A Lady in Disguise

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  A man had no right to look like this. Or, if he must be splendid, he certainly had no right to surprise a woman without warning. Such a paragon should be equipped from birth with a herald to go before him and announce to the female kind that a dream walked among them.

  Her hand shook as she lifted the cup. “Very good,” she said after drinking.

  “Have another,” Mr. Everard said. “We’ve plenty of time. I shan’t hurry you. You seemed rather flushed just now, when I came in.”

  Lillian blushed all the brighter. She was not used to personal comments, at least not to such unflattering ones. And it was a wonder she’d only turned red. A more susceptible woman, she imagined, would have dropped down in a dead faint.

  “The young lady must be rattled half to death, the way those big coaches sway,” the landlady said sympathetically as she left the room.

  “There is no reason to be concerned,” Lillian answered. “I’m entirely at your disposal, Mr. Everard. I cannot wait to meet my pupil.” That seemed to be the sort of thing she remembered her own governess saying, when new. Perhaps this pretense would be as easy as Lady Pritchard had predicted.

  She took up her pelisse and stood waiting. Surely he’d not be able to resist one swift glance in the mirror above the fireplace before they left the inn. She’d met many a handsome man in London, and she knew what they were like—more in love with their own reflection than with the living face of any woman. Looking at Mr. Everard’s thick black hair, she decided he must have spent a good hour before the glass arranging it to lie in those rich waves.

  Thorpe Everard put his mug on the table next to hers. “Very well. I know Addy has been beside herself all day waiting for you.” A grimace twisted the line of his firm mouth a moment. He ran his hand over his cheek and chin. She could hear the rustle of afternoon whiskers. Then his big brown hand lifted to his head and he raked his fingers through his hair, leaving it even more attractive than before.

  “I confess. Miss Cole, my daughter has never yet had a governess. My grandmother has had sole charge of Addy almost since her birth. Are you tactful?”

  “Tactful?”

  A warm smile came to his face. Lillian had to drop her eyes. It really wasn’t fair. He had a tremendous natural advantage in any conversation. He said, “I’m afraid I’ve never acquired the knack of saying one thing when I mean another. I hope you have the talent for smoothing down hackles, or you may not last in my house, Miss Cole. As she never had a governess in her youth, my grandmother is of the opinion that governesses are unnecessary. I didn’t tell her you were coming. Neither she nor Addy may take the notion of a resident teacher with equanimity.”

  “I’m sure I shall manage,” Lillian said with a lift of her chin. A challenge of this sort was precisely what she needed to take her mind off her deception. Lady Pritchard had never managed to remember Thorpe’s daughter’s name, so Lillian was glad to have that piece of information. “Addy’s a charming name.”

  “It’s an abbreviation of Adrienne. When she was small, she couldn’t pronounce it. Now she won’t answer to it.” Lillian saw a gleam of pride in green eyes unveiled by thick dark lashes.

  “Lady .. . Mrs. Garnet said your daughter is six. Does she know her letters?” Oh, dear, she’d have to be more careful. He didn’t seem to notice the slip, however.

  “I think so. I’m not quite sure. My grandmother thanks no one for interference. Not even me. Especially not me. Men, in her opinion, are as unnecessary as governesses. Is this yours?” At her nod, he lifted her valise without effort. “You did not bring very many things, Miss Cole.” How wicked of nature to give him the facility of lifting one black brow without troubling any of the other muscles of his lean face.

  “I was not sure what I would need. I can send for the rest of my belongings as I require them.”

  “Such foresight. Or perhaps wisdom. You may yet run screaming out the front door.”

  “You make the castle sound like something from Otranto,” she said, following him through the inn. “I trust you have no resident monsters.” It would be too bad, she thought, if this magnificent-looking man is henpecked, but she could not expect a paragon to be strong willed.

  “Grandmother’s a ... no, she’s not as bad as all that. Merely used to being in command. I don’t mind, as long as she doesn’t try to rule me. That is a battle she will not win. Take my advice and stand up to her.”

  “I shall.” She returned his gaze with great firmness, ignoring the strange quiverings of her knees. The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile of great charm, showing front teeth that overlapped the tiniest amount. Rather than diminishing his great good looks, this insignificant flaw brought everything else into perspective. Despite the strange quivering rising into her midsection, Lillian did not look away.

  Thorpe chuckled. “I believe you could do it. But you’re rather young. And small. Those Garnet girls are nearly grown, aren’t they? How ever did you manage them at your age?”

  “I am older than I look.”

  “You’d have to be.” He stowed the valise in an exquisitely sprung curricle with a gleaming black body. “You’ll want to hold on to your bag, lest it jounce out onto the road,” he said. He held out his hand to help her to mount.

  On an average day in London, she might require the assistance of a gentleman fifteen or twenty times. A glove was usually sufficient to prevent the contact from affecting her. But a cricket player’s leather would not have saved her from the warmth of Thorpe Everard’s touch. It seemed to reach through all barriers and take her over.

  “Ready?” he asked with another of his devastating smiles.

  Dear heaven, there was a dimple in his left cheek, the length of the tip of her forefinger. She could just imagine touching his face so that her finger fit into the impression made for it.

  She sat silently beside him as he flicked the reins over the horses’ backs. She was silent now because she was striving for control. This was ridiculous, this riot in her body and mind. All the more so, she scolded, when it is obvious that he is completely unmoved by my presence. Perhaps he wasn’t even aware that he had this effect on women. Perhaps it wasn’t him at all.

  The sun was certainly very hot, and she’d stepped out of the dark coach into the bright sunshine without a moment between the two. It was sunstroke, she decided. Let her lie down in a cool, dark place and this fancy would leave her.

  Driving by a field, Lillian turned her head to observe the people working diligently among the rows. As they passed, all the women, young or old, came racing forward to wave and smile at the curricle.

  “People in Mottisbury are very friendly,” Mr. Everard said. He briefly saluted the massed women with his whip. Something like a sigh passed through them, though it might have only been the breeze.

  “Indeed, I can see that.” She could also see that the men in the field leaned sullen faced on their implements until the curricle had gone past. Looking behind her, Lillian saw that some girls returned to their work, but many stood staring after the man in the vehicle.

  Apparently, Lillian thought, I am only one of many. No wonder Paulina wants to marry him. Oh, well, at least I shall be spending most of my time with the little girl. In ten days, I shall say we do not suit and go back. Paulina will simply have to believe that I could not find anything out. And I shan’t, not if I have anything to say about it.

  Chapter Two

  Thorpe Everard was an excellent whip. His hands held the reins with great strength but also gentleness. He made no hasty jerks with the leathers, encouraging the animals to their best efforts without ever forcing their compliance.

  “What... what fine horses,” Lillian said.

  “You appreciate horseflesh?” he asked with a quick flick of a look in her direction.

  “Oh, yes! I often—” Lillian remembered the role she was supposed to play and stammered out, ‘That is, I admire smart horses very much. But until now, only from a distance.”

  “If you ride, I will be hap
py to offer you a mount from my stables. I think we can find some docile mare for you.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Everard. I enjoy taking exercise.”

  “I know from your references that you are used to teaching older children. I think you’ll find watching over a six-year-old to be exercise enough. All the same, there’s nothing like a good gallop to shake out the megrims.”

  He turned the horses into a lane marked by imposing gates, hanging open from massive stone pillars. No coat of arms proclaimed the owners of the land, simply the word EVERARD carved deeply enough to last until the stones themselves crumbled.

  “Have you a large estate, Mr. Everard?” Lillian asked, and then wished she hadn’t. She did not want to pry even into such innocuous details.

  “The village is on my property as is this road, and the road you were on for half an hour before reaching Mottisbury.”

  “Then you have a large estate.”

  “You are right. I could have just said ‘Yes, Miss Cole. My estate is tolerably large.’ I stand corrected.”

  “I did not mean ...” She must fight to recall the limits her imposture forced upon her. How much she would have enjoyed sharing with him a knowledgeable conversation about horses or any other subject he cared to raise.

  Thorpe looked at her and gave her a sidelong grin. She realized he was teasing. Feeling very warm, despite the breeze of their passage, Lillian turned her head aside, searching for some object to prompt a cool comment.

  The gently undulating land was decorated with clumps of trees, even as a drawing room’s furniture might be carefully orchestrated to harmonize with the features of a room. Some landscape architect, in the time of Mr. Everard’s great-grandparents, must have come to Mottisbury Castle and worked his will upon the land. It was easy to imagine a velvet-coated gentleman squinting through his fingers at a group of seedlings, forecasting the existence of these enormous oaks and the shifting effect of their light and shade on his scheme of natural beauty.

  Lillian opened her mouth to make her comment but never spoke. They had come around a bend in the road, and ahead of her was a house. She was surprised. Here were no imposing turrets, crenellated for defense, no stone walls six feet thick, nor even any moat. “That is the castle?” she asked, her voice going high.

  ‘That is the castle,” he said. “Or rather, what is now called the castle. The original building is behind that hill.” He pointed with his whip as they advanced on the house.

  Lillian could see nothing beyond the tree-decked hill. “Why do you not live there?”

  “Miss Cole, have you ever lived in a castle? You may take my word for it that they are cold, damp, and given over to bats and mice. Besides, Cromwell’s army slighted it beyond repair. At least, so runs the story. My family was only too pleased at the excuse to build a home with a few modem conveniences.”

  The curricle stopped before the white-painted door. He gazed down at her and said, “I believe you are disappointed, Miss Cole.”

  Lillian said, “I think I am, a trifle. I confess a lurking nonsensical fantasy to sleep among keeps and turrets. Though I had not thought of the bats and the mice.”

  “Well, in your private ear, Miss Cole, I must say that I too have often thought it a pity we Everards did not rebuild our castle. I suppose it is just the romantic in me coming through. But I promise to show you over the ruins myself. Come, let me help you.” He leapt down lightly and held up his arms.

  Lillian vanquished the temptation to tighten her hands on his shoulders as he swung her down. “Thank you,” she said a mite breathlessly.

  “Don’t turn your head,” Thorpe said, as he lifted out her valise, ignoring the footman who ran up to relieve him of it, “but my grandmother and daughter watch you from the window to your right.”

  With commendable self-control, Lillian did not look, though she became aware of a tingling heat down that side of her body. It felt as though their gaze must be burning holes in her dress, and she resisted the urge to sniff for the odor of singeing cloth. “I take it their expressions are not admiring.”

  “No, but mine is, by God. I begin to wonder whether you are a treasure, Miss Cole. I will know after you have met my grandmother. And my daughter.”

  Lillian had not felt this nervous since the first time she’d entered the sacred precincts of Almack’s. And yet what was the censure of an old woman and young girl in comparison with the stern gazes of the Patronesses? Assuming a confident smile, Lillian nodded to the butler, as Thorpe introduced her. “Miss Cole, this is Becksnaff. If you require anything, he will arrange it for you.”

  “Thank you, Becksnaff.” It was proper etiquette to thank the butler as though the offer had come from him and not from the master. Lillian then exclaimed with pleasure at the sight of the long, mahogany banister coming down into the front hall, decorated at the twisted newel posts with highly polished busts of Grecian goddesses.

  “It looks just like heavy silk,” she said. “How ever do you contrive to keep the wood glowing so?” This gambit never failed to elicit the secret recipe to whatever beeswax embrocation the butler himself had developed.

  Becksnaff sniffed. “Her ladyship and Miss Everard await you in the library, sir.” He walked away as though mortally offended, his elbows sticking out on either side.

  Lillian followed Thorpe, very confused. Opposition to a governess must be more deeply rooted at the castle than even he believed. She was distracted from this reflection, however, by the discovery that she thought of him as “Thorpe.” It would behoove her to stamp out this tendency before she accidentally called him that aloud.

  The interior of the castle was in accord with the exterior, warm and homelike. Yet, Lillian’s tutored eye saw that every stick of furniture, every lick of paint, and every stitch of cloth was of the very best quality. It was very close in style to the country house in Berkshire that her father had permitted her to furnish without interference. It had pleased her to create there an atmosphere of peace and quiet elegance that was as comfortable to the body as it was soothing to the mind. Lillian was sick of grandeur that strove to overwhelm the viewer. That style was all too easily found in London.

  Thorpe stopped before a closed door. All the entrances to the rooms were at least twelve feet tall, yet he did not appear insignificant beside the wooden rectangle. “You’re ready?”

  “Certainly,” Lillian said, straightening. “I have nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Would you prefer that I go first, to prepare the way?”

  “I don’t believe that will be necessary.” Whoever awaited her, she would show them that she was in perfect control of the situation. Lillian refused to consider why it was so important that she impress Thorpe Everard. Fixing her eyes on the door, a calm and resolute bend to her lips, she waited for him to enter.

  The woman and girl stood very close together, the woman’s black-mittened hands on the child’s shoulders. If Thorpe had said nothing about their attitude toward one another, Lillian would have known at once that his grandmother and daughter were in deepest collusion. Their features were naturally similar, allowing for the difference between the ages of six and what must be almost seventy. Yet there was more than a family resemblance. Their very expressions were the same— guarded, stern, and perhaps the merest trifle afraid.

  They neither of them spoke. Obviously, it was up to Lillian to open the game. “How do you do,” she said, dipping into a curtsy, exactly the depth for politeness and nothing more. “I am Miss Lillian Cole. I have come to be governess here.”

  Was there or was there not the slightest relaxation of tension in the air? Lillian had never been one of those people who claim to have an intimate knowledge of the emotional states of strangers. Yet, it seemed to her that the twin set of features before her had changed, becoming marginally less fearful. What or who had they expected with such anxiety?

  The pale pink lips of the older woman opened as though she would speak, but she paused, considering what to say. �
�Thorpe,” she said at last, but her eyes did not leave Lillian. “Thorpe, you did not tell me you were fetching a governess for Addy.”

  “No, Grandmother. I thought it would be a surprise.”

  “It is. But a pleasant one.” The eyes, faded blue, rested on Lillian. “You are welcome at the castle, Miss Cole.

  “I have been responsible for Addy’s education, but I am an old woman and not au courant with every scrap of thought about the world. Obviously, my grandson has decided it is time I gave way to another. Perhaps he is right. Addy has some talent for painting, which I never could master. Are you qualified to teach her that?”

  “I know the basics of color and form, Mrs. Everard. I—”

  “Pray forgive me, but I am Lady Genevieve Everard.” For the first time, the lady smiled, but the expression did not warm Lillian.

  “I beg your pardon. Lady Genevieve. As I was saying, I understand the elements of painting, but if Addy shows true aptitude, it may be wisest to find a teacher who is more thoroughly grounded in art.”

  As yet, Lillian had not looked directly at the child. She felt somehow that it would be resented by both of them if she did not address her remarks to the older woman first. Now, however, she did glance down and found herself looking into a pair of eyes. What the rest of the child was like she could not at the moment tell. By their shape, those eyes, with lashes so long and luxuriant they appeared artificial, could have only appeared in the face of the child of Thorpe Everard. Without thinking, Lillian lifted her eyes to him.

  He stood, one elbow on a highly carved mantelpiece, smiling at the scene before him. Seeing that she looked at him, he nodded encouragingly.

  “Would you like to learn to paint?” she asked, returning her attention to the child.

  “I already know how. Great taught me.” Her voice was not loud, but her pronunciation was clear and her tone very determined. “I don’t need a governess, you know.”

  “So your father told me. But I have come a long way to be with you. May I not stay a few days to recover myself before I go on? And as long as I am here, I may as well occupy the time by teaching you all I know about painting. I doubt it will take very long.”