The Secret Desires of a Governess (4 page)

It wouldn’t do to be distracted by the lord of the manor.

As quick as the thought came, her eyes trailed back to his strong form. She had to force her gaze to Martha’s husband. Goodness, what had gotten into her? She’d never spared a glance for any man. This was thrice now that he had captivated her attention wholly and completely.

Someone ought to hit her over the head to clear the nonsense from it. Where were her sisters when she needed them most?

She curtsied when Lord Brendall turned to her fully.

“Good morning, my lord. I’ve come bearing gifts from the kitchen.” She held out the basket.

Lord Brendall didn’t glance her way. He’d gone back to mortaring the stones with a gray slop mixed in a large wooden pail.

It was Thomas who spoke. “That wife of mine is spoiling us too soon in the day.” He raised his hand in her direction. Beckoning her closer. “Come sit closer to us. Who be you, lass?”

“The governess and new hire, Miss Hallaway.”

“Well, Miss Hallaway. Let’s see what you’ve got in that basket there. I’ve worked up an appetite this morning.”

She opened the basket and set out the small linen spread enclosed with the sandwiches. She supposed it was her duty to lay the food out for them since they were mighty filthy with dirt and sweat. She busied herself with the task, trying to ignore the fact that Lord Brendall was ignoring her.

It shouldn’t bother her. She shouldn’t want him to pay her any mind. Yet it stirred anger in her gut to be disregarded so thoroughly.

She handed Thomas a sandwich filled with ham and cheese. “I’ve come to ask a favor of you, Mr. Harrow. I had to leave my luggage at the rail station. I’d like very much to borrow a cart, or get a ride into town so that I might reclaim my things.”

When she offered up Lord Brendall’s sandwich, he looked at her briefly before going back to his work.

“I’ll take you after we’ve eaten. We had an early start this morning, and my back’s not going to take much more lifting today. There’s not much good to be said about getting older if you were to ask me.”

Abby couldn’t help but smile. Thomas was very friendly, and so different from his wife. She needed friends right now. She missed her sisters, and had felt so alone since leaving them. To be welcomed in any small way in this farthest reach of En gland seemed a bit of a blessing.

She ducked her head again, feeling unusually shy.

She was never shy. Perhaps she was just sentimental when thoughts of her sisters clouded her mind. Or perhaps was blatant disregard she received from Lord Brendall making her feel uncomfortable in her own skin. He had a way about him. He looked right through her as though she weren’t standing five feet away.

Did the man dislike everyone, or was there something she’d done to offend him? She was sure it was the first and not the latter. Because, for the life of her, she couldn’t think what she’d done wrong since last night.

“Where shall I meet you, then?” she asked Thomas.

“Come sit here with an old man for a bit. I find I like the company of a beautiful young woman.”

Beautiful? Hardly. Emma, her oldest sister, had always been the beauty in the family. Abby had always thought herself rather plain. No sense in dissuading him. Every girl liked to be charmed with pretty words. Just because she had no desire to marry didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a little flattery once in a while. And it wasn’t as though Mr. Harrow was a contender for her hand.

“I’ve yet to meet my charge.” Abby hesitated before drawing nearer. “I really should look for him before we set out.”

“Jacob will be in the stables,” Thomas said. “I wish you luck. He’s a wily one. He’ll slip out of your fingers the second you blink.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” Perhaps the child was a little wild. She’d been like that: daring, adventurous, clever . . . slippery as an eel her father had always been wont to say.

Thomas chuckled and bit into his sandwich. Lord Brendall finished up with the mortar and sat on a tree stump nearby with his sandwich in hand. He seemed content in remaining silent and continued to ignore her existence.

As though her thoughts were carried on the wind, he suddenly turned his head and stared directly at her, the silvery blue of his eyes trapping her like manacles about her wrists. His sudden regard robbed her of breath. His eyes were even more beautiful in the full light of day. The blue so light, so clear and unusual that she couldn’t stop staring into them. She was making an imbecile of herself, but for the life of her, she couldn’t drop her gaze.

“If Jacob’s not in the stables, he likes to wander the ruined parts of the attic and upper floors of the

main house.” His voice was gravelly and deep.

“This is a usual occurrence, then?” At least she had found her voice. “This wandering around and hiding?”

She couldn’t blame the child when the father seemed so cold. Distant. There was something dark about him that warned her to guard herself carefully around this man.

“Does he ever leave the castle grounds?”

“He’s got no need to. There’s nothing outside the walls that would interest him.”

“Why is it, my lord, that you’ve accepted an advertisement for a governess and not a tutor to prepare your son for school?”

She bit the inside of her cheek and clenched her fists in her skirts. A bold tongue was a sure way for Lord Brendall to send her away.

“You ask too many questions, Miss Hallaway. It’s my business what I do with the boy.”

Taken aback, she stood from the rock she’d perched herself on and gave a curtsy. She ducked her head more to cover her glower than as a sign of respect when departing from his company. Lord Brendall might not know it, but he was not her better. She’d not let him treat her with any condescension. The man was incredibly rude, and she’d not endure his company any longer than she needed to.

The castle was big enough that they should be able to go a whole year before setting eyes on each other.

“On that note,” she muttered to herself, then clearer for the company present: “I’ll take my leave, my lord. Mr.

Harrow, I will meet you at the stables in . . . shall we say, fifteen minutes?”

Mr. Harrow nodded as he lifted his hat and tipped it forward to her in farewell. “Till then, madam.”

She gave him a smile before turning on her heel to head back to the stable. As much as she wanted to run, she kept her pace steady. She swore she could feel Lord Brendall’s eyes glaring at her retreating form.

No wonder Martha had seemed bitter to her. It must be near impossible to work for such an awful man. She clenched her fists at her chest as she held the shawl closed over her. Was this what she should expect as a governess?

Cruel treatment from employers who thought themselves better than her? Lord Brendall would have to learn to refrain from treating her as though she were no better than a commoner.

It was deplorable behavior on his part. It wasn’t a wonder she’d never met him at any of the balls she’d been to in London. The man was uncouth, boorish. It shouldn’t matter that she was under his employ. She’d never treated a servant so poorly.

On reaching the stables, she stepped inside without hesitation, happy to have a reprieve from the cold wind.

There were six full stalls and a tack section on the far wall. No names adorned the doors.

The first horse she passed stuck its head out and nudged at her shoulder as she passed. She scratched her hand between its eyes, right along the white stripe decorating its chestnut- brown coat.

“Have you seen a little boy? I happen to be looking for one. Can’t say as yet what he looks like, since I haven’t had the plea sure of meeting him. I’m told his name is Jacob, and he’s rather fond of you and your brethren.”

The horse bobbed its big head. The shushing of little feet sounded. Though she was having trouble locating the direction from which it came, she did not move from her position. She’d let the boy come to her.

“Strange that no one has come forward. I would really like to know your name, horse. Don’t suppose you could tell me?”

The horse blew out a snort of air. Still, there was no sight of the boy.

“I suppose I’ll just have to name you myself. How do you like the name Maybelle?”

“That’s a girl name,” came a soft voice.

Not wanting to scare the boy off now that she’d made progress, she continued talking to the horse. “Well, if that name is too much like a girl’s, how about Zeus? Why have a masculine name if you can’t be a great Greek god?”

The shuffling of feet grew louder, then a dark mop-headed boy came and stood close to her. She turned her head to the side and looked at him. He looked rather like his father with all that dark wavy hair.

There were several things she noticed that seemed at odds with being an heir to the Brendall earldom. Young Jacob needed his hair trimmed. It was a ragged mess. With all the knots, she had to wonder if he had lice. He wore short trousers and a white linen shirt already smeared with dirt. Suspenders held up the trousers, which looked a slight bit big on him. His eyes were as blue as his father’s. And he did not smile. He looked at her as any curious child might.

Only there was something else in his gaze. Was he afraid of her? Quite possible, being that she was a stranger.

“His name is Ivan.”

“Well, Ivan,” she said to the horse, “I think that is the perfect name for such a handsome equine.” Scratching him once more along his muzzle, she turned back to the boy.

He was making a study of her. She could tell by the way he looked over her dress and scratched at his head. He’d need a bath first chance she got.

“Why are you wearing that?” he asked of her.

She frowned and looked down to her borrowed dress.

“The majority of my belongings are still at the rail station.

I had nothing else to wear. So I borrowed something from the wardrobe in my room.”

“You shouldn’t wear that. Father won’t like it. Who are you?”

She smiled, hopefully giving the boy a friendly face, one he could trust and maybe even make him chance another step closer. “I’m to be your teacher.”

“You don’t look like the last one.”

“No?” She looked down at her dress and fanned out the material. “Is that because of the way I’m dressed?”

“You’re not old. Their faces looked like a wrinkled old apple and their hair like muddy straw. Last one was as big as Ivan.”

She nearly chuckled at the comparison, but managed to refrain. Barely. “How many governesses have you had?”

“Lots.”

“Why did they all leave?”

He shrugged. Abby wondered if it had anything to do with the treatment received from Lord Brendall. Perhaps he wasn’t liable to pay her wages? She’d have to broach the topic of her annual pay with Martha, not that the money was of any significance to her— it was a pittance compared with her money sitting in trust. She just didn’t want anyone taking advantage of her.

“Thomas is taking me to town shortly. Would you like to come?”

Jacob shook his head vehemently.

“No? I don’t suppose it sounds like any grand adventure for a boy your age. We will start our lessons very soon, though. Hopefully this evening. Is there any particular room designated for your studies?”

Again he shook his head. Weren’t children generally more talkative than this? She took a couple of steps closer to him. Quicker than the blink of an eye, he took off at a run.

That didn’t go nearly as badly or as well as she had thought it might. Would she

have to search him out again this afternoon? She’d have to ask Thomas, by far the friendliest inhabitant of the castle, how best to handle Jacob, or better yet how best to find him when it seemed he didn’t want to be found. She was interrupted from her thoughts by the sudden presence of Lord Brendall. A shadow blot-ted out the light from the door, and it was as though his presence sucked all the fresh air from the stable.

She scrunched up her brow, wondering if he planned to take her to town. That wouldn’t be proper. Besides, she needed some information about the past governesses that she could not ask of Lord Brendall. He was much more the silent brooding type, whereas Thomas was a kind and ready talker— at least that was the impression she got.

Smoothing her skirts, she gave him a long look. He appeared intent on ignoring her as he went about setting a saddle on the horse she’d been petting a few moments ago. She wasn’t sure if she should address him, or ignore him as he did her.

Knowing he was apt to remain silent, and wholly uncomfortable with that silence, she finally asked, “Are you going for an afternoon ride?”

He stopped in the middle of checking the belt that wrapped around the barrel of the horse. A gruff, “In a sense,” was all he replied before he stepped quickly toward her. She hated that she took a couple of steps away from him, allowing him to back her into a supporting beam in the middle of the stable.

“You talk too much,” he said and pulled on one of the braids at the side of her head till it was free of its pins.

Tugging it forward, he studied it, rolling it between his fingers before meeting her gaze. “It’s like fire. Perhaps you’re a witch.”

She reached up and loosened his fingers from where they grasped the braid. His fingers were rough, not those of the privileged class but of the working class. They were warm, too. Before she could pry his fingers away, he released the strand of hair. However, he did not pull away from her.

“Never thought you’d be pretty.”

That comment brought her up short.

Why had everyone assumed she’d be some aged and gray spinster? And why was he making any such assessment? What was wrong with the man? Did he have no social skills to speak of?

She put all her focus on wrapping the thin braid back around the bun at the back of her head.

His gaze followed her hand, watching her tuck her hair away, then made a slow study of the dress she’d borrowed.

So the boy had been right: She was not invited to wear the clothes found in her wardrobe. Why hadn’t the dresses been removed before now?

“All my belongings are at the rail.” She shouldn’t have to justify her reason for wearing something not her own.