The Impossible Governess (13 page)

“I know how to be quiet,” Marissa volunteered hopefully.

Georgeanne smiled.  “Yes, I know you do, dear.”  Studying the cherub features of the five year old, Georgeanne considered how unfair life had been already to her charge.  If it were in her power, she’d grant every one of Marissa’s wishes.  In the next instant, she said, “Marissa, you did say that you could be very quiet?”

Yellow curls were set in motion as Marissa emphatically nodded her head several times.

“Suppose we convince Hattie to take you down to the landing on the stairs above the hall, will you promise to be as still as a mouse?  That way, you could see the pretty gowns the ladies are wearing when they arrive.”

“Oh yes, Georgie,” Marissa breathed.  Then she bounced up and down on the bed, her face split into a wide grin.  “And Hattie will do whatever you say.”

“What’s all this about, Missy?” asked the chubby maid from the doorway.

“Georgie said I can watch the ladies downstairs.”

“Ooh, now, Miss, I don’t know about that.  Marissa’s uncle’s sure to raise a fuss if he gets wind of it,” Hattie was quick to point out. "Especially after today.”

“Then we will just see that he is not made aware of it, Hattie,” Georgeanne said.  “Besides, Marissa has promised to return when you say.”

“You have to do it, Hattie,” Marissa declared smugly, “’cause Georgie said so.”

“I will go down with you so you need not worry,” added Georgeanne in an encouraging tone.

Hattie’s sigh announced her capitulation.  “Very well, Miss.”

With Hattie’s aid, Georgeanne put the finishing touches on her coiffure, pulling several strands of hair loose to frame her face and slipping on the pearl necklace and eardrops. 

With the puppy following on their heels, the threesome traversed the corridors and stairs until they came to the railing overlooking the central hall.  While Hattie hung back in the shadows, Georgeanne knelt down beside Marissa, who picked up a squirming Rosie and peered between two spokes overlooking the black and white checked marble foyer.

Peering over the banister, Georgeanne saw Raynor and Lady Ashbury positioned by the front door, busy welcoming their guests.  Raynor appeared exceedingly handsome with his almost black hair giving sharp contrast to his pristine cravat and white satin waistcoat.  The form fitting claw hammer black jacket and gray trousers emphasized his athletic physique.  In contrast, Marissa’s great aunt was dressed in violet crepe trimmed with yards and yards of lace.  With a matching turban with two white ostrich plums crowning her white locks, Lady Ashbury presented the perfect foil for Raynor.

Glancing down, Georgeanne saw Marissa jut her little face between the spokes, eyeing the elegant toilettes of the ladies, many escorted by gentlemen just as exquisite as they shared a few word with their hosts.  So engrossed was Marissa that she didn’t seem to notice her hold slipping on the cocker spaniel.  Before Georgeanne could caution Marissa, a rather rotund gentleman greeting Raynor barked a laugh, and Rosie suddenly twisted her furry body, breaking free of Marissa’s grasp.  The puppy took off down the stairs and disappeared from sight, running into the library.

“Merciful heavens, Marissa,” whispered a frantic Hattie.  “We’re in for it now, make no mistake.”

“I didn’t mean to let her go, Georgie,” Marissa pleaded, her huge doe eyes glistening with tears.

“No, I am sure you didn’t, dear,” Georgeanne said.  “But your uncle might not see it that way.   Maybe one of the footmen will see Rosie and whisk her away before anyone spots her.  Come on, Marissa,” she added, grabbing the little girl’s hand.  “If we hurry, we’ll be upstairs before anyone’s the wiser.”

A short while later, after unsuccessfully checking for Rosie in the library and several other rooms, Georgeanne entered the drawing room, now worried about how the guests would greet her.  She was neither a guest nor a relative, but an interloper, stuck somewhere between the hierarchy of servants and masters.  She soon realized that her worry over her status was for naught.  Lady Ashbury’s friends were a mixture of young and old, and all accepted her presence without comment.  Will Townsend was there anticipating her arrival and came to her side immediately.

“Miss Forsythe, you look lovely tonight,” he said, warm appreciation apparent in his eyes.

“Why, my lord,” Georgeanne replied with a teasing smile, “you have failed to make me a pretty leg.”

The reference to that gentleman’s quixotic gallantry every day when he greeted Georgeanne and Marissa at the bottom of the stairs brought a smile to his handsome countenance.  “Quite right you are.”

The mischievous look he threw her was warning enough for Georgeanne to reach out and grab his sleeve, thus preventing him from making an exaggerated bow.  But before she could say anything, Raynor was beside her with his frowning brow and angry eyes locked on her hand gripping Townsend’s arm.

“Guests in my home don’t expect to be mauled, Miss Forsythe,” he said before turning to his friend.  “Yet, by the young lady’s stricken expression, Will, I can only assume you have been behaving badly.”

“Now there you’re out, Tony,” Townsend replied with a hearty laugh.  “Fact is, I’m trying to show the proper respect due a lovely lady.”

“Really?”  A dark eyebrow quirked suspiciously.  “One would hardly think that would cause the lady’s consternation.”

At that precise moment, Bivens announced dinner, drawing this lordship’s attention, and Georgeanne made good her escape, releasing Townsend and ducking around a nearby couple, hiding from Raynor’s view.

Though the meal was a long affair, Georgeanne was able to relax and enjoy the turtle soup, succulent orange glazed goose, poached salmon steaks, veal and numerous side dishes.  With an elderly gentleman on either side, she had only to take turns listening to their soliloquies, one lamenting the deteriorating condition of Mad King George, the other critiquing the Prince Regent’s flamboyant lifestyle.  Thus, she had plenty of opportunities to glance about the table and was somewhat surprised to find Lady Olivia Cosgrove noticeably absent.  For this, Georgeanne was truly grateful.

Raynor, she saw, was quite the congenial host, paying attention to both his dinner partners.  Lady Bettencourt, an elderly obese dowager, persisted in bending his lordship’s ear about her sister’s young and very eligible daughter.  When the chance arose, the attractive matron on his other side chatted about the theater.  His smile, warm and encouraging, was evident throughout the meal, and Georgeanne couldn’t help but wonder where the dour, reticent peer was who usually appeared at tea.

When the ladies adjourned to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port and cigars, Georgeanne found a chair that was not too close to the pianoforte.  The gentlemen soon sauntered in, most looking about for comfortable seating where they could unobtrusively doze during t
he ensuing concert.  Georgeanne, who had been congenially chatting with a young married woman, somehow found herself alone with Townsend. 

Just before the Italian soprano was introduced, from across the room Georgeanne’s eye caught a movement under the settee.  When Lady Bettencourt, the matron of impressive proportions, sank down on the blue silk damask couch, her voluminous skirts and petticoats ballooned around her, obscuring Georgeanne’s view of the naughty cocker spaniel.  Thinking it better not to bring attention to puppy, Georgeanne folded her hands demurely in her lap, more in a prayer than anticipation of the singer.

When the soprano began winding up her first aria, Georgeanne noticed Rosie’s rustic snout poking out, chewing and pulling on Lady Bettencourt’s petticoats.  The dowager shifted her legs several times, then finally reached down and grabbed a fistful of taffeta and muslin and gave them a good yank.  To Georgeanne’s horror, the teething pup gave a playful growl and rose on all fours to vigorously attack the yards of white muslin petticoats.

Alas, a growl is a growl.  Georgeanne inwardly cringed when the dowager jumped up from the settee, screeching like a banshee, rivaling the soprano’s last resounding note.  With eyes wide-open as saucers, Georgeanne watched helplessly.  The dowager ruthlessly pulled on her purple taffeta flounces and dragged Rosie out from under the settee.  Obviously enjoying the tug-of-war, the cocker spaniel began darting between the display of two unseemly pudgy limbs.  With more playful growls, Rosie clamped on to the tearing fabric.  Lady Bettencourt grabbed a fistful of taffeta and swung
up and around.  As a satin flounce tore loose, the puppy, eyes showing white and teeth clenching tenaciously to the fabric, sailed through the air.

Hoping to nab the silly creature, Georgeanne rose from her chair and moved closer.  But Raynor rushed past her to the panic stricken dowager as she lost her balance.  He barely managed to prevent the large woman from crashing to the floor.  With outstretched arms, he took the full impact of her fall, staggering under her more than considerable weight.  Nonetheless, he managed to remain standing.

“Oh, that is impressive!” observed Georgeanne, awestruck by his lordship’s prowess.

“Indeed,” Will, one step behind her, concurred in a suspiciously shaky voice.

“Lay you a monkey she topples?” said one elderly gentleman turning to another.

Meeting Townsend’s laughing eyes, Georgeanne was hard pressed not to break out in whoops and quickly resorted to her fan to hide a grin.  She looked at Raynor.  His countenance had turned a ruddy hue, whether from the exertion of keeping the huge dowager on her feet or anger over her spontaneous comment she could not tell.  Quickly, she busied herself with the job of snagging Rosie.  The frisky pup was jumping in and out from under the Lady Bettencourt’s skirts, snapping and barking.  Georgeanne was the only one with the presence of mind to grab the pooch and remove it from the room.

Out in the hall, she beckoned to one of the footmen who’d gathered to catch a glimpse of the commotion.  She shoved the wigging little cocker at him, then returned to the scene to find some order had been restored.  Guests offered their sympathies to Lady Bettencourt, now prostrate on the settee while Lady Ashbury waved burnt feathers under the dowager’s nose, even as a number of gentlemen worked at maintaining straight faces.  Raynor was the only one who was not having any trouble manifesting a humorless expression.

Georgeanne watched in despair as the party broke up.  Within minutes, Will Townsend was the last party goer who remained.  And he had Lady Ashbury in stitches, irreverently describing the debacle, including an exaggerated description of his friend’s Herculean strength.

“No easy feat, to be sure,” Townsend repeated, shaking his head in wonderment.

By now, Georgeanne had join
ed the two, hoping there was safety in numbers.  She glanced at Lady Ashbury and both broke into peals of laughter.

“With no thought to his won safety,” Townsend continued in an awed voice, “Tony rushed in to save Lady Bettencourt, completely unaware that a dragon was attacking her.  Ferocious the beast was, too.”

“Oh, do stop,” cried Georgeanne between gurgles of merriment.  “We really should not make fun of the dowager.  The poor dear was truly frightened.”

“Indeed,” came Raynor’s sour comment from where he stood by the fireplace, listening to Townsend rehash the event.  “It never should have happened.  How did the dog get loose, Miss Forsythe?”

“I am sure there is a logical explanation,” replied Lady Ashbury, sparing Georgeanne from responding.  “It was unfortunate.  But it is late, Anthony.  The answers can wait until tomorrow.”

This had the effect of speeding Townsend on his way, and Georgeanne headed for the stairs along with Lady Ashbury when Raynor called out,” One minute more of your time, Miss Forsythe.”

With a commiserating glance from his aunt, Georgeanne turned and followed Raynor back to the drawing room.  The clicking of his black shoes upon the marble tiles drew her eyes to his feet, then up his calves.  His long strides allowed her to observe the outline of his muscular thighs.  As her eyes traced the lines of his form fitting jacket, she felt the heat rise to her face.

Inside the drawing room, Raynor came directly to the point.  “Can you explain why that puppy was under the settee?”

“Well, not specifically, my lord,” she hedged, as her eyes focused on his scowling brow. “But I am sure it was an accident.”

“What was an accident?”

Georgeanne caught her lower lip between her teeth, trying to decide just what to say.

“Miss Forsythe, you are trying my patience.”

Georgeanne blinked.  Did he really think he was exercising patience?  “Very well,” she said, taking a deep breath and standing taller.  “Marissa sounded so wistful earlier about seeing all the pretty ladies at the party that I gave her permission to watch the guests arrive from the first floor landing.”

When she wasn’t more forthcoming, he pressed, “And the puppy?”

“You know Marissa is very attached to Rosie and takes her everywhere.  Anyway, the cocker managed to slip out of Marissa’s arms.”

“I see.”  Raynor did, actually.  He remembered sneaking down with his older brother
Alister to that very same landing to observe their parents when they hosted balls and elegant dinners.  He could certainly understand Marissa’s curiosity.  It was Miss Forsythe, aiding and abetting the five year old, he couldn’t fathom.  All the governesses he’d been acquainted with had always discouraged such behavior.  Still, the deed itself wasn’t so very terrible.  It was the puppy that had caused all the commotion.  “From here on out, Rosie will be kept in the mews since the animal can’t be controlled.”