Rules of Surrender (8 page)

From out on the lawn, Leila shrieked, ”Papa! Papa, is it time to eat yet?“

The elegant, menacing barbarian straightened and looked over the balustrade. ”It’s time,“ he bellowed back. ”Come before my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.“

Charlotte glared blindly at the white tablecloth, the four place settings, the goblets and the silver salt server. She didn’t see them; somehow Wynter had emblazoned himself on her vision, as if he were the sun and she had been staring without consideration to her safety or her vision. The children clattered up the stairs, breathless and laughing. She turned her gaze toward them, but still she saw their father’s image in Robbie’s boyish features, in Leila’s gamine grin. They slid into their chairs, one on either side of her, and stared at her guiltily.

Then Harris whipped out of the door with a basin of water and a cloth over his shoulder and knelt by Leila. ”Let’s clean ye up a bit before ye eat, young master and mistress.“

Guilty. Of course. They’d gotten dirty.

She looked down into her lap and saw the napkin, crumpled as if she’d twisted it. Why should the children feel guilty when their governess retrieved her napkin even before they were seated? An unprecedented breakdown of civilized behavior! And—she shot a glare at the still-smiling Wynter as he assisted Harris—it was all
his
fault.

She took the first deep breath she’d taken since she’d stepped on the terrace, and that breath quivered with outrage.

Wynter heard her, for he looked her way, and without pausing in his scrubbing of Robbie’s knuckles, said, ”Lady Miss Charlotte, you are short of breath. You must loosen your corset strings.“

Harris choked and turned a quivering crimson.

Charlotte stared straight at the man with her steeliest gaze.

Picking up the basin, he bowed, bowed again, and hastily vacated the terrace.

Matters did not soon improve.

Wynter seated himself across from her.

”Lady Miss Charlotte, why do you wear a corset?“ Robbie asked.

Charlotte struggled between her desire to answer any question the children posed to her, and propriety. ”A corset is a proper undergarment for a lady, but it is not proper conversation at the dinner table.“

”Why not?“ Leila asked.

Wynter leaned his elbow on the table, cupped his chin in his hand and stared at her. ”Yes, Lady Miss Charlotte, why not?“

Charlotte could see the servants hovering by the door, waiting to serve the meal, but she would not signal them to come. Not yet. ”Undergarments, both male and female, are not to be discussed with the opposite sex at any time, and“—she headed off Leila’s inevitable question—”with the same sex only in moments of extreme privacy.“

Leila smirked at Robbie. ”Ha, ha, she’s going to tell me about corsets and she’s not going to tell you.“

”That’s not fair!“ he said.

”That’s
enough
.“

The children quieted long enough for her to ring the bell at her elbow.

”Do not fret, my son,“ Wynter said. ”To tell you about this feminine instrument of torture will be your father’s privilege.“

Charlotte wanted to snap at him, but she held her tongue as a skinny footman approached, staggering under the weight of the heavy tureen. How arduous to remain serene as a maid carried a plate of steaming crumpets and another the individually formed pats of butter. They placed the food on the table, bobbed their courtesies and raced away, in a hurry to return to the kitchen, where Charlotte knew, Harris was regaling everyone with the tale of her corset.

As she lifted the lid of the tureen, the steam wafted across the table and Wynter inhaled audibly. ”Oxtail soup,“ he said. ”I love oxtail soup.“

The children imitated him, inhaling loudly and agreeing noisily.

Charlotte subdued a reprimand. She thought it difficult to tell your employer he was setting a bad example, especially when she’d already in essence reprimanded him for mentioning her… undergarments. She ladled the soup, a clear broth with noodles and a touch of sherry, into the bowls. ”My lord, would you start the crumpets around the table?“

”I’ll just give them one.“ With his fingers, he took a crumpet for each child and put it on their bread plate.

But that was not the end of his poor behavior. He would have reached across the table with Charlotte’s crumpet, too, but she held up her hand in rejection.

”Thank you, my lord, but if you pass me the plate, I will take my own.“

”Oo, Daddy, you made Lady Miss Charlotte angry,“ Leila said.

”Nonsense. Lady Miss Charlotte is far too much of a lady to be annoyed.“

Leila kicked the leg of the table until Charlotte laid her hand on the child’s leg and shook her head slightly. She reached for the soup spoon. She’d taught the children to watch her, and they, too, reached for their soup spoons. She lifted it and dipped it into the broth. They lifted theirs and dipped them into the broth.

And their father said, ”I like to break up the crumpets and drop them in and let them soak up the stock.“

The children stopped watching her and stared, round-eyed, as Wynter fit action to words.

”Can we do that?“ Robbie ventured.

”Of course!“ Wynter said. ”We do not have to be formal when it is just family.“

Did he challenge her on purpose? Or was he only lacking a sensible thought in his head? She didn’t care. She only knew that he’d flirted with her, he’d unsettled her, and now he was making her already Herculean task of civilizing these children even more difficult. And she didn’t know which sin bothered her most, but she did know it must end.

In her crispest upper-class accent, she said, ”Actually, my lord, I am forced to disagree. Family manners have their place, but only when the people employing them are able to exercise company manners when necessary. Robbie and Leila are not yet able to do so, so until they know without a doubt which fork to use, we always practice our company manners.“

Wynter leaned back and hooked one arm around the finial of his chair. ”You put too much value on company manners, Lady Miss Charlotte.“

His lounging infuriated her yet more. ”The value I place is no less than the value any other Englishperson of the aristocracy will place on them.“

Like spectators at a lawn tennis tournament, the children whipped their heads to him.

”The aristocracy also takes itself too seriously.“

”Be that as it may, this is the world which Robbie and Leila inhabit.“ Charlotte leaned forward and tapped the table with her finger. ”It is an unforgiving one and, my lord, one which will already look on them harshly because of their unorthodox background. Any unmannerly behavior will be noted and mocked by their peers, and this I know, my lord—their peers can be cruel.“

Now Wynter leaned forward, too, his eyes flashing. ”I will not allow anyone to mock them!“

”How will you stop it? Beat up other little boys like your son? Invade a debutante’s boudoir and forbid her laughter?“

”Papa, I don’t like this England. Can’t we go back home?“

Leila’s quivering voice recalled Charlotte to her senses. No matter how incensed she was, she had no right to pass her fear to these innocent children. Despite her own experience.

Taking Leila’s hand, she held it between her palms. ”Sweetheart, you’re going to be so unique, other girls will want to be you.“

Leila sniffed and attempted a wobbling smile.

But Robbie frowned as forbiddingly as his father, and Wynter…

Wynter sat with his arms crossed over his chest, glowering at her. ”This whole scene is your fault.“

Prudently, Charlotte placed Leila’s hand on the table and gave it a pat. ”I may have spoken unwisely, but you, sir—“

”I am reasonable. I am logical.“ His accent grew as strong as she’d ever heard it. ”I am a man.“

Charlotte had to take a breath before she could trust herself not to raise her voice. ”In my experience, gender has little to do with logic or reason.“

”Your experience! You have been nowhere.“

How cruel to disparage her for that! For the misfortunes that had made her life a dull and constant duty. ”You’re right, my lord. I bow to your wisdom. Tell us—how do men and women in other countries differ from the men and women in England?“

She thought he might try to mumble some nonsense about foreign women knowing their places, but instead he announced, ”You are insolent, Lady Miss Charlotte.“

He was wrong, he was immoderate and he was upsetting the children. And she, the lowly governess, was expected to bend to him. She would, of course. She always did, but heat blossomed on her chest and her face, and she knew her fair complexion had betrayed her fury. In as reasonable a voice as she could manage, she said, ”I have been hired to teach these children, and you are obstructing me. Unless we can reach some compromise—“

”I do not compromise,“ he stated flatly.

”Ah.“ Without volition, she shoved back her chair and tossed her napkin on the table. ”Then there is no reason for me to remain. I leave you to your supper. I wish you good fortune in finding a governess who suits your exacting standards.“

And in a move that Lady Ruskin would have admired, she twirled on her heel and stalked away.

CHAPTER 8

Charlotte made it to the stairway before she stopped, hand on the carved newel post. How was she going to explain this scene to Hannah and Pamela? She had lost her temper, her common sense, her equanimity because of one man and his… his… surliness.

It was not his charm which had so shaken her.

Not that it mattered. No matter what the provocation, she had never created a spectacle before. And in front of the children! If Miss Priss behaved in such a bellicose manner, they could certainly be excused for thinking they could.

Except they couldn’t. She had kept herself awake at night worrying how to successfully integrate these children into English society. Now she wouldn’t be there to guide them, and she’d set a bad example. She had betrayed the trust the children had put in her.

More, how could she have forgotten herself so much as to quit her desperately needed employment? She had tarnished her own sterling reputation. She had lied to Adorna when she had guaranteed she would succeed. She had lost the hundred pounds paid to the Governess School as a placement fee, putting her friends’ venture in peril.

With one hand, she clasped the post until the sharp edges pressed into her palm. The other she used to pull her handkerchief from her sleeve and swipe at her damp eyes. She hated knowing she had been a fool for any reason, but to be foolish over a man! Ah, that was the greatest humiliation.

The door from the terrace slammed so hard the windows quivered, and Charlotte stuffed her handkerchief away. Heels clattered lightly, hurrying along the wooden floor. Leila. Or Robbie. The thought of either of the children seeing her in this state started her up the stairs with what she hoped was commendable dignity. She wanted no one to see her crying.

But Leila called, ”Lady Miss Charlotte, come at once! You must come and see.“

Charlotte didn’t turn, but spoke over her shoulder. ”I can’t, Leila. I have to pack.“

Leila never had use for subtlety, and certainly could not comprehend the need for it now. She raced up the stairs and grabbed Charlotte’s hand. ”You must come! Now!“

Charlotte glanced at the child clinging to her. Hope and anxiety lit that thin face, and Charlotte’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to leave Leila. Leila was like a vine that needed support and training to one day be the centerpiece of the garden, and Charlotte knew no other governess could ever be as sensitive to the girl’s needs. She took a few steps down.

But she wouldn’t yield to that ape Wynter’s coercion. She stopped.

”Come on!“ Leila maintained a steady pressure, and for a small child, she had a powerful tow. Charlotte trailed behind, arguing with herself. She didn’t really want to quit, but how could she face Wynter? In the sunshine he could view her and know he’d made her cry.

The door loomed before her, the sunny terrace showed through the paned glass and Leila must have suspected Charlotte’s renewed reluctance, for she said again in an excited voice, ”Look!“

All right. Charlotte looked, then her chin raised defiantly.

There he sat, napkin in lap, chin jutting out, arms crossed across his chest, staring straight ahead. Impatiently, as if
she
were at fault, he demanded, ”Well, Miss Dalrumple? Are you done running away, or are you going to stay and teach us?“

She ruffled up, belligerent and defensive, taking umbrage immediately. Then what he’d said caught her attention.

Teach us.
Us.
With that one word, he indicated he was willing to do as she instructed, and she didn’t care if he pretended that scene was all her fault—any insult would be amply rewarded by having him under her domination.

And of course she would have employment, satisfy Adorna, save the Governess School and help the children. Those were the things that really mattered.

”Lady Miss Charlotte?“ Leila said in a small voice.

A very serious-looking Robbie was holding her chair. She took a moment to smooth Leila’s hair, then she seated herself with a smile. ”Thank you, Robbie.“

The servants that had been nowhere in sight a few moments ago appeared, and at her command removed the soup and brought a platter of cold, sliced roast beef surrounded by broiled mushroom caps, a basket of warm, yeasty-smelling finger rolls and a bowl of oat pudding. If anything, they bowed themselves away faster this time; if possible, the servants always disappeared when the master was glowering.

And Wynter
was
glowering. Obviously, and not surprisingly, it was up to Charlotte to act in an adult manner.

In her most civil tone, she said, ”My lord, since we didn’t know you would be dining with us, this is a plain supper, created with the children’s immature digestion and haphazard handling of silverware in mind.“

”I like plain food.“ Wynter sounded faintly sulky.

Leila whimpered. ”Daddy, are you still mad?“

He glanced at his daughter and saw the tears in her eyes. With visible effort, he changed his manner. ”Not at all! I was just telling Lady Miss Charlotte that I’m a simple man who has much missed plain English food.“