“As you may have noticed, my father can be confusing at times. I’d prefer the children not be subjected to the turmoil he often causes.”
Amelia bit her lip, saddened the viscount felt that way about his father.
“I’m surprised you haven’t been concerned over some of the things he’s said.” He raised a brow as if inviting her to tell him if she had.
She was more concerned with what he hadn’t said. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell the viscount. Not yet. “He reminds me of my uncle. He died soon after my father. His mind worked in different ways than most people. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t intelligent or didn’t love us. He was just...different.”
Viscount Beaumont studied her for a long moment, sending a strange shiver of awareness through her. “I hope you don’t allow him to influence the way you teach the children. My father’s fondness for games will benefit Charlotte and Ronald little in the future. Take my word for it. Good day.”
Before Amelia could respond, the viscount turned on his heel and took his leave.
~*~
That afternoon, Christopher once again studied the letter the marquess had given him. The blocky handwriting on commonplace paper gave little hint as to who had sent it. The language was rough and to the point, but that didn’t make the threat any less real. The letter writer stated he had evidence that Edward had spent significant money and time in some unsavory places, naming several. The writer threatened to reveal Edward’s propensity for gambling to The Times’ gossip column if payment wasn’t received.
Even though Christopher had already heard the rumor of Edward’s gambling habit, he’d still been surprised. Had Edward gambled that much? Millstone’s obvious distress at the thought of Edward’s name being tarnished said it all. The marquess was adamant that his wife not hear of the situation.
Christopher’s suggestion that they speak with the authorities had been met with a firm “absolutely not.” Millstone insisted he’d rather pay the blackmailer than involve anyone else.
The challenge was in convincing him to share what he knew so Christopher could better determine where to begin his search.
Christopher’s friend, Gideon de Wolfe, had recently discovered a gambling scheme that had harmed several of his workers. Christopher had been shocked to learn how rampant the gambling problems in the city had become. From what little he now knew, gambling schemes on horse racing were prevalent but other types existed as well.
De Wolfe had discovered a lottery that sold tickets each week, promising riches to those who won. Some workers gambled most of their pay on tickets only to lose. De Wolfe had found the lottery was not only run unfairly but included hidden expenses that reduced the prizes. Those behind the scheme hadn’t appreciated de Wolfe’s questions, placing him and his betrothed, as well as her family, in danger.
Christopher would never place the children and his father at risk of violence. But with blackmail involved, he needed to remain on guard. The letter writer promised to be back in touch with details on the amount of payment required and the delivery method but hadn’t specified when. Millstone admitted he’d been initially tempted to pay the blackmailer but realized the first request might only be the beginning of the demands.
A knock sounded on his library door.
“Enter.”
Dauber entered the room with a large envelope on a tray. “This just arrived for you, my lord.”
Christopher took the packet of papers. “Excellent. Millstone promised to send some of the items from Edward’s desk.”
“Curious how few there are,” Dauber observed.
“The marquess may have chosen only to send the ones he thought relevant.” Christopher sifted through the papers, finding a race ticket from Newmarket dated a week before Edward’s death. “I didn’t realize Edward enjoyed horse racing so much. Though that isn’t unusual amongst the nobility, nor is betting.”
“It’s become a popular pastime for the working class as well.”
“From what little the marquess said, Edward gambled more than the average person.” Christopher wondered if he’d wagered more than he could afford. Was anger at his loss or fear of facing the consequences of what he’d done the reason behind his reckless driving the day of the accident?
He set aside the ticket and studied the next piece of paper which had an address scribbled across it in Edward’s handwriting. “Are you familiar with this location?”
Dauber studied the note. “I can’t say that I am. Should I make inquiries?”
Christopher glanced at the other papers. One was a sporting paper dated two weeks before the cabriolet accident that shared the pros and cons of the horses in the upcoming races as well as the merits of the jockeys. He wanted to review it along with more recent editions of the publication to better familiarize himself with racing. But he didn’t think it contained anything immediately pressing. An IOU was included among the papers, and the large sum noted on it was alarming. If Edward had owed that sort of money to others, he’d been in serious trouble.
Had Margaret realized what her husband had been doing? She’d never been the sort to hold her tongue. Could they have been arguing when the cabriolet struck the wagon? He shook his head, aware it was unlikely he’d ever know. But he had to do all he could to find out.
“I believe I’ll see what I can discover about the address this afternoon.”
“One has to wonder why the blackmailer waited a year after their deaths to come forward,” Dauber said. “Why not approach the marquess when his grief was still raw? Surely, he would’ve agreed to most anything when his son’s name was already in the press because of the accident.”
“I thought the same. Rumors abounded as to what might’ve caused the crash. The time would’ve been ripe to force the marquess to pay to keep Edward’s name out of the headlines.”
“Perhaps the blackmailer only recently came upon the information,” Dauber suggested.
“Or the idea of the scheme.”
“That might be.” The butler shook his head. “Terrible situation either way. Let me know if you would like assistance with the address.”
“Thank you, Dauber.”
Alone again, Christopher sighed at what seemed like an impossible task. Locating the address was as good a place as any to start since he had few other leads to follow. He tucked it into his waistcoat pocket and rose, only to be distracted by the sound of laughter.
He moved to the bank of mullioned windows to see the children and Miss Tippin in the garden once again. Charlotte and Ronald spun in circles while she spoke, repeating what she said. The children tottered as they got dizzy, laughter making their efforts more difficult. Miss Tippin laughed as well, clapping her hands as she encouraged them.
The sight of her so happy made him realize how wary and cautious she looked when he was near. Had she had a bad experience in her last position? More likely, it was him. While he didn’t appreciate his father’s games, that didn’t mean he wanted the children to be stuck inside all day in misery. Perhaps he’d been overly stern with her the previous day.
Though her youth concerned him as she obviously didn’t have the experience he wanted, she was a graduate of the academy. Even more than that, she seemed to truly enjoy the children. Her intention to both tell and show the children how to do things was unusual.
Her belief that not everyone’s minds worked the same way intrigued him. His father’s certainly functioned differently than anyone else he knew. It was as if he could see things from the inside out. He knew how simple machines like clocks were built without reviewing their parts. Yet he couldn’t remember to look at that clock to see if it was time for breakfast or bed.
Without thinking, Christopher opened the narrow door that led to the garden and stepped out. The children’s laughter made him smile, and he couldn’t help but draw closer. They deserved to have joy in their life. All children did. That was one more reason he wanted them to go to the country where they had the freedom to be childre
n without having to worry over their eccentric grandfather.
He hadn’t experienced much laughter in his own childhood. While he loved his father dearly, watching over him was a task not to be taken lightly. He often, if unwittingly, placed himself and others in danger with his experiments. His brilliant mind seemed to disconnect when it came to ordinary things. Some of his inventions had even been patented and provided a significant income.
But that brilliance came with a price.
Christopher had yet to decide if it was too high. When he, Margaret, and their mother had all been able to watch over him, keeping him safe had been easier. But his mother’s untimely death and their shared grief had changed everything.
What had started as a simple cough had quickly worsened despite frequent visits from the doctor. Within a week, she’d died, leaving the three of them distraught. Christopher understood what Charlotte and Ronald were going through, which made him all the more protective of them.
As he watched them with Miss Tippin, he held hope she could help provide them with the stability and routine he rarely had in his own youth. Time would tell. He intended to closely observe the situation over the coming weeks before sending them to the country.
Christopher had been surprised to find his father in the garden the previous morning. Miss Tippin hadn’t batted an eye at his father’s behavior. But he hadn’t yet done anything to cause undue concern. Her reaction then would be the true test.
What had made her become a governess? Had it been a choice or circumstances? If her father had been a knight, she could’ve been introduced into Society. Losing him had no doubt changed the course of her life—an experience they shared.
As if attuned to his presence, her gaze shifted to his, and she dipped into a curtesy. “My lord. Was there something you needed?”
The children stopped spinning but continued to toddle, their giggles contagious. Miss Tippin’s mouth curled upward as if she was having difficulty containing her mirth.
That made him chuckle. “I had to investigate the source of the laughter.”
“I’m terribly sorry.” She sobered, a flare of alarm in her eyes. “I hope we didn’t disturb you.”
“Not at all. It’s wonderful to hear these two enjoying themselves,” he said as he glanced at the children.
The pair gave up trying to keep their balance and sank to the grass, still giggling.
“What game is this?” he asked.
“We are practicing Latin.”
He frowned. “While spinning?”
“They were growing sleepy, so I thought a change of scenery was in order.”
Once again, he thought of the many advantages the country house would have. They would have more rooms to use without disturbing anyone. Nor would they have to worry about his father. At some point, he needed to share with her the dangers his father could create. But not today.
“Are you having a pleasant afternoon?” she asked, waiting for his answer as if it mattered.
He paused at the novelty of having someone ask such a question. “For the most part.” He withdrew the paper from his pocket. “I was just going to order the carriage so I can attempt to locate this address.”
“A hansom cab driver might be of assistance. They seem to know the city in and out.”
“That’s an excellent idea. I believe I’ll do just that.”
“What sort of place is it?” Charlotte asked as she and her brother stood.
“I’m not certain.” Did he smell lilies? He sniffed again, but the scent remained elusive.
“Why would you want to find an address if you don’t know what’s there?”
Christopher smiled at his niece’s simple logic. “I’m doing a little investigative work.” He reached down to pat each of the children. Charlotte looked much like a young Margaret with softer features. Ronald had some characteristics of his father, but Christopher also saw a few parts of himself in the boy.
They were the reason the task ahead was so important. He hoped he could uncover the truth of what had happened to their parents. Someday, when they were older, they’d want to know, much like he did. “You two be on your best behavior for Miss Tippin, will you?”
“Of course, Uncle,” Charlotte said. “Can you tuck us in tonight?”
“Yes, please,” Ronald added. “I like it when you do that.”
Christopher’s heart squeezed. “I shall do my best.”
He straightened and nodded at Miss Tippin only to find her wide blue eyes filled with an emotion that made him decidedly uncomfortable. Especially when it caused his awareness of her to rise to an even greater height.
Chapter Four
“As a quarter of a century since pugilism was the main feature with the sporting press, now it is horse racing; not for its sake, but for the convenient peg it affords to hang a bet on.”
~The Seven Curses of London
After the children were in the care of the maid, who would see to their supper then settle them for the night, Amelia lingered in the schoolroom, reluctant to leave. She’d already reviewed her lesson plan for what would be her sixth day as a governess, as well as the plans for the coming weeks.
But would she still be here then?
Worry refused to allow her to enjoy what would otherwise be an ideal position. The children were delightful and had such curious minds. Though grief lingered, visible in the way their focus shifted and a palpable sadness gripped them, thus far, she’d managed to gently ease them back into lessons. She’d asked a few questions about their parents, but neither was willing to share many details. She hoped that would change as they came to know her better.
Her bedroom was much nicer than she’d expected, and the small private sitting room gave her a refuge of sorts. Having a space to call her own where she needn’t worry whether her presence disturbed anyone else was a gift she appreciated. The other servants were cordial if reserved around her.
The position was a dream come true.
Yet she had the terrible feeling that all of it could be jerked away at a moment’s notice when Viscount Beaumont learned she wasn’t a graduate of the academy.
The earl had been noticeably absent since he’d jumped rope with them in the garden. Molly, the maid who attended her, mentioned he was usually either at a meeting of the Royal Society with like-minded men of science or tucked in his lab that adjoined his bedroom. Amelia was certain he hadn’t yet told his son the truth. In all honesty, she was scared to do it herself when the revelation might end her position. If she lost it, how would she pay for her mother’s rent?
Amelia believed she was doing a good job, but she didn’t have anything to compare it to and no one to ask. One moment, she was convinced that if she had more time, she could prove to the handsome viscount—and herself—that she was capable and worthy of teaching Charlotte and Ronald. The next, she was determined to knock on his library door and confess her lie at the first opportunity.
What should she do?
“Forgive me for the interruption, Miss Tippin.” Molly stood in the open doorway of the schoolroom, a friendly smile on her face. “You requested a tray for your supper this evening, but the earl asked if you’d care to dine with him.”
“I’d be honored to. Thank you, Molly.” Relief filled her. This was perfect. Now she could ask when he intended to discuss the issue with his son.
“I’ll return to your room shortly to assist you in dressing for dinner if you’d like.”
“I would appreciate that.” Amelia had yet to become accustomed to having a maid rather than being a maid. Her family had employed servants while her father lived, but that had been long ago.
“Of course, miss.” Molly nodded then departed.
Amelia had only two gowns that might be suitable for dinner, but she suspected the earl would wear his slippers. Surely her attire wouldn’t matter overmuch to the lord.
The previous evening, she’d eaten with the servants, but based on the awkward pauses in the conversation, she thoug
ht the others felt stifled by her presence. She didn’t want to ruin the staff’s meals by eating with them every night, yet she disliked inconveniencing Molly by having her bring a tray to her room.
Perhaps she could speak with Mrs. Wimbly to see if she could collect her own tray from the kitchen in the evenings.
Amelia admonished herself as she tidied her desk. If that was the only thing she had to worry about, she was doing very well. The children were the most important part of this position. Little else mattered.
She’d already found the key to keeping them engaged was not to linger overlong on any particular subject. If writing wasn’t going well, she changed to something else rather than forcing the issue. They were still too young to be expected to focus for long periods of time. Weren’t they?
On occasion, it seemed their minds needed time to process the information she covered while at other times, they caught on quickly and were eager to learn more.
Yes, Ronald tended to doodle when he should be practicing his letters. Charlotte would still prefer to play with her dolls rather than study French. Amelia had responded with what she liked to think was firm kindness despite knowing her aunt would’ve disagreed.
Discipline had been drilled into the students at the academy each day. But Amelia didn’t agree. Instead, she’d adjusted her plans as needed. Wasn’t that part of teaching?
Of course, she’d only been working five days, so it was far too early to make generalizations. All in all, she thought her efforts had been successful, not that she knew for certain.
If she felt a bit lonely, that wasn’t anything new. In her previous position, she’d been surrounded by other women, many of whom were her age, but they’d only seen her as a servant. Those who’d realized she was Mrs. Beasley’s niece wondered why she worked as a maid, but since her aunt hadn’t treated her like a relative, they’d soon dismissed their curiosity.
Here, the evenings were the hardest because she had fewer duties. She needed to find ways to stay busy to fill the void. She’d already organized the schoolroom and wrote out lesson plans for the next three months.
Gambling for the Governess: A Victorian Romance (The Seven Curses of London Book 9) Page 4
