Nina Coombs Pykare (8 page)

Edwina turned toward the door where Constance already waited, hopping up and down in her eagerness.

“Wait.” Henrietta’s face was still wooden, but Edwina was pleased to hear some emotion in her voice, even though it was only annoyance. “I have to have my breakfast,” Henrietta complained.

Edwina shrugged. “Then I expect you’d better get your clothes on. There will be no more breakfasts served in the nursery. It’s not right to impose on Mrs. Simpson like that.”

There was another moment’s silence before Henrietta yielded. “Oh, very well,” she snapped. “But Papa won’t like it. He told us to listen to Aunt Leonore. She told us not to go downstairs. She told us more than once.”

Edwina swallowed another surge of anger. This was not the fault of the children. “That was before I came here,” she said evenly. “I am the governess. Your Papa means for me to take care of you now.”

It was obvious that Henrietta didn’t believe that, but she rose from the bed and put on her clothes with an expression of grim determination.

Shepherding the girls down the great staircase, Edwina tried to convince herself that she wasn’t worried about what she was doing. But she knew better. It was difficult to say what might result from going against Lady Leonore’s wishes in this matter. The lady did appear to have his lordship’s ear. But Edwina knew she’d have to risk it. She couldn’t in good conscience allow things to go on as they had.

They met no one and ate their breakfasts in peace, though she had a little trouble getting Constance to even think of eating, so eager was the child to get outside. Even Henrietta’s eyes seemed less bleak when they turned toward the sunlight streaming through the dusty dining hall windows.

They’d cleaned their plates and were pushing back their chairs when Simpson shuffled in and leaned over to whisper in Edwina’s ear, “The earl be wanting to see you in the library, miss. Right away.” Though she said no more than that, her toothy smile flashed an obvious I-told-you-so.

Edwina turned to the girls. “I’m going to talk to your papa for a few minutes. So I want you to go back to the nursery and study your lessons, the ones Miss McGovern set you before she left. When I get through with your papa, I’ll come upstairs for you and then we’ll go outside.”

Constance cast a wistful eye in the direction of the front door, but she went dutifully up the stairs. These girls were used to obeying, perhaps too used to it, Edwina thought ruefully.

* * * *

In his library Charles stood rigid by the hearth, his hands curled into fists as he tried to control the anger threatening to choke him. He hadn’t been this angry since he couldn’t remember when. This obstinate new governess was causing no end of problems.

He should have sent her away right off, as Leonore wanted. Still how could he do that? The girls were there. They needed attending to. And Leonore, in spite of all her sweet words to the contrary, was plainly not the sort to raise children. She could barely abide to have them in the same room with her, let alone devote her whole day to their care.

But why did the stubborn Miss Pierce have to bring them downstairs? When he’d first heard their childish voices, he’d almost expected to hear Catherine’s too, to hear her call to him to hurry, they were going out to play.

His orders had been clear and simple: the children did not come downstairs. Plainly Miss Pierce did not follow orders. Plainly Miss Pierce did as she pleased. She was the most aggravating chit, trying to run his life. She needed to learn who was master here.

* * * *

Edwina paused outside the library door. In bringing the girls downstairs she had only done what any decent human being would have done. She refused to feel guilty about it. But she still couldn’t help feeling anxious about this summons to the earl’s presence.

Well, she might as well get it over with. Though she was breathing hard, and under her shabby gown her knees had started a foolish trembling, she opened the door and stepped in. She was by nature, or perhaps necessity, a very practical person. Practicality demanded that she give way before her employer’s demands.

But she was also God-fearing. She could not possibly be party to what was being done to these innocent children. To practically imprison them in the nursery, to deny them access to fresh air and sunshine ...

The earl stood with his back to the door, gazing out a window that looked onto the castle courtyard. Even in her anxiety she noted that his coat, though somewhat shabby, still hugged his broad shoulders, showing the faultless fit London tailors prided themselves on. But were those shoulders rigid with anger? She was afraid so.

She cleared her throat. “Milord? Mrs. Simpson said you wished to see me?”

He swung around and glared at her imperiously. “Yes! I do!”

If previously she had thought of him as a commanding figure, now he actually seemed to tower over her and his eyes blazed. In confusion, she took a step backward. “Milord? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I heard the children in the hall.”

So that was it. He’d heard them. Well, boldness was her best defense. After all, she had done nothing wrong. Nothing at all. “Of course, milord. We came down to eat breakfast.”

“The children eat in the nursery,” he thundered, his face the picture of wrath.

“They did, milord,” she soothed. “Now they eat in the dining hall. Mrs. Simpson is too old to be lugging meals up the great stairs. Since there is no one else to do it, it’s far easier for us to come downstairs.”

“The children do not come downstairs,” his lordship replied sternly.

Ah, now they were getting to it. But she couldn’t give in. The knowledge that she was in the right lent strength to her voice, though her knees still felt a trifle unsteady. “Yes, milord. So they informed me. But I thought it some kind of error.” She pretended ignorance. “You see, I could not imagine why they should be so confined.”

He scowled at her. “They’re sickly. It’s dangerous for them to go outdoors.”

Had his tone gone a little defensive?

She pressed the point. “Of course the girls are sickly, milord. Living in this gloomy place is bound to make them sickly. And never getting outside ...” She shook her head.

“Lady Leonore thinks them safer in their own rooms. I agree with her.”

Edwina almost bit her tongue trying not to say what she was thinking. It would do no good to berate the man, to tell him what she thought of such reprehensible behavior. Or of his precious Lady Leonore. He was the one in authority here. She had to remember that.

She swallowed hard, fighting to keep her voice neutral. “With all due respect to the lady, milord, I doubt that she has much experience in raising children.” Edwina had no experience either, but she didn’t intend to let the earl know it.

He scowled. “I told you. I do not see the children. It’s too painful for me.”

She took a deep breath. “Yes, milord, and how do you suppose it is for them?”

He looked at her in surprise, as though he hadn’t considered that aspect of the matter at all. Indeed, from the expression on his face she believed he hadn’t.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“They’re afraid of you,” she told him. “Your own children are afraid of you. They think you’re angry with them. They think that’s why you refuse to see them. They think you’re angry because they have done something wrong, though they don’t know what it is.”

His scowl deepened. “Angry? What should I be angry about?”

Edwina raised an eyebrow. “They don’t know, milord. But they have lost their mother and now their father has abandoned them.” She chose the harsh words on purpose, hoping to reach through his grief, to make him think of someone beside himself.

He stared at her in amazement. “You’re being ridiculous,” he said sharply. “They cannot possibly think that. Why, I love them.”

She crossed the rug to stand before him. “Then show them your love, milord. Give them back some of the joy they knew when their mother was living.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes grew haunted. “You don’t understand. Things were very different then. We were a happy family. Catherine was a good mother. She enjoyed being with the children. So did I.”

“You must do things with them now,” Edwina insisted, pressing harder. “They need you, milord. They need your love. If you would just see them, talk to them ...”

“No!” He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I loved Catherine. Henrietta looks so like her. The constant reminder ...”

“You do not understand,” she said, hardening her heart against his obvious distress. “If you loved your wife as you say, you must know that she would want you to care for her children.”

A grimace of pain crossed his face. “I have been withdrawn,” he explained. “The sorrow, you see. I miss her so much. The way it happened ... I have not been myself.”

She suppressed an urge to put a comforting hand on his arm and said instead, “I can see that, milord. I can understand it, too. But your children cannot. They are too young. They only know that their father doesn’t want to see them. To them that means he’s angry with them, that he doesn’t love them.”

He glared at her so long that she braced herself for dismissal. He was going to throw her out. She was going to be without a home again. What was she going to do? Where was she going to go?

“You may leave me now,” he said finally, his voice curt.

“But, milord, your ...”

“Leave me,” he repeated harshly. “Now. We’ll discuss this later. Perhaps.”

She swallowed the words she wanted to say. It wouldn’t be wise to push him any further.

“Now!”

Hurriedly she started toward the door. “Yes, milord.”

She kept her tongue between her teeth and made her way out. If they were going to talk about it later, that meant he hadn’t dismissed her. Not yet at least. She sighed in relief. In fact, he hadn’t actually forbidden her to bring the girls downstairs. She pulled in a deep breath. So she’d go on doing that until he absolutely forbade it. She owed them that much. And maybe ...

* * * *

As the door closed behind her, Charles leaned back in his chair. Why on earth had he hired this aggravating chit? In one short day she had the entire place in uproar, his whole routine disrupted. She was too stubborn, too determined, to deal with logically. It looked like she would keep after him till she got her own way about this thing with the girls.

He propped his head on his hand and stared into the flames. Such disturbing things she’d said to him. Could she possibly be right? Could it be that his daughters were afraid of him, that they actually believed he was angry with them and didn’t love them?

It seemed impossible. But if it were true ...

Chapter Nine

Ten minutes after Edwina left the library, the girls came clattering down the stairs before her. Constance clutched an old ball she’d found in the corner of the schoolroom and she was actually skipping for joy. Even Henrietta, whose wooden expression had scarcely changed during breakfast, seemed to be moving with more eagerness now that they were really on their way outside.

Edwina glanced worriedly over her shoulder. In spite of her fine words to herself, she was nervous. If the earl came out of the library-- If he sent them back up the stairs, told them they couldn’t go outside-- If he actually forbade ... Constance would be heartbroken.

Edwina took herself in hand. She had made her decision to do what was best for the girls and she couldn’t spend all her time worrying about the earl. He had seemed frightening in his anger, but she hadn’t backed down, she hadn’t conceded that he was right. Of course that was because he wasn’t—he was dead wrong. And he had to be made to see it.

At the bottom of the stairs they met the viscount coming in from outside. From the look of his clothes he’d already been out for a morning ride. He smiled at her, that pleasant smile that had undoubtedly charmed many a London lady. “Good morning, Miss Pierce. You’re looking quite well this morning. Refreshingly so.”

“Thank you, milord.” If she looked well, it was because she had a full stomach—for the first time in years, though at the moment it was full of butterflies as well as food. “We’re on our way to play ball, milord. Out in the sunshine.” She cast another glance down the hall, almost expecting the earl to come out and thunder at them to get right back upstairs. But the door to the library remained blessedly closed.

The viscount looked at Constance and smiled. “I see that you’re very pleased about something. Will you tell me what it is?”

“Oh yes! We’re going out to play.”

The child’s eyes sparkled with happiness. Pray God, Edwina thought, that happiness would not be suddenly dashed.

Constance gave a little skip. “We have not been outside in so long,” she said. “I’m very glad Miss Pierce came to be our governess. It’s almost like having Mama back.”

Edwina felt the tears stinging behind her eyes. The child reminded her of herself when she first lost her mama, so alone and so eager to be loved.

Henrietta said nothing, but the viscount grinned cheerfully. “I, too, like Miss Pierce,” he said. “And I like to play ball.”

“You do?” Constance was obviously intrigued by this. “Papa used to like it, too.”

“Perhaps he will again,” Edwina suggested, almost holding her breath for fear the library door would burst open and he’d come out, refuting the lie.

Constance nodded happily. It was clear she had already come to believe in Edwina’s power to change things for the better. Pray God she would not be disappointed. “That would be nice,” Constance said. “But oh please, Miss Pierce, may we go out now? Please?”

Edwina smiled. “Yes, Constance. We’re going now.” The sooner they were outside, away from the library, the better.

This time the viscount turned to Edwina. “Miss Pierce, I have a favor to ask. May I join you in the courtyard?”

In her anxiety to get outdoors she found it impossible to deny him, especially as she could feel Constance tugging eagerly at her hand and her ears were ever alert for the opening of the library door. “Yes,” she said. “If you like.”

The viscount gave her a devilish grin. “I should like considerably, Miss Pierce. Life here is extremely dull. In spite of ghosts and curses, dull, dull, dull. You cannot imagine how dull, being here so long with only the earl and Lady Leonore for company. The earl has been lost in his grief and the lady ...” The viscount shrugged delicately in a motion that effectively dismissed the lady.