The Impossible Governess (18 page)

He said little else.  Marissa, on the other hand, merrily prattled on about the animals all the way home, fortunately covering the awkward silence that had settled upon the two thoughtful adults on either side of her.

Over the next several days, with preparations well underway for the ball, Georgeanne looked in vain for a repeat of the afternoon like the one they had spent at the Tower Menagerie with a carefree and playful Raynor, reminiscent of the gallant pillow fencer.  Although Marissa often referred to the outing, Georgeanne was inclined to wonder at times if it had really occurred.  They saw less and less of him, though Georgeanne and Marissa still had tea with Lady Ashbury every day. 

And
all too often to suit anyone, Olivia Cosgrove dropped by, seeking Raynor.  It seemed she, too, was finding it difficult to keep tabs on his lordship, although she went to great pains to hide this fact.  But on one afternoon her guard slipped while attempting to pry information from Lady Ashbury.

Marissa was passing around a plate of macaroons, which Olivia declined ever so sweetly. “No thank you, Marissa. It is your uncle who is so fond of them.”

“No, it is me,” replied the little girl with just a hint of peevishness.  “Uncle Tony likes those tiny cakes,” she added, pointing to a platter of petit fours.

“A lady never points, my dear,” Lady Ashbury gently reproved her gr
and niece, before reaching out to draw the child over to sit on the settee next to her.

“So you were expecting Anthony?” asked
Olivia, trying for a casual tone.

“Actually, we never know from one day to the next whether Lord Raynor will join us or not.”  Lady Ashbury’s manner, while always correct, was exce
ssively polite toward her guest. Also, Georgeanne noted, her ladyship had referred to her nephew’s title in contrast to Olivia’s insistent usage of his Christian name.  “I am afraid he does not share his schedule with me, no doubt because he values his privacy so much,” replied the older woman with a hint of irony in her tone.

“We all do, especially during the Season,” laughed Olivia nervously.  She knew better than to offend Raynor’s aunt, but still was unable to let the issue lie.  “It is only that I saw him last night at the Duchess of Beaufort’s party, and he indicated he had no particular plans for today.  I felt sure he would be home.”

When Lady Ashbury pointedly deigned not to give a reply, Georgeanne was glad for once to see the self-assured beauty’s nose out of joint.  Unseemly as it was of her, Georgeanne derived a great deal of satisfaction from Olivia Cosgrove’s discomfiture.  Her joy was short lived, however, for it was at this juncture that the elusive lord entered the room.

“Good afternoon, ladies.”  Raynor’s greeting was accompanied with an uncommon smile.  Since Marissa had remained by her great aunt on the settee, he took his niece’s vacated seat next to Georgeanne after declining a cup of tea in f
avor of a brandy, which he poured himself.

“I must say, Olivia, you are looking fit after last night’s tedious affair.”

Though slightly miffed that he had not taken a chair near her, Olivia radiated triumphant smugness when Raynor complimented her appearance.  “Really, Anthony, what can you be implying?  I am sure the Duchess of Beaufort’s dinner was everything it should have been.”

“You’re sure?” he quizzed her.  “I distinctly remember you chocking on a lobster pat
é, decrying it the vilest thing you’d eaten in an age.”

“How can you tease me so
?”  She let out a tinkling laugh though a slight flush graced her cheeks as she cut her eyes toward his aunt to gauge her reaction.   Lady Ashbury and the Duchess of Beaufort were reputed to be good friends, and the last thing Olivia wanted was to offend her hostess.  “The Duchess is known for her hospitality, just like your aunt.”

Georgeanne began to roll her eyes at Olivia
’s blatant toadying, but caught herself in time when Raynor turned to her with the corners of his mouth twitching—surely not to smile?

He gave Georgeanne his full attention.  “I wonder, Miss Forsythe, if you would be so complimentary, describing Agatha Beaufort’s party?”

Olivia tittered.  “A governess can hardly be any judge of such a
tonnish
affair.”

“How strange,” Georgeanne said, eying the obnoxious beauty as an equal, “for I do recall one ball given at Beaufort House during my Season, and you are correct, my lord.  Though a delightful woman, the Duchess has the appalling tendency to allow her Scottish ancestry to surface on such occasions.  To save a shilling here or there, she is known for purchasing delicacies as liver pat
é and certain seafoods from inferior merchants.  Needless to say, such critical foods, if not fresh, can be most hazardous to one’s health.” 

She let a merry laugh escape
. “Why, I recall one poor baronet who had not been forewarned of the Duchess’s frugality.  The poor man had eaten a goodly amount of shrimp and, before the evening was over, had to be carried home, looking positively green.   He did survive but vowed never to eat another morsel of food from the Duchess’s table again.”

“You see, Olivia, it is just as I said.  Eat only the beef.  As a good daughter of a Scottish laird, Agatha’s naturally a good beef eater and, stands to reason, won’t tolerate anything of inferior quality in that quarter.”

“You must have attended a good many parties during your come-out,” Olivia said glibly, unexpectedly turning on Georgeanne rather than answering Raynor.  “It is a shame you did not take and must now earn a living.”

“You misunderstand,” replied Georgeanne calmly.  “I received more than a fair share of offers and refused them all.”

“Oh come, Miss Forsythe, next you will tell us a duke offered for you,” the beauty shot back.

“No, never a duke, for they were all married at the time,” she answered, then promptly hid a smile behind her tea cup as Raynor choked on his brandy.

“Now you are being absurd.”  There was no misunderstanding the look of dislike with which Olivia Cosgrove favored her.

But Georgeanne had had enough verbal spa
rring with the spiteful woman.  “You may find fault with me where you will.  But the fact is, I have ever been the romantic and find the idea of a marriage for money or social position totally repugnant.”

“You are searching for the grand passion then?” asked Olivia, practically sneering.

Georgeanne sat back in her chair, her eyes never wavering under the blonde’s disdainful glare.  She had no intention of letting this she-cat have the last say.  Unfortunately, she was also aware of Raynor’s cool blue stare focused on her, making Georgeanne most uncomfortable.

“Scoff if you like, Lady Cosgrove,” she riposted quietly. “But I have seen little happiness where love does not flourish.”

When Olivia appeared ready to refute this, Raynor intervened, requesting Marissa serve her favorite uncle a macaroon. 

The child eagerly proffered the plate to him with a silly giggle.  “You can’t be my favorite uncle, Uncle Tony.

Raynor gave Marissa a puzzled expression.  “Why not?”

Marissa cocked her head and smiled.  “Because you’re my only uncle.”

“Does that mean I’m not a favorite person of yours, Marissa?” he asked with a wounded look.

“Oh no,” she quickly replied, “Georgie explained it all to me, about how you really do like me, even if you don’t know how to show it all the time.”

“Ah.”  Raynor nodded his head.  “Well, I shall be forever in your governess’s debt for going to such trouble on my behalf,” he said while eying Georgeanne speculatively, causing her to feel the heat of a blush mount her cheeks. 

No one thought it strange when Olivia decided to leave at precisely the same time as Raynor announced he was off to his club.  In point, once the door had closed upon the beauty, who exited clinging to his lordship’s arm, all three remaining ladies emitted a collective sigh.  Georgeanne glanced toward Lady Ashbury, and the two dissolved in laughter. 

“What’s so funny?” Marissa asked.  “Uncle Tony and Cousin Olivia always go places together.”  When neither her great aunt nor Georgeanne answered, she said, “That’s what Cousin Olivia told me.”

Sobering quickly on that thought, Georgeanne ventured to comment, “It does look as if Raynor is showing a partiality toward Lady Cosgrove.  I suppose that means he is ready to fix his interest?”

Pouring herself another cup of tea, the older lady observed Georgeanne pleating the serviette in her lap and gave delighted smile.  “Oh, I think not, my dear.  Why, I doubt he even likes her.”

“But they are seen everywhere together,” Georgeanne answered.

“He tolerates her purely as some sort of diversion, I fancy.  Actually,” Lady Ashbury continued with her brow creased in thought, “it is she who assumes the initiative, making sure they attend most of the same functions.  Even so, it all means nothing.”

Georgeanne let the subject drop, though somewhat reluctantly.  Whether what Lady Ashbury said was true or not, Georgeanne devoutly prayed it was so.

~~~~~

As Lady Ashbury’s ball drew nearer, the household staff picked up its pace, from the pot boy to the butler, all working frantically to have everything in readiness.  The townhouse fairly gleamed from top to bottom. 

A number of overnight guests were expected, mostly Lady Ashbury’s older friends for whom night travel was accounted too strenuous.  However, with the Season in full swing, the majority of guests were already situated in town.  Georgeanne saw to it that Marissa was involved in the preparations as much as possible.  On the morning of the ball, she allowed the child to help make up floral arrangements for the guest rooms.  Then together, they traipsed from room to room, giving each chamber a final inspection.

Soon after lunch, Hattie came bustling into the schoolroom.  “Quick as bunny now, Missy, get your hat and coat.  As I’m to look after you, we’ll go to the park for a bit of fun.”

“There’s no need for you to take Marissa out, Hattie,” protested Georgeanne. “She and I were about to practice her sums.  Besides, Bivens or the housekeeper will surely need you down stairs to help with last minute details.”

“Lady Ashbury, herself, sent me up.  She says you’re to rest, seeing as how it’s going to be such a late night,” explained the maid as she tied the blue ribbons of a chip straw bonnet under Marissa’s chin.  “Now, no arguments from you, Miss,” she added with a smile.  “And when I get back, I’m to help with your bath and dress you for the ball.”

Once she’d seen her little charge off, Georgeanne went to her room where she wrenched open the door of the armoire to run a judicious eye over the few dresses hanging neatly in the cavernous closet.  Hattie’s comment caused Georgeanne to recall there was not an appropriate ball gown among the lot.  All those exquisite gowns of soft silks and flowing crepes in a rainbow of colors that she had worn to past assemblies and dances were no more.  Most had been sold for pittance to provide food and other necessities during those bleak days with her old nurse, Morley, after her home had been auctioned.  She’d certainly never dreamed she’d have any use for those fancy garments while working as a governess.  Now, as she surveyed the meager selection, she automatically reached for the pale yellow silk gown which became her so well.

She sighed with resignation and brushed a hand over the front of the dress, smoothing out a wrinkle.  How grand it would be to have a new gown, she thought, recollecting how she used to think nothing of ordering a modiste to design a new dress for her, heedless of its cost.  Well, this one would have to do.  It could use a little sprucing up, a change of ribbons or the addition of a delicate lace at the sleeves and hem.  But alas, there was neither the time nor the funds to purchase any trimmings.  She hung it on the door of the wardrobe before dutifully laying down on top of the bed.

It had been a long time since she’d been to a ball as grand as this, and she found she was slightly unnerved by it.  This was different from filling in to even out the numbers for Lady Ashbury’s dinner parties. She had considered the older woman’s insistence that she attend as mere kindness.  Now she wondered if the dear lady had some other motive in mind, perhaps to attract the attentions of someone like Lord Townsend. 

Her thoughts drifted back to the pleasant memories of days long past, and she was soon comparing her old way of life with her present circumstances.  It struck her that she was just as content now as she had been then.  Oh, she missed her dear Papa, but as her wise old nurse was wont to say, life marches on whether you want it to or not. She had to admit this was true.

Though she was working for her livelihood, she was happy.  Her life had purpose, and she derived more satisfaction than she had ever thought possible taking care of her little charge.  Of course, her dream was to have children of her own to care for and teach.  Maybe someday she’d be fortunate enough to meet an enterprising young man whom she could love, and together they would build a life and family. 

Unbidden, the handsome countenance of Raynor intruded this picture, which Georgeanne frantically tried to eject to no avail.  Worst still, a hollowness, a terrible sense of loss, overcame her.  Flipping over on her stomach, she pummeled her pillow, angry with the moisture dampening the pillow case.  It was silly of her to waste so much as a single tear for something that could never be.  After a while, she turned on her side and curled
up, resigning herself to the improbability of napping while her mind persisted on dwelling on her haughty employer.