The Impossible Governess

by Margaret Bennett

  Marissa was pleased by the news and began anticipating the appearance of her great aunt. She jumped up from whatever she was doing to check the doorway whenever she heard or imagined the slightest sound coming from the corridor.

  Nor was Marissa disappointed. Soon after lunch, an older woman of medium stature appeared at the schoolroom door. She wore her almost white hair tucked up under a delicate lace cap that matched the trim at her throat and on the cuffs of her lilac silk gown. Both the cut and the understated elegance bespoke the work of a Parisian modiste. Though in her late fifties, her carriage was regal, making her appear taller, and her walk held a youthful spring.

  Marissa immediately ran to her and was greeted with outstretched arms and an affectionate hug. Marissa tugged on her aunt’s hand and pulled her into the room as she proudly made the introductions. “Aunt Lillian, this is Georgie, and Georgie, this is my very favorite aunt, Aunt Lillian.” Having delivered these words, Marissa looked from one to the other, expecting them to complete the prescribed dialogue.

  Both ladies solemnly regarded each other before bursting with laughter.

  “I do apologize, my lady,” Georgeanne said between chuckles. “Marissa, that was a lovely introduction. I am proud of you. You remembered to do everything just as we practiced. But I cannot go around calling this lovely lady ‘Aunt Lillian.’” Dipping into a deep curtsy, she said, “I am Georgeanne Forsythe, my lady.”

  With an outstretched hand, Marissa’s great aunt said warmly, “And I am Lady Lillian Ashbury.”

  “Uncle Tony did not say you were coming,” interrupted Marissa.

  “No, dear, I dare say I have quite surprised him. But when he wrote in his last letter that you were without a governess again, I decided my nephew was in definite need of my help. But here I see you already have a new governess.” She turned a sharp eye on Georgeanne once more.

  “Oh yes, and she is the very best, too. Georgie plays games with me, Aunt Lillian,” Marissa offered excitedly.

  “That is splendid.” The smile Lady Ashbury gave Georgeanne sparkled in her pale blue eyes. It was apparent that very little escaped this sharp witted lady.

  “Raynor told me you were doing exceptionally well. But I had to see for myself.” She placed a hand on Marissa’s head. “I understand we will be taking tea together, dear.”

  “We have the most wonderful tea parties, and I get to be a grownup,” Marissa said proudly. “You will come, too?”

  Eying Georgeanne, Lady Ashbury replied, “I would not miss it for the world.” Then, declaring she intended to rest in the meantime, she gave her grand niece a kiss and departed with another promise to see her at tea.

  At the appointed time later that afternoon, Georgeanne and Marissa descended the last set of stairs just as Bivens responded to a knock at the front door. In walked Lord Townsend. The ladies watched him carelessly toss his hat and cane at the unflappable butler. The moment he saw them near the bottom of the steps, he approached them with a pleasant smile.

  “What a fortunate circumstance, Miss Forsythe. Where are you and the lovely Marissa headed?” he asked.

  Accepting his hand, Georgeanne descended the last few risers. She watched as he made an elegant leg for Marissa, who dipped a slightly shaky curtsy, then succumbed to a fit of giggles. It would be easy to like this gentleman with his affable manners and smiling hazel eyes, Georgeanne thought. Too easy.

  “We are going to have tea with Uncle Tony,” Marissa announced proudly.

  “Why, so am I!” he said with exaggerated surprise, which set the little girl to giggling again. He leaned down so she could take his proffered arm and, with a disarming grin, offered Georgeanne the other.

  “We did not know his lordship was expecting guests,” Georgeanne commented.

  “Well, it’s likely he isn’t, but I am counting heavily on the fact I’ve never been tossed out on my ear before now. Raynor has always encouraged me to consider myself a member of the house, rather than a guest.”

  Before Georgeanne could reply, they reached the drawing room. The merry trio swept into the room and found Raynor already in his habitual stance by the fireplace. His greeting was everything it should have been. His smile, in contrast, was tight and failed to reach his eyes. It occurred to Georgeanne that Raynor did not look pleased to see his friend.

  Georgeanne suspected Townsend felt his host’s displeasure as well. Townsend tended to rattle on, maintaining a congenial flow of what amounted to inane chatter. Fortunately, Lady Ashbury soon arrived and seemed genuinely pleased to see Raynor’s friend.

  When Bivens brought in the tea tray, everyone took a seat with Townsend slipping into the chair next to Georgeanne. There was an assortment of cookies and sweetmeats, including one plate with Marissa’s favorite macaroon cookies. Georgeanne wondered if Raynor had mentioned to Cook that his niece would be joining them.

  While Lady Ashbury poured tea and plied Lord Townsend with questions about his family, Georgeanne kept her eyes on Marissa as she eagerly plucked three macaroons off the silver tray Bivens passed around. She would have grabbed more had she not glanced at Georgeanne and noted the infinitesimal shake of her governess’s head. The child started to replace one cookie before again seeing Georgeanne disapprove of her actions. After that, she sat quietly, completely absorbed in munching her cookies and drinking her own special concoction of tea.

  But Georgeanne was not so contented. Gone was the congenial host of yesterday, and she was confused by Raynor’s abrupt shift in mood. She wondered whether she or her charge had unknowingly done something to incur his ire.

  Georgeanne wasn’t the only one to take note of Raynor’s cantankerousness. Lady Ashbury also observed the strained atmosphere that existed between the three adults. But unlike Georgeanne, she was not the least confounded by her nephew’s disgruntlement. In fact, she was amused by the revelation and decided to throw more oil on the troubled waters.

  When Marissa began to fidget after finishing her repast, Georgeanne deemed it time they went back to the schoolroom. The little girl accepted her governess’s cue to neatly fold her napkin and lay it by her plate. After saying good bye, she executed a lovely curtsy, then skipped to the door to take Georgeanne’s hand.

  Lady Ashbury was not surprised when Townsend suddenly remembered an appointment that he had forgotten. As he rose to make a hasty adieu, she invited Townsend to come again the next day. “Marissa really does enjoy your company. You are so less intimidating than her prosy Uncle Tony.” Glancing at Raynor, she was gratified to see a ruddy flush heat up his face.

  “I hardly think Will wants to spend his afternoon partaking a nursery tea, Aunt Lillian.”

  “Oh, but I do,” Townsend quickly replied. “That is, I have greatly enjoyed your company, my lady, and am honored to accept your kind invitation.”

  “Then it is settled. We will expect you for tea tomorrow,” she said and dismissed him after offering her cheek for his salute.

  With Townsend no sooner out the door, Raynor rounded on his aunt. “You should not have done that. These teas aren’t meant to be social events. They are to give Marissa more time with me.”

  “And what an excellent idea they are, too. Whose was it?” she asked, then answered for him. “Miss Forsythe’s, no doubt. She has done wonders with the child in so short a period.”

  “Yes, she has. But I can’t fathom why Will’s so anxious to waste his time on nursery fare.”

  Lady Ashbury got up and nonchalantly brushed off the front of her powder blue satin gown as an excuse to compose her expression. “Why, that is hardly difficult to divine. It is as plain as pikestaff he has developed a tendre for Miss Forsythe.”

  “Never, she is a servant under my roof. He knows better than to take advantage of our friendship in such a rascally fashion.”

  Leveling a pointed look at her decidedly dense nephew, the astute lady responded, “Miss Forsythe is a governess, not a scullery maid, whose upbringing is unexceptional. She has a pedigree that could well riv
al even the Prince Regent’s own daughter, Caroline. And Lord William obviously has no trouble recognizing that.” She gave Raynor a shrewd look. “Mark my words, Anthony. Your friend has no intention of offering the young lady anything as improper as a slip on the shoulder.”

  Then without a backward glance, Lady Ashbury quit the drawing room, leaving a stunned Raynor behind to contemplate those daunting words.

  *** Chapter 4 ***

  In the weeks since acquiring her position, Georgeanne had discovered Marissa’s proclivity for collecting things. All sorts of things, from beads and buttons to rocks and shells. Thus, it was easy for Georgeanne to interest her pupil in scouring the parks for different types of foliage during their daily walks.

  Upon returning from their excursion the next morning, they pasted different specimens into a botany scrapbook. Suddenly, Georgeanne had the uncanny feeling that they were under scrutiny. Glancing up, she saw Raynor leaning against the wall, watching them. Though his expression was unreadable, Georgeanne sensed he wanted to remain undetected by his niece for a while longer. Therefore, she gave him the briefest of nods, which he returned in kind, and resumed her task of spelling the names of trees and helping Marissa label the leaves on each page in bold black letters.

  It took some doing, but Georgeanne managed to show interest in Marissa’s project. Soon she became so engrossed that she was startled a short while later when Raynor pushed away from the wall and walked over to the table.

  “Just what have we here, Marissa?” He came forward with a genuine smile as Marissa squealed excitedly upon seeing her uncle. “You appear very busy.”

  “Oh, I am, Uncle Tony. Look what I made. I find pretty leaves and put them in my scrapbook,” said the little girl. She attempted to pick up a bulky stack of papers tied together at one end with colorful ribbons.

  “May I look at it?” he asked, pulling a chair over and sitting on the other side of his niece.

  Georgeanne grinned as Marissa eagerly described the contents of her album. She was inordinately happy over the attention her uncle gave her. For over a quarter of an hour, Raynor asked questions about one type of leaf or gave additional information about others.

  “You’re very lucky, Marissa. You have an excellent teacher in Miss Forsythe,” he said.

  Georgeanne felt herself blushing and reacting just like her small charge. She beamed at him.

  “Georgie knows ever so much, Uncle Tony. Of course, she knows much more about leaves and flowers than rocks.”

  “Why is that?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Because she used to have a flower garden.”

  “Did she? Where was this flower garden?” Both his lordship and his niece looked expectantly at Georgeanne.

  “In Kent, Fairlawn Manor,” Georgeanne replied in a small voice.

  “Your father was Sir Edward Forsythe?” He appeared somewhat surprised at this revelation. “I met him a couple of years ago at one of my clubs. You must miss him very much, Miss Forsythe? If memory serves me correctly, he was a kind man with a heart of gold.”

  “He was,” she replied. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks as treasured memories of her dear Papa sprang to mind.

  “I miss my mama and my papa, too,” chimed in Marissa’s little voice with a definite tremble to it.

  Raynor looked nonplussed for having upset both Marissa and Georgeanne and sought to change the subject. “And what other work do you have to show me, Marissa?”

  The child hopped off her chair and headed for a squat dresser that stood against the wall. “Rocks,” she exclaimed, pulling out the bottom drawer of the bureau.

  “Rocks?”

  “They are not just any old rocks, Uncle Tony,” she said, using an edifying tone. “These are special. They have names like limestone and granite and quites.”

  “Quartz,” he corrected, as he went over to see an orderly assortment of small pebbles and stones, resting on a clean piece of muslin laid across the bottom of the drawer.

  “That’s what I said,” Marissa replied. “Quites.”

  Raynor bent down on one knee beside Marissa to better examine the rock collection. As they bent over the open drawer, she picked up different rocks and explained their different colors and shapes and told him where she found each.

  “If we were in the country, Georgie says we could find lots more.”

  Raynor glanced over his shoulder to where Georgeanne still sat at the table. “You’ve done quite well, Miss Forsythe.”

  Georgeanne was surprised and gratified to observe Lord Raynor’s easy manner with Marissa, who was getting along famously with her uncle. He’d quite lost all of his haughtiness, unbending enough to even soil the knee of his form fitting trousers. Really, he was so very handsome, she thought taking in the broad of his shoulders, the way his dark hair turned up over the collar of his dark blue jacket.

  Raynor sensed Georgeanne’s unwavering study of him. He pushed the drawer closed, stood up, and observed a residue of the blush his praise had brought to Georgeanne’s cheeks. His gaze locked with her emerald green orbs before they strayed to the floor and opened as wide as saucers.

  Then a mouse scurried out from under the dresser and, like a shot, headed directly toward Georgeanne. Before his eyes, she transformed from a demure, pretty young woman to a screaming fishwife, hollowing in abject fear. Leaping out of her seat, she hiked her skirts high and scrambled onto the seat of another chair. She danced about on tiptoe while watching the rodent race about, searching for cover in the relatively sparsely furnished schoolroom.

  Meanwhile, Marissa added to the confusion, clutching his legs and screaming, “What is it? What is it, Uncle Tony?”

  Spotting Georgeanne’s tiny nemesis, Raynor went into action. “Stay here, Marissa,” he said, prying her hands loose from his trousers and lifting her up on the table.

  Pandemonium broke out as the mouse doubled back for the table. Georgeanne pulled her skirts even higher and joined Marissa on the tabletop. Her actions momentarily diverted Raynor. He paused in his self-appointed task as mouse catcher and ogled the delightful bit of leg his comely governess was displaying.

  Marissa, clinging to Georgeanne, cried out, “What is it, Georgie?”

  “A mouse, ohhhh, a mouse!”

  Totally baffled, his lordship eyed the two hysterical females. How any sensible person could be frightened by a mere mouse was beyond his understanding. However, it was obvious something must be done to restore some semblance of order to the schoolroom. Thus, he tromped after the erratically running rodent, from one end of the room to the next and back again.

  “Come here, you ugly varmint!” he ground out in disgust. He once more crossed the floor in hurried strides. He dodged pieces of furniture lying in wait to ambush him and finally cornered the mouse.

  “Got you!” he shouted. He stomped one gleaming Hessian on the floor. “Damn you, you maggoty creature!” he bellowed as the rodent leaped over his other booted foot.

  From their vantage point, huddled atop the table, Georgeanne giggled at the spectacle. The absurdity of the entire situation had managed to penetrate her mind. Marissa slowly stopped crying long enough to ask what was so funny.

  “Why, your uncle, Marissa,” Georgeanne said between chuckles.

  Then Marissa regarded her usually dignified, starchy uncle as he knocked over chairs and vaulted tables and stools. She joined Georgeanne when, unable to skid to a halt, Raynor slammed into a wall. However, one look at the murderous glaze burning in his eyes convinced Georgeanne that Raynor’s efforts to catch the mouse had turned from chivalry to a blood lust.

  After one particularly bruising encounter with the corner of a table, Raynor stopped to catch his breath and scan the room for the evasive rodent. Slowly the merry laughter coming from the two on top of the table pierced the red haze in his mind.

  “O—over there,” gasped Georgeanne, pointing one slender digit in front of his face toward a walnut closet against the wall. Instead of looking in the di
rection of her index finger, his eyes traced the line of her extended arm and found himself staring at her heaving bosom filling out the bodice of her sprigged muslin gown. Quickly averting his gaze upward, he discovered her eyes swimming in mirth. “I see little humor in this.”

  “No, of course you do not,” Georgeanne said, then went off into whoops again.

  Marissa reached for Raynor to take her in his arms. “Uncle Tony, you are so funny.”

  Raynor stood rigid, reluctant to scoop her small body into his arms. But Marissa gave him little choice when she jumped on him and wrapped herself around this neck. “You are so funny,” she repeated.

  “And brave,” added Georgeanne.

  Under his unflinching angry glare, Raynor watched Georgeanne’s smile sober.

  “Yes, brave,” parroted Marissa, this time giving him a bear hug squeeze.

  “And so very chivalrous to come to our aid,” Georgeanne said more seriously.

  “Is that good, Georgie?” Marissa asked.

  Georgeanne didn’t answer her. Instead, she flashed Raynor an impish look. “What do you think, my lord?”

  Raynor gave himself a mental shake, trying to erase the memory of Georgeanne’s shapely limbs as he gazed at the tilt of the governess’s kissable lips. “I think I must have presented you both with more entertainment than you’d see at the fair.”

  “Oh, you are funnier, Uncle Tony! Isn’t he, Georgie?” Marissa piped up. “Funnier than all the clowns.”

  “Definitely,” Georgeanne said. “And much more agile and fleet of foot than any acrobat I have ever seen.”

  Raynor should have taken offense to her banter but couldn’t, for he was enjoying himself too much. In truth, he could well picture the sight he’d presented, ranting and raving at the rabid rodent with two females scared half out of their wits, dancing on the tabletop. It was all too much, even for his staunch sensibilities, and soon the three were laughing outrageously as Georgeanne recalled one particular vault of satirical merit he had made over a chair. He, in turn, replayed for them some of their own silly antics, dancing on top of the table.