Brave New Earl

by Ashford, Jane

  It was like a tempest blowing through her. Her body shook. Her breath came in gasps. The tears seemed never-ending. Each time she thought she could stop, another sob rose in her throat. The small, frantic inner voice insisting this was forbidden went unheeded. She was swept away, shattered.

  When, at long last, the weeping tapered off, Jean felt not better but…emptied. As if all those tears had hollowed her out. She drew back and took stock of her situation. She’d confessed her shameful secret. She’d turned a romantic interlude into a melodrama. But she had no emotion left for embarrassment. What was done was done. No choice but to go on. She cleared her throat and took control of her voice. “Your shoulder is wet.”

  “So is your face,” Benjamin replied. He pulled up a corner of the sheet and dried both.

  When it came to her running nose, Jean revolted. “Not on the bed linens!”

  “I have no handkerchief at hand.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She tried to snuffle discreetly, then had to stifle a soft protest when he let her go and got up.

  Benjamin walked across the room, naked in the wavering candlelight, and fetched a handkerchief from the wardrobe. Turning, he brought it back.

  “How beautiful you are,” Jean said when he handed her the square of cloth.

  “Isn’t that my line?” He climbed back into bed and settled at her side once more.

  “I have no objection to you saying it.” Emptiness was lighter, Jean noticed. A bit like floating. She blew her nose.

  The ache of physical passion was familiar, Benjamin thought. But this desperate desire to make her happy again was new to him. “You are beautiful,” he said. “Far more than I realized.”

  His tone made her tremble. She tried for a light response. “Without my clothes, you mean?”

  “When seen in your…entirety.” He ran a hand along her arm. He wanted to make love to her with boundless tenderness and wild abandon. But only a few minutes ago, she’d been sobbing. This might not be the moment.

  She answered him by casting her arms around his neck and pulling him down onto the pillows. In the ensuing enthusiasm, the handkerchief was lost.

  Some while later, the candle guttered, an unwelcome reminder of the passage of time. Jean sat up. “I should back go to my room,” she said. “I can’t stay all night.”

  “More’s the pity.” He’d like to wake beside her and greet the new day with embraces, Benjamin thought. He still hoped to. But this wasn’t the time to bring up marriage again. He was in too good a mood.

  She left his bed, found her nightgown on the floor, and slipped it on. Benjamin saw that she’d arranged her wrapper, slippers, and a candlestick in a little pile next to the door. This sign of forethought made him smile as he retrieved his nightshirt. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, you won’t. No one must see us together like this.” She indicated her nightclothes with a gesture.

  “I feel that I should escort you ‘home.’” He acknowledged the silliness of this with a shrug.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He was never going to tire of her. He carried the dying candle over to the door. “Here, light yours from this before it goes out.”

  “I’ll creep along without a light.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “But someone might see me.”

  “At this hour? They’re all sound asleep. And if someone should happen to, tell them you were sleepwalking.”

  She giggled. Benjamin thought he’d never enjoyed a sound more. “In my slippers, with a light?” she asked. Her smile as she slipped out of his room buoyed his spirits even more.

  Jean walked quickly down the corridor, mind and body full of the past few hours. She was only a few feet from her bedchamber door when a hint of movement in the dark made her jump.

  A small, pale figure hovered in the blackness beyond her candle flame. Was Furness Hall haunted? The phantom shifted again. “Geoffrey?”

  After a lengthy pause, the boy came into the light.

  “You scared me out of my wits. What are you doing out of bed at this hour?” Had he seen her leaving his father’s room? Jean wondered.

  “What are you?” he replied.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” For reasons he was not to know. “I often read when I’m wakeful. There are so many books in the library.” None of that was lies, Jean told herself. She could be excused a bit of indirection.

  Geoffrey looked at her empty hands.

  “But so hard to find one you actually want to read. Remember Goody Two-Shoes.” She shouldn’t have offered an explanation. She didn’t really owe him one. “You ought to stay in bed at night,” she added.

  “You can’t tell me what to do.”

  Jean had a sudden vivid memory of being small and at the mercy of any adult who wished to criticize one’s behavior. She’d hated that!

  “This is my house,” Geoffrey added. “I can go wherever I want.”

  She didn’t want to argue with him, though this was not quite true. “You should return to your room now. I’ll take you.” She held up the candle to light more of the hallway.

  Geoffrey whirled and scampered away. In moments, his small figure was lost in the darkness. There was no sense chasing him, Jean thought. He was faster. He knew the house far better than she did. And he would fit into a hundred little hiding places. With a sigh, she turned and went into her bedchamber.

  Fifteen

  “Come and see,” said the master of Furness Hall the following afternoon as he entered the parlor where Jean was sitting with Mrs. Thorpe.

  “See what?” Jean asked. A tremor went through her. She hadn’t seen him since she left his bed.

  “Just come.”

  He looked amused, almost mischievous. When he beckoned, they both rose and followed him upstairs.

  Benjamin—Jean couldn’t think of him as Lord Furness any longer—opened the door of the nursery like a showman pulling back a curtain. Inside, Tom stood before a tall easel, pencil poised over a canvas. Geoffrey posed before him, feet apart, one hand raised.

  The boy turned when they entered. He gave Jean a sidelong glance, and she wondered if he was going to mention their nighttime encounter. He said nothing, however.

  “The subject of a portrait must stand very still,” Benjamin told his son.

  “I did! For ages.”

  “It makes no matter,” said Tom. “I’ll draw him as he is.”

  “A blur of motion?” asked Benjamin.

  Tom smiled amid general laughter. Geoffrey glowered. “No, but catch as catch can,” said Tom. “May as well. I’m not a real artist.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” said Jean. He seemed to be capturing Geoffrey’s lively spirit in his sketch, which was not an easy task. “You’re doing very well.”

  “I like showing what I see with some lines on a page.” Tom gestured with his pencil. “It’s magical, like.”

  “When you’re good at it, which you certainly are,” said Mrs. Thorpe.

  Beginning to look embarrassed, Tom shook his head. “I never had one of these canvas things before. Only bits of paper. And I’m not sure how I’ll do with the paints, milord. I’ve only tried them twice in my life.”

  “You’ll do your best. It seems you always do.”

  Tom flushed.

  “He’s going to put Fergus in it,” said Geoffrey, as if this was the far more important point and justified the entire effort. Resuming his pose, the boy wiggled his raised hand. “Tom’ll paint the reins in just as if I was holding them. And then Fergus next to me. He’ll be part of my picture forever.”

  They all agreed this was a splendid idea. “We’ll leave you to it,” Benjamin said then. “I know I hate being overlooked when I’m trying to concentrate on a task.”

  Jean thought Tom looked grateful as they filed out. And then she forgot
all else when Benjamin met her eyes. His gaze was intimate as a caress.

  “That lad is a treasure,” said Mrs. Thorpe as they descended the stairs.

  Benjamin agreed with a nod. “I don’t know where we’d be without him.”

  “I wonder if Tom would like to study painting,” Jean said, having caught her breath. “It seems a shame not to develop his talents.”

  “I could find him a place to do that in London,” said Mrs. Thorpe. “I know several painters.”

  “He seems determined to wander,” Benjamin replied. “We’ve asked him what he would like. Offered him a place here or more schooling. But he intends to move on. More than that, he will not say.”

  “We?” Jean asked.

  “My uncle is full of admiration for the lad and wants to help him.”

  “As soon as you can agree on what help means to him,” said Mrs. Thorpe.

  “Precisely. And before Tom heads off on his own. Because I think he will. The nursery will soon have a new ruler. The applicants for the position are coming tomorrow. I had a note confirming my arrangements this morning.”

  “They’re coming here?” Jean was surprised.

  “From Bristol. I’m sending a carriage. Much more efficient to interview them all in one day, I thought.”

  “That should be an interesting journey,” said Mrs. Thorpe dryly. “Do they know they’re rivals for the same position?”

  Benjamin blinked. “I suppose they’ll find out.”

  “I suppose they will,” the older woman replied, hiding a smile.

  “How many are there?” Jean asked.

  “Four.” He frowned. “Do you think we should have gone up to Bristol instead?”

  “We?” Mrs. Thorpe looked from him to Jean and back again. Jean could practically see the wheels turning in her mind.

  “Miss Saunders has agreed to help me evaluate them.”

  “How kind of her.”

  “You could help as well,” said Jean as a diversion.

  “Oh, I’ll leave it to you…two. I’m sure you’ll do a fine job. Shall we return to our sewing, Jean?”

  Life at Furness Hall had been simpler without a chaperone, Jean thought as she followed Mrs. Thorpe back to the parlor. But even then she couldn’t have dragged Benjamin off to his bedchamber for a repetition of last night. It was broad day; they’d be missed immediately. Catching Mrs. Thorpe’s eye as they sat, Jean felt as if her improper thoughts were written all over her face. She flushed, and with that came echoes of the venomous inner voice that had plagued her youth. Had she gone mad? Her mother’s sneering face flitted through her memory. Was she so stupid that she’d risk her freedom and her future? Grimly, Jean fought the voice down.

  “Are you all right?” asked Mrs. Thorpe.

  “Of course.”

  “Not feeling ill? For a moment, you looked queasy.”

  That was a good word for it, Jean thought. But she wasn’t going to think of Mama, or let her revenant intrude. “Sewing makes me bilious,” she joked.

  “Ah. The rise and fall of the needle?” Mrs. Thorpe’s hand created waves in the air. Her eyes twinkled.

  “Like a ship’s deck in a storm.”

  The older woman laughed.

  • • •

  The carriage full of prospective nannies arrived at eleven the following morning, pulling up before Furness Hall with a clatter of hooves. From an upper window, Benjamin observed the four women who emerged. They all appeared to be in their thirties; he’d stipulated youth with some years of experience. All four wore plain, sensible gowns and bonnets. Their hair and gloves were immaculate. One was rather tall. One quite short. The other two were of medium height. He could tell little else from this distance. If the journey together had disturbed their composure, none showed any signs.

  He didn’t hurry downstairs. His housekeeper was primed to welcome the candidates and offer them respite and refreshment. In due time, he would speak with each of them in the library. He went to join Jean Saunders instead.

  He knew exactly where she was. These days, he always seemed to. Her presence throbbed in him like a second pulse. If he let it, the bond took him to her. Indeed, it was becoming more and more difficult to stay away.

  And there she was, striding along the corridor toward him. Did she feel the same pull? He dared hope so.

  “They’ve arrived,” she said.

  “I saw.”

  “They don’t look very…jolly.” Her expression was dubious.

  “I don’t believe that’s a requirement for the position.”

  “Little boys should have fun!”

  “How much more of Geoffrey’s fun can this household afford?” Benjamin joked.

  “Mischief isn’t fun.”

  “Really?” He enjoyed making her blush. He admitted it. He delighted in making her think of the pleasures they’d shared. It seemed only fair. He thought of them all the time.

  She wanted him all the time, Jean thought. Desire was the new lodestone of her life. Which set off every danger signal she possessed.

  “Shall we go down to the library?”

  Where they’d kissed, more than once. So many commonplace words now seemed suggestive. Jean gathered her dignity with a nod and walked toward the stairs. She knew he was smiling as he followed. His smiles were as palpable as a fingertip running down her spine.

  A triangle of armchairs had been placed near the glass doors that led to the garden, an arrangement Jean had thought better than the desk. “I thought we would proceed in alphabetical order,” he said. He took a sheet of paper from his pocket and consulted it.

  “As good a system as any,” Jean replied. It was both soothing and unsettling to be here with the portrait of Alice gone. A bucolic landscape had replaced it over the fireplace.

  Benjamin rang the bell. “Miss Carter,” he told the maid who answered it. The girl bobbed a curtsy and went out. She returned at once with the first of the applicants, a tall, thin woman with dark hair and pale skin. “How do you do,” Benjamin said. “I am Lord Furness. This is Miss Saunders. Shall we sit?” He indicated the chairs. They sat. “Tell us about your previous position.”

  As Miss Carter began to describe her place in a wealthy Bristol household, caring for twin boys who had now gone off to school, Jean surveyed her. The woman had deep-brown eyes and a no-nonsense manner, which didn’t mean she wasn’t kind. “What is your educational philosophy?” Jean asked.

  “My what?” Miss Carter appeared puzzled but not irritated, which was good.

  “By which principles do you regulate a nursery?” Jean said.

  “Oh.” She gave a decisive nod. “I set great store by a daily schedule. It is best to learn discipline at an early age. Then, I believe that children, particularly boys, require ample outdoor exercise.”

  As she continued, Miss Carter’s gaze kept straying beyond them, as if irresistibly drawn away. Jean finally turned to see what was distracting her.

  Geoffrey stood just outside the glass doors. He wore only a grubby tea towel tied around his waist. His face and bare torso were streaked with paint, as they had been when Jean first encountered him, a seeming lifetime ago. He brandished a fat stick and made horrific faces. Jean clamped her jaw on a…laugh?

  Benjamin swiveled to see what was diverting them. “Ah,” he said as Geoffrey stuck out his tongue, waggled it at them, and pranced about. “My son.”

  “Indeed, my lord. I suspected as much.”

  Miss Carter’s tone was dry but not horrified, as far as Jean could tell. She had looked after twin boys. The thought of two Geoffreys momentarily boggled Jean.

  “Have you brought references?” Benjamin added.

  Wordlessly, the woman took a folded sheaf of paper from her reticule. Benjamin took it, read, and passed it to Jean. Miss Carter’s former employers were full of glowing praise
. Jean returned the pages to be tucked away again.

  “Thank you for making the journey,” Benjamin said.

  Miss Carter took her cue and rose to go. “Thank you, my lord, miss.” She departed without looking back at the window.

  Jean looked. Geoffrey was gone. Hiding somewhere in the garden, no doubt. “I’ll get Tom to go and catch him,” she said.

  She was surprised when Benjamin shook his head. “Let him be. I think Geoffrey is an important part of our interviews.”

  “But they’ll…” Jean paused. “They’ll see what he’s like,” she went on in a different tone.

  “Precisely.”

  “Which would be best, I suppose.”

  He nodded. “I should have thought of this myself.”

  “Thought of having Geoffrey smear himself with paint—oh dear, Tom’s new oils I suppose—and bare his teeth at them?” Her smile escaped.

  He smiled warmly back at her. “In broad strokes, if not in every detail, yes.”

  “Because their reaction will be revealing,” Jean went on thoughtfully.

  “Definitive, I would say. If they can’t deal with a bit of…performance…”

  “They can’t deal with Geoffrey,” they said in unison.

  “Precisely,” he said again. Their shared smile became tender. Benjamin reached for her hand, then drew back and reluctantly rose to ring the bell. “Miss Enderby,” he told the maid.

  They went through the same set of questions with each of the other three applicants—their experience, their philosophy, their references. Geoffrey performed his grimacing war dance every time, disappearing between interviews so that he couldn’t be scolded. By the fourth iteration, the boy was looking quizzical and a little tired. Jean thought he was glad to run off at the end, toward the back door rather than the bushes this time.

  “So what do you think?” Benjamin asked after they had interviewed all four.

  “Which one do you like best?”

  “I prefer that we work the matter out between us.”

  He seemed to really care for her opinion. The look in his eyes thrilled Jean to the tips of her toes. “All of them appeared to know their way around a nursery,” she said.