The Impossible Governess (3 page)

Georgeanne hesitated only a moment, then fell in behind the maid, thinking it would behoove her to go after her new charge.  When she arrived at the school room door, she halted.  Marissa was in a frenzy, racing around the room, tossing her toys about and repeatedly murmuring, “She won’t stay.  She won’t stay.”

Squaring her shoulders, Georgeanne marched up to the little girl and called out her name.  Marissa ignored her and continued her chanting.  To stop her, Georgeanne grabbed one small forearm and knelt down.

“Listen to me, Marissa,” she said.  When Marissa reared back with a doll in her hand raised over her curly blond head, Georgeanne reached out and snatched the missile from her and repeated, “Listen, Marissa.”

But the little girl refused to listen.  Instead, she pulled away and picked up a wooden toy soldier that was quickly followed by a corn husk doll, a tin sailboat, and a ball—all of which Georgeanne confiscated.

Losing her patience, which was always in short supply, Georgeanne’s fiery temper ignited.  She rose slowly from the floor and tossed the armful of toys over her head.  When Marissa reacted by screeching at the top of her lungs, Georgeanne ordered Hattie to follow her out of the schoolroom.

Once the reluctant maid joined Georgeanne in the hall, she pulled the door firmly shut, crossed her arms under her bosom, and leaned against the wall.  Hattie, on the other hand, stood wide-eyed with her mouth agape.

“You can’t mean to leave her be, Miss?” the young maid asked, her tone accusing.  Baffled by the governess’s attitude, she wasn’t sure how to react. 

“I most certainly do,” Georgeanne said emphatically.  “I have no intention of allowing myself to be used as a target.”

“If you say so, Miss.  But what if she don’t quit?”

“Oh, she will stop,” she replied confidently.  Moments later, Georgeanne smiled.  “Listen.”

Sure enough, Marissa had ceased yelling. No longer could they hear crashes or thuds or objects being thrown about the room.  Easing the door open, Hattie peered in before swinging the door wide.  There on the floor by the toy box sat Marissa, sullen with tear stained cheeks, cuddling a much abused rag doll.

“Well, I’ll be.  Ain’t you something,” cooed the much impressed nursery maid with a look of awed respect for Georgeanne.

Ignoring the compliment, Georgeanne went over to her charge and stooped to retrieve a doll with its porcelain head bashed in on one side.  “May I play with you, Marissa?” Georgeanne asked, her voice soft, almost pleading.

Marissa peeked at her from under long, wet lashes.  She stared at the new governess for several moments, then reached around Georgeanne’s skirts for another rag doll which she shyly held up to her.

Georgeanne took the proffered doll and joined the child on the floor, feeling happy and relieved with the outcome of their first encounter.  She couldn’t help looking upon this small victory as an omen.  All she foresaw was clear sailing ahead, devotedly working with Lord Raynor as his niece’s cherished governess.

***   Chapter 2   ***

Several days passed without the Curzon Street household being turned upside down by one of his niece’s infamous tantrums.  It was while sitting in the library going over some tedious business papers that it occurred to Raynor the advent of this peace and quiet had coi
ncided with the arrival of the comely new governess.  Although he tried to deny it, he couldn’t.  Ever since that astounding interview, he often found himself thinking of her heart-shaped face, small straight nose, and peaches and cream complexion.  Her large eyes, greener than a spring meadow, had the unprecedented tendency to invade his dreams.

He had accepted the truth of Miss Forsythe’s story since the facts were born
e out by her elegant dress.  But more than anything else, it was her assertive demeanor that clearly emphasized she had not been in servitude long.  A minion would never dare to act so pert or put forth her presumptuous bargain.  In fact, so audacious was her proposition that he was hard pressed to imagine any lady of his acquaintance conceiving such a preposterous idea.  Still, she had made her point, and as evidenced by the past few, blissfully silent days, she had apparently succeeded doing the impossible—taming his niece.  Why, if the truth were owned, the dithering Bivens appeared more relaxed.

The past year had been a trying one for all of them.  The unfortunate demise of his brother, due to a carriage accident that had also killed his wife, had been as painful a blow to him as his little niece.  He’d worshiped
Alister, who had been the older by five years, and had never given a moment’s thought to stepping into the role as Viscount and head of the family.  Given a generous allowance, he hadn’t needed to worry about his future.  Oh, he’d never been reckless like so many others of his class, gaming huge sums away on a toss of the dice or a chancy cock fight.  But he’d still lived the carefree, frivolous life of a bored aristocrat.

Consequently, when he accepted the title,
Raynor vowed to reform his hedonistic ways.  He became a respectable peer and provided his brother’s daughter with the care and home she needed.  But the happy sprite he’d remembered no longer existed.  Since the death of her parents, she was a distraught and morose little girl.  Then the tantrums had started, with high-pitched screams reverberating against the walls of the third floor day and night.

Unfortunately, he’d never had any contact with children and was at a complete loss when it came to handling one sad little girl, especially one like Marissa.  In the end, he found it easiest to let his otherwise competent staff cope with the unruly child while he dealt with his own problems, which included the weighty responsibility of taking his rightful seat in the House of Lords.

Yet, as improbable as it seemed, the new governess had succeeded where others more experienced had failed.  He wondered how she’d managed it.  Perhaps he ought to check on the two in the schoolroom, he thought, pushing himself out of his chair.  A moment of panic overtook him along with the mental picture of his niece tied up in a chair, a gag stuffed in her mouth.  It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been tempted at times to do the same himself, he guiltily acknowledged.

A few minutes later, Raynor reached the top of the stairs and halted to listen closely.  Dead silence greeted him.  Dreading what might be awaiting him, he walked slowly down the corridor to the white paneled door of the schoolroom and noiselessly pushed it open.

At first, he saw no one.  Then, the melodious voice of the young woman came from a far corner of the room.  He turned toward the trestle table.  The light from one of the tall windows fell upon Miss Forsythe’s head of thick auburn hair, pulled back in a loose knot, touching the guinea yellow curls of his niece.  The two were huddled together over papers scattered about the table top.

As he watched, a wealth of love for his little niece swept through him.  His bachelor ways had left him woefully unprepared to play at being a surrogate parent, and he silently admitted, the frustration he felt when dealing with Marissa.  He studied the two heads so close together as the sunlight licked the governess’s auburn tresses into crimson flames.  How different they were, he mused.  One glowed like a soft halo in the sun while the other radiated a fiery brilliance.  At length, Georgeanne glanced up, and he quickly crossed the threshold.

“I see you are busy with your schoolwork,” he said, advancing toward the table.

“Georgie and I are doing ‘rithmetic,” supplied Marissa, giving her beloved uncle a huge grin.

“Don’t you mean ‘Miss Forsythe’?” he asked drawing his brows together.

“Actually, my lord, I rather like Marissa’s special name for me,” Georgeanne said, giving the child an approving smile.

Raynor nodded.  “Very well.”  After a moment he asked, “How is my niece doing with her studies?” 

“Marissa is an excellent student, especially when she applies herself,” Georgeanne said, flashing a bright smile at her charge, who immediately returned it with an even bigger one of her own.

“Georgie keeps me busy, Uncle Tony.”

Raynor cocked an eyebrow in inquiry.  “Is that so?  I suppose that explains why I haven’t seen you in several days.”

“Actually, it is because you did not send for her, my lord,” Georgeanne answered for her charge.

“I see.”  Miffed that a mere governess would see fit to correct his behavior, he drew his brows together.  “May I have a moment of your time, Miss Forsythe?”

“As you wish.”  She turned to Marissa and instructed the child to complete the exercise before them.  Then she rose and followed her employer toward the door.

Marissa, however, did not look at all happy.  She stuck out her lower lip and slouched down in her seat and mulishly announced, “I want to come, too.”

Raynor looked over his shoulder.  “You and I will talk later, Marissa.  There are matters I need to discuss with Miss Forsythe now.”

“I will be back before you finish your sums, dear,” added Georgeanne encouragingly.

“No, I want to come.” Marissa threw her pencil down and pushed the papers on the floor.

‘Now, Marissa,” began Raynor, only to be cut off by Marissa’s shrill screaming.

“I want to come!  I want to come!” Marissa chanted.

Raynor watched in growing horror as huge tears welled up in Marissa’s brown eyes and her face turned an alarming shade of red.  Georgeanne, in contrast, shook her head in disgust.  She glanced from the screeching child to her stunned uncle, put her hands over her ears, and started for the door.  Raynor, not knowing what to do, followed her out of the room.

Once in the corridor, Georgeanne reached behind him and closed the door.  Calmly, she asked, “Was there anything in particular you wished to speak to me about, my lord?”

Raynor felt conflicted between utter amazement and blazing anger. “Miss Forsythe, you can’t be serious?  That little girl, my niec
e, is in there yelling at the top of her lungs.”

“Oh, I am quite aware of that,” she responded somewhat sarcastically.

“So what do you plan to do about it?”  He was fast losing his temper in the face of her indifference.

“Exactly what I am doing, my lord,” Georgeanne said, her own anger rising to match his.  Ever since that first day, when she’d ignored Marissa’s tantrum, there had been no repeat of this sort of behavior.  She had no intention of it beginning anew.

Truth was, Georgeanne was more than pleased with how their relationship was progressing.  In no time, they settled down to an enjoyable and practical routine.  She began each morning breakfasting with her charge.  At first, Marissa was reticent, since prior to this she’d eaten all her meals with only Hattie for company.  But once Georgeanne made it plain that she intended to share most of her meals with her, Marissa responded in kind to Georgeanne’s warm and friendly overtures.

Over the next few days, Marissa became less argumentative and sullen.  And as her trust in Georgeanne grew, she showed signs of a happy and lively spirit.  But they had seen nothing of the child’s uncle.  Though Marissa obviously cared for him a great deal, talking about him whenever an opportunity arose, he’d remain
ed absent from the little girl’s life.  It was little wonder, thought Georgeanne dryly, that Marissa was upset over being excluded from his company.  Raynor had not sought his niece out nor so much as sent an inquiry to determine how she was progressing with her new governess until today.

“You mean to actually ignor
e her?” he blustered.  “You cannot be serious?  Just listen to her carrying on in there.”

“I can
not help but hear her, my lord,” Georgeanne responded in a long-suffering tone.

“Exactly, madam!”  He was practically screaming himself.

“What exactly would you have me do?”

“I don’t know.  But you’re the governess, so do something!”

As she glowered at the insufferable man, Georgeanne squared her shoulders.  Then with her satin skirts swishing in her wake, she walked around him and reentered the schoolroom.

Marissa stood behind the table with her balled fists held rigidly out in front of her.  Never once looking at Georgeanne or her uncle, she seemed unaware of them.  Nor did her shrill screams show signs of faltering or ceasing.

Georgeanne eyed the little terror.  Then her eyes scanned the room.  She went over to the washstand, picked up a china basin containing the remains of Marissa’s ablutions from after breakfast.  She nodded at her employer, who was watching her every move from the doorway, walked over to Marissa and calmly poured the contents of the basin over the child’s head.

After a moment of sputtering and staring dazedly up at her governess, Marissa broke into a more natural sounding cry.  In response, Georgeanne got down on her knees and used the little girl’s pinafore to gently wipe her face and smooth back the damp curls.

“Just what in damnation do you think you’re doing?”

From his expression, Georgeanne deduced Lord Raynor was on the verge of strangling her.  But she had no desire to haggle with him.  It was Marissa who needed her attention.  Defiantly, she threw him a look of utter disgust before taking the child’s hands, from where they now hung limply by her sides, in her own and giving them a comforting squeeze.