well, they were both going to receive their comeuppance—if not together, then separately. And there was a certain justice about it that made him smile.

The only problem with his plan, and it had been a serious flaw, was the probability that Leatham would run true to form and leave Devon after only a day or so. He, Creighton, had been racking his brain trying to think of a way to delay the baron’s departure, but had come up with nothing.

Now, just when it had seemed that failure was inevitable, Leatham had announced he was staying at Wylington Manor for at least two months, and according to the servants, it was all because of the charms of the governess.

Apparently Leatham was expecting to enjoy a pleasant summer dalliance with her, and it would appear she was not adverse to his advances.

Creighton’s lips curled in a sneer. She might pretend to be a lady and above such things, but in the final analysis she could be bought with enough money.

Well, before the summer was over, he, Creighton, would be the one in charge at Wylington Manor—really in charge, and not just nominally in charge. And Miss Hemsworth, like all females of her ilk, would change her tune quickly enough when she saw which way the wind was blowing.