Chapter 4
Only a self-deluded fool would think Lord Kenyon wanted to hire her. He looked as if he’d rather hire the devil, but there was no other reason for him to be here, asking about her Latin, and Amanda was so relieved for a second chance that she couldn’t help a grin. “Changed your mind, did you?”
“Wipe that smirk off your face, Mr. Seton, or I shall change it again.”
She obeyed at once, reminding herself that cheek had nearly done her in during their first interview. “Mea Latina est magna,” she said, answering his question, careful to maintain the deep, masculine tones she’d been practicing. “Et vobis?”
“It’s good enough to know you’re telling the truth,” he muttered. “At least about Latin.”
Wisely, she didn’t reply, and he went on, “Your wages will be four pounds per month, with room, board, three meals each day, and tea. You will have one day out each week, as well as one half day for Sunday service. You do attend church, I trust?”
No, synagogue, she wanted to say, but she checked the impulse just in time. “I do, my lord,” she answered with solemnity. “Religiously, in fact.”
He frowned, but if he had any suspicion her reply was somewhat tongue-in-cheek, he didn’t express it. “Good,” he said instead. “Pack your things at once, go to the house in Upper Brook Street, and present yourself to Mrs. Richmond.”
She blinked, laughing a little. “What, this minute?”
“That is what ‘at once’ usually means, Mr. Seton. Mrs. Richmond, or Samuel, the footman, will show you the nursery and your room, see you settled, and introduce you to your charges. When I leave here, I will telephone them to expect you.” He pulled a notecase out of his breast pocket, retrieved three one-pound notes, and held them out to her. “Here.”
“What’s this?” she asked without taking the money. “Surely you don’t pay wages in advance?”
“Of course not. This is for a new suit of clothes.”
Amanda glanced down, dismayed, wondering what she’d got wrong about a gentleman’s wardrobe. “Is there a problem with my clothes?”
“Not if your intent is to look like a decaying cabbage. Otherwise, yes. I expect those in my employ to be properly dressed, Mr. Seton,” he went on, seeming not to care that he’d just compared his new employee to a rotting vegetable. “Particularly those who will be exerting influence over my children. On your first day out, you will present yourself to my tailors, Joshua and Firth, in Regent Street, inform them that you are there at my request, and have yourself fitted for a new suit of clothes. And since I have no time to assure them before I leave town that I am standing the expense, you will have to pay for the suit in ready money. Three pounds should be adequate.”
Amanda knew there could be no visit to his tailors, but she took the notes without argument. “You’re going away?”
“Yes, this afternoon. I shall be in Yorkshire for the next two weeks.”
She frowned, puzzled. “But you hardly know me. And you are willing to put your children completely in my care while you are miles away?”
“Are you in the habit of questioning everything your employer says or does?” he countered, a clear warning that she was again flirting with insubordination. But, really, what sort of man abandoned his children to the unsupervised care of someone he barely knew?
As if reading her mind, he said, “You are being hired on a conditional basis, Mr. Seton. While I am away, Mrs. Richmond and Samuel will be keeping close watch on you. When I return, I shall observe and assess the quality of your instruction myself, then decide whether or not to make your position permanent.”
The fact that he was going away was probably a blessing for her. It would give her time to settle into not only her new post but also her new identity. “Fair enough.”
“There is one other thing I must make clear, Mr. Seton. My sons, as you know, are full of high spirits—”
“That’s one way of calling a goose a swan,” she cut in, laughing a little, but at the forbidding look he gave her in return, Amanda smothered her humor.
“As I said,” he went on, “my sons are high-spirited. However, I will tolerate no form of physical punishment, so if the willow switch or belt is your idea of discipline—”
“It most certainly is not!” she interrupted again, too appalled to be polite. “Any teacher that resorts to such methods is not only vicious, but also incompetent.”
Something about his countenance changed—it didn’t soften, exactly, but its harsh lines relaxed a fraction, and she realized her words had been a relief to him.
“I am gratified to hear that,” he said. “For your sake, I hope you mean it. I also hope that you are as respectable and honest as your landlady’s assurances deem you.”
He was watching her keenly as he spoke, and apprehension prickled along her spine. It took all the fortitude she possessed not to squirm under his unrelenting stare. He looked every inch the haughty aristocrat, the sort who in another age would have had no qualms about ordering a dishonest servant pitched over the castle rampart and into the moat. She wasn’t usually the sort to be intimidated by anyone, but then, she also wasn’t accustomed to living a lie.
“If Mrs. Richmond has any concerns about the quality of your teaching or your treatment of the boys, or any difficulties with you whatsoever, she has the authority to sack you on the spot,” he went on, still watching her closely.
Amanda worked to keep any hint of apprehension from showing on her face. “I understand. And I accept your terms,” she added, even though he hadn’t asked for her acceptance.
He studied her a moment longer, then gave a nod. “Good. Now I must go, or I shall miss my train.”
Without waiting for an answer, he bowed, donned his hat, and stepped around her, heading for the door.
Amanda turned, watching his broad back as he walked away. “And if I have any concerns or difficulties?” she called after him. “What then?”
“An unlikely possibility,” he countered over his shoulder without pausing. “Since you’re such a good teacher.”
With that incisive rejoinder, he departed, leaving her staring at the empty doorway, dazed and astonished by what had just happened.
“I’m a tutor,” she murmured, trying to make it seem real. “I’m a tutor. I didn’t muff it. I got the job.”
Relief flooded through her—relief, elation, and incredulity so profound that she burst out laughing. “Well, now, Papa,” she added, glancing overhead as if talking to her parent in the heavens, “what do you think of that?”
An hour later, however, as she faced the dubious stare of Mrs. Richmond, even Amanda’s ebullient mood faltered a bit.
“Saints preserve us, I never thought he’d hire you,” Mrs. Richmond muttered, planting flour-dusted hands on ample hips and eyeing Amanda with unmistakable dismay.
The emphasis on the pronoun showed that she not only remembered taking Amanda up for her interview three days earlier, but also that she hadn’t been much impressed, and her present demeanor proved she wasn’t changing her opinion just because Amanda had been hired. “How will you keep those boys in line? Why, you’re little more than a child yourself.”
Amanda opened her mouth, but she had no chance to allay the housekeeper’s concerns.
“Now, Mrs. Richmond, what’s the use of that sort of talk?” another voice put in, and Amanda looked to her right, where a big, blond, very handsome young man in striped livery stood by the stairs at the end of the servants’ corridor, the same young man who’d been watching over the boys during their outing in the park. “You’ll be scaring him off before he’s even begun. I’m Samuel, by the way,” he added to Amanda with a friendly smile as he came toward her. “First footman.”
“Only footman, he means,” Mrs. Richmond corrected. “All the other servants have gone to the country. You’d best come in,” she went on, moving back in the corridor to allow Amanda inside.
“I remember you,” the footman said as she stepped through
the tradesman’s entrance, suitcase in hand, and into the corridor. “From the park. You flew kites with the boys.”
“Yes.” Amanda set down her suitcase, then turned and retrieved the case of books the driver of her taxi had placed by the door. “That was me.”
“What’s this?” asked Mrs. Richmond as she moved around Amanda and closed the door. “You met the boys in the park?”
“Mr. Seton showed them how to launch their kites when there wasn’t any wind,” Samuel explained. “Rather smashing, I thought. The boys loved it.”
“He exaggerates my abilities,” Amanda told the cook, smiling. “There was a bit of wind.”
“Speaking of wind, Samuel,” the housekeeper put in, “best stop using yours to no purpose, and take Mr. Seton upstairs to the boys.”
“That’s why I’m down here,” the footman replied. “I heard the tradesman’s bell go and thought I’d save you the trouble of taking him upstairs. She’s making apple tarts for tomorrow,” he added to Amanda with a wink as he came forward to take the crate of books from her arms. “We wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of that.”
“And what makes you think there’ll be any for you?” the cook countered, urging both of them toward the staircase. “Go on with you. Those boys shouldn’t be left alone too long, or heaven only knows what mischief they’ll be getting up to.”
“They are a handful, no denying it.” Samuel’s voice was carelessly offhand, but Amanda did not miss the warning look he gave the housekeeper or the forced smile on his face when he returned his attention to her. “But they’re good lads, for all that. And now that they have a tutor to take charge of them and lessons to occupy their minds, they’ll settle down nicely, I’m sure.”
Her crate in his hands, he turned to start down the corridor, giving Amanda a nod to follow, but as she bent to retrieve her suitcase, she caught the cook’s muttered reply.
“Settle down?” the woman said under her breath as she walked in the opposite direction. “Roast this poor boy alive, and eat him, more likely.”
Samuel evidently heard the cook’s remark as well, for he gave Amanda a rather weak smile over one shoulder as he led her up the servants’ staircase. “Don’t mind Mrs. Richmond. She’s a bit of a pessimist, is all.”
“Well, she has some justification for that point of view, I suppose,” Amanda said with determined good cheer. “Given the number of nannies that have come and gone in the past.”
Samuel paused at the top of the stairs, bringing Amanda to a halt several steps below him and turning to look at her over one shoulder. “Lord Kenyon told you that?”
“No. I read about it in the papers. And as you already know, I met the boys for myself the other day. I think I have a pretty good idea of what I’m facing.”
His brows rose as if he felt she didn’t have a clue, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he pressed one shoulder to the green baize door, shoved it open, and led Amanda through it into what was clearly the family living quarters.
Her feet sank into thick, luxurious carpets as she followed the footman across a wide landing, up another flight of stairs and down a long corridor, but though they passed several exquisitely carved rosewood and mahogany tables, she couldn’t help noticing that there was nothing on any of them—no vases, no lamps, no bric-a-brac of any sort. She found that odd, for though she’d had little association with the aristocracy, she’d had enough contact with that segment of society to know they adored showing off their priceless family heirlooms. Such barren surroundings seemed quite strange, even to her untrained eyes.
As Samuel led her through the door to the nursery, however, the explanation for the lack of decor in this part of the house became painfully obvious. The twins were running in circles around the nursery’s large front room, one chasing the other around a large table. A gray tabby, clearly desiring to stay as far above the fray as possible, was perched atop the bookcase, watching the scene below with that air of lofty superiority cats always managed so well.
“Here we are,” Samuel said, shouting to be heard above the din as he set Amanda’s crate of books on the floor, but if he hoped his announcement would give the boys pause, he was mistaken.
Amanda watched their antics for a moment, waiting, but when they didn’t even glance in her direction, she wasn’t surprised.
“It’s the rain, you see,” the footman said, his voice filled with apology. “Other than a few brief outings in the kitchen garden, they’ve been cooped up indoors for the past three days. When the weather turns fine again, you can take them across to the park, and then, I’m sure they’ll be . . . they’ll be . . . better.”
“I’m sure,” she said, not believing it for a second.
Walking around the boys, who had still made no acknowledgment of her arrival, she paused by one of a pair of windows and was glad to note there was no ivy or trees that the boys could use to climb down. She didn’t much care for the bars on them, but then, most nurseries had them.
At the far side of the large room, a chalkboard hung on the wall. In front of it stood a desk, facing two smaller ones, the latter a pair of school desks with hinged tops and attached chairs. They were, she noted, bolted to the floor. A wise decision, she decided, glancing again at the boys, who were still running in circles and wailing like escapees from Bedlam.
“Which way are the bedrooms?” she asked the footman, raising her voice to be heard above the din even as she strove to keep its timbre deep and convincingly manly.
Samuel gestured to a closed door on the right-hand wall. “You’re just through there. The boys share the room beyond yours.”
Amanda received news of this arrangement in some dismay. “I won’t have my own room?”
“When we had a nanny, she had her own room, of course. A woman needs that sort of privacy. But now that we have a male tutor, Lord Kenyon felt it would be better if . . . if . . .”
His voice trailed off, but it wasn’t hard for Amanda to guess the reason for the new arrangement. “They have to go through me if they wish to sneak out in the middle of the night? Sneaked out before, have they?”
Samuel gave her a look of apology that confirmed her theory. It was a sensible precaution, and a male tutor didn’t need a separate, private bedroom, but these arrangements made things deuced difficult for her. With adjoining rooms, the boys could walk in on her at any time. Still, perhaps once she had them in line and there was no fear of them sneaking out while she was asleep, she could request a room that was truly separate. Until then, she’d just have to be careful to always change her clothes in the bathroom or with the doors locked.
She turned toward the door Samuel had indicated, vaguely noting as she turned the handle that the boys behind her had gone suddenly silent and still. But it was only as she pushed the door wide and stepped over the threshold that she realized the reason for their silence, as a shower of ice-cold, rank-smelling liquid drenched her from above.
Amanda gasped in shock as loud guffaws of boyish laughter erupted behind her. Grimacing at the odious smell, she rubbed a hand over her wet cheek, well aware that the entire left side of her body was soaked through. When she glanced down, she saw that her white shirt cuff was now stained a mucky, brownish-green.
“Mr. Seton, are you all right?”
Samuel’s voice overrode the boisterous amusement of the twins and succeeded in breaking Amanda’s momentary shock. “Of course,” she said briskly, her voice loud enough to carry to the laughing boys. “It’s only water, after all.” She took a sniff and grimaced, appreciating that whatever concoction they had drenched her with contained not only water, but also a generous quantity of fresh horse manure from the mews. But how had they managed it?
She glanced up, noting a galvanized pail overhead, suspended by a rope from a hook those two scamps had somehow managed to screw into the ceiling. The pail had been cleverly positioned so that it would tip its contents with the opening of the door, and despite being the victim of their joke, Amanda couldn’t help a
dmiring their ingenuity. But then, she’d known from the beginning that they were too clever by half.
She looked at Samuel, who was watching her with sympathy, and she forced a laugh. “They thought a bit of dirty water would put me off?” She gave a snort of disdain. “Hardly.”
Hoping she’d made it clear she was not so easily intimidated, Amanda stepped over the puddle on the floor into her bedroom. Rattling her suitcase a little to shake off the droplets of brackish water, she set the suitcase down in a dry spot. “Samuel, I suggest you fetch some towels.”
“At once, Mr. Seton. There’s a bathroom and water closet at the end of the corridor here, and I can clean this up while you change.”
“No, thank you,” she countered, turning around and returning to the nursery. “I appreciate the offer,” she added with a brief smile, “but it’s not necessary. Just fetch the towels and a bucket of hot, soapy water, if you would.”
He departed, and Amanda turned her attention to the laughing boys, trying to ignore the powerful stench on her clothes.
“Well, gentlemen, that was quite a greeting,” she said with determined good cheer. “And I really must thank you, for you’ve done me an enormous favor.”
The laughter stopped abruptly, and Amanda took advantage of the silence. “With this little trick of yours, you’ve demonstrated one of the areas where your education has been deficient,” she told them. “I’m much obliged to you.”
“What do you mean?” one of the twins demanded, frowning at her.
Opening her eyes wide, she pretended to be astonished by the question. “Well, you only got me wet on one side.” Gesturing to the contraption above the door and hoping she wasn’t playing with fire, she went on, “You positioned your pail in the wrong place. Had I been playing this trick on you, I’d have been able to give you a thorough soaking all over, because unlike you, I possess a fundamental knowledge of engineering.”
She gave them a beatific smile. “I am more grateful than I can say, and I will be adding lessons in engineering to your curriculum, of that you may be sure.”
Governess Gone Rogue Page 6
