“The leaves are taking forever,” Ronald complained as he painstakingly drew another leaf.
“You’re doing an excellent job,” she said with a pat on his shoulder. “Perhaps some of the leaves don’t need to be quite so detailed.” She reached for a pencil and a blank sheet of paper to show him what she meant. “When you’re looking at a tree you can only see the detail on the leaves closest to you, right?”
“Oh, I understand,” Ronald said and returned to his drawing with renewed enthusiasm.
Suddenly aware of someone’s presence, she turned to see the earl directly behind her. “Good afternoon, my lord,” she said as she started to rise only to have him gesture for her to remain seated.
“Drawing trees, are we?” He studied the children’s projects with a frown.
“Yes. We visited the park yesterday.” She waited, hoping he wouldn’t discourage them in their attempts. Though he liked games, he’d made his preference that the children learn scientific matters and Latin clear.
To her surprise, he stepped around the table to retrieve a blank sheet of paper and a pencil and sat down in one of the small chairs at the table and began his own drawing.
Charlotte and Ronald exchanged a puzzled look before watching as the earl sketched a tree in copious detail. He was amazingly talented, Amelia realized. The trees had a more mechanical, realistic look to them than the dreamy version Charlotte had created or the more stick-like rendition Ronald had sketched. She motioned for the children to continue with theirs and left their grandfather to work on his.
Though he occasionally spoke, most of his visits to the classroom either involved him listening to her lesson or joining in with the children in whatever task they were doing, though this was the first drawing he’d undertaken.
She enjoyed his presence and felt his interest and participation gave the children a different perspective on learning. Many people believed that once they left the schoolroom, education came to an end. She couldn’t disagree more.
Whether learning something new came from a book or from simple observation, she hoped to always be expanding her mind. If she hadn’t taken matters into her own hands at the academy, she wouldn’t have the knowledge to serve as a governess. The realization made her sit a little straighter.
Soon the children were done with their drawings, and Amelia propped them up on the side table to display. The earl continued working on his, ignoring their presence completely. His total absorption in whatever task he was completing amazed Amelia.
She had the children bring their chairs over by the window and retrieved a book titled Fabulous Histories to read to them. The story shared the experiences of two families, one human and the other a family of robins, who learn the importance of kindness and benevolence as well as social hierarchies.
They discussed how important caring and compassion were for the birds and animals they’d seen at the park.
“Who made the park?” Ronald asked.
They reviewed how John Nash, architect to the Crown and friend of the Prince Regent, developed the park. That led to a conversation about what an architect did and why.
“Though Mr. Nash designed fifty-six villas, palatial terraces, a lake, a canal, as well as a second Summer Palace for the prince, not all of that was built.”
“Why not?” asked Charlotte.
“Let us see.” Amelia consulted the book she had about the park. “He only built eight of the villas. I suppose his plans changed.”
“The prince decided to make improvements to Buckingham Palace instead,” the earl said without looking up from his drawing.
“I feel sorry for Mr. Nash,” Ronald said.
“Why?” Amelia asked. She enjoyed how Ronald’s mind worked.
“He didn’t get to do what he set out to do,” the boy explained with an empathy many adults lacked.
“That sometimes happens,” Amelia said. As the children had already experienced, life rarely turned out as one expected. “Does that make him a failure?”
“I don’t think so,” Charlotte said after a long moment. “The park is a beautiful place and many people enjoy it. I believe that makes him a success.”
“What do you think Ronald?”
“I like the park,” he said, “so I don’t think he’s a failure either.”
“People who don’t attempt to reach their goals are the ones who are failures,” the earl said, looking up from his drawing at last. “If you never try, you’ll never fail nor will you succeed.”
“Do you understand what your grandfather is saying?” Amelia asked. A strange sort of hope bloomed within her at the idea that he approved of the risk she’d taken.
“We should try even if we don’t know if what we’re doing will be a success,” Charlotte said with a thoughtful look on her face.
Would Christopher see what she’d done in the same light? When all was going well, it was easy to think she’d made the right decision to apply for the governess position. But would the outcome change that? She couldn’t help a shiver at the thought of just how wrong things might go.
~*~
Christopher looked up from pouring himself a drink in the drawing room that evening to see his father enter the room. “Father,” he greeted him. “Does the day find you well?”
“Well enough, I suppose.” He nodded toward the decanter Christopher held.
Christopher poured a second drink and handed it to him, not batting an eye at the sight of his slippers. Ever since Amelia had pointed out that his father’s thoughts were occupied with things much different than a normal person’s, he found he had more patience with him. At least when it came to slippers. They’d discussed his preference for candles, and while Christopher thought his father understood the reason he needed to take greater care, it remained to be seen whether he would remember to do so.
However, that didn’t mean Christopher appreciated his timing. In truth, he’d hoped to spend time before dinner with Amelia. Having his father join them changed everything.
“Any news from Millstone?” his father asked as he took the drink.
Christopher had shared some of what the marquess had told him but not where the clues had led him. He didn’t want to worry him or cast Edward in a bad light until he knew more. “A few new details but nothing significant as of yet.”
“Surely the blackmailer isn’t willing to wait much longer before taking action.”
“He’s sent two letters thus far, neither of which have made a specific demand. My guess is that he hopes to make the marquess worry more by not providing details. Perhaps he thinks to get a higher payout.”
“I hope when all this is settled the marquess will want to see the children. Doesn’t he realize what he’s missing? Priorities, you know.”
“I suppose seeing them, especially Ronald who looks so much like Edward, is painful.” Christopher didn’t bother to remind him how often he’d been ignored due to his father’s changing priorities.
“Charlotte looks like her mother, but I find comfort in that.” His father’s expression tightened with grief.
“Next time I speak with him, I’ll suggest we bring the children by for a visit,” Christopher said.
“Excellent idea.”
Christopher took another sip as he glanced at the doorway, wondering when Amelia would join them. He dearly hoped something would catch his father’s interest and allow Christopher and Amelia to have time alone together.
“Are you working on anything new?”
“I have an idea for an electromagnetic device but thus far the method of maintaining a steady frequency has eluded me.”
“Good evening.”
The soft, feminine voice had both men turning toward the door.
Amelia curtsied then walk slowly forward, her gaze shifting between the two men with a caution he was beginning to detest.
“Good evening.” Christopher turned to the side table and poured a small measure of sherry then moved closer to hand the glass to her.
“Thank you.”
“Amelia took the children to Regent’s Park for an exploration,” Christopher said with a smile. He hoped his confidence in her bolstered her own.
“I heard about that.” His father looked at Amelia with admiration. “She also told them of Nash’s original plans for the park.”
“You joined them for the lesson?” Christopher faced him, a wave of disapproval washing through him. The last thing he needed was for his father to interfere, causing Amelia to leave. “I thought we discussed this.”
“We enjoy having him pop in,” Amelia said. “You are welcome to do the same.”
He looked at her with surprise, only to see hesitation flash across her face. Did she wish to take the invitation back?
“I might do just that,” he said, enjoying how her eyes widened as if in surprise.
His father turned to face her. “I thought it was clever of you to ask if they felt he was a failure for not completing his plan.”
“What was the consensus?” Christopher asked. Though he preferred the earl not bother the children during their lessons, he was surprised that a simple visit to the park could expand into a discussion of the definitions of success and failure.
“They both agreed that with so many people able to enjoy the park, including them, it was a success. The earl pointed out that those who never try are more of a failure than those who attempt without success.” She paused as if waiting for his reaction.
“What else did you discuss?” Her fallen expression suggested his response disappointed her but he had no idea why.
“The earl also joined us in drawing some of the trees we saw.”
“Father is an excellent artist, though we don’t always get to see his renderings.”
His father scoffed and took a drink, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. He was very private when his ideas, which often started as drawings, were in the development stages.
Christopher was surprised he’d joined in the activities Amelia had the children do. His previous visits to the schoolroom had been to find fault with the governesses rather than to participate. Apparently, he had no concerns with Amelia’s lessons or the way she treated Charlotte and Ronald. That was a change from his opinion on the previous governesses.
His father walked toward the window, suggesting he was done with the conversation.
Amelia glanced at his father then stepped closer. “Do you have any pictures of the children’s parents? I’d like one for the schoolroom.”
Christopher’s heart squeezed at her thoughtfulness. “Of course.”
“A reminder might be comforting to them.”
Dauber announced that dinner was ready, and Christopher glanced at his father, who still stared out the window. “Father, are you coming?”
He didn’t answer, so Christopher walked over and gently touched his shoulder. Sometimes when he was lost in thought, interrupting him startled him.
His father turned with a faraway look in his eyes.
“Dauber announced that dinner is served.”
Without a word his father left the room drink in hand and went down the stairs.
Christopher sighed. He didn’t know if he would ever get used to his behavior. “My apologies,” he began.
“No need,” Amelia said as she took the arm he offered and they walked toward the stairs. “As I mentioned, my uncle was much the same way. It’s difficult to understand why someone doesn’t act in a manner we think of as normal, especially when good manners are taught to us from a young age.”
“I’m trying to remember not to hold expectations,” Christopher said as they made their way down the stairs. “There are moments when everything seems normal and he acts just like anyone else. But he’s not. Nor will he ever be. I suppose that is the difficult part.”
“I hope you can focus on the good moments and release the rest.” She paused on the stairs, glanced about as if to make certain his father wasn’t within hearing. “I know you worry about his safety more than whether his behavior offends anyone. Please know I’ll do all I can to help watch over him.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Christopher smiled, pleased at her offer. The idea of sharing his concern with someone other than the servants a welcome one. Amelia was special. If only she’d reveal the secret that lingered in her eyes.
Chapter Ten
“Does anyone doubt if horseracing has attractions for those whose tender age renders it complimentary to style them ‘young men?’”
~The Seven Curses of London
Christopher sat at his desk the next morning and added another note to his impressions on horseracing. Then he compared those to his remarks on the gaming hells and the lottery, searching for a connection, or at least a clue as to which one he should further investigate.
But no matter how he studied the information, he didn’t see an obvious place for the blackmailer to have come across Edward. Doing so had to have been a random occurrence, not something the blackmailer had approached with purpose. That conclusion left him guessing as to what step to take next. With a growl of frustration, he sat back in his chair, resigned to the fact that he had no choice but to tell the marquess his efforts had been of no use.
The blackmailer’s identity was no clearer now than when the threatening letter had arrived nearly two weeks ago. Time was running out. Though he was certain something was afoot with the lottery, that the tactics of those who ran the gaming hell were less than honorable, and the man selling advice at the races bordered on criminal, none of that meant any of those involved were blackmailers.
The person who’d written the letter had detailed information on Edward’s activities, which suggested an oddly intimate relationship between Edward and whoever was demanding money. It could be anyone at any of those places. The chances of Christopher determining his identity were slim, impossible even.
“The Marquess of Millstone to see you, my lord.” The footman waited for his response.
“Show him in.” Christopher stood reluctantly, aware of what a visit from Millstone meant. Another letter must’ve arrived. He certainly wasn’t here to see his grandchildren.
Millstone entered the library, a hint of panic visible on his features.
Christopher stepped around his desk to meet the older man and shake his hand. “This is a surprise, my lord.”
“I’ve received another letter,” he said, not bothering with pleasantries. He withdrew a paper from his waistcoat and passed it with a shaking hand to Christopher.
Christopher unfolded the letter and skimmed the contents, his stomach plummeting. “One week?”
Unfortunately, he didn’t believe having another week to investigate would bring the answers he needed. He read the letter a second time, hoping for a clue, but whoever had written it had been careful once again. The plainly penned words revealed nothing more than a demand for a thousand pounds in seven days.
“Have you had any luck?” The intensity in the marquess’s gaze made Christopher even more reluctant to share his failure.
“Very little, I’m afraid. I’ve visited each location we know Edward frequented, some more than once, with little success. The most likely place he encountered this person was at a gaming hell or the horse races.”
“But you have no idea who?”
“No.” Christopher shook his head. Though reluctant to tell the bad news to the older man, he didn’t want to make false promises either. “If you’d allow me to share what little we know with a friend of mine,” he began.
“No,” Millstone said, his lips tightening. “That’s not possible.”
“I understand you don’t want Edward’s memory sullied in any way, but this friend has special connections that could aid us.”
The marquess considered the words for a long moment only to shake his head. “I can’t take the risk of anyone finding out. My wife doesn’t know. She’s quite fragile, and I don’t know if she can survive more bad news.”
“Then you intend to pay the
money?” Christopher asked, his frustration mounting. “I would caution you against doing so. Whoever is behind this will only ask for more at some future date.”
“I realize that, but I’m not sure I have a choice. And I remain hopeful that, in the coming week, your efforts may result in new information. Will you continue to try?”
Christopher glanced at the notes on his desk. He simply didn’t see anything thus far that warranted further investigation. But he hated admitting defeat. Margaret deserved better, as did Charlotte and Ronald and even Edward. Discovering who was behind the blackmail might also bring to light what had caused the accident. Had his sister known the reason for Edward’s erratic driving that day? Had she been angry with her husband, adding to his upset?
He might never know the answer to his questions, but he certainly wouldn’t if he ended his pursuit. Following the few clues for one more week seemed like the least he could do.
As he studied the marquess, the shadows under the older man’s eyes and the lines that bracketed his mouth caught his notice. Edward’s death had aged the man, and this recent development hadn’t helped. It must be difficult to realize his son wasn’t the person he’d thought.
“I can’t promise any good will come of it, but yes, I will continue my efforts with the hope that my presence at those places will shake something loose. Asking questions might rattle the blackmailer if he’s there, causing him to reveal himself.”
The marquess’s relief was palpable. “Thank you.” He reached out to shake Christopher’s hand again with a firm grip, gratitude evident in his expression.
“No thanks are necessary.” He released the man’s hand. “Are you certain you don’t want to share at least part of this with the marchioness in case the worst happens? There’s a chance that even if you pay this person, they’ll still release the information.”
Millstone sighed, his shoulders sagging as if they bore the weight of the world. “I have tried.” His quiet words tugged at Christopher’s sympathy. “Several times, I opened my mouth, but the words just wouldn’t come. Have you ever had that happen?”
Gambling for the Governess: A Victorian Romance (The Seven Curses of London Book 9) Page 12
