Nina Coombs Pykare (13 page)

Constance was bubbling with joy, Henrietta looked a little less gloomy. And Edwina . . . She was almost as happy as the little one. This was a right thing she’d had a hand in, getting the earl to return to his daughters—though she believed it was mostly Constance’s appeal that had done the trick. After all, who could resist those eager eyes of hers? At any rate, the earl had agreed to breakfast with them. And not once, but from now on.

Her heart rose up in her throat. If only he didn’t disappoint them. Constance would be heartbroken if her beloved Papa didn’t show up as he’d promised. And if that happened, Edwina didn’t know what she’d do. But enough worrying. There was no sense in trying to solve problems she didn’t even have yet.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked over the girls once more, straightening one of Constance’s ribbons and smoothing Henrietta’s blouse. “You look lovely,” she said. “Your Papa will be proud of you.”

“You look nice, too,” the loyal Constance said.

“Thank you.” What a dear the child was. Though she had chosen a clean gown for this festive occasion, Edwina knew it was shabby—and growing a little tight. She’d have to eat less or she’d soon be without any clothes that fit. She chuckled. More worry over a problem she didn’t yet have.

Constance tugged at her hand. “He will come, won’t he?” she asked, her small face screwed into a worried frown. “He won’t forget?”

“No, I don’t think he’ll forget,” Edwina said. Pray God, though, he hadn’t changed his mind. “Now,” she said, “let’s wait for your Papa in the dining hall.”

But no wait was necessary. The earl was already in the hall, looking out the window. “Papa!” Constance cried, running to him. “You came!”

Charles looked down at the eager little face. “Of course I came.” The child would never know how close he’d come to changing his mind. An almost sleepless night, a night in which he was unable to call up any comforting images of Catherine, had left him upset and irritated.

If the redoubtable Miss Pierce had been around while he was tossing and turning, he’d probably have dismissed her out of hand, sent her as far away from the castle as he could. But the light of morning had shown him his error. There was no point in blaming the little governess for his own deficiencies. He had promised Constance to be at breakfast and he would keep his promise.

“Come,” he said, gesturing to the table. “Let us sit down.”

He helped Constance into her chair and turning to his own, caught a strange expression on Miss Pierce’s face. She cast an almost imperceptible glance at Henrietta, who was standing stiffly beside her place. Of course! Catherine had always been insistent on their treating both girls the same.

He moved to Henrietta. “May I hold your chair for you, dear?” he asked.

She gave him a stiff nod. Clearly the child was still offended with him. He swallowed a sigh. No doubt she was justified. He saw that she was comfortable and turned to the little governess. Would she expect him to seat her too?

But Miss Pierce was already in her chair, her face wreathed in a smile. Smiling like that, she looked almost as young as the girls.

He went to his own chair.

“Papa?” Constance tugged at his sleeve.

“Yes?”

“You haven’t said good morning to Miss Pierce.”

He raised an eyebrow. It appeared Miss Pierce had at least one loyal supporter in the castle. “Indeed, I haven’t,” he said. “I was so pleased to see you and Henrietta that I forgot my manners.” He turned. “Good morning, Miss Pierce. I hope you slept well.”

She colored up and smiled sheepishly. “Good morning, milord. I’m afraid we were rather excited last night. Constance was up at daybreak.”

“I hope that wasn’t too much inconvenience to you.”

She looked startled and said, “Oh no, milord. They’re children,” as though that explained everything. And perhaps for her it did.

He nodded and signaled Wiggins to bring on the meal. While the butler served, Charles considered this new governess, this strange creature he’d given refuge in the castle. It was true, governesses were ordinarily supposed to like children—though he remembered a few from his childhood days who’d been real terrors—but Miss Pierce didn’t just like the girls. It appeared that she actually loved them.

Even their own mother might have been a little acerbic at being wakened at daybreak like that. And Leonore . . . He choked on his tea. Leonore would have been cold as an icicle and just as hard. And she’d have let him know in no uncertain terms how upset she was with him—and his troublesome daughters.

“So, Henrietta,” he said. “That’s a lovely frock you’re wearing. Is it your favorite?”

Henrietta shrugged. “Miss Pierce picked it out.”

“This is my favorite,” Constance said, tugging at his sleeve again. He’d forgotten how the child loved to touch him. “I like blue. Do you like it, Papa?”

“I do indeed,” he said. “It’s very becoming.”

Constance smiled up at him and waited expectantly. Obviously there was something else the child thought he should do. But what was it?

“Papa,” she whispered.

He bent toward her. “Yes, dear, what is it?”

“Miss Pierce,” she whispered. “You must say something nice to Miss Pierce.”

He straightened. Loyal supporter, indeed! Now, what could he say nice to Miss Pierce? He’d already asked her if she slept well. He couldn’t comment on that shabby old gown, which incidentally was growing rather tight across the bosom. In fact, very tight. He’d better avert his eyes. But wait . . .

“Miss Pierce, I have been thinking.”

She looked at him over the rim of her cup, her eyes wide, almost fearful. “Yes, milord?”

“I said that your wage might be small.”

She nodded. “I know, milord. That’s all right. I don’t mind.”

She meant it, too, he could see that. Life must have played her really foul if she thought small wages were all right. He raised an eyebrow and went on. “However, there may be some other benefits to this position.”

She was looking surprised now, almost eager, like a child about to be given a present. “Other benefits, milord?”

“Yes, it occurs to me that in the storeroom we have many bolts of material. Catherine liked to buy such things ahead. Perhaps you’d like to have a few new gowns.” His heart fell. He hadn’t thought to wonder if she could . . . “That is, if you sew. I’m afraid the dressmaker . . .”

Miss Pierce’s face actually shone. “Oh, milord, I can sew! And I haven’t had a new gown in—in ages. Thank you, milord! Thank you!”

Charles sat back in a glow of good feeling. From the looks of her, it had been ages since she’d had anything new. It would have pleased Catherine to have her yard goods put to use. His glow faded. At least, it would have pleased the Catherine he had loved. This ghost was something else.

Constance tugged still another time at his sleeve and grinned up at him. “Oh, Papa, that was the nicest thing! I think you’re the best papa in the world!

The very best.”

Since he was the only papa she’d ever known, this was not exactly the highest praise, but he accepted it in the spirit it was given. “Thank you, dear. But come now, let’s eat. Then after breakfast we’ll all go to the storeroom. And you girls,” he was careful to include Henrietta in his glance, “can help Miss Pierce pick out her fabrics.”

“She needs lots,” Constance said. “Her gowns are all . . .”

“Constance.” Miss Pierce’s voice was soft, but commanding. “That’s enough.”

“But it’s true. All your gowns are . . .”

“Constance.”

Constance subsided. “Yes, Miss Pierce.” But the child cast him a glance of pleading.

Charles smiled. “The storeroom is full of material. I think you should have enough for five or six gowns. For starters.”

Miss Pierce’s mouth fell open and her eyes filled with tears. It was the first time he’d ever seen her unstrung. “F-five or six, milord? So many?”

“Yes. For starters,” he repeated. “And as soon as you finish the first, we’ll make our trip to the seashore.”

“Eat, Miss Pierce,” Constance cried, grabbing up her fork. “Do eat, so we can get started.”

* * * *

Several days passed, days in which Edwina was kept busy, ascertaining the extent of the girls’ schooling, deciding what course of study they should now follow, and working on her new gowns. While she stitched, she spent a great deal of time talking to them about trivial things. In this way she hoped to learn more about them as individuals. To have them grow more accustomed to her, to realize that she was, indeed, their friend.

Constance had already warmed to her and rapidly became a cheerful little girl. But Henrietta was not so easily reached. Even the prospect of their coming trip to the seashore didn’t seem to move her. Her lovely face was often set in hard lines and the beautiful pansy eyes that were supposed to be so like her mother’s regarded Edwina with a cold distrust that chilled.

Still, Edwina persisted in her efforts. She had to believe that sooner or later kindness would reach the child. Henrietta had been badly hurt by the events of the past year. It would take time to restore her to good health.

Now when they came down to breakfast the earl met them in the hall. Constance always ran to her father, greeting him warmly. Henrietta was still reticent, but Edwina didn’t see how either girl could believe that her father was anything but happy to see her. Occasionally during their breakfasts Edwina even heard him chuckle. It was a surprisingly warm chuckle and she realized that meeting the earl only in his grief had given her a biased perception of him.

Finally, the last stitch was taken, the new green muslin gown proclaimed a success, and the day of the longed-for trip to the seashore arrived. Shortly after breakfast Edwina followed the girls down the great stairs. She had insisted they wear their bonnets—not to please Lady Leonore, though she had no doubt it would do so—but to protect noses that had not yet felt the summer sun. Edwina’s only bonnet was the shabby straw affair that had been rained on. It looked even shabbier in contrast to her lovely new gown, but she wore it anyway. It was far easier to get the girls to comply with her little regulations if she set the example herself.

The earl waited for them at the bottom of the stairs, looking distinguished in a blue jacket and buckskin trousers tucked into his top boots. He looked different, but while Edwina was trying to decide how, Constance rushed to the bottom of the stairs and grabbed his hand, pulling him enthusiastically toward the door. “Oh, Papa! I can hardly believe that we’re going at last. But we are! We really are! We’re going to the seashore!”

The earl smiled. There was still a sadness to his eyes when he regarded his children, but his face looked younger and his shoulders straighter, as though his burden had become a little lighter.

Unlike her sister, Henrietta didn’t run to her father. She hung back, murmuring her greeting and seeming still fearful—of precisely what Edwina could not tell. Certainly the earl had made it clear enough that the children were no longer required to stay out of his sight. By now they must be aware of his love for them. Henrietta moved slowly, almost dragging her feet, as though unwilling to face the outing. But at least she said nothing about staying behind. Surely that was progress of a sort.

Edwina hadn’t tried to push the child into doing things. Eventually Henrietta would become more secure in her father’s presence. But such security was a personal private thing, not something the child could be chivvied into feeling. It had to come from within Henrietta, not from outside her.

The earl greeted Edwina with a smile. “Well, Miss Pierce, your new gown turned out well. It looks like you’re a fine seamstress as well as an exceptional governess.”

She beamed. “Thank you, milord.”

He looked down at his youngest, already tugging on his hand. “It’s certain that Constance is ready for our outing. Are you equally well prepared?”

Edwina returned the smile. “I believe so, milord. And I think our lunch basket is ready.”

“Good. Since the weather looks fine, I have ordered the open carriage brought round. We should have a nice ride to the seashore.”

Constance squealed at this news and hopped excitedly from one foot to the other, her bright yellow dress and white ribbons fluttering around her. The earl put a hand on top of her dark curls to slow her. “Constance, you’ll wear yourself out before the day is half done. Be still for a moment.”

“Yes, Papa. But ple-ase, do hurry!”

Seeing the look of love that passed between the child and her father, Edwina swallowed over a lump in her throat. Thank God, they’d been able to reach the earl. Thank God, here was one little girl who would not have to want for a father’s love.

The earl turned to his other daughter. “You, Henrietta, are you, too, anxious for our outing?”

“Yes, Papa,” Henrietta replied, but her tone carried no conviction or enthusiasm.

His lordship, however, appeared to take her words at face value and smiled again. “Then, if we have everything, let us go out to the carriage and be on our way.”

When the girls were comfortably seated in the carriage, and the basket stowed in its proper place, the earl turned and offered his hand to Edwina. For a moment she felt a strange sense of awkwardness. She was only a governess, not a lady to be helped into a carriage. The earl was a man of some parts, a lord, a lord many women would like for a husband. To be handed up by him made her feel special, feminine.

But why was she thinking about things like that? However polite he might be to her, she was still just a governess. She laid her hand in his, and by the time he had assisted her into the carriage and settled across from her, the heat that had stained her cheeks at his touch had dissipated somewhat. But how strange that she should have so suddenly come to see the earl as a man rather than as the girls’ father. Perhaps it was this new gown, it made her feel—different, younger.

Facing him as she was, she couldn’t help looking at him. Actually, she thought as the carriage moved off, his lordship was still a fine figure of a man. It was easy to believe that he had cut quite a swath when he had been young and on the town. There must have been a lot of disappointed misses when Catherine lured him into matrimony.