Penelope snorted. “We detest art.”
Juliet’s lips twitched. “You can’t possibly detest all art.”
Poppy nodded with a seriousness more befitting a woman two and thirty years and not her mere two and ten years. “Oh, yes. We detest all art.”
“We shall see,” Juliet murmured.
“What else do you intend to teach us?” Poppy asked with a guarded look in her eyes.
“We’ll sing—”
Prudence planted her hands upon her hips. “Then you have nothing we care to learn, Miss Marsh.”
Suddenly, Juliet wished she’d paid a good deal more attention to her own governess through the years. What had the woman done when Juliet had been a less than eager student? “Perhaps you’re right, Lady Prudence, but until we truly begin together, then you can’t say that for certain.”
Fire flashed in the girl’s eyes.
“What do you intend to begin with, Miss Marsh?” Poppy asked with more of the girl like curiosity than the jaded façade she presented as the youngest of the Tidemore sisters.
Juliet took in her smallest charge and recognized the first potential ally. She must woo the girl to her side with meticulous care, or she’d ever lose her to her older sisters’ misguided influence. She glanced around the immaculate space. There were no books. No canvases. No watercolors. In fact, she couldn’t imagine a greater dearth of materials for a gaggle of young girls being instructed by a governess.
“Miss Marsh?” Poppy prodded.
Prudence’s eyes went wide. “Why, you aren’t a governess,” Prudence sounded like she’d discovered the secret to creation.
Juliet could see how five governesses had come before her. A lesser woman would far prefer the uncertainty of finding a different post than deal with the young termagant’s vitriol. “I—”
“You are one of Sin’s fancy pieces.”
“I knew it,” Penelope said under her breath. She yawned behind her hand and plopped down on a nearby sofa.
Juliet’s eyebrows shot up. Fancy piece? Her skin warmed and she raised her hands to fan her cheeks, then remembered herself.
Prudence stared at her with an expression both victorious and deliberately jeering.
Juliet sighed and motioned to the remaining girls standing to sit. “I see I’d best begin with a lesson on proper deportment.”
Poppy flung her hand across her eyes on a dramatic sigh, and settled into the seat beside Penelope.
Prudence continued standing, a belligerent set to her young shoulders.
Juliet said nothing. The long-clock in the far corner of the room ticked the passage of time. Like observers at a game of tennis, Penelope and Poppy’s gazes moved between Juliet and Prudence with each beat of the clock. Nearly two full minutes later, Prudence sat. Juliet took the seat nearest the girl. And added a second battle to the war she’d just begun. “Shall we begin?” she murmured.
Jonathan tapped his pen distractedly back and forth upon the open ledger in front of him. He’d stared at the same page for some time now. He looked at the column of numbers on the far left, and then picked his gaze up, studying his office door.
He’d deposited, nay abandoned, Juliet to her affairs several hours ago. He’d sat with bated breath, awaiting the moment his office door opened and she stormed inside and quit her bothersome charges. The oddest disappointment filled him at the prospect of her leaving, yet the poor young woman didn’t have a prayer of success.
One hour after he’d left her above stairs, he acknowledged Juliet had already succeeded an hour longer than he’d imagined. As the clock marked her second hour as governess to the Tidemore sisters, he realized the futility in his efforts to accomplish anything this day. He’d stared at his ledgers, unable to concentrate on anything else beyond his thoughts of his captivating governess.
Jonathan slowed the steady beat of his pen, and tossed it down. Perhaps it would do to go above stairs and just make sure she hadn’t come to any harm. The more he considered it, the more sense it made to pay a gentlemanly call to the young lady. If for no other reason than to see if she was getting on well. Or ascertain whether there was anything she needed of him.
For his charges, that was.
He shoved back his seat and climbed to his feet. With energized steps, he strode from his office, up the stairs, and down the corridor to the Ivory Parlor. He drew to a slow halt, grinning. His mother stood in profile, ear pressed to the wood panel of the door. Jonathan folded his arms across his chest. “Good afternoon.”
His mother jumped then spun on her heel. She slapped a finger to her lips. “Hush,” she mouthed silently. She beckoned him forward, and he strolled down the hall. He stopped in front of her.
“Wh—?”
“Shh,” she whispered. She gestured to the door. “I hear nothing.”
He cocked his head. Odd, he’d expect hearing nothing would be vastly preferable to hearing something. He wrinkled his brow. That is, unless his sisters had tied up Juliet and stuffed a cloth inside her mouth. He growled at the image and reached behind his mother to press the handle. The door sprung open, and four pairs of eyes swiveled in his direction.
Poppy froze mid-dip of her curtsy, while Penelope remained bent at the waist. “Sin!” she cried.
Juliet dropped a curtsy and lowered her head, as the three girls charged toward the doorway, swarming him like the nest of bees he’d inadvertently tumbled from a tree as a small boy.
Jonathan tweaked Poppy’s nose. “I told you not to call me, Sin, Poppy,” he said over her black curls, his gaze on Juliet. Then he registered his mother’s presence. “Er, uh, allow me to perform introductions, Ju…Miss Marsh,” he corrected quickly. Did his mother’s eyebrows dip at that slight slip? “Miss Marsh, my mother the Countess of Sinclair. Mother, Miss Marsh.”
Juliet dropped another elegant curtsy to rival the most polished debutante at Almack’s. “My lady,” she murmured, lowering her gaze.
“Miss Marsh,” Mother greeted, eying Juliet with cautiousness.
Jonathan frowned at Juliet’s subservient greeting. He liked it not at all. He preferred her as his passionate spitfire with her quick hands and proud tilt of her head, not this…this…deep curtsying servant. Then, isn’t that what you had her become, a silent voice jeered.
“Jonathan?” his mother asked.
He blinked. “What was that, Mother?”
“I merely inquired after Lady Emmaline and Lord Drake’s—”
Bloody hell!
Poppy looked pointedly at him, and he gave a faint, nearly imperceptible nod. She launched into a great, big gasping, choking fit.
“Oh, my goodness,” Mother cried and rushed over to her.
Poppy coughed so long and loud, tears streamed down her cheeks. Her delicate shoulders trembled from the force of her choking.
Mother pounded her daughter between the shoulder blades, even as Juliet rushed forward to help.
Jonathan caught Poppy’s gaze, and the youngest of his sister’s gave a slight wink. He buried a grin behind his hand. Well done, Poppy. Well done.
Juliet’s lithe frame went taut. She looked first to Poppy and then to Jonathan and back to Poppy. Her eyes narrowed.
And he knew his quick-witted Juliet detected his responsibility in Poppy’s dramatic showing. Then he met Prudence’s narrowed gaze. She looked between him and Juliet, far too clever for her five and ten years.
Prudence opened her mouth…
“I was thinking perhaps Miss Marsh might take the girls shopping for some ribbon,” he said smoothly.
Prudence’s lips snapped together.
Penelope clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh, Sin, you’re the dearest, most magnificent brother. You must join us.” She bounded across the room and wrapped her hands around his arm. “Do say you’ll join us.”
Normally, he’d rather walk through a cemetery in the witching time of night than go shopping with his troublesome sisters. Today, well, today was a different matter entirely. “Of course, I’l
l join you,” he assured them.
Mother gave him a pleased smile. “You are a dear brother,” she concurred. But she made no further mention of Juliet’s connection to Lady Emmaline and he considered the day a perfect success.
So it was nearly thirty minutes later, he and Juliet strolled beside one another, trailing behind his three loquacious sisters down Bond Street. His sisters paused periodically to glance inside window-shops.
“I understand what you did a short while ago, my lord.”
“What I did?” he murmured, tipping his hat in greeting to passing familiar lords and ladies.
Juliet kept her gaze trained forward on his sisters’ backs. “The fit of coughing on Poppy’s part. And then your sudden offer to take the girl’s shopping.”
He smiled down at her. “Is there something wrong with being an attentive brother?”
“There is something wrong in indulging troublesome behaviors, my lord,” she returned.
He bristled with indignation. Certainly the girls had gone through any number of governesses, and they were a bit cheeky, but troublesome behaviors? It was one thing acknowledging it himself, quite another to hear the scolding in Juliet’s tone.
“As long as you make excuses for them, my lord, they’ll continue to move through their governesses.”
His heart paused inside his breast. “You intend to give up your post, then?” Regret tugged at him.
She gave a flounce of her crimson curls. “I’ve no intention of leaving until I help your sisters become the proper, English ladies you’d have them be, and I have my cottage returned to me.”
So, never. Good. Vastly preferable to her tendering her resignation.
The girls rushed ahead to a familiar shop front and pulled the door open. They spilled inside.
Juliet paused outside and stared at the door they’d disappeared behind. He could all but see her composing a mental list of all the areas in need of a governess’ attention.
Too-loud public laughter. Unladylike paces. Walking without confirming the presence of their chaperone.
He expected her to speak on their behaviors, instead, she hurried after them. Jonathan stood a moment to appreciate the delicate curve of her buttocks and then paused at the slightly off-kilter gait. “Miss Marsh?” he called after her.
She paused, a hand on the handle of the shop’s door. “My lord?”
He frowned. “Have you been injured?”
“Injured?” Juliet cocked her head. “Certainly not.” With that she spun on her heel and rushed inside the shop.
Jonathan started after her. He entered the shop and winced at Prudence’s high-pitched giggle as she held up a ribbon in each hand. She touched first one, a golden ribbon with black stripes to her hair, then the next, a pale blue satin ribbon. “Which do you like, Penny?”
Penny, in the midst of perusing the ribbons that dangled above, paused with a frown. “I’ve instructed you not to call me Penny,” she hissed.
Prudence gave an older sister’s beleaguered sigh. “Very well, which do you prefer, Penelope?”
He didn’t pause to listen for Penelope’s reply. Instead, he moved deeper into the shop, studying Juliet who walked a path about the space, distractedly touching the ribbons.
The shopkeeper approached her and Juliet smiled at the woman. She gave a slight wave of a hand, and the gray-haired, plump woman continued on.
Juliet grasped an emerald green ribbon. He studied her long fingers and imagined vastly more enjoyable activities for those fingers. As if she felt his gaze upon her, Juliet looked up, and her hand fell back to her side, as though burned.
Jonathan continued walking until he came to stop beside her. “It is a splendid ribbon, Miss Marsh.” He freed the green scrap of fabric from her grasp. “It would look glorious woven through your hair, Juliet,” he said on a soft whisper.
Her gaze darted about as if to ascertain whether anyone was privy to their exchange.
The shopkeeper rushed forward and he turned it over to the woman’s hands. “Please have this wrapped,” he instructed.
The woman nodded and hurried off, leaving him once again alone with Juliet.
“It is not appropriate to give a lady who is not your wife a gift, my lord.”
If she’d but let him, he’d give her far more than a mere scrap of fabric. He’d shower her with diamonds and the bluest sapphires, drape her in the finest silk and satin fabrics. Yet, in the brief time he’d come to know Juliet, he’d come to appreciate how vastly different than any other woman she happened to be. She didn’t seem to have a singular focus on trinkets and baubles. “What makes you believe I’ve purchased it for you?” he inquired teasingly.
“I…” She blushed. “Oh…I had…”
He chuckled. “I’m merely teasing. The ribbon is yours, Juliet. And as your employer I can give you a gift should I so desire.”
Juliet shook her head emphatically. “No. No, that is not true in the least. It isn’t appropriate. It will raise eyebrows, and questions and will result in my dismissal.”
Jonathan would be the only one to dismiss her, and he’d sooner slice off his left little finger than send her back on her way. He followed her pointed glance to Prudence who eyed them interestingly.
“Please,” Juliet implored from the side of her mouth. “This is not at all a proper discussion.”
Perfectly kissable lips like hers were wasted on words such as proper. “Then what is proper discourse?” he asked, striking a nonchalant pose.
“Your sisters. That is all that is appropriate,” she retorted.
The last thing he cared to speak with Juliet Marshville about were his sisters. Though that was in fact the one matter he should want to speak with her about. He sighed and gave a wave of a hand. “Well, then, shall we discuss your intentions for the girls’ lessons?”
She nodded curtly, and said, “I had hoped to begin on the subject of art.”
“Art? Very well, Miss Marsh.”
Juliet’s eyes roved over his face. “That is it? There are no further questions?”
“I have no further questions,” he concurred. “For now,” he added.
Later, much later, when there are no strangers about, and my sisters are otherwise occupied, then, I will have questions for you, sweet Juliet.
“Very well, then,” she said with what he detected as disappointment in her husky alto.
Jonathan continued to study her as she rushed over to his sisters, seeming unaware of his scrutiny. He acknowledged to himself for the first time since he’d come upon her battling Lord Whitby in the streets, he wanted her. Not in a single exchange of two lovers coming together for a fleeting night of passion. He wanted her for more than a governess, but rather as a mistress he could freely shower with lavish gifts and pretty compliments without the scrutiny of his family and Society in watch.
He silently cursed. What in hell had he done?
Chapter 8
Juliet sat at the window seat of the parlor. The handful of sconces along the wall cast the room in a soft glow, far greater than the single sconce in the modest chambers assigned to her on the main living quarters of the earl’s townhouse.
The night moon flooded the room and, illuminated the cover of the sketchpad on her lap.
She rustled the ends of the pages, fanning them distractedly. The faint breeze she created sent the emerald green ribbon on her lap fluttering to the cushion of the window seat.
She picked the ribbon up and studied it. When she’d left home, she’d just been so glad to be rid of Albert and Lord Williams she had not really considered what leaving actually meant.
Until now.
With the exception of the servants who’d been a family to her over the years, she was shocked to find she missed very little of her former life.
But she missed the time she’d had to sketch. As hard and unpleasant as life had been since Papa’s death, she had found joy in her art.
When she’d accepted the earl’s offer of employment she’d n
ot really thought about how the hours she worked would interfere with the precious time she had to sketch. Though Jonathan had been entirely generous with both the terms of her employment and wages, her responsibilities prevented her from sketching at a time of day when lighting was most advantageous for an artist.
Juliet glanced out the window into the quiet London streets below. She imagined she would be filled with a seething hatred for the gentleman who’d refused to return her cottage and instead put an offer of employment to her. Jonathan, with his bold arrogance and roguish smile was everything she’d never wanted in life. She’d wanted a somber gentleman with perhaps an easy smile who’d indulge her love of art, overlook her crippled leg, and give her a babe or two to care for. Instead, with his terms, he had stolen those simple hopes from her and replaced them instead with the promise of freedom—if she simply succeeded in her role as governess.
And she would succeed. She had little thought of any other possible outcome.
The time here, with him, and his sisters would be as fleeting as a single summer that one looked back on with perhaps a fond remembrance. But when she eventually took her leave of this lively home, she suspected she’d not carry with her the resentment she’d expected to have in her heart toward Jonathan.
Juliet’s gaze snagged upon the green ribbon. She picked it up and tugged at it with her fingers, smoothing her thumb and forefinger over the satin fabric. She rather would prefer hating Jonathan Tidemore, the Earl of Sinclair, than feel…anything else toward him. Except, in the short time she’d come to know him, she’d come to appreciate the care he showed for his sisters. Even if they were over-indulged, they were clearly loved, and it was impossible to hate a man who loved his sisters.
Juliet sighed and set the ribbon down. She flipped through the pages of her book. Papa’s visage stared back at her. The dimple in his right cheek, the easy smile upon his face. She quickly turned the page. The broad wood swing anchored to the elm tree. She flipped to the next. Rosecliff Cottage stared mockingly up at her. She touched the tip of her finger to the long-ago drawn image, trailing her nail along the cobbled walkway lined with rose bushes.
Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons Book 4) Page 8
