Once in the corridor, Georgeanne reached behind him and closed the door. Calmly, she asked, “Was there anything in particular you wished to speak to me about, my lord?”
Raynor felt conflicted between utter amazement and blazing anger. “Miss Forsythe, you can’t be serious? That little girl, my niece, is in there yelling at the top of her lungs.”
“Oh, I am quite aware of that,” she responded somewhat sarcastically.
“So what do you plan to do about it?” He was fast losing his temper in the face of her indifference.
“Exactly what I am doing, my lord,” Georgeanne said, her own anger rising to match his. Ever since that first day, when she’d ignored Marissa’s tantrum, there had been no repeat of this sort of behavior. She had no intention of it beginning anew.
Truth was, Georgeanne was more than pleased with how their relationship was progressing. In no time, they settled down to an enjoyable and practical routine. She began each morning breakfasting with her charge. At first, Marissa was reticent, since prior to this she’d eaten all her meals with only Hattie for company. But once Georgeanne made it plain that she intended to share most of her meals with her, Marissa responded in kind to Georgeanne’s warm and friendly overtures.
Over the next few days, Marissa became less argumentative and sullen. And as her trust in Georgeanne grew, she showed signs of a happy and lively spirit. But they had seen nothing of the child’s uncle. Though Marissa obviously cared for him a great deal, talking about him whenever an opportunity arose, he’d remained absent from the little girl’s life. It was little wonder, thought Georgeanne dryly, that Marissa was upset over being excluded from his company. Raynor had not sought his niece out nor so much as sent an inquiry to determine how she was progressing with her new governess until today.
“You mean to actually ignore her?” he blustered. “You cannot be serious? Just listen to her carrying on in there.”
“I cannot help but hear her, my lord,” Georgeanne responded in a long-suffering tone.
“Exactly, madam!” He was practically screaming himself.
“What exactly would you have me do?”
“I don’t know. But you’re the governess, so do something!”
As she glowered at the insufferable man, Georgeanne squared her shoulders. Then with her satin skirts swishing in her wake, she walked around him and reentered the schoolroom.
Marissa stood behind the table with her balled fists held rigidly out in front of her. Never once looking at Georgeanne or her uncle, she seemed unaware of them. Nor did her shrill screams show signs of faltering or ceasing.
Georgeanne eyed the little terror. Then her eyes scanned the room. She went over to the washstand, picked up a china basin containing the remains of Marissa’s ablutions from after breakfast. She nodded at her employer, who was watching her every move from the doorway, walked over to Marissa and calmly poured the contents of the basin over the child’s head.
After a moment of sputtering and staring dazedly up at her governess, Marissa broke into a more natural sounding cry. In response, Georgeanne got down on her knees and used the little girl’s pinafore to gently wipe her face and smooth back the damp curls.
“Just what in damnation do you think you’re doing?”
From his expression, Georgeanne deduced Lord Raynor was on the verge of strangling her. But she had no desire to haggle with him. It was Marissa who needed her attention. Defiantly, she threw him a look of utter disgust before taking the child’s hands, from where they now hung limply by her sides, in her own and giving them a comforting squeeze.
“Marissa dear, let me get you dried off and changed into a pretty fresh frock. Then, we can return and go over your sums.” She rose and placed a protective arm about the child’s tiny shoulders. “Come with me, dear,” she said, gently urging Marissa around the table, past her speechless uncle, and out the door.
When they returned a short while later, Georgeanne stared at the clean but empty room. When Hattie came in with lunch, she related, “Milord dispatched a footman to tidy up everything.”
Though Marissa’s behavior remained subdued the rest of the day, Georgeanne stayed close. Guilt had Georgeanne reading an extra story at bedtime. Even then, she’d been reluctant to leave the pathetic little figure after Marissa fell asleep.
Overshadowing her charge’s recovery, Georgeanne felt on edge, waiting for Lord Raynor to call her upon the carpet for her unconventional handling of his niece. Several days passed, and still she’d heard nothing. And while Marissa appeared content, the child was less inclined to bring up the subject of her uncle. No doubt, she felt slighted by him. Thus, Georgeanne became furious with the absent nobleman and his intolerable lack of concern for his orphaned niece.
Georgeanne knew better than to gossip with the servants, but some things called for desperate means. “I was under the impression Lord Raynor cared a great deal for his niece.”
“Oh, he does, Miss,” Hattie was quick to respond. “’Tis just he don’t understand the little one. And I do think her screaming scares him. He’s like any other man, you know.”
Just what that cryptic remark meant, Georgeanne wasn’t sure, nor was she content to leave well enough alone. In a fit of pique, she dashed off a note. Then, she cornered his lordship’s valet with instructions to deliver her missive to the unfeeling lout as soon as possible.
Later, after her ire had cooled somewhat, she regretted her impulsiveness. Once again, she was plagued with dreadful imaginings of her employer’s reprisal. If he did not dismiss her outright, he would surely have a great deal to say about such impertinent behavior from a servant.
As had become her habit during the two weeks of her employment, Georgeanne made it a point to take Marissa outside in the afternoons when the weather was nice. She couldn’t tolerate being cooped up all day and believed it was unhealthy for her charge as well. Since today had promised to be unusually sunny and warm, Georgeanne arranged for a picnic lunch, and they escaped the schoolroom early.
Luckily, there was a park in the center of Berkley Square, two blocks from the townhouse. They could easily walk to it without having to prevail upon any of the staff to accompany them.
As they returned from their outing, Raynor, driving a shiny black phaeton with bright red wheels, happened to pull up to the front of the house. He tossed the reins of his two perfectly matched grays to his groom before jumping down. He nodded to Georgeanne and gave a stiff and formal greeting to his young niece. “Where have you been so early in the day?” he asked Marissa, eyeing the picnic basket Georgeanne carried.
“We went to the park, Uncle Tony. And I had ever so much fun,” answered the child, her large doe eyes warily trained on his austere countenance.
“How nice,” he commented dryly as they entered the house. He stopped in the act of removing his gloves and turned to Georgeanne. “Miss Forsythe, I’d like a few moments of your time in the library. Perhaps when Marissa takes her nap,” he added almost as an afterthought.
“Can I come, too?” asked his niece, pleading with her velvety brown eyes.
“Not this time, Marissa. I need to talk with Miss Forsythe about your studies.”
“But I want to come,” she replied, her pink lips set in a stubborn pout.
Georgeanne recognized the earmarks of a full fledged tantrum brewing. She grabbed Marissa’s shoulders and quickly steered the child ahead of her. “I will come down later, my lord, when Marissa does not need me.” She didn’t wait for his concurrence but hurried up the stairs, pushing a very disappointed Marissa ahead of her.
In the course of divesting her charge of her short jacket and chip straw bonnet, Georgeanne enthusiastically reviewed their little excursion in the park. Marissa had made new friends with a dowager’s furry lap dog and the footman walking it. This diverted the child’s attention. The little girl seemed to have a special fondness for dogs and soon forgot the slight she’d suffered from her uncle as she chattered merrily with Hattie, describing all th
e tricks the dog had performed.
Later that afternoon, after sending Marissa and Hattie to the kitchen for a gooseberry tart, Georgeanne, feeling not an ounce of trepidation, stood before the library door. This was her first interview since the unfortunate episode in the schoolroom and her hastily scribbled missive. However, his lordship hadn’t bothered to check on his niece before now, nor so much as send a note to remonstrate Georgeanne for her actions. So he must have something else on his mind, she decided, knocking on the door and entering the room after hearing him call out gruffly.
She stepped inside as Lord Raynor rose from behind a desk covered with papers. He motioned for Georgeanne to be seated in one of the wing chairs facing the front of his imposing desk. As she took her seat, she regarded him closely. He really was quite one of the handsomest men she had ever met. Well, maybe not handsome precisely, she thought, for his nose was too long, his jaw was decidedly square, and his eyebrows were bushy. Still, she definitely found him most appealing. When he suddenly stopped speaking, she realized she’d not been paying attention and had missed what he had said . . .or asked?
Raynor had watched Georgeanne demurely position herself on the edge of the cushion. Her back was ramrod straight and her hands were folded in her lap, reminding him that until recently she had been a member of the ton. “About your note, Miss Forsythe?” He waited for her response but instead received a sweet smile. “Miss Forsythe?”
“Oh, dear.” She met his eyes and colored prettily.
“Are you all right, Miss Forsythe?” he asked solicitously, observing her perplexed expression.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then, perhaps you will answer me.”
“Yes, my lord.”
When nothing more was forthcoming from the flustered young woman in front of him, he tried again. “Miss Forsythe, I asked you a question.”
In obvious embarrassment, she bowed her head. “Would you be so kind as to repeat it, my lord?”
He arched a dark eyebrow at her request but acquiesced. “I am concerned about Marissa. I take it she has sustained no lasting effects from her, er, dousing?” As Georgeanne’s chin came up, he saw the sparks flashing in her vivid green eyes.
“If you are inquiring whether Marissa took ill, I must say the concern you show your niece is most touching.”
He did not hide his annoyance at the sarcasm in her voice. “I take offense at your presumptuousness.”
“Then I hope you will excuse me.”
She neither looked nor sounded contrite. He noted Georgeanne’s pressed lips as she leveled a contemptuous stare on him. He was of a mind to put her in her place, then remembered her remarkable success in controlling Marissa’s outbursts. “Suppose you explain yourself, Miss Forsythe.”
He watched her squirm slightly in her chair. It was only correct she be ill at ease. After all, she was the one in the wrong.
“I have found it does no good to fuss over Marissa’s tantrums. She is less likely to carry on if left alone,” Georgeanne said. “She knows I refuse to listen to her screams or watch her thrash and kick about. Once she understood that, she quit throwing fits.”
Lord Raynor pondered her reasoning for a moment. “But you threw a basin of water on the child?”
“You left me little choice,” Georgeanne shot back.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I had no alternative. Indeed, you demanded I do something. I could hardly beat her—“
“I should hope not,” he interjected forcefully. “Though I suppose a judicious spanking once in a while may not be out of order.”
She gave him a quelling look. “I deduced if Marissa were distracted, she would quiet down. Perhaps I should tell you how the idea came about?”
Raynor sat down and gave her a nod. “Pray continue, Miss Forsythe.”
“When I was a little girl, there was an incident one afternoon in the hamlet of Yattendon, where Mama had taken me to buy ribbons. A boy was there, an idiot born to one of the farmers. He was about twelve years old and usually did a decent job working on the farm with his father. Anyway, it was market day, and he had come with his family to sell their produce. I do not know quite what happened to set him off,” she said, a frown creasing her smooth brow. “But suddenly, he started stomping his feet and screaming obscenities right in the middle of the village square.”
“Not surprising behavior from an idiot,” Raynor responded.
“He really was a very good lad normally, you see.”
“Yes, but I fail to comprehend how any of this concerns my niece.” Raynor was impressed by her defense of the demented boy and liked her more for it. But he saw no connection between Marissa and her story.
“That is just it,” Georgeanne said. “No one could do anything. He was so big and strong. But his father ran to the village pump and filled a bucket with water. He tossed it on Judd, and the boy simply stopped. There was no more yelling, or kicking, and he was his docile self once again. Later, when I was telling Papa about the incident, he explained how some people lose control of themselves, and all they really need is a jolt to make them aware of their surroundings. At any rate, it worked on Judd and Marissa.”
“I take exception to you classifying my niece in the same category with a village idiot.” His voice was low, indignant.
“Oh, but I never meant . . . oh dear. What I am saying is that Marissa only wanted one thing and she could think of nothing else. All I did was make her, well, wake up. It worked, did it not?” she asked in a tiny defensive voice.
“Yes. Yes, it did. And I admit that somehow your unorthodox methods seem to be effective in curtailing my niece’s tantrums. But in the future, I would prefer you leave Marissa alone in a room to tossing a basin of water over her.”
“Of course, my lord, but you would not let me.”
“I realize I was wrong to interfere. It will not happen again,” Lord Raynor said irritably.
She tried not to fidget, but her anxiety grew as the silence lengthened, and Lord Raynor still did not speak. His intent study of her made Georgeanne extremely uncomfortable. Finally, she was aware that his eyes had dropped to her mouth. She self consciously ran her tongue over her lips to moisten them. “Was there something else, my lord?”
“Ah?” His head jerked up. His smoldering blue eyes refocused on hers, almost as if he were coming out of a trance. “As a matter of fact, I am curious about my niece’s studies. What have you mapped out for her daily lessons?”
“As to that, we cover mathematics, grammar, geography and history.”
“How long do these lessons generally last?”
He sounded so stern, she wondered at what he was hinting. “Usually most of the morning.”
“But not today. You went somewhere this morning.”
“Yes, my lord. Marissa has been very good. And since the weather was exceptionally nice, we decided—“
“We?” Bushy eyebrows snapped together.
“Yes, my lord,” she said, through clenched teeth. “We decided to take the morning off and go to the park.”
“How often do you and my niece opt to discard her studies?”
Georgeanne returned his glare. There was no misunderstanding the accusation or the sardonic tone of his voice this time. “We spend a good deal of our time in the park investigating the different flowers and trees, my lord. In fact, we brought home several blossoms and leaves to start a botany scrapbook.”
“Really?” he drawled disbelievingly.
“Really,” she repeated angrily. “You are welcome to join us tomorrow morning when we begin constructing the booklet, if you so desire. You might benefit more from such an experience than harassing me.” She stood and fisted her hands at her sides.
“Harassing?” he mocked, also coming out of his seat.
“Yes, harassing. You tell me you are concerned about your niece, yet over the past two weeks, you have presented yourself to Marissa only once. I even posed the matter to you in a note which you ignored.”
“Ah, yes, I wondered how long it would take before you would bring up the contents of your missive.” His smile was anything but encouraging. “The reason, Miss Forsythe, is because the child invariably throws those deplorable fits when I am present. She seems to get along better when I stay away.”
“Well, there you are out, my lord. Those fits are purely enacted for your benefit.”
“Hardly, she knows I detest them.”
“No, she does not. She only knows the uncle she dearly loves will have almost nothing to do with her.”
“That is absurd! I have employed the best governesses and provided for her every need. I am constantly monitoring how she is getting along.”
“All hired help.” Georgeanne brushed these arguments aside with a wave of her hand. “The servants are incapable of giving her the love of a family member, my lord. Nor can they replace her family. She does not understand what happened to her parents. Only that she will never see them again. And you,” Georgeanne said, pointing at him, “her guardian, are never here to give her the affection she desperately needs.”
Georgeanne observed Lord Raynor, clenching and unclenching his jaw while contemplating her words. In the face of his anger, she refused to lower her eyes or so much as blink. Rather, she stood her ground and returned his glower with confidence.
“You seem very sure of yourself, Miss Forsythe,” he said, in a somewhat calmer voice. “Dare I presume you possess the solution of how I can relieve my niece’s mind that I’m not about to desert her?”
Georgeanne knew he was being facetious. So she ignored his arched look and gave him a dazzling smile. “As a matter of fact, I have two possible remedies. The first is for you to allow Marissa to have a dog. One of a friendly nature that would provide her with a playmate of sorts as well as keep her company.”
“Such an animal is highly impractical in the city. A dog requires space to run,” Lord Raynor answered, though she could see he was mulling over the idea.
“It need not be a big dog, my lord, for Marissa should learn how to care for it, after all.”
The Impossible Governess Page 3
