by Danice Allen
Miss Grundy and Belnap warmed toward her as well, their seeming inhospitality on the day she arrived apparently a result of their being at wit’s end, and having met too many governesses over too few months. “There’s no use, lass, in gettin’ attached to someone who’s bound t’ be gone in three shakes of a lamb’s tail,” Miss Grundy told her, then smiled broadly. “But Belnap and meself, we’re hopeful that ye’ll be the one who stays!”
Letitia hoped so, too. She was becoming very fond of the inhabitants of Leys Castle and took a lively interest in all their concerns. She had discovered almost immediately that Miss Grundy and Belnap fancied each other, but they seemed determined to pretend that they didn’t. Letitia supposed that they might have scruples about indulging in a romance while both of them were employed at the castle, thinking it not seemly. Or perhaps they were just shy.
Lord Blair had asked Letitia to meet him in the library after dinner—sharply at nine o’clock—to review the past two weeks, and she was very nervous. They had spoken little since the initial interview in that same chamber. He was frequently out in the evening, dining with gentry and no doubt enjoying the company of drawing rooms full of interesting people.
Letitia wondered how many of the local beauties found Lord Blair as attractive as she did. And did he find one of them attractive? From what Miss Grundy had told her, Lord Blair had been immune to female charms since his wife died. The portrait of Lady Blair, which hung in the drawing room, revealed Margaret McAllister to have been blond, with a gamine face and speaking eyes. She was very pretty, but her real charm seemed to lie in the liveliness of her expression, so well caught by the artist. No wonder the children were full of life and mischief! They were miniatures of their mother, except for their green eyes, which they obviously inherited from their father.
It was a pity Lord Blair had so little to do with Kyle and Mary beyond discipline and education. Perhaps if he’d turned to them for comfort and affection after his wife died, he’d not have suffered her loss as much.
Miss Grundy had told her that the most painful source of Lord Blair’s suffering, however, had to do with the way his wife died. It was a senseless accident that could have been easily avoided. She had ridden an untrained horse and impetuously taken a jump that would have been dangerous even with a mount that was accustomed to jumping. The resulting fall had killed her instantly.
Letitia pitied him. But she also blamed him for alienating himself from the children and making them bear the brunt of his sorrow. The result was that they’d not only lost their mother, but their father, too. Letitia wanted very much to remedy this situation. Her mission at Leys Castle expanded. Now, instead of simply wanting to improve the children’s schooling, she wanted to mend a family.
That evening, as Letitia prepared to meet Lord Blair in the library, she found herself fretfully peering into the mirror above her dressing table. She wore a simple sarcenet gown with a high prim neckline, the only adornment of the gown being the goffered lace of her collar. The sleeves were tight and so long they hid the fine bones of her wrist. The high-waisted, slim-skirted gown was a deep russet, a color she deemed properly subdued for a governess to wear.
When a young man from her last place of employment had declared that the color was the very same as the highlights in her hair, she dismissed his words as claptrap spouted by a silly moonling. But tonight, as the candlelight picked out shimmering strands in her smoothly combed chignon, she wondered if the fellow had been telling the truth. And if he had, she wondered if Lord Blair would notice, too.
Letitia’s wayward thoughts were brought abruptly back to reality by a loud clap of thunder and a flicker of lightning. A storm had been brewing all afternoon, and in the past hour she’d heard the distant rumbles growing ever closer. Rain pattered against the windows. She walked to one window that had been left partially open, breathed in the fresh, vitalizing smell of rain, then pulled shut the sash.
There was another flash of lightning, followed by an even louder roar of thunder directly overhead. Letitia loved a good storm. Somehow the movements of the churning clouds and the restless wind made her feel more alive … more excited about being alive.
It was five minutes before the hour of nine, and Letitia knew she dare not be late for her appointment with Lord Blair. She left her chamber and proceeded down the hall to the stairs. Just as she was about to descend, the children’s nurse, whom everyone simply called Nurse, came rushing down from the direction of the nursery clad in her nightrail, her gray hair falling in a long braid down her slightly humped back. Nurse had taken care of Lord Blair as a child, too, and her age probably encumbered her a little in caring for the children, because they easily wore her out. But she obviously loved them and they loved her. Letitia knew this counted for very much, especially in this particular case.
“Miss Webster, can ye come t’ th’ nursery wi’ me? It’s Mary callin’ fer ye, lass. Scared of the storm, she is. I can usually calm ’er down, but she dinna want me. She be wantin’ her Miss Tish, she says!” Nurse’s mouth turned up in a smile, the multitude of tiny lines that creased her lips smoothing out and giving her a younger look. “That’s a sweet name the wee thing’s given ye, eh, lass?”
Letitia was grateful that Nurse didn’t begrudge her a share of the children’s affection. In truth, the elderly woman was probably grateful to have someone who could help them. “I’ve an appointment with Lord Blair, but I—”
“Och, I understand, lass,” Nurse said, nodding. “Ye’d better be goin’, then.”
“But he can wait,” Letitia finished decisively. “After all, I’m residing in this house for the benefit of the children. I should think that their welfare would be my first priority.”
“His Lordship might argue that it be my place t’ soothe the bairns back t’ sleep, lass. I dinna want t’ put ye in the way of trouble,” Nurse cautioned.
“Nonsense,” Letitia said cheerfully, turning and walking down the hall toward the nursery. Another rumble of thunder shook the windowpanes, and she heard Mary scream. Letitia lifted her skirts and hurried into the nursery. Mary had pulled her knees up under her chin and buried her face in her hands. Her outcry had awakened Kyle, and he sat by her on the bed, one arm thrown around her shoulders.
In white nightdresses to their ankles and their fair heads bent close together, they reminded Letitia of a couple of angels. Heaven knew, however, they weren’t that. At the moment they were just two frightened children. Yes, Kyle was frightened, too, though he’d never admit it. Letitia’s heart went out to both of them.
“There, there, you two!” she called gaily as she entered the room. “With all the commotion outside, it appears that mighty Thor has misplaced his hammer again!”
Mary lifted her face from her hands and held out her arms. “Miss Tish!” Kyle’s troubled face brightened, too, as Letitia sat down beside them and pulled them into a comfortable cuddle, arranging the coverlet snugly about them. Nurse watched from the end of the bed, smiling.
“Miss Tish,” said Kyle, gazing up at her, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Who’s Thor?”
Before Letitia could answer, another clap of thunder rumbled through the room. Mary grabbed Letitia about the neck and squeezed while Kyle stiffened to the rigidity of a broomstick. Letitia waited till the children relaxed a little before continuing with her story.
“I don’t suppose your dada would object if I told you an amusing tale to help you back to sleep. You see, according to Norse legend, Thor the Thunderer is the protector of Asgard, or Cloud Land, whichever you choose to call it.”
“I like Cloud Land,” Mary said.
Letitia smiled. “Then Cloud Land it is. Well, one morning Thor woke up, and his hammer was missing…”
Adam paced restlessly in front of the fire, the nubby fabric of his kilt swishing against the back of his knees. It was five minutes after the hour. Miss Webster was late. He supposed her tardiness might have something to do with the storm, since women were frequently made ner
vous by thunder and lightning—although Maggie had always been energized by the electricity in the air during one of Mother Nature’s kickups.
Adam walked to the wide window, which gave an expansive view of the grounds behind the castle. He, too, loved a good storm. Spidery forks of lightning split the darkness and, for a brief, dramatic instant, imbued the landscape with an otherworldly glow. A crash of thunder followed, the sound and vibration stirring up a rush of vague but disturbing yearnings. God, how he wanted … wanted … What did he want?
Adam moved away from the window and back to the fire. He held his palms to the warmth and tried to pretend that the gesture was comforting. Yes, maybe he was cold. He gave this up in less than a minute and walked over to the round cloth-covered table next to the sofa.
Though he seldom ate after dinner, Miss Grundy had brought him a tray that held a dish of shortbread and a steaming pot of chocolate. She set the tray on the table, explaining—with an odd little smile—that “Mayhap you and Miss Webster will be wantin’ a wee bit of refreshment whilst ye talk about th’ bairns.” Then she had backed out, her faded blue eyes twinkling with some sort of secret amusement. Adam didn’t know what to make of her, but he attributed her uncharacteristic coyness to the cyclical whims women were prone to, and resumed his pacing of the carpet.
Now Adam was glad for the shortbread, because he was hungry. He bit into the buttery biscuit, and though he appreciated the flavor, he knew immediately that he wasn’t really hungry after all. He tossed the half-eaten biscuit into the fire and returned to his former position at the window. Another flash of lightning revealed the fragile limbs of a young birch tree near the building to be writhing and swirling in the wind, like the loose tresses of a woman’s hair. A woman’s hair. He could almost feel his fingers threading through the silky mass of chestnut…
Adam jerked into motion, marching toward the door. “Damnation, where is that governess, anyway? I haven’t all night to sit about the house waiting for her!”
He knew he should probably send a servant to fetch Miss Webster, but he craved movement. Like the leaves of the trees outside, he wanted to be part of something exciting, something bigger than himself. Tonight, more than any other night since Maggie’s death, he felt the constraints of his self-inflicted isolation. Sure, he dined with the neighbors, he danced and conversed—but he still kept his soul to himself. Lately his soul struggled for recognition, for expression. It was a damned frustrating and unwelcome sensation, this wanting.
Action, any sort of action, was just the ticket, he decided. Inactivity only allowed him to think and feel more than he wished to. And if giving that impudent little governess a blistering set-down for being late made him feel better, so be it!
Adam ascended the stairs to the upper story and turned down the hall toward Miss Webster’s room, just a few doors from the nursery. There was no answer to his firm knocking, so he retraced his steps down the hall, past the stairs to the nursery. The door was open. He peered into the dim chamber, where a single candle lit the comfortable scene before him. Miss Webster was curled up on Mary’s bed, her arms around both children. Something bittersweet twisted inside Adam at the sight of the three of them so cozily occupied and so happy in one another’s company. Miss Webster spoke in a whisper, and Kyle and Mary appeared to be hanging on every word. Arrested by the homey scene, he strained to hear.
“Not once after that was there mention in Cloud Land of the time when Thor dressed as a girl and won his hammer back from Thrym the giant. No one dared laugh at Thor’s expense, you see. Now whenever you hear the thunder, you might imagine that someone has stolen Thor’s hammer and is playing a rather noisy game with it.”
Adam stepped forward. “It has also been said that whenever Thor drives his chariot, pulled by his golden-hooved twin goats, the clouds roll and the thunder booms.”
Letitia started at the sound of Lord Blair’s deep voice. The worst of the storm had passed, and the thunder was now just a distant rumble. Raindrops rolled lazily down the window glass in an unpredictable, meandering fashion. Nurse had gone back to bed and was fast asleep by now in her small chamber adjacent to the nursery. The children had been nodding with returning sleepiness, but they, too, were wide-eyed at the sight of their father at this late hour.
And what a sight he was. Dressed in a kilt, he was more handsome than ever. Letitia’s stomach tightened at the sight of his beautiful legs below the pleated hem of the green plaid kilt; golden-furred, lean, and shapely. She pulled her fascinated stare away from those gorgeous shanks of his and met his gaze straight on. Had he seen her admiring his legs? she wondered. Heavens, she hoped not!
“Lord Blair, I’m sorry to be late for our appointment,” she began briskly, trying to hide her flustered feelings. “But the children were having a little trouble sleeping, what with the storm and all. We were just—”
Lord Blair forestalled any further explanation with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The storm is passed now. Tuck them in, Miss Webster, and we shall have our meeting.”
Always prompt to do his father’s bidding, Kyle jumped up and scrambled into his bed. As Letitia bent to pull Mary’s covers up she was struck with a sudden inspiration. “Perhaps you’d like to tuck Kyle in, my lord, while I do Mary?” she suggested offhandedly. She did not look at Lord Blair to see how he responded to the hint, but she saw Kyle’s face light up hopefully.
Letitia was relieved and grateful when, after a short pause, Lord Blair moved to Kyle’s bed and began straightening the child’s covers.
“You know about Thor, too, Dada?” Kyle looked shyly at his father.
Lord Blair had pulled Kyle’s blanket up to just under the child’s chin. His hand rested on Kyle’s chest. “Yes, a little. My father used to tell me stories of the Norse gods when I was a boy.”
“Dada, tomorrow night will you tell us a story?”
Again Lord Blair paused, this time a longer and more painful pause to Letitia. Had she set the children up to be disappointed?
“We’ll see, Kyle,” said Lord Blair in a restrained voice. “I’m invited to the McFarrs for the evening, but I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going.”
Kyle nodded, satisfied with this small morsel of hope. Lord Blair patted his son’s head then, rather awkwardly, as if he hadn’t done it for a long time. He moved to Mary’s bed and smiled down at the child, tracing a forefinger along the soft curve of her plump cheek. Mary smiled back.
It was a tender moment, apparently too tender for Lord Blair to stand for any length of time, because he suddenly straightened up and moved to the door. There he turned around, saying in a stern voice, “I’ll be waiting in the library, Miss Webster. Snuff the candle and do not tarry, if you please.”
Letitia sighed as she listened to his slippers’ soft thud against the hall carpet as Lord Blair marched away to the library. His determined resistance to Kyle and Mary’s need for their father’s affection saddened her very much. She kissed the children good night, then descended to the library. What waited for her on the other side of the thick-paneled door, she hardly dared to wonder. She only hoped His Lordship would grant her more time with the children and not dismiss her willy-nilly because of the laughter so frequently heard coming from the schoolroom. She opened the door and entered the library.
As he did the last time they’d met in this chamber, Lord Blair stood by the window. But this time he was swathed in darkness, his silhouette barely discernible against the ghostly gray of the rain-drenched night. She moved to the fireplace and turned her back to it, waiting.
He walked slowly toward her, his hands, as before, clasped loosely behind him. As he moved into the light of the fireplace and the candelabra set on the table by the sofa, she cursed the attraction she felt for this man. She could speak her mind more easily if her serious thoughts weren’t jostled aside to make room for such shocking notions as how delightful it would feel to be held in his arms. Was it natural to feel that way, or was she becoming all too much her moth
er’s daughter? He faced her, not quite twelve inches away. If she backed up, she’d catch her skirt afire. If she sidled away, she’d appear the coward. She stood her ground.
His black velvet jacket looked so touchable, so well fitted to the muscular contours of the chest beneath it. Did soft blond curls cover his chest, as they covered his legs? she wondered. Oh, those legs…
“So, Miss Webster, two weeks have passed.”
She lifted her downcast eyes to clash with his deep green ones and felt a shiver of pleasure. “Yes, my lord, they have.” What an inane reply. Why didn’t she just announce herself a simpleton and be done with it?
“And how do you reckon the value of this past fortnight, Miss Webster? Have you fared well with the children? Have they learned anything?”
She rallied her senses. “I feel very good about this fortnight’s work, my lord. The children seem to have accepted me—”
“That’s obvious.”
“I believe it is important to gain the children’s trust and affection.”
“I know. I have conceded that you’ve accomplished as much.” He flicked his hand impatiently. “But let us move on to educational matters. Have they learned anything?”
“You quiz them nightly. I should think you’d have formed an opinion about that already.”
He surprised her with a quick smile and stepped back, motioning to a well-padded wing chair by the table, adjacent to the sofa. “Won’t you sit down, Miss Webster? Miss Grundy has so kindly supplied us with shortbread and chocolate. Notice I haven’t requested that you sit in the punishment chair by the desk. I don’t want you to feel intimidated in any way. We’re going to talk honestly about the children.”
