Authors: Amanda McCabe
Kate took the heavy pitcher from her hands. "Thank you. I feel like I have all the dust of the road to wash off!" She poured the steaming liquid into a basin and splashed it over her face, scrubbing away all the dirt of her voyage. It wasn't quite a rose-scented bath in a marble tub, but it still felt heavenly.
Kate patted her face with a towel placed neatly next to the basin, and turned back to Lady Christina. The girl stood watching her expectantly, hands clasped behind her back.
"Perhaps I could help you unpack, Mrs. Brown?" she said.
Kate opened her mouth to say she hardly had anything
to
unpack, but Christina looked so hopefully helpful that she couldn't refuse. "Oh, yes, thank you. I don't have much, but I could use some advice on where things should go."
She opened up the sad old valise and emptied its jumbled contents onto the bed. They looked so very meager all together like, that, and so shabby next to the brightness of the yellow counterpane. Yet Christina leaned forward so eagerly to inspect them, as if unearthing hidden treasures.
Just in time, Kate saw the little silk-wrapped bundle before the girl did. She snatched it up and tucked it safely into her pelisse pocket. It had been foolish of her to save the brooch—no governess should possess such a thing, and she had needed the money it could have brought to live on in London. She had given her bracelet to Maria and Paolo in thanks, and the proceeds from the necklace and earrings had paid for her journey and lodgings. Somehow, she just needed one small piece of her mother to hold on to. She had to be careful no one ever saw it.
It was yet another secret to hide away.
Christina didn't seem to notice anything amiss, though. She was looking over the titles of Kate's precious books. "
Pride and Prejudice!
" Christina cried. "Such a splendid novel. Have you read the author's
Persuasion!"
"No, I fear I have not yet had the chance," Kate answered, shaking out her rumpled white muslin nightdress and extra chemise and petticoat. Her gowns, three muslin day dresses of pale blue, lilac, and gray, and one plain dark blue silk for evening, were also in poor shape. She would have to ask the formidable Mrs. Jenkins if she could borrow a flatiron.
"Oh, you absolutely
must
read it!" Christina enthused. "I think it is even finer than
Pride and Prejudice.
I don't often read novels, but these are special."
"Yes, they are. Perhaps we could read
Persuasion
together, then. As part of your lessons."
Christina nodded absently, still poring over the books. "Do you have any volumes on plant life, Mrs. Brown?"
Oh, yes. Now Kate remembered—Christina was a budding botanist. And she, Kate, was a complete bacon brain when it came to plants. Except for arranging blossoms in pleasing configurations. That she could do perfectly. "I fear not. Your brother tells me you are quite a fine botanist."
Christina shrugged carelessly, but a pleased pink blush stained her sun-browned cheeks. "I'm interested in botany, but I don't know as much as I would like. I have to teach myself."
Oh, this could be tricky, Kate realized.
She
was meant to be the governess, the one with wisdom to impart. Yet it was clear that, intellectually, Christina was far ahead of her. "I haven't had many opportunities to learn about botany myself, Lady Christina. Perhaps you could tell me more about it?"
Christina glanced up, her grass green eyes shining. "Oh, yes, indeed, Mrs. Brown! I can tell you about
Polypodium,
which grows near here...."
"Wonderful. And
I
can tell
you
about subjects I know a great deal of."
The enthusiasm dimmed into suspicion. "What sort of subjects?"
"Dancing," Kate said firmly. "Deportment. Music."
"French?"
"And Italian. If you like. I believe there are many volumes on botany written in French and Italian which have not yet been translated into English." Kate really had no idea if that was true or not, but it sounded good.
The suspicion in Christina's eyes faded a bit, yet still lurked there. She would not be easy to win over—or fool. "I might find
that
useful," she said, clearly implying that dancing and deportment were decidedly
unuseful.
Kate would just have to address that later. She was too tired—and too overwhelmed—right now. "Excellent! We will get started tomorrow, then. Perhaps you could also help me devise a curriculum for your niece?"
Christina nodded, and went to put the books away on a little shelf by the dressing table. "Amelia needs to learn
everything,
I'm afraid. You'll see when you meet her this evening."
"This evening?"
"Yes. That was my other errand in coming here, but I nearly forgot! I'm meant to ask if you'll have dinner in the dining room with us at seven. We keep country hours here at Thorn Hill. Michael says in London people don't have dinner until ten, or even later!"
Dinner with the family? Mrs. Jenkins had said the Lindleys were unusual, but even Kate knew this was very strange. Governesses took their meals in their room, or perhaps with their younger charges in the nursery. Never in the dining room.
"I—dine with you? At seven?" she asked, deeply puzzled. "Are you certain, Lady Christina?"
Christina didn't seem to think anything amiss. She was focused on arranging Kate's one good pair of slippers on the floor of the wardrobe and folding her blue wool shawl into a drawer. "Oh, yes. My brother told me to be sure and ask you. It will be a good time for you to meet my mother and Amelia. Amelia doesn't eat with us, of course, but her nursemaid does bring her into the drawing room before to say good night. If you feel tired after your journey, though, I'm sure it's fine for you to stay in here, Mrs. Brown."
"That's quite all right, Lady Christina. I will be happy to dine with your family. Thank you."
Christina nodded happily and hurried away, her errand complete. Kate sank down onto the edge of the bed, her wrinkled petticoat folded in her hands. What a strange household she found herself in! Disapproving housekeepers, wild young women, handsome employers, and a gray, windy moor outside her unexpectedly luxurious room.
Whatever could happen next?
* * *
"Tell me, then—what is she like? Our new governess."
Kate, her hand just extended to push open the drawing room door, paused as she heard a woman's voice speak this question. It was rude to eavesdrop—she knew that very well—but how else could she learn things in this strange new land? This household? Besides, she simply didn't have the fortitude to turn away when someone was talking about her!
She glanced back over her shoulder to make sure the footman who had pointed the way to the drawing room was not still there, and then leaned closer to see if anything else was said.
"Mrs. Jenkins took her straight to her room when you brought her in, Michael, and I didn't catch so much as a glimpse of her." The woman's voice was slightly querulous, tinged at the edges with a curiosity much like Kate's own.
"Well, you will see her very soon, Mother," Michael Lindley answered. Kate knew his dark chocolate voice
very
well now—it was imprinted on her mind, her very skin. She shivered at the sound of it, and drew her shawl closer about her shoulders. "She will be joining us shortly for dinner. If she hasn't become lost in Thorn Hill's rabbit warren of corridors!"
There was a long silence, filled with a shocked tension. So the curious lady was the mother of Lady Christina and Mr. Lindley—and she had not known Kate was asked to sit down with the family. Kate frowned. She certainly did
not
want to make a wrong step on this, her first day in her new position. This house was so very different from her mother's. Was she supposed to refuse the dinner invitation, even though it was offered, then?
There was a small click from inside the room, like a china cup being set smartly on a table, and Lady Darcy said, "Oh?" in a toneless voice.
"We are quite informal here at Thorn Hill, are we not?" Michael Lindley said unconcernedly. "It seemed absurd to have Mrs. Brown take a tray in her room when we all want to know her better."
"Michael is quite right, Mother," Lady Christina said briskly. "I met Mrs. Brown, and she is quite lovely. Absolutely a lady. I am sure we need have no fear of her wiping her mouth on the tablecloth or spilling wine on the floor!"
Kate felt a pleased flush spreading warmly across her cheeks at their words. She had so feared that Christina, a girl not many years younger than herself but already so much more intellectual, would have nothing but scorn for a creature like Kate herself, taught only to be ornamental and inclined to read novels and poetry. Kate had never had a female friend before, or even what might be called a friendly acquaintance. In her mother's world, other women were to be suspected as rivals. The fact that a lady, that
Christina,
would be willing to give her a chance was strange and—and, yes, even pleasing.
And the fact that
Michael Lindley
had been the one to invite her to dinner, to make her feel welcome—well, the feelings
that
evoked did not bear examining. Not now. Probably not ever. For if her relationship to other women now needed to be reexamined and revised, her attitude toward men must be doubly so. Men—Mr. Lindley in particular—were no longer potential admirers. She was respectable now, or at least trying to be, and men were employers in a respectable sense. And one day, perhaps one of them—a nice village attorney, perhaps, or merchant or gentleman farmer—would be a possible husband. A source of that comfortable family life her dream mother spoke of, and which still seemed like an impossible, improbable fantasy to Kate.
One thing she did know—that man would never be Mr. Lindley. He was a nobleman, the younger brother of an earl, and noblemen did not marry governesses. That knowledge gave her a sour pang, and the pleased glow of her flush faded from her cheeks.
"I am glad you like Mrs. Brown, Christina," Lady Darcy said, breaking her long silence at last. "I hope that she can help you. But for her to dine with us..."
Kate did not want to hear any more. If she did, her fragile courage would surely shred altogether and she would flee back up to her room—and then out to the moors and all the way back to London and Venice. She took a deep breath, straightened herself to her full if rather inconsiderable height, and knocked at the door.
She stepped back quickly, so as not to seem close enough to eavesdrop. She just came to a halt, her hands folded at her waist, when the door was opened by Mr. Lindley himself.
"Mrs. Brown!" he said, a warm smile of welcome spreading across his sensual lips. "I'm very glad you could join us."
Kate had to take another breath before she could answer. Even then, when she spoke it sounded as if she had run a mile. "Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Lindley. I hope I am not late."
"Not at all. Please, come in and let me introduce you to my mother."
He actually offered her his arm, as if she were a fine lady at a Carlton House ball, and led her into the drawing room. She slid her fingers over the soft superfine of his sleeve. Even under the lightness of her touch, she could tell that his arm was hard, firm with corded muscles. It confirmed the easy strength she had felt earlier when he had lifted her down from the carriage. He was no idle gentleman, playing at farmer, then—he actually did some sort of real work.
Odd. And also thrilling.
She was also whimsically glad that she had chosen to wear her dark blue silk with the fitted elbow-length sleeves and not one of the muslins, for his wine red coat was beautifully and stylishly cut, his waistcoat of a fine cream brocade. And his light brown hair, all windblown waves when they met on the moor, was tamed to a shining cap, glinting almost autumn-colored in the candlelight.
Working farmer, fine man of fashion—what other guises did he hide beneath those blue eyes?
But she had no time to ponder such fanciful notions now. Christina rose from her chair to give a shy smile, her long fingers toying with the pale green satin ribbons trimming her white muslin dress as if she was nervous, or just overcome with a ceaseless energy. Her attire sported no mud stains this evening, but her wild curls still flowed free, rebelling against a confining bandeau.
"Mrs. Brown!" she called out. "Please, sit down over here."
"After
she meets Mother, Christina," her brother told her, with an indulgent smile. Christina sank back down onto her chair, and Mr. Lindley led Kate to where a lady sat next to the crackling fire.
It was obvious that she must be their mother. She had the same light brown hair, now partially silver, fitting in short, fashionable curls from beneath her lace cap, the same aristocratic nose and blade-sharp cheekbones. Her eyes were green like Christina's, but they lacked her daughter's eyes' brightness and quality of darting enthusiasm. They were solemn, filled with a watchfulness, a serious intelligence.
She was
nothing
like Kate's mother's friends, women who had always made up Kate's world. Women who laughed and flirted merrily, waving their silk scarves and ostrich plumes, declaring how they
adored
everything—while their eyes were hard, and they just waited to gossip about their "dear friends" behind those friends' backs.
The Dowager Lady Darcy had a quiet propriety, a close watchfulness. Kate was doubly grateful now for her somber blue silk, her new, simple way of dressing her hair in a low knot at the nape of her neck. Surely it would take all the subterfuge of her respectable trappings to hide from this woman.