Virtue of a Governess (37 page)

“No, my lord.” She drew in a breath. She had not expected such a question. “Sadly, I did not inherit my father’s artistic talent, but I have my mother’s enquiring mind and her interest in history and politics.”

“Politics?” He stared at her rather long, and she wished again that she’d had time to tidy herself. “We shall see how you get on. The rest of the day is your own. We will discuss your duties in the library tomorrow at ten. Mrs. Royce, my housekeeper, will show you to your room.” With an abstracted glance at his desk, he rose and went to pull the bell.

The mahogany desktop was completely covered with pens and papers, a microscope, a probe of some kind, a set of long-handled tweezers, a large magnifying glass and a small hand-held one, tomes stacked one on top of the other in danger of toppling, and the butterfly in its glass prison, its beautiful wings pinned down, never to soar again. Caught by its beauty and premature death, Keats’s poem
Ode to a Grecian Urn
, rushed into her head. “Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought…As doth eternity
.
”

The viscount swiveled, and his eyebrows shot up. “Pardon?”

Vanessa jumped to her feet as heat flooded her cheeks. She’d said the words aloud. She must have had too much sun. “Keats, my lord.”

“Are you a devotee of the Romantics?”

“Not especially.” Annoyed with herself and, irrationally, with him for pursuing it, she said, “Forgive me, it was a random thought.”

He folded his arms and studied her. “You are given to spouting random philosophical thoughts?”

She tugged at her damp collar. “Not usually. I’m a little tired, and it’s been so hot.” Hastening to change the subject, she stepped over to the wall covered in framed butterflies of all sizes and colors. One particular specimen caught her eye. “Exquisite.”

She felt his presence disturbingly close behind her. “Which?”

She pointed. “This one, with patches of crimson and deep blue on its wings.”

“You have a good eye. That’s a
Nymphalidae
from Peru. Do you know much about butterflies?” She looked at him, finding his blue eyes had brightened.

“Very little, I’m afraid,” she said, aware her contribution to this discussion would prove disappointing. “We get many orange ones with black spots in Cornwall.”

“Dark green Fritillary.” The interested light in his eyes faded.

“That can’t be. They’re orange,” she said.

“That is their name, dark green Fritillary.”

“Why would they call it dark green when …?” Her voice died away at the impatience in his face.

“That species is common and of little interest.” He studied her. “Unless you took notice of some interesting aspect of their habitats?”

“No, not precisely, my lord … uh, they seemed to gather in trees and grasses ….” She nipped at her lip with her teeth, as he nodded and turned away. Would a governess be required to know much about butterflies or botany? Beyond Cornwall, her knowledge of flora and fauna was barely worthy of comment.

A woman entered the room, her neat figure garbed in black bombazine, with a lacy cap over her brown hair and a watch pinned to her breast. A large bunch of keys jangled at her waist. Vanessa thought her to be in her early-forties. She had a pointed nose and sharp eyes that looked like they would miss little.

“Ah. Mrs. Royce, this is the new governess, Miss Ashley. Please give her a tour of the day nursery and school room and introduce my daughter to her before you take her to her quarters.”

“Yes, milord.”

“Miss Ashley.” His lordship nodded. “I shall see you here again at ten o’clock tomorrow. We’ll discuss your plans for teaching my daughter. I’m extremely keen that she becomes proficient in mathematics, the French language, and botany.”

“Botany, my lord?” Vanessa’s fears were realized. Completely unprepared, she looked around wildly at the books lining his shelves. Might she have time to bone up on it? She read some knowledge of her discomfort in his eyes and lifted her chin. “Surely English and history are equally as important?”

“That goes without saying.” He turned back to his desk. “Tomorrow at ten.”

Summarily dismissed, Vanessa followed the housekeeper along the corridor. Did she catch a satisfied gleam in his eye before he turned away? Her mind filled with questions. Was it going to be difficult to work for him? Might it be why governesses did not stay long here?

Mrs. Royce glanced at Vanessa’s wrinkled gown and scuffed shoes. “You’ll be suffering from the heat, I expect. We’ve had the devil of a summer.” Without waiting for a reply, she opened the day nursery door as a young maid jumped up. She dropped her sewing as she bobbed.

“This is the nursery maid. Agnes.”

Vanessa greeted the maid as Mrs. Royce approached the child who hadn’t acknowledged their presence. “Miss Blythe, this is Miss Ashley, your new governess.”

Blythe looked up from where she knelt beside a doll’s house with the distant expression of someone woken suddenly. A ragdoll with a china face lay in a tumbled heap beside her. Slender brows frowned at the intrusion, reminding Vanessa of her father. She climbed to her feet.

“Please to meet you, Miss Blythe.” Vanessa smiled and stretched out her hand. “I’ve so looked forward to this moment.”

“How do you do?” Blythe said politely. Blythe slipped her little hand into Vanessa’s and, after the merest touch, withdrew it. She had inherited the black hair and blue eyes of her father, and his height; at ten, Blythe almost reached Mrs. Royce’s shoulder.

“It’s almost time for afternoon tea,” Mrs. Royce said. “I’ll take you to your room, Miss Ashley.”

The housekeeper shut the nursery door and led Vanessa down the corridor.

Her new charge seemed quite subdued. Vanessa wondered if the girl spent much time shut up in the day nursery with the maid. She planned to change that immediately. A child should be outside in the fresh air in the cooler part of the day. Vanessa had spied a lovely shady folly through the trees, like some ancient relic from the past. She hurried to catch Mrs. Royce, who was walking briskly along the corridor.

They climbed up a narrow stairway.

“How many on the staff here?” Vanessa asked to break the silence.

“Twenty house staff. Dorcas is the head maid. The butler is away at present.”

“I didn’t see a footman.”

Mrs. Royce firmed her lips. “We have none.” She stopped and threw open a door. “This is the schoolroom.”

It was a good-sized attic room with comfortable chairs, a table, a child’s desk, and a slate blackboard on a stand. “Excellent,” Vanessa said with satisfaction.

At the end of the corridor was Vanessa’s bedroom, its sloping walls covered in a daisy-patterned paper and hung with pressed flowers in frames. The white-painted iron bed had a floral coverlet, and a writing desk stood beside it. An upholstered chair was placed near the fireplace, which had a wide shelf above the mantel where Vanessa could put the few things she’d brought with her. A rug covered the floorboards. The small room looked snug. Surprised at her good fortune, Vanessa said, “How nice. I shall feel very much at home here.” The curtains were closed, and the room stuffy. She crossed to the window and drew them back, looking down over verdant lawns and trees to the picturesque folly. Its circular roof was supported by decorative round columns, and it overlooked an ornamental lake.

“I do hope so.” Mrs. Royce firmed her lips. “Blythe needs stability.”

Had she lacked it thus far? Unsure how to reply, Vanessa found she wasn’t required to, for Mrs. Royce, who appeared to be a woman of few words, already stood at the door. She gestured. “We have all modern plumbing here. There’s a lavatory and bathroom for your use on this floor. Tea will be brought to your room at four. From tomorrow, you shall take it in the schoolroom with Miss Blythe.”

As soon as the door closed behind the housekeeper, Vanessa rushed to open the window. A sultry breeze wafted in, but she relished the light and the fresh air.

In the bathroom, she found the bathtub had a mahogany surround, and hot and cold water issued forth from a noisy gas geyser. Delighted, Vanessa resisted the urge to bathe and made do by washing her hands. She looked into the mirror and cringed when she spied the dark smudge on her nose. Her eyes went large with alarm. What had the viscount thought of her! She scrubbed her face with a washcloth until it glowed and sponged her hot neck with cool water.

Her trunk had arrived while she was in the bathroom. Having recently discarded her mourning clothes, she changed into a fresh grey skirt and white blouse, cinching it in with a wide belt. After tidying her hair, she dabbed on a little lily of the valley scent, adding some to her handkerchief.

She removed her few precious possessions from the trunk, arranging her pearl-handled brush and comb set on the dresser, beside her mother’s miniature, wrought by her father’s hand with love in each stroke of his brush. Gazing at it brought tears to her eyes. She dabbed at them with her handkerchief then bent over the trunk to take out her father’s books on art and her mother’s history books, along with her own. She arranged them on the shelf, adding the pretty shells she’d gathered from the Cornish shore.

Having unpacked her few gowns and underthings, she sank onto the bed. It was still hard to believe her comfortable life by the seaside was gone. That it had come to this, a servant in another man’s house. Her parents would not have approved, but what choice did she have? Her mother had been an educated woman with an interest in politics. She had joined with many like-minded people in her fight for women’s rights. She had been sought by politicians and reformers alike. Women had crowded into the parlor for meetings. Her father felt less passion for her mother’s causes. He would cast them a fond smile before disappearing into his studio to paint.

The tea tray arrived soon after a bell pealed through the house. Feather-light, fluffy scones with plum jam and a wedge of fruitcake accompanied the pot of tea. She savored the last drops of a good, strong cup and poured another. Every crumb consumed, she felt much livelier afterwards.

Vanessa slipped out to explore the enormous house. She passed room upon room with curtains drawn. On the ground floor, she walked through a doorway into a burst of sunlight and blinked, finding herself in a conservatory, a long glass room on the sunny southern side of the house.

A scream chilled her blood.

Heart pounding, Vanessa hurried forward. In amongst large tubs of bright orange cumquats, a table was laden with delectable treats. Blythe sat alone nibbling a piece of iced cake and swinging her legs.

“What was that unearthly scream?” Vanessa asked, gazing around. The answer to her question came from a gilded birdcage. A large brightly plumaged bird sat on a perch and called again.

“That’s the macaw Father brought back from South America,” Blythe said.

Vanessa went over to the cage. With a crimson breast, bright blue and green feathers, and a decidedly beady eye, the bird was truly magnificent. It turned its head to study her. “Might it want something?”

“It would like some nuts I expect.”

As Vanessa had no nuts to offer it, she returned to the table. “I’ve been exploring.”

Blythe nodded.

“You have a lovely house.”

“Thank you.” The child turned her attention to her glass of milk.

“It’s nice to sit in the sun, isn’t it?” Vanessa said, hoping to draw the child into conversation.

“I suppose it is.” Blythe gave her a quick glance. “I’m taking tea with my father.”

“Is this a special occasion?”

“Yes, we don’t do it often.”

Feeling like an intruder, Vanessa turned to go.

The contrast of this room with the rest of the house was stark. The sun touched the glossy leaves of the potted plants, turning them vivid green, and the air smelled of earth and fragrant orchids. Outside, a bluebottle batted in vain against the glass. Vanessa might have entered a tropical forest. She couldn’t help searching the cathedral glass ceiling for butterflies and smiled wryly as she turned to go.

“You find something amusing?”

Lord Falconbridge stepped through the door. She hadn’t expected to see him until their appointment tomorrow. He had removed his glasses and now wore a marine blue coat with a striped cravat at his throat.

“Do sit down, Miss Ashley.”

“No thank you, my lord. I’ve had my tea.” She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, hoping he’d dismiss her so she could continue her reconnoiter of the house.

He pulled out a chair for her. “If you don’t sit, I shall have to remain standing, and I wish to have my tea.”

“Thank you.” She sank onto the chair he’d offered her.

He sat next to his daughter and leaned back, crossing one long leg over the other. The bright light revealed lines at the corners of his eyes, probably from his time spent in a hot climate. She dropped her gaze, aware that his lordship’s intense blue eyes searched her face with more interest now than they had on their first meeting. It was so concentrated a gaze that her fingers curled, and she resisted straightening her collar. She could only be glad she’d dealt with that smudge.