The Shipmaster's Daughter (10 page)

Good things. What were the good things? She wouldn’t have to search in vain for a job she might never find in town. She would have a home, somewhere to put her head at night. She would have pleasant company. As long as Jack intended to stay, Luciana knew she would find a friend in him. Maybe even in the girl from the kitchen. Reed wasn’t so horrible, either.

Bad things. Luciana disliked children. Writing it on paper made her laugh. A governess who disliked children. Who would have thought?

Her fingers brushed against the scar on her chin. It was tiny and unnoticeable, but every time she felt it, tears rose to her eyes.

Living in Viareggio had been difficult. People came and left often. And she couldn’t blame them. There wasn’t much in the way of healthy livelihoods or safety. Because few families stayed for longer than a year, it was a miracle when a family with a girl Luciana’s age had moved next door. She had been thirteen and eager for a friend.

Isabell and Luciana did everything together. Everything. They were inseparable from the start. Until Jonas moved across the way. Three days after he moved in, Isabell was gone.

Looking back, the fight was silly. It was over an apple. A dumb, half rotten apple. But Jonas had wanted to give it to Luciana. Why, she never found out, but he had. And she had accepted. Isabell, jealous, pushed her to the ground and clawed her face until Luciana relinquished her hold on the piece of fruit.

From then on, she’d sworn never to get too close to another child her age lest they turn on her like Isabell again. Children were fickle and cruel. They ruined meaningful friendships over the silliest of things.

So Luciana looking after a child?
Teaching
a child? It was like asking a blind man to describe a country hillside. She knew nothing about teaching children. Where would she begin? Groaning, she wadded up her list and tossed the paper aside, crossing her arms over her chest.

Someone knocked on the door. It was a gentle knock. Luciana breathed a sigh of relief. It couldn’t be Reed asking for her answer. There was nothing gentle about his demeanor. She still had time. She rose from her chair and opened the door.

“
Signore
Lipold,” she said, unable to keep the smile from her face.

“Miss Renaldi.” He bowed at the waist. “I was wondering if you might be willing to show me the conservatory? Esther said you’ve been spending a lot of your time there as of late, and seeing as how I know next to nothing about plants, maybe you could teach me a thing or two?”

The conservatory, despite its appearance, smelled fresh thanks to the open windows. Luciana had never seen a conservatory before arriving in England, but she doubted it was supposed to look like this. It was a circular room, medium in size, the ceiling a dome formed out of glass panes. Some of the glass was cracked, a few panes even missing. Rain pattered softly against the roof, dripping through the cracks onto the array of dead plants. In the center of the room was a fountain. A statue of a woman carrying a pitcher stood in the middle, but no water flowed from the jug into the pool below her. Stagnant water rested inside, brown and covered with leaves. Behind that, a wrought iron bench rested against the wall.

“So this is the conservatory,” Jack said. He plucked the dead head of a St. John’s wort flower.

Luciana nodded, her eyes sweeping the room. “I find it relaxing, though it does need a lot of work.”

“Last time I was here, there was a lemon tree in that corner.” He pointed to the left. “Mind you, it was small, but it produced a lot of lemons. Mrs. Peters enjoyed it the most. She didn’t have to buy any lemons from the market because of it.”

“What happened to it?”

He shrugged. “After Katherine died, the whole house wasted away. I admit I didn’t do as much as I should have to help Reed recover, but I’m making up for lost time now.”

“It’s a shame.” Luciana touched a cold window. “This is such a
bellissimo
room.”

“Now you’re here to take care of it, though. That is, if you’ll stay.”

Luciana sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Well, you certainly don’t have many options if you decide to leave Yellow Brook.”

Nodding, she turned down an aloe vera leaf. “I doubt I’ll be of much use as a governess.”

On either side the fountain, rows of dead plants separated into aisles. Jack walked back and forth between the aisles, rarely stopping to glance at a plant. Luciana, on the other hand, walked slowly, her hand brushing through the brittle leaves and bent stems.

“Why do you say that?” he asked. “Is it because you don’t like children?”

She looked up so fast her neck cracked. Eyes wide, her mouth parted but no words came out. Jack laughed. It echoed throughout the cold room.

“I know you try hard to pretend that you do, but, honestly, you don’t do a very good job.”

She shook her head, heat pouring into her cheeks. “I—I don’t know–”

He held up a hand, silencing her ramblings. “It’s all right. I’m only surprised Reed asked you.”

A smile pulled up the corner of her mouth and she nodded, snickering despite her racing heart. “As am I.”

Jack leaned against the edge of an aisle, crossing his arms. “Reed, he’s—he’s lost, for lack of a better word. Esther is curious and wild and he doesn’t know how to handle her. Having a governess would ease his mind, I think. Even though it doesn’t look like it, he has a lot on his plate. Esther adds to it considerably and he doesn’t want to have to worry about her all of the time.” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “Forget about Reed. What do you want to do, Miss Renaldi?”

The words “Go home” settled on the tip of her tongue, but she pushed them away. She shrugged. “I have no where to go. It seems logical that I should stay here.”

He leaned forward, coaxing her onward. “But?”

Luciana scoffed and flung her arms out wide. They dropped back, slapping against her sides. “But I don’t like children.”

“Yes.”

“And I don’t know much, really. My education was limited.”

“You know about plants?”

She nodded, glancing down at the dead plant before her. “You can’t teach a child about plants and expect them to do well in life.” She licked her lips and looked toward the door. “My English isn’t good–”

“Tosh! It’s fine.”

“–and I don’t know about England. I can’t teach her about Italia. I suppose I could teach her to speak Italian, maybe, but nothing else of value.
Signore
Lipold, I have nothing to offer her.” Her voice had risen toward the end of her spiel. She sounded desperate and afraid, two feelings she hated most.

Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So what’s keeping you from deciding?”

Uncertainty. Fear. Confusion. “Everything.” She snorted. An unladylike sound, but one she couldn’t help. “And nothing.”

“If it makes any difference, I would be delighted if you stayed.”

It didn’t make much of a difference—she was still lost—but Luciana supposed it was the thought that counted. She offered Jack a smile. “Thank you,
Signore
Lipold.”

“But, whatever you decide, I’m sure it will be the right decision.”

Luciana ripped the leaf in her hand into shreds and let the crumbs float to the floor. She changed the subject. The time for making her decision would come later. For now, she wanted to think on other things. “This place could use a good cleaning, couldn’t it?”

Jack glanced about the room and laughed. “You can say that. I don’t know why Reed ever added this place.”

“I’m glad he did.” Luciana put her hands on her hips. “Even the grandest houses in Viareggio never had anything like this.”

“You must miss it there.”

“I do.” Just how much she wasn’t willing to admit. “I’d give anything to be there again.” She cleared her throat. “But that’s not my reality now.”

He didn’t say anything. He only blinked.

“Do you think
Signora
Peters would lend me a bucket?”

Jack’s face broke into a grin, shrugging. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Twenty minutes later, Luciana obtained a bucket filled with warm, sudsy water and two rags. She was bent on washing some of the window panes while she still had the determination to do so. Jack offered to help, but she declined. The time alone would help her to think, process all of her options.

She started in the middle of the room. Rag pressed against the dirty window, she scrubbed hard. Dirt fell off in clumps onto the floor and stuck to the rag. She dipped it back into the bucket, wringing it out. A clear circle formed on the window where she washed. Through it, she could see out into the yard. Rain continued to pour, creating muddy puddles on the ground. She finished one pane and moved onto the next, working feverishly until her elbows began to throb.

Laughter filled the yard. She looked up from her bucket of dirty water. Esther stood in the rain, her head tilted toward the sky. She wore a pair of rubber boots that stretched up to her knees. The rain stained her blonde hair, turning it brown. It clung to the sides of her face. She shrieked and stamped her foot in a nearby puddle. Behind her, Brigette fisted her hands together, pressing them onto the sides of her face. Every time Esther jumped into another puddle, she winced, glancing over her shoulder toward the door.

Luciana tilted her head to the side. Esther reminded her of herself. What little she could remember of her childhood she had been as curious and vivacious as the young girl, if not more so. Maybe teaching Esther wouldn’t be as hard as she thought. It wouldn’t hurt to give it a try, right? She closed her eyes, sighing. She might fail miserably; she
would
fail miserably. But the idea of leaving Yellow Brook scared her. As much as she wanted to be, she knew she wasn’t ready to face the world on her own. Not in a world so different from Italy.

She would accept Reed’s offer come supper. All she had to do now was figure out how to thank him properly and prove to him she could take responsibility over his daughter.

Chapter 11

A
t long last, Peters rang the gong for supper. Reed wasn’t sure how he’d survived the day. Between waiting in suspense for Luciana’s answer and listening to Montgomery prattle, his brain might as well have leaked out of his ears. He was hungry and nervous, a combination that did not bode well for any man.

Rising from his chair, he cut Montgomery’s sentence short by sticking out his hand. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, nodding once for finality.

Montgomery’s mouth fell open, stunned. He stood slowly, wiping his hands on his pants. His brows knit together in confusion. “Thank you for your time, sir.”

Reed walked him to the door of his office. “You’re welcome. Until next time.” He ushered Montgomery out the door and closed it before the man could say another word.

Below, the gong sounded again. He ran his hand over his face. His beard scratched his palm. Glancing toward the mirror over the fireplace, he narrowed his eyes. Jack was right when he said that Reed looked a fright. His beard wasn’t a heavy one, but it was enough. Most men nowadays shaved twice to ward off the dreaded shadow. And then there was the hair. Reed turned away from the mirror and poured himself a shot of whiskey.

Why were his hands shaking? Why was his stomach in his throat?

The whiskey set fire to his insides, spurring him out of the room and down the stairs. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the marble floor. Fingers twitching at his sides, he entered the dining room and took his seat at the head of the table.

Reed waved Peters over from the far corner. “Where are Miss Renaldi and Esther?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know.”

Tardiness on both their parts. Reed was already beginning to regret offering Luciana the position. He’d regretted the offer since he made it, but now it appeared he had good reason.

“Shall I have Mrs. Peters go and fetch them?” Peters continued.

“No, you shouldn’t take her away from her work. Send Brigette.”

Peters bowed stiffly. “Yes, sir.”

Several moments passed. Reed drummed his fingers on the table-top, staring at the open door. Jack, sitting in his usual spot to Reed’s right, rooted around in his pocket. He withdrew a silver case.

“Mind if I smoke?” he asked.

Reed shook his head. “As long as you put it out when Esther comes in.”

“Certainly.” Jack pulled out a cigarette, tapped both sides on the table, then stuck it in his mouth. He leaned over the table, using the nearest candle to light it. He sat back down. “Reed, you look awful.”

“Thank you.” Reed smiled—it was a tight-lipped, sarcastic smile; the only one he could muster these days.

“I mean it. You look sick. What’s troubling you?”

“I’m wondering where on earth my daughter is, that’s all.”
And where Miss Renaldi is, too, but that’s none of my business.

“I think Brigette might have let her play in the rain earlier. She’s probably just washing up.”

Reed glanced out the window. The rain, once torrential, had settled into a light pitter-patter on the glass panes. It was soothing. Or it could have been soothing had he been able to focus on just that, instead of his missing daughter. It was irrational to be so worried. She was fine. She couldn’t be anywhere but in the house.