The Impossible Governess (7 page)

With Townsend no sooner out the door, Raynor rounded on his aunt.  “You should not have done that.  These teas aren’t meant to be social events.  They are to give Marissa more time with me.”

“And what
an excellent idea they are, too.  Whose was it?” she asked, then answered for him.  “Miss Forsythe’s, no doubt.  She has done wonders with the child in so short a period.”

“Yes, she has.  But I can’t fathom why Will’s so anxious to waste his time on nursery fare.”

Lady Ashbury got up and nonchalantly brushed off the front of her powder blue satin gown as an excuse to compose her expression.  “Why, that is hardly difficult to divine.  It is as plain as pikestaff he has developed a
tendre
for Miss Forsythe.”

“Never, she is a servant under my roof.  He knows better than to take advantage of our friendship in such a rascally fashion.”

Leveling a pointed look at her decidedly dense nephew, the astute lady responded, “Miss Forsythe is a governess, not a scullery maid, whose upbringing is unexceptional.  She has a pedigree that could well rival even the Prince Regent’s own daughter, Caroline.  And Lord William obviously has no trouble recognizing that.”  She gave Raynor a shrewd look.  “Mark my words, Anthony.  Your friend has no intention of offering the young lady anything as improper as a slip on the shoulder.”

Then without a backward glance, Lady Ashbury quit the drawing room, leaving a stunned Raynor behind to contemplate those daunting words.

***   Chapter 4  ***

In the weeks since acquiring her position, Georgeanne had discovered Marissa’s proclivity for collecting things.  All sorts of things, from beads and buttons to rocks and shells.  Thus, it was easy for Georgeanne to interest her pupil in scouring the parks for different types of foliage during their daily walks. 

Upon returning from their excursion the next morning, they pasted different specimens into a botany scrapbook.  Suddenly, Georgeanne had the uncanny feeling that they were under scrutiny.  Glancing up, she saw Raynor leaning against the wall, watching them.  Though his expression was unreadable, Georgeanne sensed he wanted to remain undetected by his niece for a while longer.  Therefore, she gave him the briefest of nods, which he returned in kind, and resumed her task of spelling the names of trees and helping Marissa label the leaves on each page in bold black letters.

It took some doing, but Georgeanne managed to show interest in Marissa’s project.  Soon she became so engrossed that she was startled a short while later when Raynor pushed away from the wall and walked over to the table.

“Just what have we here, Marissa?” He came forward with a genuine smile as Marissa squealed excitedly upon seeing her uncle.  “You appear very busy.”

“Oh, I am, Uncle Tony.  Look what I made.  I find pretty leaves and put them in my scrapbook,” said the little girl.  She attempted to pick up a bulky stack of papers tied together at one end with colorful ribbons.

“May I look at it?” he asked, pulling a chair over and sitting on the other side of his niece.

Georgeanne grinned as Marissa eagerly described the contents of her album.  She was inordinately happy over the attention her uncle gave her.  For over a quarter of an hour, Raynor asked questions about one type of leaf or gave additional information about others.

“You’re very lucky, Marissa.  You have an excellent teacher in Miss Forsythe,” he said.

Georgeanne felt herself blushing and reacting just like her small charge.  She beamed at him.

“Georgie knows ever so much, Uncle Tony.  Of course, she knows much more about leaves and flowers than rocks.”

“Why is that?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Because she used to have a flower garden.”

“Did she?  Where was this flower garden?” Both his lordship and his niece looked expectantly at Georgeanne.

“In Kent, Fairlawn Manor,” Georgeanne replied in a small voice.

“Your father was Sir Edward Forsythe?” He appeared somewhat surprised at this revelation.  “I met him a couple
of years ago at one of my clubs.  You must miss him very much, Miss Forsythe?  If memory serves me correctly, he was a kind man with a heart of gold.”

“He was,” she replied.  Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks as treasured memories of her dear Papa sprang to mind.

“I miss my mama and my papa, too,” chimed in Marissa’s little voice with a definite tremble to it.

Raynor looked
nonplussed for having upset both Marissa and Georgeanne and sought to change the subject.  “And what other work do you have to show me, Marissa?”

The child hopped off her chair and headed for a squat dresser that stood against the wall.  “Rocks,” she exclaimed, pulling out the bottom drawer of the bureau.

“Rocks?”

“They are not just any old rocks, Uncle Tony,” she said, using an edifying tone.  “These are special.  They have names like limestone and granite and quites.”

“Quartz,” he corrected, as he went over to see an orderly assortment of small pebbles and stones, resting on a clean piece of muslin laid across the bottom of the drawer.

“That’s what I said,” Marissa replied. “Quites.”

Raynor bent down on one knee beside Marissa to better examine the rock collection.  As they bent over the open drawer, she picked up different rocks and explained their different colors and shapes and told him where she found each.

“If we were in the country, Georgie says we could find lots more.”

Raynor glanced over his shoulder to where Georgeanne still sat at the table.  “You’ve done quite well, Miss Forsythe.”

Georgeanne was surprised and gratified to observe Lord Raynor’s easy manner with Marissa, who was getting along famously with her uncle.  He’d quite lost all of his haughtiness, unbending enough to even soil the knee of his form fitting trousers.  Really, he was so very handsome, she thought taking in the broad of his shoulders, the way his dark hair turned up over the collar of his dark blue jacket.

Raynor sensed Georgeanne’s unwavering study of him.  He pushed the drawer closed, stood up, and observed a residue of the blush his praise had brought to Georgeanne’s cheeks.  His gaze locked with her emerald green orbs before they strayed to the floor and opened as wide as saucers. 

Then
a mouse scurried out from under the dresser and, like a shot, headed directly toward Georgeanne.  Before his eyes, she transformed from a demure, pretty young woman to a screaming fishwife, hollowing in abject fear.  Leaping out of her seat, she hiked her skirts high and scrambled onto the seat of another chair.  She danced about on tiptoe while watching the rodent race about, searching for cover in the relatively sparsely furnished schoolroom.

Meanwhile, Marissa added to the confusion, clutching his legs and screaming, “What is it? What is it, Uncle Tony?”

Spotting Georgeanne’s tiny nemesis, Raynor went into action.  “Stay here, Marissa,” he said, prying her hands loose from his trousers and lifting her up on the table. 

Pandemonium broke out as the mouse doubled back for the table.  Georgeanne pulled her skirts even higher and joined Marissa on the table
top.  Her actions momentarily diverted Raynor.  He paused in his self-appointed task as mouse catcher and ogled the delightful bit of leg his comely governess was displaying.

Marissa, clinging to Georgeanne, cried out, “What is it, Georgie?”

“A mouse, ohhhh, a mouse!”

Totally baffled, his lordship eyed the two hysterical females.  How any sensible person could be frightened by a mere mouse was beyond his understanding.  However, it was obvious something must be done to restore some semblance of order to the schoolroom.  Thus, he tromped after the erratically running rodent, from one end of the room to the next and back again.

“Come here, you ugly varmint!” he ground out in disgust.  He once more crossed the floor in hurried strides.  He dodged pieces of furniture lying in wait to ambush him and finally cornered the mouse.

“Got you!” he shouted.  He stomped one gleaming Hessian on the floor.  “Damn you, you maggoty creature!” he bellowed a
s the rodent leaped over his other booted foot.

From thei
r vantage point, huddled atop the table, Georgeanne giggled at the spectacle.  The absurdity of the entire situation had managed to penetrate her mind.  Marissa slowly stopped crying long enough to ask what was so funny.

“Why, your uncle, Marissa,” Georgeanne said between chuckles. 

Then Marissa regarded her usually dignified, starchy uncle as he knocked over chairs and vaulted tables and stools.  She joined Georgeanne when, unable to skid to a halt, Raynor slammed into a wall.  However, one look at the murderous glaze burning in his eyes convinced Georgeanne that Raynor’s efforts to catch the mouse had turned from chivalry to a blood lust.

After one particularly bruising encounter with the corner of a table, Raynor stopped to catch his breath and scan the room for the evasive rodent.  Slowly the merry laughter coming
from the two on top of the table pierced the red haze in his mind.

“O—over there,” gasped Georgeanne, pointing one slender digit in front of his face toward a walnut closet against the wall.  Instead of looking in the direction of her index finger, his eyes traced the line of her extended arm and found himself staring at her heaving bosom filling out the bodice of her sprigged muslin gown.  Quickly averting his gaze upward, he discovered her eyes swimming in mirth.  “I see little humor in this.”

“No, of course you do not,” Georgeanne said, then went off into whoops again.

Marissa reached for Raynor to take her in his arms.  “Uncle Tony, you are so funny.”

Raynor stood rigid, reluctant to scoop her small body into his arms.  But Marissa gave him little choice when she jumped on him and wrapped herself around this neck.  “You are so funny,” she repeated.

“And brave,” added Georgeanne. 

Under his unflinching angry glare, Raynor watched Georgeanne’s smile sober.

“Yes, brave,” parroted Marissa, this time giving him a bear hug squeeze.

“And so very chivalrous to come to our aid,” Georgeanne said more seriously.

“Is that good, Georgie?” Marissa asked.

Georgeanne didn’t answer her.  Instead, she flashed Raynor an impish look.  “What do you think, my lord?”

Raynor gave himself a mental shake, trying to erase the memory of Georgeanne’s shapely limbs as he gazed at the tilt of the governess’s kissable lips.  “I think I must have presented you both with more entertainment than you’d see at
the fair.”

“Oh, you are funnier, Uncle Tony!  Isn’t he, Georgie?” Marissa piped up.  “Funnier than all the clowns.”

“Definitely,” Georgeanne said.  “And much more agile and fleet of foot than any acrobat I have ever seen.”

Raynor should have taken offense to her banter but couldn’t, for he was enjoying himself too much.  In truth, he could well picture the sight he’d presented, ranting and raving at the rabid rodent with two females scared half out of t
heir wits, dancing on the tabletop.  It was all too much, even for his staunch sensibilities, and soon the three were laughing outrageously as Georgeanne recalled one particular vault of satirical merit he had made over a chair.  He, in turn, replayed for them some of their own silly antics, dancing on top of the table.

As Marissa’s hugs warmed his heart, the sight of Georgeanne standing on the table next to him, where his eyes easily feasted on her charming attributes, suffused him with a different type of warmth that heated his body.

“What is the meaning of all this?”

Lady Ashbury’s voice shattered their merriment as a silence prevailed.  Raynor looked from Marissa’s to Georgeanne’s guilty expressio
ns, then to Lady Ashbury.  “I’m sorry if we disturbed you, Aunt.  No doubt you were taking your nap,” he replied, reverting instantly back into the haughty aristocrat.

“The whole house
is in an uproar, Anthony.”  Lady Ashbury looked expectantly from one to the next. 

Raynor glanced at his cohorts and gave a small shake of his head.  He knew if Lady Ashbury was surprised to find her straight laced nephew embracing his little niece and the governess standing on the furniture, she would never say so.  More likely, he suspected, she was pleased with the sense of camaraderie the three
of them had shared. 

“I dare say we might have caused a bit of a ruckus.”  Raynor smiled at Marissa, before hugging her tightly to his chest and setting her down.  Then with a shuddered look, he offered a hand to Georgeanne, who hesitated taking it.  He suppressed a smile as Georgeanne glanced anxiously about for the mouse before she accepted his hand and his assistance getting off the table.  Realizing the futility of trying to catch the frenzied rodent himself, he went to the door and called for reinforcements.  He didn’t have far to go.  The corridor was crowded with servants.

Bivens and two burly footmen were positioned in front of several maids.  Their befuddled expressions bespoke their dilemma, whether to brave the storm and open the door, thereby discovering what was actually happening in the schoolroom, or wait until summoned.  Obviously, they’d opted for the latter rather than incur his lordship’s wrath.