by Sarita Leone
“Lessons?”
“Of course. Lessons on dealing with children—I imagine they swallow milk crookedly all the time, and I shall need to know what to do the next time this unfortunate thing happens. Now, are you restored?”
“I am.” She patted her chest with one hand, a demure gesture, but one which brought his attention back to the delicate frame of the woman before him. When they had danced earlier, she had been as light on her feet as a butterfly on the wind. The memory made him itch to touch her again, sweep her into his arms and waltz around the room with her. But their meeting’s purpose had already been delayed long enough, so he gestured to the chair she had vacated. When she sat he poured a tumbler of water from the pitcher and placed it beside her brandy. Then, he reclaimed his seat.
“I imagine you’re wondering why I asked you here tonight.” When she nodded, he went on. “It’s a matter of some delicacy, I’m afraid. Although you’re probably more aware of what’s going on here than I am, seeing that you’ve been here a few weeks already.”
“Three,” she murmured.
“Yes, that’s what I thought. And three weeks is probably more than enough time to realize that my nieces are…” Why beat about the bush? “Hoydens.”
The giggle was unexpected.
“I wouldn’t say that, Your Lordship. Calling those lovely nieces—well, there must be a better manner of describing them, don’t you think?”
The twinkle in her eye replaced the fearful look that had been there just before her bout of choking. It was almost as if she had expected something different as a topic between them and was now relieved. Very peculiar…
“Miscreants? Ruffians in petticoats? Curly-haired monsters?” Each offering brought a fresh giggle, and he was tempted to continue. But it was late, and they were both tired. And between the girls and his sister, both he and Miss Halifax would face another grueling day come morning.
“None of the above,” she said with a wave of a hand. Her skin appeared soft, and was unblemished. Not the type of hand one generally attributed to the working class. “The girls are simply…”
“Hoydens?”
“High spirited.” With no attempt to hide her amusement, she added, “Very high spirited.”
“Yes, well that is one way of putting it. A very kind response, especially since they nearly had you tied up this morning in the day room. High spirited, hmm?”
“That is not all their doing. I am to blame, as well. I should take control more forcefully. They sense I am not heavy handed and take advantage, I am afraid.”
“Well, those girls are going to learn to obey you properly. They will learn to comply with your rules, and without putting you in the position of defending your honor, the way they did today. They will behave, especially since you will have full control over their lives when I am not in residence.”
Her eyes widened.
He hadn’t meant to blurt it out that way, but the day had been overlong, and he was in need of a stiff whiskey and a firm bed.
“Your Lordship?” A near-whisper.
“That’s right, Miss Halifax. I called this meeting because my sister has other endeavors to pursue at this time, and I have assumed responsibility for my nieces. I undertook this obligation in part because I knew I could depend on your assistance. A capable governess, such as yourself, will steer both the girls and me in the right direction, I am sure of it. And I can see by the kindness in your eyes that you won’t refuse to assist me in this…well, in this parenting endeavor.”
She looked startled. Unnerved. Scared.
Edward rushed to allay her obvious misgivings. They were unexpected but likely the result of her recent near-death-by-brandy experience. The collywobbles couldn’t be attributed to anything else, could they? Surely any governess worth her weight would adapt to the added responsibility. Welcome it, even. And at least now Letitia wouldn’t be bothering anyone with ridiculous demands. That had to count for something!
“Miss Halifax, I assure you that you will be aptly compensated for this additional burden. More than aptly—very handsomely, actually. I just need someone who is skilled at childrearing and all that entails to take the helm and steer me—and the girls—in the right direction.”
“It isn’t a matter of wages, Your Lordship.” She stopped, glanced around the room and looked as if she wished an excuse—any excuse—would pop out of the woodwork. Apparently none did because she met his gaze and said, “It is out of my realm of knowledge. Truly, what you propose—well, it is more than strictly governessing. You need someone who knows about raising children. I have no children, Your Lordship. I have never…”
“You have been a girl. And that is what is required. I need a woman of character, someone honest and knowledgeable in feminine activities as well as someone capable of teaching the girls how to be intelligent, accomplished young women. I want them to be strong, honest, and proper. I believe the characteristics mentioned are all ones with which you are endowed, Miss Halifax. You have all the necessary tools to undertake the position I propose.”
Her eyes were so wide, and she hadn’t blinked once, so he softened the deal by tossing himself into the mess. Hopefully she wouldn’t feel the entire matter was being thrust upon her if he took some of the burden onto himself.
“My sister’s present state of mind leaves her incapable of caring properly for her daughters. Therefore, it is up to us to…ah, well, to take the project on.”
“Project?”
“We shall think of this as a worthy cause, a project to be handled with efficiency and some measure of tenderness. They are, after all, just children. So it is settled, then? We shall step in and, um, raise my nieces? You and I, Miss Halifax—parents by default. For the foreseeable future, that is.”
“Parents?”
It seemed the most she could muster, so he stood, knowing she would follow his lead. She did, so he put an arm on the small of her back and escorted her to the doorway.
“That’s right. Parents. I’m sure we’ve got what it takes, aren’t you?”
Miss Halifax looked very stunned but still had the presence of mind to dip a tiny curtsey as she took her leave. She swallowed hard, met his gaze and nodded.
“Yes. I’m sure we have what it takes to be…” A flush rose up her neck and across her cheeks. It was enchanting. A desire to bend close and kiss her warm skin hit him hard. “Parents.”
Chapter 7
The next morning the sun shone brightly. The sky was blue and cloudless. The household ran as efficiently as ever. Nothing had changed. Yet, nothing was the same.
How could it be when Jane had quick-stepped along the employment path from governess, a position she was clearly unqualified to assume, to stand-in parent, a situation she was even less suited for? No, nothing was the same, despite the world around her which showed no sign of the turmoil within her.
Breakfast brought an apology from her eldest charge. It was a stilted offering, given against the backdrop of one rumbling tummy, but she accepted it. If she were to remain in residence, she would have to make peace with the girl. Otherwise every day would be a repeated nightmarish battle.
Morning lessons in French, geography, and mathematics went well. The girls were intelligent and needed almost no assistance with their workbooks. Amanda grappled a bit with penmanship, being more suited to crayon than pen, but she mastered her alphabet practice passably enough that Jane declared them done for the morning.
She had asked for a picnic basket from the kitchen. It was brought up just after the last book had been shelved and the pens cleared away. Perfect timing, she thought as Lena, one of the kitchen maids, entered the day room.
She took the basket with a smile. “Thank you.”
“What is it?” Amanda lifted a corner of the blue-checked napkin covering the basket’s contents and frowned. “A picnic? You are going on a picnic, Miss Halifax?” Dismay colored her words.
“Of course she is, silly.” Diana sighed. “She wants to go outdoor
s, to get away from us for a bit. She probably has a suitor—one of the grooms, maybe—waiting for her somewhere.”
“Ooh, a suitor? Like Mama?”
“No, not like Mother.” Diana waved a dismissive hand. “Mother’s suitors are gentlemen. Miss Halifax doesn’t know anyone like that.”
If they only knew who she knew!
Better to end the conversation.
“That’s not true.” Jane placed the basket on a table. She grabbed the periwinkle blue shawl she had worn earlier when the morning had still been chilly and draped it around her shoulders. “I don’t have a suitor waiting for me. But, for the record, any man can be a gentleman—it has nothing to do with birth or peerage. A gentleman is one whose manners are impeccable and whose good character makes him a man of worth.”
“Really?” Amanda raised one eyebrow. “Melody says only peers are gentlemen—and some of them aren’t even that gentlemanly, she says.”
“You’ve been eavesdropping again,” Melody said from the window seat. She had been nearly silent all morning, studying without argument and not giving anyone an ounce of attitude.
Her demeanor made Jane nervous—she did not believe for one second the girl had changed overnight. Even caterpillars took time to morph into butterflies. And zebras did not shed their stripes. So, she waited for the explosion she was sure would eventually come. It was like walking on the seashore, trying to step gently without cutting a foot on a sharp rock.
“Not true.” Amanda crossed her arms and jutted out her small chin.
Diana laughed softly. “Oh, you just gave yourself away. We know you were listening at the keyhole so you may as well admit it. It was a conversation we had that did not include you, so the only way you could know what we said about gentlemen…”
“Perhaps I walked past the door when you were talking.” Amanda nodded as the idea took shape. “That’s right. And perhaps the two of you were talking loudly—you do that, you know.”
Time to exert a little guidance. “Amanda, you do know it is not proper for well-bred young ladies to eavesdrop, don’t you? And to further embarrass oneself padding the truth…well, that isn’t an admirable trait, either.”
Jane waited for one of the older siblings to chime in—which she hoped they did not, but their past behavior let her know it was highly possible—but they kept silent. Perhaps they were finally adjusting to the shift in authority? Jane sincerely hoped that was the case.
When Amanda looked downcast, she added, “So, we all know the truth. Let us forget it, knowing full well it will not happen again. Agreed?”
The little girl looked up and met her gaze. “Agreed.”
“Well, then, we have a picnic basket, and it is noon-ish. I confess, I am hungry after all the good work we did this morning. I hear there is a Folly on the estate. What do you ladies think? Is it a good spot for a picnic and a bit of afternoon reading?”
They gathered shawls and books in a flash. It must be a very good spot indeed, Jane thought. She smiled and grabbed the basket. For the first time since assuming the governess position, she felt in control of the girls. And her situation. If she were fortunate, that might bleed over into the rest of her life.
****
The Folly sat smack-dab in the center of an island in the middle of a large pond near the far edge of the rose garden. Jane had only seen it from behind the rose hedge. She had never crossed the wooden bridge to the island, although she had yearned to do so. It looked so magical and serene, sitting all alone on the verdant chunk of land.
Reality matched imagination. The Folly was even better up close than from a distance. Carved white marble columns ringed the small round building. Its exterior was decorated with capering figures of fairies, elves, and unicorns. Roses provided a backdrop for the action portrayed so Jane assumed the building had been constructed when the rose-loving ancestor resided at the manor.
“Want to go inside?” Being out of doors lightened Melody’s disposition, and when she asked, she did so with a tiny smile. Her ringlets had been tamed, and she looked almost happy. “We know where the key is kept.”
Jane contemplated for a few seconds. Then, she shook her head.
“Not just yet, if you don’t mind. I’d like to sit here for a while and wonder what lies beyond these beautiful walls.” She trailed a fingertip over the flowing hair of a full-figured sprite. “Let’s eat lunch first, out here on the benches which have been, I suspect, thoroughly warmed by that brilliant sun. What do you say?”
Lunch was deemed a splendid idea, so they uncovered the basket and discovered the kitchen had spoiled them. There were slabs of ham on freshly baked bread, corn muffins and strawberry jam, cold green bean salad, and an assortment of fruit and cheese. They ate in silence for a while, languishing on the warm verandah. The Folly’s portico sheltered them from direct sunlight but still allowed dappled spots of brightness to patch the white marble.
Diana pointed to various items remaining on the cloth covering the marble bench they used for a table.
The jam. “La confiture.”
Bread. “Pain.”
Cheese. “Le fromage.”
“Diana, what are you doing?” Jane knew perfectly well. The child’s actions needed no explanation, but she wanted to know why it was happening.
“Why, I am making sure.”
“Making sure? Of what?”
Diana looked longingly at the olives in their jar.
“Making sure my brain grows. It is, you know, my best asset. I cannot let it rot in my head.” She scowled at the olives, slammed a fist on her thigh and exclaimed, “Damnation! Why can’t I remember the word?”
Amanda gasped at the curse.
Melody smirked.
Jane paid no mind to either of them.
“Please refrain from such vulgar language.” Jane reached for the olives, pulled one from the jar, and popped it into her mouth. “Olives. That is the word for olives. But it is unimportant, Diana. You may let your brain rest for now. Enjoy the day. Allow your soul to grow. Your brain will take care of itself. And although I know you are not in accord with this, I must declare that while you are a very intelligent young lady, your brain is not your best asset. You—all of you, the entire person—have many fine points and a number of outstanding assets, as you insist on calling your character traits. Your brain, my dear, is merely one fine point.”
“Can we go inside yet?” Amanda hopped from foot to foot, doing an impromptu dance on a spotlight of sunshine. “Can we?”
“‘May’ we,” Jane corrected.
She began to gather the remnants of their feast, grateful when the three girls assisted without being asked. It took only a minute to put what they hadn’t eaten in the basket, fold the tablecloth, and cover the remains of their feast. When it was done, she wiped her hands against the rough fabric of the gray dress she had grown to hate for its ugliness, and nodded.
“Yes, I do think it is time you ladies showed me the interior of your Folly. You do know why Follies are constructed, don’t you?” She recalled long hours spent in a similar building during her childhood but she brushed the memory aside. That was another lifetime. Another woman. “They are made for a specific reason. Do any of you know that reason?”
They walked around to the far side of the building. Jane let them lead the way, amused at the way they naturally fell into age order. Melody led and Amanda brought up the rear in the trio.
“Are they built for extra space? In case the manor runs out of rooms?” Amanda’s guess brought giggles from her sisters.
“How many rooms could any family need?” Diana pointed out. “That’s not it. I think they are made as watch posts. Really, anyone could guard the manor from a Folly. Probably a place for someone to keep an eye on the family.”
“No, I don’t think that’s it, either.” Melody reached behind a marble fairy’s wings, into a recess concealed from view, and pulled out an old brass key. She turned to the back door and pushed the key into its lock. “I bet
Follys are made as hideouts.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Diana asked, shaking her head so hard her curls bounced. “Why on earth would anyone need to hide out?”
Melody shrugged. She glanced at Jane when she answered. “Sometimes hiding from everyone is a peaceful venture. Don’t you agree, Miss Halifax?”
A warning bell rang inside Jane’s head. Her pulse quickened, and her mouth suddenly became cotton dry. The child couldn’t know, could she? No, it was impossible. There was simply no way Melody—or any of the Montgomerys—could fathom she was hiding.
“I can’t say that I know for sure, but I imagine being alone would have its benefits,” she said with what she prayed was a calm tone. “At least for the short term. But back to the question—why are Folly buildings constructed? You have all given excellent hypotheses, but none has offered the correct answer.”
“Why, then?” Diana inquired.
“For the sheer joy of it.” Jane gestured expansively to the carved wall beside them. “Look at how lovely this is. How happy and inviting. Why, this building is for enjoyment, to bring pleasure to those fortunate enough to be here. That is the only reason it was built.”
Melody pushed the door, and they stepped inside. It was bright, due to the pool of sunshine flooding the interior through the closely spaced windows placed in the circular walls. One large room, filled with sunlight and little else.
Or so it seemed at first glance.
They walked into the center of the room, then stopped beside a dusty bedroll and a pair of men’s heavy work boots. Jane knelt and examined the pouch lying beside the boots.
A long, nasty-looking serrated knife slipped out of the pouch, clattering against the marble floor. Jane stood quickly, no longer interested in whatever else hid inside the bag.
