As Marissa’s hugs warmed his heart, the sight of Georgeanne standing on the table next to him, where his eyes easily feasted on her charming attributes, suffused him with a different type of warmth that heated his body.
“What is the meaning of all this?”
Lady Ashbury’s voice shattered their merriment as a silence prevailed. Raynor looked from Marissa’s to Georgeanne’s guilty expressions, then to Lady Ashbury. “I’m sorry if we disturbed you, Aunt. No doubt you were taking your nap,” he replied, reverting instantly back into the haughty aristocrat.
“The whole house is in an uproar, Anthony.” Lady Ashbury looked expectantly from one to the next.
Raynor glanced at his cohorts and gave a small shake of his head. He knew if Lady Ashbury was surprised to find her straight laced nephew embracing his little niece and the governess standing on the furniture, she would never say so. More likely, he suspected, she was pleased with the sense of camaraderie the three of them had shared.
“I dare say we might have caused a bit of a ruckus.” Raynor smiled at Marissa, before hugging her tightly to his chest and setting her down. Then with a shuddered look, he offered a hand to Georgeanne, who hesitated taking it. He suppressed a smile as Georgeanne glanced anxiously about for the mouse before she accepted his hand and his assistance getting off the table. Realizing the futility of trying to catch the frenzied rodent himself, he went to the door and called for reinforcements. He didn’t have far to go. The corridor was crowded with servants.
Bivens and two burly footmen were positioned in front of several maids. Their befuddled expressions bespoke their dilemma, whether to brave the storm and open the door, thereby discovering what was actually happening in the schoolroom, or wait until summoned. Obviously, they’d opted for the latter rather than incur his lordship’s wrath.
Raynor quickly explained the cause of the commotion and issued a series of curt instructions to find and destroy the furry culprit. After dispensing the rest of the curious household staff, he reluctantly left the third floor. He’d enjoyed the time spent with Marissa and Miss Forsythe far more than he’d thought imaginable. Heading for the library, he wondered if it had been an anomaly. As he remembered the pull on his heart that Marissa’s hugs gave him and the warmth that infused him as he observed Miss Forsythe’s delectable person, he sincerely hoped not.
~~~~~
The more time Lady Lillian Ashbury spent with Georgeanne, the more she liked the young woman. As she surreptitiously pried bits and pieces of Georgeanne’s life history out of her, Lady Ashbury decided this remarkable and vivacious miss would make Raynor an excellent mate. And although Raynor tried to hide it, she noticed her nephew was not indifferent to Georgeanne. Of course, that was hardly surprising as the Honorable Miss Forsythe was uncommonly attractive.
Now, let it be understood, Lady Ashbury was by no means in the habit of matching. But never before had three people whom she cared for been in such needy positions. Marissa’s was patently obvious. The dear child needed a mother. As for her nephew, he was nearing thirty, and it was past time he set up his nursery. Especially since he’d come into the title and the line of succession needed to be secured. Then there was Georgeanne. Orphaned and without funds, she’d been forced from her home and her place in the ton to work as a governess. Fortunately, with a little help from her, mused her ladyship, the situation lent itself to a convenient courtship.
With that ulterior motive in mind, Lady Ashbury conceived the idea to take a greater interest in Society. In the past when she visited, she generally observed a sedate existence, preferring a small dinner with intimate friends, a night out at the theater or congenial card party. But now, she sought loftier doings, she decided, heading toward Raynor’s library.
“By Jove, Aunt Lillian, you don’t need my consent to have some of your cronies to dinner,” replied Raynor, feeling affronted that his aunt thought it necessary to ask for his permission.
“In the normal course of things I would not. But it has been quite a while since I was last in London during the Season. As such, I have been thinking of a more ambitious agenda.”
“How ambitious?”
“Oh, perhaps a few musical soirees, a small rout or two to start.”
“To start?” His eyebrows snapped together. He didn’t know why, but he distinctly smelled a rat.
“Yes, and a ball, but on a small scale, of course.”
“Of course,” said Raynor with resignation. He foresaw more time spent at his club in the near future.
“If you have no objections, then I will take care of all the details. And do not fret, Anthony. With the help of your competent staff, I promise a minimum of disruption to your life.”
“Oh, I’ve no objections,” he answered while considering a sojourn of a few weeks to one of his country estates. He could check on his bailiff’s reports concerning the spring plantings.
“Excellent.” Lady Ashbury rose from the settee. “I thought to start at the end of the week with a small dinner that includes some musical entertainment. I have engaged an Italian opera singer rather than assault our guests’ ears with some insipid deb’s caterwauling. I will want a list of your friends to invite as well.”
Like a ship in full sail, his aunt was gone before he could phrase a response. When it dawned on him that she had arranged for the party’s entertainment prior to their talk, he had the unsettling feeling that he was being drawn into an invisible snare.
Then he gave his cravat a tug, for it seemed uncommonly tight.
~~~~~
A pattern developed concerning Raynor’s obligation to his niece. Originally scheduled for three days a week, the teas wordlessly expanded to a daily affair. Lady Ashbury was present to lend her support. And much to Raynor’s irritation, Will Townsend made his appearance on the stroke of the appointed hour each afternoon and met Georgeanne and Marissa in the hall outside the drawing room.
To Raynor’s further disgust, the one occasion Townsend chanced to be a few minutes early, he’d resolutely refused Bivens’s entreaty to join his host. Worse, Marissa was ecstatic over the attention she got from Uncle Will, as Townsend insisted she call him. Townsend made a great show of greeting the child with exaggerated bows, kissing her tiny fingers, and leading her grandly in to the drawing room.
Neither was Raynor pleased with Georgeanne’s easy rapport with Townsend. Of course, Raynor knew he was behaving badly. Whereas Will enlivened the atmosphere, Raynor staunchly maintained his dour and reticent mien. That was not to say he was rude precisely, for he did answer questions posed directly to him. But he seldom contributed to a discussion or introduced a topic.
Still, Raynor noticed his taciturnity did little to detract from the general gaiety of the company. It seemed his determination to remain aloof was understood, and everyone simply elected to ignore him. It did occur to him that his annoyance with Townsend might be attributed to jealously. Especially when Raynor turned a scornful eye on Georgeanne as her unbridled laughter ran out along with Marissa’s childish giggles at one of Will’s silly jibes. But no, Raynor decided. He was merely miffed because he’d lost Marissa’s undivided attention.
So one afternoon, Raynor planned a surprise for his little niece. As she came into the room and walked over to him to drop a very correct curtsy, he watched her eyes light up as he withdrew from inside his coat a squirming little ball of russet fur and set it on the rug at her feet.
“Uncle Tony, is that for me?” she cried, plopping down cross-legged on the floor. The cocker spaniel immediately pounced on Marissa’s billowing pale blue muslin skirt, and squealing with delight, she wrapped her arms around the bouncing puppy.
“Do you like her?” Raynor asked.
Looking up at her uncle with a huge grin as the puppy licked her face, Marissa emphatically nodded her head. “Oh yes, ever so much! May I keep it, Uncle Tony, please?”
“Yes, it is yours,” he said.
As Georgeanne came over, Raynor met her smiling eyes and felt qui
te pleased with himself.
“What shall you name her?” asked Georgeanne, stooping down to pet the puppy.
Before Marissa could answer, Townsend entered the drawing room with a handful of yellow roses. “Sorry I’m late,” he said to no one in particular. “Saw a flower girl with these and had to get them.” He snapped one blossom off its stem and stooped to tucked it in Marissa’s curls above her ear. Seeing the puppy cradled in her lap, he asked, “What have you here?”
“A dog, Uncle Will.” Marissa grinned up at him. “Uncle Tony gave me a dog.”
Townsend bent down on one knee and scratched the pup behind its ears. “Have you given it a name?”
Marissa scrunched her brows together and tilted her head to one side, causing the rose to fall out of her hair. She picked it up and cried, “Rosie!”
“Rosie,” Townsend seconded.
“Rosie,” Raynor said with his habitual frown back in place. The name did not sit well with him since it was inspired by Townsend’s bouquet.
After taking the chair next to Georgeanne, Townsend commented, tongue in cheek, on the feverish activity of the household staff. “Can’t help but notice the maids scurrying all about the place with their cleaning rags,” he stated gravely. “I made the mistake of laying my beaver hat on a hall table and just managed to rescue it from a liberal application of beeswax.”
Under the cover of Georgeanne’s laughter and Marissa’s giggles to this sally, Lady Ashbury replied, “I have decided to entertain more this Season than my usual wont. However, Anthony has been most unobliging by refusing to give me a list of names. I dare say he has forgotten to mention to you the small dinner with some music afterwards that I am hosting this Friday.”
“An Italian warbler,” interjected Raynor with a drawl.
“Not a Catalini, you understand,” continued his aunt. “But nonetheless, the soprano possesses a creditable voice. Still, nothing guarantees a party’s success more than having an adequate number of eligible bachelors present. Do say I can count on you being there?”
“No need to butter me up, Lady Lil,” laughed Townsend good naturedly. “It will be my pleasure.”
“Wonderful,” she said with a smile before a studied frown marred her forehead. “Oh dear, I do believe that will make for an odd number sitting down to dinner.”
“I am sure you can find someone else to invite,” Raynor responded. His brows snapped together as he suspected some mechanization on his aunt’s part.
“It’s not that easy, Anthony,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Unfortunately, I need a young lady. Lady Pendennis and her two girls have already accepted as have Mrs. Fitzsimmons with her daughter. What with the Season in full swing, most people are already committed to other engagements by this late date.”
“Your problem is easy enough to solve, my lady,” said Townsend, bestowing a mischievous glance on Georgeanne. “Miss Forsythe, here, must be persuaded to help.”
Georgeanne noticed Raynor scowling at his aunt who looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary. Quickly, she decided to decline. “It is hardly my place as a governess to attend such a tonnish affair, my lady. Surely there is someone else you could invite?”
But Lady Ashbury overruled her. “I refuse to give an ear to any further objections. It is decided you will join us, and I must say it does solve the problem nicely.”
Soon after, as Townsend took his leave, he said he expected to see them the following afternoon.
“I’m afraid not, Will,” Raynor said. “I thought it wise to give Marissa a rest from her social obligations and, accordingly, have made other plans for tomorrow.”
While the others took this shock in relative stride, Marissa appeared almost panicky, biting her lower lip as she struggled not to cry over her disappointment.
Ever the gallant, Townsend stepped into the silent breach. “Capital, Tony, for I’ve got the perfect solution. Since I keep bachelor’s quarters and am unable to entertain any one there, you must allow me this chance to return your hospitality. I purpose a carriage ride in Hyde Park, followed with a visit to Gunter’s Confectionary Shop to sample its renowned ices.” He gave all three ladies a winsome grin.
Lady Ashbury and Georgeanne thought it was an excellent idea. So, between Marissa’s excited squeals and Raynor’s dark scowls, Townsend declared he would hire a landau for everyone’s comfort.
Townsend made his exit, and the ladies followed suit, making their way toward the door when Raynor called out in foreboding tones, “A moment of your time, if you please, Miss Forsythe.”
Wondering what she had done to desire her employer’s wrath this time, Georgeanne slowly returned to her seat after relinquishing Marissa into her great aunt’s care.
The door had hardly closed behind Lady Ashbury with Marissa in tow when Raynor lashed out at her. “Have you no pride? Whatever can you be about, throwing yourself at Lord Townsend? I won’t have you embarrassing my family with your loose conduct.”
Stunned, Georgeanne’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. Then she inhaled deeply, as righteous anger asserted itself. She squared her shoulders, and with her hands curled into tight fists, she propped them on her hips. “How dare you, you rude, arrogant brute!”
“Brute?”
“Yes, brute. The whole idea of these teas was to help you become better acquainted with your niece. Rather—“
“Rather, you’ve used the opportunity to your advantage. You’ve flirted outrageously, batted your lashes at my guest, and completely ignored Marissa and me.”
“That is sheer balderdash! I have done none of those things. Furthermore, Lord Townsend is a gentleman, whose impeccable manners would never allow him to sit like a bump on a log and brood over some imagined slight. Instead—“
“Instead, he’s blithely abused our friendship and has made a coxcomb of himself by holding court in my drawing room with one of my ladies.”
“One of your ladies!” Georgeanne advanced on Lord Raynor. “I am not one of your ladies,” she hissed.
“I stand corrected. For indeed, you are not. No lady connected with me would ever dream of flaunting herself so in public. But, however we may bandy the term about in reference to your behavior, the point is you are residing under my roof and, therefore, come under my protection.”
“How . . .how dare you, you . . .” Georgeanne stood at a loss for words, with her face burning, whether from fury or humiliation or both, she couldn’t say.
“Yes, I dare! You have no right to agree to accompany Townsend with my niece without first ascertaining my permission.”
Ah ha! So that was the real heart of the matter, Georgeanne thought. Lord Raynor resented her assuming authority over Marissa. Still, his cutting remarks had born some truth. There was no denying that she had enjoyed Townsend’s attentiveness. Though she had not openly encouraged him, neither had she made any effort to turn aside his interest. Yet, even considering this, no man or lord had ever spoken to her in such a boorish manner before.
“Are you saying we may not go?” she asked, trying to maintain her composure. She felt like a volcano about to erupt!
“No, ‘tis too late now. Besides, it would never do to disappoint Marissa.”
“Ah, yes, Marissa . . .”
“Your sarcasm is out of place, Miss Forsythe.”
“I do beg your pardon, my lord,” she said. “Perhaps we ought to stick to addressing the main reason for these teas. It may have escaped your notice that Marissa has tried her best to talk with you—“
“Miss Forsythe, if you please.”
Georgeanne, however, ignored his superior tone and continued in a sweet voice as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “As have we all, my lord, but your monosyllabic conversation is very difficult for an adult to cope with and doubly so for a young child. You have had every opportunity to draw out your niece, but instead you have sat in silent judgment on my conduct. Well, if you are dissatisfied with my services, you need only say so, and I will be gone.”
&
nbsp; Raynor glared down at her, taking note of the glint in her eyes and the contentious thrust of her chin. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind Miss Georgeanne Forsythe would turn on her heel, march upstairs, pack her belongings, and leave him with a hysterical Marissa. And worse, she was correct.
Only by holding his own anger in check was he able to conquer the fierce urge to grab her slender shoulders and shake some sense into the hot-tempered young woman. Couldn’t she see that Will was unworthy of her? Didn’t she know that Marissa would suffer if she left? He’d suffer, for that matter.
“Damnation!” As this last thought penetrated his brain, he realized he was mottled through with jealous madness. He studied her suspiciously bright eyes along with her defiant stance. What an adorable passionate widgeon she was! Oh yes, he still wanted to grab her, but not to throttle her. Oh no, if he ever held her, he had a far different purpose in mind. By Jupiter, the woman must be a witch, Raynor thought as he ran a hand through his hair.
“Georgeanne,” he said, spreading his hands in front of him in supplication.
“I beg your pardon,” said Georgeanne, thrusting her chin up. “It is ‘Miss Forsythe’, my lord.”
As she turned and fled the room, Raynor knew there was scant hope that the lady would cooperate with his hoped for seduction. Going over to the sideboard, he reached for the bottle of brandy.
~~~~~
In her room, Georgeanne threw herself across the bed, buried her face in one fluffy pillow, and let the tears flow. After several minutes, she sat up and clutched the damp pillow to her breast. When loud, irritating hiccups developed, she crammed the edge of the pillow between her teeth to muffle them. Thus she remained, as she morosely reviewed the argument, all of Raynor’s accusations, his unfair attack on her character and motives. With a sinking heart, she lamented her quick tongue. She expected a knock on her door from the housekeeper, Mrs. Williams, informing her that his lordship had decided her services were no longer needed.
All she had wanted was his respect, she thought, seeking some reason for the almost unbearable ache in her chest. Then, dashing a hot tear away with the back of her hand, she reluctantly admitted that wasn’t strictly true. She wanted more than that. She wanted Raynor to like her, really like, even love her . . . Oh yes, fool that she was. She desperately wanted what she couldn’t have.
The Impossible Governess Page 6
