by Olivia Drake
Ahead, Sophy sat stiffly on the steps, her dark hair messy, the ribbon dangling loose. Feral kitten, indeed. That description was more apt than he wanted to admit. He suffered a spasm of anguish that his daughter thought he despised her, and that she would express her anger at him in such a manner. It was his own fault for abandoning her as a newborn, for convincing himself she’d be better off raised by her maternal grandparents.
Instead, the Norwoods had allowed Mooney to stuff Sophy’s head full of lies. He could hardly blame his daughter for believing what her primary caretaker had said. And it had taken Miss James to figure it all out. To think just a few days ago he’d been ready to banish her from his house.
His gaze lingered on the new governess. In the sunlight her upswept hair was an unusual shade of blond that reminded him of golden buttercream. That high-necked, long-sleeved dark gown couldn’t quite hide a feminine figure that was every man’s dream. The sight aroused a rush of heat in his core, a sensation that he quickly rejected.
It was dishonorable for a man of his rank to lust for a woman in his employ. Guy had no wish to subject her to unwelcome advances, nor did he want to put her in a situation where she felt compelled to resign. Any temptation that stirred in him must be kept under lock and key.
Reaching the steps, Miss James crouched down to address his daughter. “Thank you for waiting here. Nevertheless, throwing a stone at a window was a very naughty act. As punishment, you will not be allowed to play in the garden tomorrow. Now, what have you to say for yourself?”
The way Sophy sat with her arms tightly curled around her knees suggested distress. Yet her small face wore its usual rebellious scowl. She mumbled, “Sorry, Miss James.”
“It is your papa who deserves the apology. That was his window, not mine.”
The girl slid a glance upward though she didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Sorry, Papa.”
The words sounded forced, with an underlying note of mistrust. His chest taut, Guy wanted to grab her up into his arms and declare that he did indeed love her, and she was never to believe otherwise. But Miss James was right, a feral kitten would only scratch and hiss.
Taking his cue from the governess, he hunkered down to his daughter’s level so that she had to look at him. The glower on her face was far from encouraging. “I accept your apology.” Guy searched for the right words to reach her. “Yet … it seems I owe you one, too, for never showing you the conservatory. I’ll take you on a tour right now if you like.”
Sophy stared suspiciously at him. It was as if she was weighing his sincerity and seeking evidence of some trick in the scheme. Then she shifted her wary gaze to the governess. “Will you go, too, Miss James?”
“Certainly! I wouldn’t miss it for all the cream buns in the kitchen.”
The girl considered that for a moment. “I wouldn’t miss it for all the circuses in the world.”
“There, you see? Parrots are better than all of our favorite things.”
Miss James sprang lightly to her feet just as Guy reached out to offer his assistance. A pity that, for he’d have liked the chance to touch her. In the next instant he scolded himself. Damn, he had to put a halt to such thoughts.
Sophy, too, rejected his proffered hand and stayed close to Miss James, who picked up the basket and tucked the handle in the crook of her arm. The girl gave wide berth to Guy. He had to settle for leading the way into the house, where he ushered them almost immediately through another doorway.
Entering the conservatory was like stepping into another world.
As he closed the door behind them, Guy relished the illusion of being transported to the moist heat of a rain forest. Palm fronds brushed the glass roof amid a tangle of vines and other lush shrubs. Sunlight dappled the flagstone path that meandered through the greenery, and stone benches were scattered here and there to provide spots to enjoy the view.
“Did you bring all these plants back from your travels?” Miss James asked in wonderment, her neck craned as she scanned the foliage.
“A good number of them. My grandmother had the palms installed many years ago, along with the orange trees and camellias. She liked to hold garden parties out here in the autumn and early spring.”
“But how did she keep the place warm? Surely it would take half a dozen fireplaces, and I don’t see even one.”
“She commissioned an architect to design a network of steam pipes under the floor, as the Romans of old used to do. There’s a furnace to stoke the fire in the cellar. Between that and the smudge pots, the air remains quite tropical even in winter.”
Her face glowed as she looked around the conservatory. “Lud, I never dreamed such a thing was even possible.”
Lud. Odd that an East End dialect would creep into her refined speech from time to time. He sensed there was much more to Miss James than met the eye. Yet perhaps her past was best left a mystery. His primary concern must be her ability to help him to ease Sophy’s mistrust.
Miss James returned her gaze to him. She truly had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Fringed by long lashes, they reminded him of the deep cerulean depths of the ocean. “Am I correct, then,” she said, “to think that it was your grandmother who inspired your love for plants?”
The observation startled Guy. He hadn’t ever considered it, but she was right. “Yes, I suppose so. As a boy, I’d often sneak in here and play explorer among the undergrowth.”
Much to his grandfather’s displeasure. By contrast, the duchess had applauded Guy’s antics and had encouraged him to use his imagination. His grandmother had died when he was ten, and now he felt a twinge of wistful regret at the loss of her vibrant charm and unreserved love. She had been a mother to him since his own had passed away when he’d been too young to remember.
Sophy tugged on Miss James’s skirt. “Where are the parrots?”
“Perhaps they’re hiding among the leaves.” Her eyes flashed an appeal to Guy. “Your papa can tell you.”
“They’re often hard to spot, especially the ones with green feathers,” he told Sophy. “You have to look very hard, for they often roost up in the trees.”
Even as he scanned the foliage, a sudden hammering broke the aura of peace. The loud banging emanated from across the conservatory and stopped almost immediately. But not before a flurry of wings erupted into the air.
Disturbed by the noise, a dozen birds flew hither and yon in the sunshine. Their raucous cries filled the warm air. Guy enjoyed the delight on the governess’s face as well as Sophy’s.
His daughter watched with eyes like saucers. “Look, Miss James! They’re such pretty colors!”
“How different they are from our dull little wrens and pigeons,” she marveled. “Why, they look as if they’re all dressed up for a fancy ball.”
“Or maybe a circus.”
“A bird circus! Now, that would be a sight to see.”
Amused by their nonsense, Guy pointed at one that had alighted on a nearby branch. “See that big one with the red head and the blue-and-yellow wings? It’s called a macaw. They’re larger than the other parrots.”
Miss James studied it. “They also appear to have longer tail feathers.”
“An excellent observation.” He was impressed that she took such an interest when the young ladies he’d known in society would be squealing and clinging to him for protection from the gliding birds.
“What do they eat?” she asked.
“Seeds and fruit, as they do in the wild. I’ve made their new home here resemble their natural habitat as closely as possible.”
“Where are they from?”
“Guiana in South America, the last stop on my voyage before I returned to England.” He’d arranged for several mail drops at various places around the globe. At the British consul’s office in Georgetown, he’d picked up the packet of letters containing the news of his grandfather’s death.
Just then, Sophy began to creep toward a smaller orange bird with a crest on its head that had perched on a rhododend
ron bush. Miss James took a step as if to stop the girl, but Guy caught her arm and shook his head. “Leave her be,” he murmured. “She won’t catch him.”
“Him? Surely such pretty feathers belong to a female parrot.”
“Actually, that one isn’t a parrot at all. The locals call it a cock-of-the-rock. The males have fancy plumage in order to attract the females, whose feathers are a brownish gray. Ah, there’s his mate now, on that branch above.”
“Why, they’re just like strutting roosters and drab hens.”
“Exactly.” He glanced at her simple blue gown with its clinging hint of curves. “We males know how to spot beauty beneath plain feathers.”
Miss James had been eyeing the birds when her gaze flashed to his. A blush tinted her cheeks and added charm to the delicate oval of her face. It wasn’t like him to play the flirt, Guy thought. He had put those youthful days behind him. Still, as they stared at each other, he experienced a powerful tug of fascination. Did she feel it, too?
A loud flapping of wings broke the spell. The cock-of-the-rock flew up to roost on a high branch near its mate. Sophy had managed to sneak to within a few feet of her quarry. Now the girl glowered up at the birds and stamped her little shoe. “Hmph!”
“They’re very fast,” Guy said, chuckling. “That’s why we must always keep the doors tightly closed so none of the birds escape.”
She stuck out her lower lip. “I only wanted to pet him.”
“Perhaps you could look for any feathers lying on the ground,” Miss James suggested, glancing at Guy. “So long as your papa doesn’t mind.”
“Go ahead.” Guy remembered himself at that age, hunting for treasure among the vegetation. He wanted Sophy to have similar happy memories. Even more, he wanted her to love him as her father.
As Sophy wandered off, the hammering came again from the other side of the conservatory, accompanied by another flight of squawking parrots. Miss James frowned. “Is that the window being fixed?”
“Jiggs is boarding it up until the glaziers can come to replace the pane.”
“Lolly mentioned that name, Jiggs.” Miss James looked puzzled. “Isn’t he your valet?”
“He’s a jack-of-all-trades. Come, I’ll introduce you.”
As Guy escorted her down the path and through a jungle of plants, Sophy scampered after them. She seemed loath to let Miss James out of her sight. He didn’t fool himself for a moment that his daughter was following due to any change of heart toward him. Her wariness was evident in her watchful glances and in her avoidance of venturing within a yard of him.
But at least she wasn’t running away.
They emerged into a small clearing across the conservatory, where a leprechaun had just finished pounding a board over the hole in the window. Spotting them, the small man laid down his hammer as a snaggle-toothed grin broke across his leathery face. The black patch over one eye completed his disreputable picture. “Well, well,” Jiggs cackled. “If it ain’t the two little ladies His Grace’s been spyin’ on.”
“Spying?” Miss James asked.
As she cast an inquiring look his way, Guy felt heat creep up his neck. He shouldn’t feel embarrassed to be caught observing his own child. Devil take it, he could hardly avoid seeing the governess, too. But at least now Miss James would realize she’d been wrong earlier to accuse him of taking no interest in Sophy. He’d needed to assure himself that he’d been right to keep Miss James in his employ.
“What he means is that I often work here in the morning, so naturally I noticed the two of you out in the garden. Might I add, you play a lively game of hopscotch.” Guy succeeded in making her blush again, thus taking the attention off himself. “Miss James, may I present Jiggs, an old relic who joined me in my travels after my proper valet quit.”
“The popinjay was too seasick to make it past Gibraltar,” Jiggs scoffed. “He scuttled straight back to England on the next packet.”
She sketched a curtsy. “I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Jiggs.”
“Now, don’t you go mistering me. ’Tis plain ole Jiggs. And this littl’un must be the princess.”
“I’m not a princess, I’m a lady,” Sophy said as she looked him up and down. “Why do you have that bit of cloth stuck on your face?”
“Pray don’t ask rude questions,” Miss James chided.
“Ain’t no harm done,” Jiggs said. “I poked out me eye whilst playing with a stick when I was a naughty little tyke like milady.”
Guy knew that was a bag of moonshine. Jiggs had lost the eye in a tavern brawl in Gibraltar and had been left behind when his ship had sailed. Rather than cringe, Sophy merely said to the man, “Do you have any parrot feathers, sir? I want to use them to decorate my bonnet.”
“Well now, I jest might know where to find some.”
Guy watched his daughter scurry after the short man. It was daunting to see her take to a stranger before her own father. He turned to Miss James. “What’s this about decorating bonnets?”
She blinked, then glanced down at the basket that was stuffed full of autumn leaves and red berries. “Oh … I thought it would be a fun activity to gather a few things from nature and use them as trimmings for her hat. She needn’t wear it out in public, of course.”
She seemed nervous about the project, and he could only surmise that she expected him to object to it since he’d been so adamant about Sophy learning her sums and letters. “I daresay this is part of your effort to win her trust.”
“Indeed, Your Grace. May I ask, is Jiggs as interested in botany as you are?”
Guy noted how she’d turned the subject but decided to let the matter drop. “Hardly,” he said with a laugh. “Jiggs thinks that flowers are too womanish. He spent the voyage grumbling about all the specimens I collected.”
“Specimens?”
“Allow me to show you.”
He led her to a work area with a table that was littered with utensils, jars of seeds, and glazed pots. A pile of rich black loam provided soil for his experiments. Sophy sat on her heels a short distance away. As Jiggs handed her feathers from a basket, she lined them up in a row on the ground.
While the two were busy, Guy pointed out his current projects to Miss James: banana seedlings that were sprouting tall green shoots, bromeliads that collected water inside the cup of a spiky flower, and the orchids he’d placed in the crooks of tree branches to encourage them to grow as they did in the tropics. Her questions inspired him to describe the varied places where he’d gathered botanical samples, from the dense mangrove swamps along the coast of Mexico to the arid shores of Persia.
“How did you care for the plants aboard a ship?” Miss James asked.
“The roots were packed in damp burlap, and I chose only those types that could survive a period of semi-hibernation. But mostly I brought back seeds, cataloged with notes as to their origin and natural habitat. The bulk of those seeds have been sent on to Greyfriars, to be sprouted in greenhouses come spring.”
He felt an intense longing to be at his estate, working the fertile earth, instead of being stuck in London dealing with the myriad duties of the dukedom. Sophy would enjoy roaming the grounds as he’d done at her age. Miss James would relish it, too. He imagined her on horseback cantering over the hills, her face radiant in the sunshine.
“Do you ride?” he asked.
“I-I haven’t had much opportunity. Why do you ask?”
“Next month, we’ll be heading to the country. My grandfather kept a fine stable, and you must feel free to avail yourself of it.”
“Oh! You hadn’t mentioned leaving London.”
The flicker of dismay in her eyes perplexed him. “You’ll much prefer it to the city, I assure you. The nursery is spacious, the gardens are extensive, and the views are breathtaking. Greyfriars is a veritable heaven on earth.”
“I shall look forward to it, then,” she said with a cool smile. “May I ask, did you bring back anything from your voyage other than seeds and parrots? It seems that
a world traveler would have mementos from foreign lands, too. Perhaps gold, frankincense, and myrrh.”
“Since my primary purpose was scientific, I resolved not to be distracted by souvenirs. Nevertheless, I can oblige with myrrh in the form of seeds.”
She blinked. “But … isn’t myrrh a perfume?”
“Myrrh is an ingredient of perfumes and incense. It’s an aromatic resin derived from a small thorny tree found in the deserts of Arabia. Hopefully, I can coax it to grow in a hothouse.”
“I see. Well, I was hoping there might be something from your journey to catch Lady Sophy’s interest. Other than parrots, of course.”
Guy considered for a moment. “How about a pirate’s treasure map?”
“Truly? Oh, you’re teasing me, sir.”
He enjoyed the thrilled fascination evident in her wide blue eyes and parted lips. “Actually not. The map was indeed sketched by an old pirate who’d been shipwrecked on a desert island for many years. How I came to meet him makes for an interesting story—”
“Miss James, come and see!” Sophy exclaimed.
The governess afforded him one last keen look, then she excused herself to go and admire the two dozen colorful feathers arranged on the ground. Guy followed close behind, sorry their conversation had ended and wondering if his daughter would ever call out to him. He ached to be the one with whom she wanted to share her joys and sorrows. If only he knew how to go about it.
“Why, there’s enough feathers to make a chieftain’s headdress,” Miss James said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace?”
“A pint-sized one,” he allowed.
“I’m making a hat,” Sophy insisted. “Don’t want a chief’s dress.”
“A headdress is a type of hat. Your papa saw one on his travels and painted a picture of it. Perhaps sometime he would show us how to make one for you.” Adding the feathers to her basket, she slipped Guy a cautious glance. “If he has the time to spare, that is. He’s a very busy man.”
