by Danice Allen
Finally Mrs. Dodd squeezed out of the carriage, and Mr. Rumey heaved a giant sigh of relief. This was not to be a stop during which travelers would be allowed a moment to stretch their legs. The coach would stay only long enough to deposit departing passengers or pick up new ones. But Mrs. Dodd’s absence gave Mr. Rumey and Letitia considerable stretching space.
Mrs. Dodd’s round, rosy face appeared at the window. “As I said, Miss Webster, dinna you worry none about Lord Blair. Mayhap I misheard how mean he is.”
Letitia smiled weakly. “Perhaps so. I hope the kittens prove to be excellent mousers. Good-bye.”
Her conscience apparently soothed by Letitia’s composed farewell, Mrs. Dodd stepped back and waved her hand, causing several boxes that hung from her beefy arm to clap together noisily.
During this process, a man stepped from behind her and reached for the door handle of the coach. “Excuse me, madam,” he said in a low tone, his face turned toward Mrs. Dodd as he tugged on his hat rim politely. “If I dinna board the coach now, the driver says he’ll be leavin’ me in the dust.”
The door opened wide, and a very tall man dressed in simple farmer’s attire entirely eclipsed Letitia’s view of Mrs. Dodd standing on the walkway. But when she was able to see Mrs. Dodd again, Letitia was puzzled by the shocked, slack-jawed expression on the lady’s face and the frozen manner in which she still held her arm in the air.
“What is it, Mrs. Dodd?” Letitia inquired, sticking her head out the window and looking about for the source of Mrs. Dodd’s discomposure.
“He … he…” she uttered faintly, her eyes bulging.
But it appeared that Letitia would never understand Mrs. Dodd’s sudden startled look because the carriage rolled forward and jerked into a fast departure. In her last glimpse of Mrs. Dodd, the lady was pointing a fat finger at the coach as it drove off.
“Well, that was odd,” Letitia remarked, settling back into her seat. “Mr. Rumey, why do you think Mrs. Dodd acted so…”
But Letitia’s words died in her throat. Sitting across from her was a man in possession of a pair of the most arresting green eyes she’d ever seen. Emerald green. And they were boring into her with eerie intensity, creating the same sort of unease one might feel when being observed by a wild beast at the London Tower menagerie. As she stared back he turned his gaze toward the window.
Most improperly Letitia continued to stare at the man. There was an unsettling incongruity about him. Judging from his attire and a stiff, muddy lock of blond hair sticking out from beneath his hat brim, she had to conclude that he was a common farmer. But his features were so … noble. And his skin … Though it was not lily-white like the skin of so many dandified men she’d seen, it was also not weather-roughened as she’d expect from a person who labored in the sun.
She glanced down at the man’s hands. Like his face, they were a light, golden brown. His fingers were long and tapered, the nails neatly trimmed. Why, she wondered, would a man pay such attention to the trimming of his nails, yet not wash his hair?
Intrigued, Letitia allowed her gaze to travel slowly up his broad chest to his face. She was dismayed to observe him returning her stare again, and she felt embarrassment, like a living thing, creep up her neck to warm her cheeks.
“You were saying, Miss Webster?”
Letitia turned to Mr. Rumey, who looked the very model of tried patience. “I was only commenting on Mrs. Dodd. It was nothing,” Letitia replied with a vague waving of one hand. “I’m sure you’d rather rest till our next stop, sir, so I won’t bother you with idle conversation.”
“Well, I do rather wish to catch a little snooze. I advise you to do the same, Miss Webster, now that we’re no more to be plagued by that woman. I can’t imagine why she thought herself duty bound to repeat common gossip about Lord Blair. You should try to forget everything she said. Very likely she was misquoting someone.”
“I hope so,” Letitia returned earnestly, her worry over her employer’s temperament and child-rearing philosophies compounded by the agitation she felt in the company of the new passenger. His legs were so long that his knees were but a fraction of an inch from touching hers. While his narrow hips covered a mere third of the space Mrs. Dodd’s derriere and copious skirts had occupied, Letitia was much more aware than before of being crowded. In fact, she could hardly breathe. She had no notion where to look, either, so she gazed steadfastly at her hands, which were clenched together in her lap.
“Ye’re goin’ to Leys Castle, lass?”
Letitia felt a thrill at the sound of the man’s voice. Goodness, he was talking to her! Since she had felt no qualms in holding a conversation with any other of her traveling companions, she did not feel it fair to poker up and snub the fellow, even though Mr. Rumey’s rebuking glare at the poor farmer would seem to indicate that he thought the man entirely too coming. Letitia ignored Mr. Rumey’s disapproval and shyly looked up at the farmer.
“Yes. Do you know Lord Blair?”
The farmer’s mouth quirked into a small smile. He had a beautiful mouth, she noticed. “Aye. Everyone hereabouts knows His Lordship.”
“Recognition by the masses is an unfortunate disadvantage to belonging to the peerage,” Mr. Rumey opined dampeningly.
Disregarding Mr. Rumey’s remark, Letitia leaned forward. “I mean, sir, do you know Lord Blair’s reputation? Have you an opinion of his character?”
“Ye’re goin’ to the castle, yet ye dinna ken the man’s character?” queried the farmer.
“I’m to be governess to his children. I’ve … I’ve heard he’s very strict and demanding. I’m afraid he may find me lacking.”
The farmer’s hat rim lifted slightly, as if he’d raised a brow. “Lackin’ in what way, lass?”
Letitia had no idea why she was confiding in this total stranger, and apparently neither did Mr. Rumey. The solicitor had pursed his lips in an expression of injured propriety. “Well, I like to enjoy the children, and I want the children to enjoy me. I believe a governess needs to have fun with her charges if she’s to be effective as an instructress.”
“I’ve heard tell that the bairns are a rambunctious pair, needful of a firm hand,” he told her. “Mayhap ye’ll be wise not t’ indulge ’em. And mayhap ye hadna better cross His Lordship, either. Mayhap he kens what’s best for the bairns. ’Tis better t’ be paid than not, eh, lass?”
“Well, as to that,” began Letitia, bristling at the notion that money was the deciding factor when principles were at stake, “if I disagree with Lord Blair, I shall tell him so, whether my salary is in jeopardy or not! Sometimes one is so close to a problem that one cannot see it clearly, you know. Possibly His Lordship has unreasonable expectations for his children. Did you know, sir, that he’s had three governesses before me, and all in eighteen months’ time?”
The farmer’s smile vanished for an instant, an unreadable emotion flashing in his green eyes. “I’ve heard as much.” There was a pause, during which his smile returned. “And how many positions have ye held, lass, in the same space of time?”
Letitia felt herself blushing to her roots. “Four,” she admitted, shrugging her shoulders. “But none of the dismissals were my fault,” she hurriedly added. “You see…” Letitia’s explanation trailed off. It would be awkward to tell him how she’d been compelled to leave each position because she was too comely. And would such a man, who appeared to have no vanity himself, believe such a tale?
Adam was highly diverted, much more so than in a very long time. When he’d been about to board the mail coach and heard his own name on the lips of the notorious tattle-tongue Mrs. Dodd, the butcher’s wife, he could not resist a little amusement for himself. First of all, he’d made quite sure that Mrs. Dodd had seen his face as he’d stepped into the coach. Her look of astonished chagrin had more than repaid him for the inconvenience of plunging into a mud puddle.
Then, since he was traveling incognito and was presented with such a tempting opportunity to familiarize himself wit
h his children’s new governess without the encumbrance of her employer’s real identity, he impetuously decided to playact as a farmer. He was dressed thus, wasn’t he? And what harm would his little ruse do? The worst that might happen would be that Miss Webster would reveal herself to be not at all the type of governess he wanted for the children. If that were the case, they’d both be saved a great deal of time and trouble. He’d put her back on the mail coach on the morrow.
Miss Webster was silent now, overcome by miserable embarrassment. She’d been about to explain why she’d been turned away by four previous employers. He thought he knew why. She was too pretty. Nay, she was beautiful. Even though she was sitting, he summed up her height at about five-foot-seven. Tall, but not too thin, as was so often the case with “Long Megs” like this one. In fact, she appeared quite shapely. Her hair was a rich chestnut brown, and her eyes were as blue as the spring sky outside the carriage window. Will had been right. This Letitia was very like the Letitia he’d spoken of. Too sweet, too soft for a governess.
To add to her considerable physical impediments, she was opinionated into the bargain. Obviously her approach to child rearing was at odds with his own. Near hedonistic, he’d wager. Far too lenient, far too … spontaneous. A niggling voice of self-truth suggested that he, too, was being too spontaneous in playacting as a farmer, but he pushed the thought aside.
“You don’t think he’ll approve me, do you?”
Adam felt a twinge of sympathy, a singular sensation for someone so used to being numb. “Perhaps it would be better if he didn’t.”
When Miss Webster’s eyes widened, he realized that he’d abandoned his brogue and had spoken in his usual Oxford-educated tones. To try to undo the confusion this had inspired, he hurriedly added, “Mayhap ye dinna want t’ be the governess His Lordship be needin’.”
Miss Webster did not reply, her look one of aroused suspicion. The farce was over, apparently. She knew he wasn’t a farmer. But did she guess…?
Letitia was angry. Who was this person masquerading as a farmer? His little slip of the tongue—that giving way to correct English—had stamped the man as decidedly upper-class. Had Lord Blair sent someone to spy on her? What a dreadful thought, but such a trick was certainly in keeping with the unpleasant picture her mind was painting of Lord Blair. There was nothing Letitia despised more than deliberate deceit.
If her suspicions proved to be correct, and if she were determined to act upon principle, she should board the mail coach tomorrow morning. But where would she go? Her funds were nearly depleted. Principles were wonderful things, but they couldn’t buy one’s supper.
“What be ye thinkin’, lass?” The farmer’s soft inquiry insinuated itself into her tumbled and angry thoughts. Her eyes leveled with his, and her heart skipped a beat despite herself. Lord Blair had erred in sending such a devastatingly attractive man to do his spying. Spies were supposed to be inconspicuous. This man could never be that.
“I’m thinking that I’ll take a nap, just as Mr. Rumey advised me at the outset,” said Letitia, leaning her head against the back of the seat and closing her eyes, shutting them against the onslaught of emerald green.
Leys Castle stood on the crest of a grassy hill, the highest point in what Letitia thought must be acres and acres of beautiful parklike grounds. The castle itself wasn’t terribly large, which pleased her, since she’d expected to be awed by a cold palatial stronghold. Instead the castle was no larger than a comfortably sized manor home. It had a main tower, dating probably from the fourteenth century, complete with turrets and battlements, but additional buildings added within the last century gave the castle a more modem look.
The stone of the building was a mottled gray. Flowers bordered the walkway from the main gate, which Letitia was surprised to discover unlocked and unguarded. If Lord Blair managed his household like a prison, as Mrs. Dodd had suggested, he wasn’t very diligent about locking things up. This fact gave her a modicum of hope. She really wanted to believe that this castle could be her home for a while. Letitia loved the rugged grandeur of the highlands. She actually felt more at home in Scotland than she ever had in England. If only her brothers could be with her.
Letitia enjoyed the flowers as she strode up the walkway toward the main door, trying to forget her trepidation about meeting Lord Blair, whom she had magnified in her imagination to be an ogrelike creature. She tried to forget that sham farmer from the coach, too, who was probably a despicable spy, but that was an even harder task. He was by far the most electrifying man she’d ever met, even in his ill-fitting toggery. Her strong attraction to the stranger confused and troubled her. She hoped she wasn’t showing signs of that bad blood her neighbors had talked about.
The day was exquisite, the mild temperature a keen complement to the bright wash of spring colors all about her. Too soon Letitia was nose to nose with the door knocker—a fierce-looking lion’s head. She lifted the brass ring hanging from the lion’s mouth and thumped it twice against the huge wooden door. Then she waited.
Instead of a dignified majordomo, a tall, thin, middle-aged woman answered the door. Judging by her attire and the heavy cluster of keys hanging from her apron string, she was the housekeeper—a flushed, harried-looking housekeeper. Before Letitia could open her mouth, the housekeeper drew her inside.
“Och, lass, ’tis glad I am at the sight of ye! Th’ master’s just come home, and the bairns are up t’ their usual rigs and rows! Lambs they were, all day, mind ye! Precious lambs! But soon as ever their father steps over the threshold, the very devil takes hold of ’em! And me with the scullery maids t’ watch over whilst they kill the fowls fer dinner!”
Letitia set down her portmanteau, taken aback by the housekeeper’s apparent expectation that she’d immediately assume her responsibilities as governess without first being shown to her chamber or given the opportunity to freshen up. “Where are the children, madam?”
Letitia’s question was answered when the housekeeper’s eyes widened with dismay as she looked past Letitia’s shoulder. Turning about, Letitia observed a most interesting scene. At the top of a flight of stairs two children sat astride the wide wooden railing, prepared to slide down at any moment. Their faces were aglow with naughty expectation of forbidden fun. A footman was cautiously ascending the stairs with his hands posed in front of him, obviously hoping to snatch them off the rail before their wild ride began. At the bottom of the stairs stood the majordomo, a short, portly, balding fellow with a large nose.
“Master Kyle,” he stated in a deep, ministerial voice, “if you insist upon riding the banister again—the very thing your father has expressly forbid you to do—you know I will have to take you to his library for yet another reprimand. Involving your little sister in this mischief will only make matters worse.”
Master Kyle did not seem the least discomposed by the butler’s threats. His cherubic face, framed with blond curls, lit with glee. His sister, who sat behind him with her chubby arms clasped about his waist, giggled. Letitia knew from the information given her at the registry office that Kyle was six and Mary was four. She could feel a smile curving her lips. They were impishly adorable … just her sort of charges. How could their father have the heart to be so stern with them?
“Master Kyle,” intoned the butler ominously. “These are not idle threats!”
“Oh, pooh, Belnap,” lisped the little girl, peering around her brother’s shoulder. “I don’t care a fig if Dada’s mad. Dada’s al’ays mad about somethin’!”
Then, apparently having timed their departure to coincide with the frustrated footman coming within inches of grabbing them, Kyle gave a little push and off they sailed down the railing. Blond curls bounced behind them as they slid easily and quickly down the glossy, beeswax-polished cherry wood, their faces beaming with enjoyment that was half pleasure, half fright. Mary shrieked her way down, but Kyle forbore to vocalize his excitement in such a childish display.
Belnap caught them at the bottom and sto
od them on their feet, pinching Kyle’s ear between thumb and forefinger and taking hold of Mary’s hand. “Just as I told you, Master Kyle, it’s off you go to His Lordship’s library.” Letitia noticed that rather than looking unhappy about his fate, Kyle looked pleased.
“Dear me, no, ye mustn’t take ’em there just yet, Belnap,” the housekeeper told him, glancing at the cabinet clock that stood in the spacious hall.
“And why is that, Miss Grundy?” inquired the butler, giving the housekeeper his full attention.
“Because ’tis five minutes afore the hour, and the governess here is supposed t’ meet His Lordship sharp at three. The bairns will have to wait their turn!” Miss Grundy, apparently ever-diligent, rubbed the end of her apron over the dulled shine of an arm attached to a suit of armor standing sentry in the hall.
Awakened to the fact that they were in the presence of their new governess, Kyle and Mary turned their wide green eyes toward Letitia. Their smiles vanished. She felt her heart wrench at their forlorn looks and she wished she could somehow reassure them. But once the spy had made his report to Lord Blair, it was very unlikely that she would be staying past breakfast on the morrow, so there was really no point in trying to make friends with them.
As soon as the registry office coughed up another unfortunate female, the poor things would be subjected to another governess whose philosophy was more in keeping with Lord Blair’s notions of strictness. Kyle even looked as though he resented Letitia taking his place in the library, though very likely Lord Blair meant to chastise her as certainly as if she’d slid down the banisters along with the children.
“Show her to the library, Miss Grundy, won’t you?” suggested Belnap. “I don’t dare give over these ruffians to you!” he explained, nodding his head meaningfully at the children, who had begun to squirm. “They’d tie you in a knot!”
