Responding to a curt order from Luke, a footman rushed to take the dog outside. Samson lumbered away with great reluctance, his head held so low that his tongue and ears nearly dragged the ground.
Emma was the first to speak. “What did you say to him?”
Miss Billings's blue-gray eyes swept over the girl, and she smiled faintly. “I reminded him of his manners.”
Warily Emma addressed the next question to her father. “Who is she?”
“Your governess.”
Emma's jaw dropped. “My
what
? But Papa, you didn't tell me—”
“I didn't know myself,” he said dryly.
Tasia's gaze swept over Stokehurst's daughter. Emma was a skinny, awkward girl just crossing the threshold of adolescence. Her curly hair was a carroty-red that would draw attention wherever she went. Tasia guessed that Emma was the victim of merciless teasing from other children. The hair would have been temptation enough, but she was also very tall—it was possible she would eventually reach six feet. Her shoulders slumped forward in an effort to conceal her height. The skirts of her frock were too short, and her nails were dirty. She had her father's beautiful sapphire eyes, but her lashes were auburn instead of black, and her face was spattered with golden freckles.
A tall, gray-haired woman approached them, her angular face wearing a no-nonsense expression. There was a huge ring of keys at her belt, the symbol of authority worn by every housekeeper.
“Mrs. Knaggs,” Stokehurst said, “this is the new governess, Miss Billings.”
The housekeeper's brows pinched together in a frown. “Indeed. A room must be prepared. I suppose the same as before?” Her tone implied that this latest governess would probably last no longer than the previous one.
“Whatever you think best, Mrs. Knaggs.” Stokehurst strode to his daughter and kissed the top of her head. “I have work to do,” he murmured. “We'll talk at supper.”
Emma nodded, her gaze fastened on Tasia while Stokehurst left them without another word.
“Miss Billings,” the housekeeper said briskly, “I shall direct someone to prepare a room for you. In the meantime you might like to sit with a cup of tea.”
A cup of tea had never sounded so inviting. It had been a long day, and Tasia hadn't yet recovered her strength since leaving Russia. She was exhausted. But she shook her head. At the moment it was more important to give her attention to Emma. “Actually I would rather tour the house. Would you take me around, Emma?”
“Yes, Miss Billings,” the girl said dutifully. “What would you like to see? There are forty bedrooms, and nearly as many sitting rooms. There are galleries, courtyards, the chapel…It would take a full day to show you everything.”
“For now, just show me what you think is important.”
“Yes, Miss Billings.”
As they wandered through the ground floor of the mansion, Tasia admired the beauty of the place. It was very different from the Ashbournes” fashionably cluttered Victiorian home with its heavy furniture. Southgate Hall was filled with clean white plasterwork and pale marble. Large glass windows and high ceilings made the rooms airy and bright. Most of the furniture was French, similar to what Tasia had been accustomed to in St. Petersburg.
At first Emma said very little, stealing frequent glances at Tasia. However, after they toured the music room and strolled through a long gallery filled with artwork, Emma's curiosity asserted itself. “How did Papa find you?” she asked. “He said nothing about bringing a governess for me today.”
Tasia paused to examine a pastoral scene by Boucher. It was one of many modern French works in the gallery, all of them chosen with a good eye for light and color. She dragged her attention from the painting as she replied. “I was staying with your friends, the Ashbournes. They kindly recommended me to your father.”
“I didn't like the last governess. She was very strict. She never wanted to talk about interesting things. Only books, books, books.”
“But books are very interesting.”
“I don't think so.” They continued to walk along the gallery at a slow pace. Emma stared at her openly now, her blue eyes quizzical. “None of my friends has a governess like you.”
“Oh?”
“You're young, and you have a strange way of talking. And you're very pretty.”
“So are you,” Tasia said softly.
Emma made a comical face. “
Me
? I'm a big, carrot-topped girl.”
Tasia smiled. “I always wished to be tall, so that when I walked into a room, everyone would think I was a queen. Only women with your height can be truly elegant.”
The girl blushed. “I've never heard that before.”
“And your hair is lovely,” Tasia continued. “Did you know that Cleopatra and the ladies of her court used to dye their hair with henna to make it red? It's quite a fortunate thing to have it naturally.”
Emma made a skeptical sound as they turned a corner. The next hallway was lined with glass windows that provided views of the gold and white ballroom. “Are you going to teach me how to behave like a lady?” she asked suddenly.
Tasia smiled, thinking that Emma had inherited her father's habit of springing blunt questions right in one's face. “It was mentioned to me that you required some advice on the subject,” she admitted.
“I don't see why anyone should have to be a lady. All those blasted rules and manners…I shan't be any good at it.” She screwed up her face comically.
Sternly Tasia willed herself not to laugh. It was the first time in months that something had tickled her sense of humor. “It's not difficult. It's almost like a game. I think you'll do very well at it.”
“I can't do anything well if I don't see a reason for it. Why does it matter if I eat with the wrong fork, as long as I am fed?”
“Do you want the philosophical reason, or the practical one?”
“Both.”
“Most people believe that without proper etiquette, all civilization would crumble. First go the manners, then morality, and then we should come to an end just as the decadent Romans did. More importantly, if you make an obvious faux pas after you've come out in society, it will embarrass you and your father, and make it very difficult for you to attract the attentions of honorable young men.”
“Oh.” Emma stared at her with increasing interest. “Were the Romans really decadent? I thought all they did was have wars and build roads and make long speeches about government.”
“Horrifyingly decadent,” Tasia assured her. “We'll read about them tomorrow, if you like.”
“All right.” Emma flashed her a smile. “Let's go to the kitchen. I want you to meet Mrs. Plunkett, the cook. She's my favorite person in the house, after Papa.”
They went through a narrow pantry with shelves of dry goods, and a pastry room outfitted with a marble table and every conceivable size of rolling pin. Emma took Tasia's arm and pulled her past several kitchen maids who regarded them curiously. “This is my new governess, and her name is Miss Billings,” Emma announced without stopping.
The kitchen was very large and filled with servants busily preparing supper. There was a long wooden table at the center of the room, overshadowed by low-hanging pots, pans, and copper molds. A stout woman stood there wielding a large knife, showing one of the cook maids how to chop carrots properly. “Mind you don't cut them too thick—” She stopped and smiled broadly as she caught sight of Emma. “Ah, here's my Emma, and she's brought one of her little friends to visit.”
“Mrs. Plunkett, this is Miss Billings,” Emma said, propping a leg on the seat of a wooden chair. “She's my new governess.”
“Bless my eyes,” the cook exclaimed. “It's time we had a new face around here, and such a pretty one at that. But look at you—no wider than a broomstick.” She reached for a platter heaped with pastries and pulled back the cloth that covered them. “Try one of these apple tarts, lamb, and tell me if the crust is too thick.”
As she looked at her, Tasia understood Emma's affection for the cook. Mrs. Plunkett had applecolored cheeks, merry brown eyes, and a warm, motherly presence. “Try it,” the cook encouraged, and Tasia reached for a tart.
Emma followed suit, choosing the largest one on the platter. She bit deeply into the pastry. “Splendid,” she said with her mouth full. She grinned at Tasia's reproving glance. “Oh, I know. It's not polite to talk while I'm eating. But I can do it so none of the food shows.” She shoved it to the side of her cheek. “See?”
Tasia was about to explain why it still wasn't proper when she saw Emma wink at Mrs. Plunkett. She couldn't help laughing, in spite of her efforts to maintain an air of dignity. “Emma, I fear there may come a day when you accidentally spray crumbs over some important guest.”
Emma's grin broadened. “That's it! I'll spit food all over Lady Harcourt the next time she comes to visit. Then we'll finally be rid of her. Can you imagine Papa's face?” Seeing Tasia's confusion, she explained. “Lady Harcourt is one of the women who want to marry Papa.”
“One of them?” Tasia asked. “How many are there?”
“Oh, practically everyone wants him. During our weekend parties, I eavesdrop on some of the ladies. You would scarcely believe the things they say! Usually I don't understand half of it, but—”
“Thank the Lord for that,” Mrs. Plunkett said heartily. “You know you shouldn't eavesdrop, Emma.”
“Well, he's
my
father. I have a right to know who's scheming to catch him. And Lady Harcourt is trying very hard. Before you know it they'll be married and I'll be on my way to boarding school.”
Mrs. Plunkett chuckled. “If your father were going to marry anyone, he'd have done it by now. There was no one for him but your mother, and I don't believe there ever will be.”
Emma frowned thoughtfully. “I wish I remembered more about her. Miss Billings, would you like to see my mother's portrait? It's in one of the upstairs parlors. She used to take her tea there.”
“Yes, I would like that,” Tasia said, taking a bite of apple tart. She wasn't hungry, but she forced herself to eat.
“You'll be very happy here,” the cook told her. “Lord Stokehurst provides a large housekeeping allowance, so nothing is rationed. We have all the butter we want, and ham every Sunday. And we've plenty of soap, eggs, and good tallow candles for our own use. When visitors come, we hear such stories from their servants. Some never have an egg in their lives! You're a lucky girl to be hired by Lord Stokehurst. But I expect you know that.”
Tasia nodded automatically. She couldn't help wondering how her own servants in Russia had been treated. A wave of guilt came over her as she realized that she had never given a thought to the quality of their food or asked if they had enough to eat. Surely her mother was generous with them—but there was a possibility that Marie might be too self-absorbed to see to their needs. None of them would ever dare ask for anything.
All at once she realized that Emma and Mrs. Plunkett were looking at her strangely.
“Your hand is shaking,” Emma said frankly. “Aren't you feeling well, Miss Billings?”
“You're very pale,” the cook added, her plump face concerned.
Carefully Tasia set down her tart. “I am a little tired,” she admitted.
“I'm sure your room is ready by now,” Emma said. “If you'd like, I'll take you there. We can finish our tour tomorrow.”
The cook wrapped the tart in a napkin and pressed it in Tasia's hands. “Take this, poor lamb. Later we'll send up a supper tray for you.”
“How kind you are.” Tasia smiled into her soft brown eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. Plunkett.”
The cook stared after the young woman as she left with Emma. There was silence in the kitchen until the doors closed. All the kitchen maids began to talk eagerly.
“Did you see her eyes? They're just like a cat's.”
“She's all bones. That dress was hanging off her.”
“And the way she talks…some of the words are all fuzzy-like.”
“I wish I talked like that,” one of them said wistfully. “It sounds pretty.”
Mrs. Plunkett chuckled and motioned for them to return to work. “Time for gossip later. Hannah, finish those carrots. And Polly, mind you keep stirring that sauce, or it will be nothing but lumps.”
Luke and Emma sat alone at the linen-covered dining table. The blaze in the marble fireplace cast a warm glow over the Flemish tapestries and the marble carvings on the walls. A servant came to fill Emma's glass with water and Luke's with French wine. The butler uncovered dishes at the sideboard and ladled a fragrant broth with truffles into shallow bowls.
Luke regarded his daughter with a smile. “It always worries me when you look so pleased, Emma. I hope you're not planning to torment the new governess as you did the last one.”
“Oh, not at all. She's much better than Miss Cawley.”
“Well,” he said casually, “I suppose anyone would be preferable to Miss Cawley.”
Emma giggled. “That's true. But I like Miss Billings.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You don't think she's too serious?”
“Oh, no. I can tell that underneath she wants to laugh.”
Luke thought of Miss Billings's implacable face. “Somehow I didn't have that impression of her,” he muttered.
“Miss Billings is going to teach me all about etiquette and propriety, and everything. She says we don't always have to study in the schoolroom upstairs. I can learn just as well if we take our books outside and read under a tree. We're going to read about the ancient Romans tomorrow, and after that we're to speak nothing but French until supper. I'm just warning you, Papa, because if you ask me something after four o'clock tomorrow, I shall be
compelled
to reply in a language you don't understand.”
He gave her a sardonic glance. “I speak French.”
“
Used
to,” Emma countered triumphantly. “Miss Billings says if a language isn't practiced frequently, one loses it in no time at all.”
Luke set down his spoon, wondering what kind of an act the governess was putting on for his daughter. Perhaps she was trying to befriend Emma so that when it came time to leave, she could use his daughter's feelings as a weapon against him. He didn't like it. Karen Billings had better watch her step carefully, or he would make her rue the day she was born. Only a month, he reminded himself, keeping his temper under tight rein. “Emma, don't become too attached to Miss Billings. She may not be with us for very long.”