The Impossible Governess

by Margaret Bennett

  “Yes, that would teach her some responsibility, and there is always a footman to take it for walks.” He studied her for a long moment before nodding his head. “I shall give your idea due consideration, Miss Forsythe.” It was not the answer she’d hoped for, but she supposed it was better than an outright denial. “Your second remedy?”

  “Do you have time to take tea at home in the afternoons, Lord Raynor?” Georgeanne asked, her tone ever so sweet.

  “On occasion,” he responded carefully.

  “Would you be willing to include your niece two or three days a week?”

  “Yes, but can you promise Marissa will not throw any tantrums?”

  Georgeanne wrinkled her brow as she considered his question. “No, not always. But I can promise you some delightful times. Marissa is such a lovable little girl once you get to know her.”

  He gave a curt nod, then rose. “Shall we begin tomorrow, say four of the clock?”

  “Done!” Georgeanne replied, extending her hand across the top of the desk to seal the bargain. Meeting her eyes, Lord Raynor accepted her slender fingers, clasping them firmly in his large hand. The warmth she felt from the contact of his bare skin sent a tremor and brought heat to her cheeks. Hoping he hadn’t noticed, she gave a gentle tug to break his grasp.

  Lowering her eyes, Georgeanne curtsied, stepped around the chair and began backing toward the door. She heard the door open behind her but did not turn around. She was brought up short, though, when her heel came down on the arch of the man’s foot.

  Georgeanne quickly hopped off the highly polished Hessian and whirled around to stare up into a handsome face, split into a wide, captivating grin. His light brown hair was carefully brushed in a disarray of curls. He was of medium height and lean build, and as he reached out one hand to steady her, his hazel eyes warmed with open admiration.

  “Please excuse me, sir,” she begged a little breathlessly.

  “My pleasure, madam. In fact, you may tread on me any time you like,” he answered with a deep laugh that rumbled through the room.

  Raynor came out from behind the desk. “That will be all, Miss Forsythe.”

  Georgeanne curtsied once again. “Until tomorrow then, my lord,” she said before leaving in a whirl of skirts. She almost ran up the stairs to her room. Once inside the cozy chamber, she closed the door, leaning back against it, and tried to slow her ragged breathing.

  Whatever was she thinking? She was the governess, Lord Raynor’s employee. How could she ever hope to attract his attention as an eligible parti? More likely, he would take her sauciness as an invitation to offer her a most dishonorable position. She’d do much better to simply remember who she was and keep to her plan. Besides, Marissa would be the one to suffer if she got herself fired for being impertinent with the child’s uncle.

  *** Chapter 3 ***

  Lord William Townsend gave his friend a quizzical look, then lifted the back of his claw hammer coat of robin egg blue and seated himself upon the very chair Georgeanne had just vacated. With the candidness of a loyal and trusted friend, he said, “She isn’t a light skirt?”

  “Hardly, she is Marissa’s governess,” replied Raynor in a tone that declared the discussion of Georgeanne was at an end. He’d recognized the all too familiar predatory gleam in his friend’s eye when Townsend had clapped eyes on Miss Forsythe.

  “Never say so?” exclaimed Townsend, deigning to ignore his host’s wishes. “Is she any good? I mean as a governess,” he amended quickly when Raynor’s face took on a ruddy hue. “Meant no offense,” he blundered on, “but you must admit, she ain’t in the regular way of governesses.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Lord Raynor studied the fashionably dressed peer sitting across from him. Though there were any number of fobs hanging from his puce stain waistcoat with its elaborately embroidered border, Will Townsend was no dandy. He didn’t conform to George Brummell’s decrees for plain unexceptionable attire with an eye to minute detail. Still, Townsend cut a very pleasing picture, especially where the fairer sex was concerned, as Raynor knew all too well.

  With Townsend’s hunting instincts obviously having been aroused, Raynor was concerned. He knew that once informed Miss Forsythe was indeed a respectable lady, Townsend would cease the chase. At least he hoped that was so.

  Walking over to a sideboard with a tray of glasses and an assortment of bottles, Raynor poured them each a glass of Madeira. After handing a glass to Townsend, he settled into the wingback chair next to his friend, and described his newest employee’s straightened and unusual circumstances.

  “Sounds like a flip-flopped fairy tale,” Townsend said, staring into the bottom of his crystal goblet. “What did she mean about seeing you tomorrow? Pretty sassy for a governess, wasn’t it?”

  “In the ordinary sense, you’d be right. Except she’d just finished raking me over the coals for grossly neglecting my niece.” As another act of impertinence by Miss Forsythe came to mind, Raynor let out a hearty laugh. “Get this, Will, she had the audacity to pen me a note saying, ‘It would behoove your Lordship’s understanding to spend some time with your niece. Respectfully, The Governess.’”

  After both gentlemen shared side splitting guffaws over the tone as well as the curt closing of Georgeanne’s missive, Raynor retrieved the wine decanter from the sideboard and refilled their glasses. “She thinks Marissa needs a mutt for a companion.”

  “Ain’t such a bad idea,” Townsend said. “Remember, I had old Rufus, a springer spaniel, when I was a brat. Used to sleep with me, too. My sister claimed he had fleas, but I didn’t care.”

  “She was correct. Rufus did,” Raynor chuckled. “But you haven’t heard the best yet. Miss Forsythe conned me into having tea with Marissa several days each week. Said the child misses my company. Dare say she may have the right of it, for Marissa clings to me whenever I try to leave her.”

  “Tea, you say?”

  “I’m hardly looking forward to it since Marissa can’t be depended upon to behave. Still, it will be well worth the try.”

  “I’ve never seen Marissa cut up, though I’ve heard her a time or two,” Townsend duly commiserated. “Still, as you say, some good might come of spending an hour with the little girl. And with her governess in attendance, even if it’s a sore trial on the ears, it won’t be on the eyes,” he added with a meaningful grin.

  “Speaking of screaming fits,” Raynor said, taking a fortifying gulp of his Madeira, “did I tell you Lydia Russell and Olivia Cosgrove dropped by not too long ago?” At Townsend’s raised eyebrow, he continued. “Lady Russell had gotten wind of Marissa’s last governess leaving. Wanted to take the child.”

  “No doubt you squelched that idea,” Townsend said, with a chuckle. “Only thing she wants is the child’s inheritance.”

  Raynor nodded. “Olivia never said a word. She seemed not to take her mother’s side. But Marissa hadn’t been in the room five minutes before Lydia Russell had Marissa screeching like a banshee.”

  “Lady Cosgrove doesn’t seem to take after the mother. Easy on the eyes, too.”

  “There’s that, and it might do Marissa some good to develop a relationship with Olivia,” Raynor acknowledged. Then turning the topic of interest, he set about describing his morning’s drive, tooling the pair of grays he’d recently acquired. Shortly thereafter, the two gentlemen called for their hats and headed to Tattersalls, where they could inspect whatever new bits of blood were to be put upon the block.

  ~~~~~

  Just in case his lordship had a change of heart and cancelled out, Georgeanne waited until the next afternoon before telling Marissa about taking tea with her uncle. As she expected, the little girl was ecstatic. To ensure a successful afternoon, Georgeanne decided upon a demonstration in deportment.

  Rearranging a few chairs to resemble seating in a drawing room, Georgeanne showed Marissa how to sit with her back ramrod straight. When Hattie brought up cups and saucers, they practiced taking tea with a stuffed rabbit representi
ng Lord Raynor. She even had Marissa select imaginary macaroons and scones from an empty platter. Although the child would not be expected to balance a cup and saucer, Georgeanne was determined Marissa would have tea heavily laced with milk, not a glass of lemonade. She wanted the little girl to feel included in the ritual as though she were one of the adults.

  When the time came for them to descend to the drawing room, both wore their best Sunday dresses. Georgeanne’s simple yet elegant yellow silk gown was trimmed with gold braid around the scooped neckline, high waist, and tiny puffed sleeves. Marissa resembled an adorable cherub in a pink muslin frock with tiers of ruffles at the neck and hemline.

  As they descended the stairs, Georgeanne covered for her own nervousness by continuing her litany on proper etiquette. “Remember to drape your napkin across your lap,” she restated in an urgent whisper.

  “I know.”

  “Do not grab the cookies. And only take how many?”

  “Two.”

  “Very good. And never talk with food in your mouth.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “And—“

  “I know, I know.”

  Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, Georgeanne turned the child around to face her. “Marissa, I had not said anything.”

  “You’re going to upset me, Georgie,” Marissa defended herself with words she’d obviously overheard the servants use.

  Georgeanne ran a hand over the golden ringlets, held back off the child’s face with a wide pink ribbon. Stooping down, she took hold of the little girl’s shoulders with her hands and looked squarely into her large, brown eyes. “This is very important for both of us, Marissa. If you are a very good girl today, then we will be able to have tea with your uncle again. You do want that, do you not?”

  Solemnly, Marissa nodded her head several times.

  “And if you do just as you ought, it will help me, too. Can you understand that, sweetheart?”

  Marissa nodded once again. “You don’t want to get turned off?”

  “Exactly, and that will not happen if we are both on our best behavior.”

  “I’ll be good, I promise,” Marissa said, in a small penitent voice. Then she threw her arms around her governess’s neck.

  Overcome by the child’s spontaneous hug, Georgeanne felt tears prick behind her eyes and gave Marissa an affectionate squeeze before she stood up, making much over straightening her gown as well as Marissa’s. Then, she took her charge’s tiny hand in hers and entered the drawing room.

  Lord Raynor turned from standing by the fireplace and came forward to greet his guests. “Good afternoon, ladies.” He watched Marissa curtsy and highly praised her on its execution. This brought an instant smile to her face. Gravely, he reached for her small hand and led the little girl to a chair before inviting Georgeanne to join them.

  No sooner were they seated when there was a knock on the door. Bivens brought in a large silver tray loaded with scrumptious pastries, sweetmeats, finger sandwiches, and a silver tea service and china. While the honor of pouring was given to Georgeanne, Marissa helped by passing her uncle a plate of small sandwiches.

  Raynor upheld the conversation by quizzing his niece on her morning activities. After serving everyone, Marissa hopped up on her chair and carefully draped the napkin across her lap. As instructed earlier, she left her plate, teacup and saucer on the small octagonal side table at her right. Georgeanne and Raynor shared an amused look as Marissa consciously went through the movements of eating her macaroons and drinking her sweetened, milky tea.

  Georgeanne was pleased with Marissa’s behavior. She comported herself just like a miniature lady. She seemed to blossom under her uncle’s attention. At one point, Georgeanne hid a smile behind her serviette as Marissa began to answer one of her uncle’s questions after just stuffing a whole macaroon in her small mouth. Realizing her error, she snapped her mouth shut and dutifully chewed and swallowed before she rendered a reply.

  Raynor was pleased by Marissa’s display of pretty manners and began to enjoy himself. He relaxed and leaned against one side of his chair, crossing a booted calf atop his knee. Observing Marissa’s doe eyes slewing back and forth between Miss Forsythe and himself, he asked, “Is anything amiss, Marissa?”

  Before answering, the child looked expectantly toward her governess. “No, Uncle Tony.”

  “Then, why are you staring at me? Have I grown horns?” he prodded gently.

  Again the little girl’s eyes cut to Georgeanne before she answered half under her breath. “Georgie wouldn’t let Mr. Rabbit slouch in his chair.”

  “Mr. Rabbit?”

  “Mr. Rabbit is you, Uncle Tony, when Georgie and me practiced how to sit and drink my tea.”

  This time Raynor’s eyes joined Marissa’s as they turned to the furiously blushing governess. “I see.” Raynor smiled, and immediately corrected his posture.

  As Raynor concentrated on entertaining his niece, Georgeanne quietly willed her frantically beating heart to return to normal. She recognized the deepening blue of his eyes as an approving and warm assessment of her person. Still, she had to remind herself of her position as governess rather than an equal paying a social call.

  Too soon the afternoon came to an end, and Georgeanne thanked Lord Raynor for inviting them to tea. With Marissa echoing her every word, he smiled and remarked how pleasurable it had been for him as well. “In fact, I would be honored if you ladies joined me again tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yes, Uncle Tony! Do say we can, Georgie!” Marissa said, pouncing from one foot to the other.

  With Georgeanne shushing the little girl’s squeals of delight, Raynor hastily added, “But you must understand, Marissa, that this cannot be a daily affair. There are many afternoons I am away from home.”

  “I do. I understand. I really do,” said Marissa, capering about Georgeanne’s skirts as she tried to usher her toward the door, quieting only when a booming male voice was heard hailing Bivens.

  “No need to announce me, Bivens. I can do that myself,” said Lord Townsend, coming through the door with a broad smile.

  Georgeanne found herself once again facing the handsome, fashionably dressed gentleman whose heel she’d stepped on the day before.

  “I say, Tony, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” asked Townsend, though his gaze never wavered past Georgeanne.

  Raynor scowled at his friend. “Allow me to make known to you my niece, the Honorable Miss Marissa Raynor, and her governess,” he said, stressing the last word, “Miss Forsythe. Ladies, this gentleman is Lord Townsend.”

  Townsend stretched an elegant leg to Marissa. He made a great show of kissing the little lady’s hand, bravely ignoring the sticky raspberry jam between her fingers. He also possessed himself of Georgeanne’s hand, though he did not bring it to his lips.

  Totally charmed, Georgeanne could not prevent herself from bestowing a dazzling smile on him. As he still held her hand, she wondered how long the gentleman intended to stand there before Raynor’s bark broke the spell and Townsend released her and moved away.

  “You may take my niece back to the schoolroom, Miss Forsythe. Now,” said Raynor in a clipped voice.

  Having taken an instant liking to the gallant gentleman, Georgeanne was tempted to demure but, after one look at her employer’s expression, thought better of it. With Marissa acting as her shadow, Georgeanne dipped a hasty curtsy and quit the room with her charge in tow.

  Townsend glared at Raynor. “You didn’t have to run them off,” he said and turned back to the door through which Georgeanne had disappeared.

  “They were on their way out when you arrived.” Much to Raynor’s disgust, Townsend stood with his back to him, glazed eyes still fixed on the closed door. “What are you doing here, Will?”

  “Huh? Oh, came by to see you, old man. Wanted to lend you my support and have tea with you.” He sounded distracted. “I remembered how yesterday you were not particularly happy over the prospect of today’s tea. By the way, how did
it go? Must say, Tony, your niece was very well behaved just now.”

  The compliment pleased Raynor. “Yes, I have to admit she has come a long way in a couple of weeks. It must be Miss Forsythe’s influence, for Marissa verily dotes on her.”

  “Can see why. Dash fine looking chit, that one.”

  “I’m warning you, Will,” Raynor said, his tone ominous as his brows snapped together.

  “No, don’t rip up at me. It ain’t what you think. By the bye,” he said. “Heard Sarsfield’s planning on showing off his new chestnuts in Hyde Park this afternoon. Swung by to see if you’d care to join me and have a look.”

  “That windbag has got more hair than horse sense. Rumor has it those nags are all show and can barely make the trip to the park and back without getting winded.”

  “My phaeton’s out front if you care to check them out.”

  “I’ll get my hat,” replied Raynor, ringing for the butler.

  “Tea went pretty well, huh?” asked Will, slewing his eyes to catch his friend’s reaction to the question.

  “So good, in fact, that we’re to repeat the event again tomorrow.”

  “You don’t say.”

  ~~~~~

  Georgeanne had her hands full trying to dampen Marissa’s exuberance. The child awoke excited over the prospect of seeing her uncle again that afternoon. Through sheer willpower, Georgeanne managed to complete their morning studies, but quit early. It was a constant chore recalling Marissa’s attention to her school work. To make matters worse, the fine weather had given way to a dreary drizzle by mid morning and showed no signs of letting up.

  Shortly before noon, a great commotion erupted in the front foyer. But it was not until Hattie brought up the lunch tray a little later than usual that they learned of the unexpected visitor who’d turned the house in an uproar. Lady Lillian Ashbury, Raynor’s aunt.

  Her ladyship had arrived unannounced and with an inordinate amount of baggage. This telling fact, Hattie said, Bivens had related to the housekeeper, Mrs. Harrison. It was, Bivens said, a sure indication that her ladyship planned to make a very lengthy stay.