“Indeed it has, my lord.”
“Then think of the advantages you’d have as Lady Townsend. All the doors of the ton would be opened to you once again. You would be mistress of not only a London townhouse here but sizable estates in Sussex and Wiltshire.”
“Lord Townsend, I am very cognizant of the great honor you have bestowed upon me, but please say no more.” Gently, she tugged her hand free from his and gestured for him to resume his seat. “I have tremendous regard for you, but only as a friend, not a lover. My parents had a love match, you see, and I cherish those memories of our happy home.”
“Many successful marriages possessed only friendship for a foundation in the beginning. Love comes in time,” he interjected.
“Yes, but there is also Marissa. The child has come to depend on me, and I simply cannot leave her. No please, my lord, I am adamant in my feelings,” she said, holding up a hand to stay any further objections he obviously proposed to offer. It struck her that she had declined several advantageous offers during her Season, but could not remember one where the gentleman’s emotions were so involved and vulnerable. She knew her rejection hurt him and hated all the more having to refuse him.
~~~~~
Later that same afternoon, Townsend sent around a note, canceling his appointment with Raynor and begging off from taking tea, blaming urgent business on one of his estates that required he leave town immediately. Of course, when Georgeanne heard this, she knew it was an excuse to spare them both the embarrassment of facing each other so soon. Still, it greatly distressed her to think that she was responsible for inflicting any sort of pain on another individual, especially one of Lord Townsend’s benevolent character.
Oddly enough, Raynor never asked her about or made any reference to that morning. She assumed he was privy to his friend’s intentions and wondered over his indifference since, if she’d accepted Townsend’s offer, he’d be searching for a new governess. Georgeanne did catch him eying her speculatively that afternoon as she and Marissa came into the drawing room for tea, but that was the only indication she had that he was even aware of what had transpired.
Lady Ashbury did express concern over Townsend’s absence and his abrupt departure from Town. “I do hope there is no real calamity.”
“He didn’t mention anything specific,” answered Raynor.
“Well, his congenial manner will certainly be missed,” his aunt said, giving him a pointed look.
Perhaps if Raynor had not been present, Georgeanne might have confided in the older woman. Instead, she held her tongue and thought the matter forgotten.
However, the next morning when Lady Ashbury knocked on the schoolroom door to see her grand niece, it was obvious that the rumor mill had done its work. Georgeanne knew the other servants would have noted that she’d been sent for and then left alone with Lord Townsend, after he first had met with Raynor.
As usual, Lady Ashbury’s visit was a cheerful interruption for Marissa, but the older woman seemed quite distracted. When Hattie brought up a pot of tea for her ladyship a short while later, Georgeanne sent Marissa back to the kitchen with the maid for some cookies.
Settling in two matching chairs in front of the schoolroom’s fireplace, Georgeanne accepted Lady Ashbury’s intense scrutiny without complaint. Finally, the older woman let out a soft sigh and asked, “Why did you refuse Will’s proposal, my dear?”
Georgeanne let out an affected laugh. In the back of her mind, she had hoped it would be Raynor asking her this question instead of his aunt. “La, here I thought you were satisfied with the progress I was making with Marissa?”
Lady Ashbury smiled. “Indeed we are, Georgeanne. It is just that any other governess would surely have jumped at the chance to be Lady Townsend.” She paused for a moment before saying, “I guess what I am asking is do you care for Will?”
“Oh yes,” replied Georgeanne with a rueful smile, “and it fairly broke my heart to hurt him so.”
“Then why, my dear?”
“I do not love him,” Georgeanne answered in a small voice.
“Ah...” A knowing smile played about her ladyship’s lips. “I wondered as much.” She reached over to pat Georgeanne’s arm. “Do not fret so, my dear, for no doubt, you have made the right decision.”
Taking up her tea cup, Lady Ashbury leaned back in the chair, appearing more at ease. “I sometimes wonder what my nephew will do for a wife. You must know how seriously he takes his familial duties.” She didn’t look at Georgeanne. Instead, her eyes scanned the wooden soldiers and rag dolls propped up on the mantle. “Poor Anthony, he never wanted the title.”
“The deaths of Marissa’s parents were quite a shock to him I understand.” Georgeanne tried not to appear too curious.
“Anthony worshiped his brother and adored Marissa’s mother. Ever up for a lark, nothing bothered him, which in the long run of things is why he changed so much. He was unprepared for the responsibilities thrust on him after Alister’s death. The lawyers demanded decisions be made on estate matters, greedy relations came out of the woodwork, hoping to take advantage of his grief, and of course, there was Marissa. The child is all he has left of Alister and his wife. Tony wanted to help her and, of course, see the child happy again. We all did, but none of us knew how.”
Staring off into space, remembering, she took a sip of tea. “Why, even Alister’s own friends, mostly boring old men involved in politics, were clamoring to get to Anthony. They insisted he declare himself a Whig and take a seat in the House of Lords. I am afraid it was too much for the dear boy, and my fun loving nephew changed overnight. He became moody, then as starched up as those cravats he wears. Do you suppose it comes from being around prosy politicians all day?”
Shaking her gray head, setting the lace on her cap in motion, Lady Ashbury let out a gay little laugh. “No doubt, time will right all this. Anthony is still feeling his way and is yet unaccustomed to his new role. Anyway,” she said with a satisfied sigh, “I thought you should know.”
“I am sure it is as you say, my lady,” Georgeanne said, unsure why the older woman had unburdened herself. “Though naturally, as Lord Raynor is my employer, it can mean little to me.” But in truth, Lady Ashbury’s explanation did help Georgeanne better understand the complicated man. Still, she wondered why this sweet lady felt a governess should be privy to such intimate details.
“Naturally, as you say, my dear.” The older lady directed Georgeanne a knowing smile with a twinkle in her pale blue eyes before leaning forward to replace her empty teacup on the tray. Then, without another word, she rose and departed the schoolroom.
~~~~~
Without Townsend’s jocular presence, the little tea socials were becoming somewhat tedious. Over the next couple of weeks, Georgeanne wished more than once her feelings for the absent lord had consisted of something more than sisterly affection. To make matters worse, Olivia Cosgrove had developed the habit of popping in around tea time with increasing regularity, and it was a sore trial for Georgeanne to ignore the woman’s snide jibes and blatant rudeness. Even more galling for her to swallow was the beauty’s proprietary attitude she’d adopted when flirting with Raynor. One would think an engagement was a fait accompli, thought Georgeanne. The blonde beauty just assumed Raynor was at her beck and call to escort her to parties or the theater.
As for Raynor, though he was accommodating to Olivia when it suited circumstances, he remained aloof, rarely volunteering information on his schedule. In fact, Georgeanne was afforded a certain amount of gleeful satisfaction when on several occasions Olivia was visibly frustrated to learn she had committed herself to one affair, being sure that “dear Anthony” would also be in attendance, only to find he had been deliberately evasive and had made plans for a different function.
Another area of contention for the willful Olivia Cosgrove was Lady Ashbury’s insistence that Georgeanne be included in their conversations, just as she made the same effort for her grand niece. As a result, Marissa was gaining c
onfidence and poise, and Georgeanne was heartened to see the little girl lose some of her fear for her stern uncle as well. The child especially enjoyed watching Raynor perform menial tasks, such as handing out teacups or passing a plate of sweets, under Lady Ashbury’s gentle prodding to involve him more.
On one such occasion, a trifling accident occurred when Raynor turned too quickly after offering a plate heaped with cookies to Olivia, causing every last one of the delectable confections to slide off the dish right onto her pink satin lap.
“Oooh, look what you did, Uncle Tony!” Marissa blurted out before giggling nervously. When he turned his haughty glare on her, she guiltily covered her mouth with both hands and stared wide-eyed at him.
Instead of the reprimand Georgeanne expected him to give Marissa, Raynor winked surreptitiously at the awestruck child, then turned to offer his most humble apologies to the highly indignant Olivia.
Because of the favorable impression he’d made on her little charge, Georgeanne grinned broadly throughout the remainder of the tea. Actually, she was inclined to pat herself on the back. She doubted the Lord Raynor she first knew would have ever responded with a wink for his niece. Thus, Georgeanne accounted their arguments to having accomplished some good.
If Raynor was aware of the reason for Georgeanne’s merry mood, he did not show it. He did, however, return her smile with an unexpected one of his own when she and Marissa prepared to return to the schoolroom.
Much later that night after the house settled down, it was the memory of Raynor’s smile that Georgeanne took to bed with her. Snugly under the covers, she was lost in a dream world with a lover who possessed the dark visage of none other than her employer.
But she was brought back to consciousness when blood curdling screams assaulted her ears. Marissa, she thought, sitting up. She grabbed her yellow wrapper and hurriedly slipped her arms through it as she sailed out the door and down the hall to the child’s bedchamber.
In the eerie glow of the moonlight that filtered through the windows, she could barely make out the small bundle huddled under the blanket. Going over to the bed, she pulled the coverlet down and reached for Marissa, dragging the child across her lap to cradle in her arms. After a while, Marissa ceased crying, though she maintained a tight hold on Georgeanne.
“Stay with me, Georgie, please,” she begged in a pitifully small voice, “so the monsters won’t come back.”
“No monster can get you, Marissa, especially if you refuse to pay them any mind.”
“What do you mean?”
“Simply tell the monsters you are not afraid of them and to go away,” replied Georgeanne with decisiveness.
“They won’t listen, Georgie.”
“Then make them, Marissa.”
“How?”
For a moment, Georgeanne was stumped. What could she tell a five year old child about overcoming imaginary demons? It had been hard enough for her to dispel her own fears. There was the mind-numbing depression that had descended upon her when her father had died, the ever imminent possibility of being beggared and tossed out into the street with nowhere to go. With no living relative and faced with earning a living, she was overwhelmed at times with loneliness. Yes, she remembered what it had felt like to be a little girl, scared by horrible monsters that invaded her dreams in the dark desolate hours of the night.
“You must be firm when you tell them to go away, Marissa.”
“Oh, I am, Georgie,” Marissa insisted, “but they don’t listen to me.”
“That can be a problem,” Georgeanne sighed, thinking about her own problems and how they also refused to disappear. “Let me light a candle,” she said, prying Marissa’s arms from around her neck. She got up and, going over to the dresser, lit a branch of candles. Then murmuring soothing phrases to calm the distraught child, she looked at the parchment walls painted to resemble a wild flower garden, then the small commode, the miniature sized wardrobe, and the white muslin bed canopy. Looking at Marissa’s little cherub face and wide-eyed stare as she sat among a mound of fluffy pillows, an idea finally struck Georgeanne.
“What you need, Marissa, is a weapon of sorts to beat the monsters off,” she said enthusiastically.
“A weapon?” Marissa looked up into Georgeanne’s excited face and responded with an impish smile. “Oh yes, a weapon,” she breathed in awed tones before her small brow creased. “But what kind? And what would I do with it?”
“You would beat those ugly creatures with it!” cried Georgeanne, becoming carried away with her idea. She repositioned the child in the middle of the bed and grabbed a pillow. “Here, Marissa, this is a very fine weapon.”
“This is a pillow, Georgie,” said Marissa very patiently, as if she were speaking to an idiot. Then as Georgeanne swung the pillow about, Marissa frowned. “What are you doing?”
“You must not think of it as a pillow but your very own special weapon to use against mean monsters. Here,” Georgeanne said, reaching for the pillow’s mate to give to the child. “Take this one and I will show you.”
Within minutes, both squealing with delight, Georgeanne and Marissa were engaged in a rousing pillow fight.
~~~~~
Returning home late after making the round of gentlemen’s clubs, Raynor was headed for his bedchamber when he’d heard a commotion coming from the third floor. Visualizing murdering knaves, he hurdled the stairs to investigate, knowing that the servants’ quarters were too far away for any of them to have heard the noise.
He raced down the corridor and burst through the Marissa’s bedroom door—and rocked back on his heels. Georgeanne was merrily attacking a laughing Marissa with a pillow.
*** Chapter 11 ***
Catching his breath, Raynor stood in the doorway and stared at Georgeanne, a magnificent sight with her silk wrapper open, exposing an almost sheer night shift, and her honey curls flying about her head as she gleefully pounded his little niece with a pillow. He shook his head, wondering what mayhem the governess was committing. At least he knew no one was in any danger of being killed or maimed, discounting, of course, his own urge to put his hands around Georgeanne’s slender neck and strangle her for scaring the wits out of him. “What’s going on here!” he growled.
With their pillows raised high in preparation for new assaults, both combatants suddenly went still as porcelain figurines. Slowly, they lowered their pillows and turned toward Raynor.
Marissa’s face split in a grin as she cried out, “We are having a pillow fight, Uncle Tony!”
“Do you know what time it is, Miss Forsythe?” he demanded.
“Quite late, I am sure, my lord,” she answered demurely.
“Quite late,” he mimicked, “and too damned late for such silliness.”
“But it is not silliness, my lord.”
There was that hint of a challenge in her voice again that no other servant would ever consider using with him. Heaving a sigh of resignation, he dutifully said, “No, I’m sure it’s not. Pray, explain yourself.”
“Did you never have a pillow fight?” asked Georgeanne, her sparkling eyes fixed on his.
“Yes, often with my brother when we were young,” he acknowledged begrudgingly. He was finding it difficult not to stare at her heaving chest.
“Then, you were lucky, my lord,” she said. “I was an only child, just as Marissa. There was no one to do battle with, except I found it did help to beat off the bogeymen who threatened me at night.”
“It works, too, Uncle Tony.” Marissa was bouncing excitedly on the bed with her pillow ready to engage in another battle.
“Here, my lord,” Georgeanne called out challengingly as she tossed a pillow to him.
Raynor had had just enough to drink to make him a bit reckless. A competitor by nature, the impish devil lurking behind Georgeanne’s green eyes beckoned him to accept the dare. Mindful of the restrictive cut of his coat, as well as his valet’s disapproving look should he tear it, Raynor removed the double breasted jacket and tossed it ca
relessly across a white wicker rocker. Then he retrieved the pillow from the floor and struck a fencing pose, his fluffy weapon sadly drooping.
“En garde, ladies!” he cried out, then launched himself toward the bed, swinging the pillow with all the enthusiasm of a twelve year old.
The three were soon engaged in a raucous battle. Since his lordship tended to tower over them, the ladies quickly joined forces to defend themselves against their superior foe with Marissa standing on the bed and Georgeanne kneeling next to her. Raynor had found it necessary to catch his niece in his arms on several occasions when she was in peril of pitching herself off the bed while exuberantly attacking her uncle where he stood before them, surefooted, valiantly defending his position.
On one particularly ferocious charge made by the girls, Raynor was forced to step back, and Georgeanne, quite caught up in the moment, made a lunge to pelt him on his right flank, only ending up missing him completely, and tumbled head first for the floor.
Madly clutching at the air, she suddenly found herself in Raynor’s arms and shamelessly clung to him for dear life.
He’d thought nothing of grabbing for the governess just as he had done his little niece. Upon contact, however, his senses immediately told him of the difference. While both of them were breathing heavily from their exertions, he held her close to his chest and was highly aware of the pleasing contours of her soft warm body. From the surprised expression on her face, he knew she was experiencing similar feelings about him as well. She glanced up to see his face, unwittingly giving him access to those very kissable lips of hers, now invitingly parted. His whole being was focused on her, and his mouth slowly descended to hers, hungry for a taste of her sweetness, when a small insistent voice penetrated through his lust.
“Georgie, Georgie, are you all right?” Marissa was shouting.
“Yes, yes, dear,” answered Georgeanne, sounding more than a little flustered. She brought her hands up and pushed away from Raynor’s chest. She did not meet his eyes but instead concentrated on setting to right her wrapper, which had opened to reveal her flimsy muslin night rail, and smoothing her tangled locks.
The Impossible Governess Page 12
