by Abby Gaines
Marianne accepted his offer with fetching demureness and only minimal additional staining of her cheeks.
Mr. Beaumont was courteous enough to ensure Serena wasn’t left out of the conversation, but she chose not to speak unless directly addressed. Dominic would be amazed at my tact.
A discussion of the pastimes that might liven a country existence revealed that Mr. Beaumont enjoyed the game of chess as much as Marianne did.
“I almost never play with Dominic,” she confided to him, her manner more relaxed than Serena had seen her with anyone outside of Woodbridge Hall. “He’s too easy to beat—he looks for the most direct route to victory and assumes he’ll be able to storm through.” Marianne shook her head.
“No sense of strategy, of the long game,” Mr. Beaumont suggested.
“That’s it exactly. Of course, that means I end up playing myself, mostly.” She would play both sides, black and white, Serena knew, in games that could last days, if not weeks.
“I like a long game, too,” Mr. Beaumont said, as they approached the east lawn. “Tell me your preferred opening move.”
“If I was playing against you...” Marianne wrinkled her brow, presumably consulting the chessboard in her head. “Pawn to D4.”
Mr. Beaumont narrowed his eyes, envisaging. “Hmm. A rather conventional start.”
“What would your move be in response?”
“Pawn to D5, of course—I’m as conventional as you at this point. But now, I must leave you. My uncle’s physician said he wished for a word with me this morning.” He bowed, then mounted his horse. “Remember, Miss Granville, the next move is yours.”
* * *
That afternoon, Serena gathered the children in the drawing room. The space was generally used only in the evenings, unless the Granvilles were entertaining, so she and the children had it to themselves.
“We need to start planning for when your papa’s guests are here,” she told them. “Some will want to meet you—” namely, any lady angling for the role of Mrs. Granville “—and when they do, you’ll need to behave as wonderfully as always...and maybe a tiny bit better. Thomas, Captain Emerald will be confined to quarters for the duration of the house party.”
“Yes, Miss Somerton,” he said.
“I know you all have enough common sense to conduct yourselves in the proper fashion, but just to remind you, we should probably not shriek as we play.” Serena hugged Louisa, the most talented shrieker in the family, to her. “That goes for me, as well as you.”
Louisa giggled.
“Lastly,” Serena said, “your father is likely to want to show you off to his friends. I’ve decided we’ll prepare a musical item for their entertainment. We’ll sing the song ‘Scarborough Fair.’”
She’d chosen the tune for its simple melody. The children knew it already, and she’d found the sheet music in the folio kept near the pianoforte.
“We’ll need all of you singing, apart from Thomas, who will be playing his flute,” Serena said. “Hetty, you’ll play the pianoforte, and, Charlotte, we’ll have you on the harp.” The three older children took lessons once a week with a tutor from the village. “William and Louisa, you needn’t do anything other than sing.”
The advantage of employing the two youngest as vocalists was that any missed notes would be overlooked by an indulgent audience. The way Serena saw it, not only would the hearts of the female guests melt, but their sighing approval would soften Dominic’s heart, too.
It was an excellent strategy, if she said so herself. Combined with her other strategy of pointing out to Dominic the ladies’ most lovable qualities, she had every hope of breaking through that armor of his.
“I’ll play the tune the first time, and you can all sing the words with me.” She skimmed the sheet music before she started. She was an adequate pianoforte player, but by no means a brilliant sight reader; Charity was the musically talented Somerton sister.
Satisfied there was nothing too taxing in the music, Serena began to play. She sang, too, to encourage the children. “‘Are you going to Scarborough Fair...’”
The children joined in. Unfortunately, the younger ones lagged a beat or two behind her and the older ones. Thomas’s singing bordered on a monotone; it was just as well he’d be playing the flute.
After one verse, Serena stopped. “That was a good beginning, my dears, but perhaps you’re not as familiar with the song as I assumed.”
“We know it,” Hetty assured her. “Mama used to sing it.”
Serena bit her lip. “Maybe we should choose another one.” She didn’t want to upset the children with a painful reminder of their mother. Nor Dominic.
“Please, Miss Somerton,” Charlotte said suddenly. “I like this song. Please may we sing it?”
The others backed her up, and it was so unlike Charlotte to be in agreement with her siblings that Serena acquiesced. “But let’s try to sing a little more in tune. Hetty, you take over on the pianoforte, so I can concentrate on listening.”
The children sang the first verse again, on their own. Louisa still lagged behind, listening for the words from her siblings. William was all over the place. Hetty was shrill, Thomas hesitant and wheezy on the flute. If Mrs. Emily Granville had possessed a musical ear, her offspring hadn’t inherited it. Only Charlotte could sing, but her volume was low. Her harp playing was very good, but again, quiet. She resisted Serena’s urging to play louder.
“Perhaps, Hetty, you could play the piano a little louder, then,” Serena said.
“But then they won’t hear us sing,” the girl objected.
“They’ll hear enough,” she assured her. “I think, my dears, we’d better practice every day.” Her vision of an audience enraptured by her melodic young charges had dimmed somewhat.
“Excuse me, Miss Somerton,” Charlotte said, with unusual timidity.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Is it true that Papa is getting married? And that our new mama will attend the house party?”
Hetty said authoritatively, “Of course it’s not true—Papa would tell us if we were to have a new mother. Wouldn’t he, Miss Somerton?”
“He wouldn’t,” Thomas said. “He didn’t even tell us when Mama died. Nurse told us.”
Really? Serena wanted to grab Dominic by those broad shoulders and shake him. That was too bad of him. And foolish of him not to have mentioned to the children that he was thinking of marrying. Although many fathers likely wouldn’t share that intention with their children, she couldn’t see the point of allowing such momentous news to come as a shock. Especially when “enhanced” by the gossip of servants.
“He would so tell us that,” loyal little William chipped in.
Only Louisa seemed to have no opinion. She wrapped her left arm around Serena’s knee and sucked her right thumb, a habit Serena was trying to break.
“Charlotte, who told you your papa might marry?” Serena asked.
“Mr. Trimble was talking about it to Miss Grimes,” the girl said. “I heard them in the servants’ dining room.” She preempted Serena’s next question, about why she was anywhere near the servants’ dining room, by saying, “I was in the kitchen, helping Cook make a cake.”
Dominic would be sadly disillusioned to know how much his valet liked to blab. Serena put an arm around Charlotte. “I don’t know if your father will marry again.” The intention and the doing were two very different things, after all. “But it’s common practice for a widowed man to do so. Adults can be lonely if they don’t have a husband or wife.”
Louisa looked stricken at the thought of her dear father pining away. Which wasn’t truly accurate.
“I’d like a new mother,” William said, somewhat defiantly.
“I shouldn’t like one at all,” Hetty said. “Well, maybe if she’s very kind, like Mama.” Serena suspected the girl was torn between loyalty to her mother and her desire to have a maternal presence.
“I don’t need a mother,” Thomas said. “I’m going to Eton
in September.”
“Miss Somerton?” Louisa tugged at her skirt. “Why don’t you marry Papa?”
Serena felt her cheeks heat in a blush worthy of Marianne. “Louisa, dear, that’s not possible.”
“That’d be lovely,” Hetty said. “Wouldn’t it, Thomas?”
“If Papa must marry someone, Miss Somerton would do,” he admitted.
Serena couldn’t help chuckling. “Such high praise. Thank you.”
“You should tell Papa to marry you,” Hetty said. “Or we can tell him, can’t we, Thomas?”
Serena’s chuckle turned to a choke, as she imagined Dominic’s reaction to that advice. “You mustn’t,” she ordered. Best to make that unambiguously clear. “It would be quite improper for your papa to marry a governess.”
“But you’re not our governess anymore. And Aunt Marianne has a novel called The Prince and the Governess,” Hetty said knowledgeably.
That didn’t sound like Marianne’s usual edifying reading, Serena thought, intrigued. It sounded more like that of her own sister Amanda, who devoured romance novels. “You must understand, children, it wouldn’t be right for me to marry your father. Not least because I don’t love him.”
“Not least because he hasn’t asked you,” Dominic said from the doorway. “Despite your assumption to the contrary.”
She spun around, her hand pressed to her chest. “I’m not the only one to have made such an assumption.” She was trying to get past that urge to argue with him, but sometimes a woman needed to stand up for herself. If she wasn’t to look like a complete idiot.
He advanced into the room. “Is there a reason you’re discussing my matrimonial prospects with my children, Miss Somerton?”
“The children overheard the servants—including your valet,” she couldn’t resist saying, “discussing the subject, and brought it up with me.”
“I see.” He frowned toward the children, who’d sat down in a circle to play a game that involved passing whispers between them, but it was more distracted than disapproving. “Don’t you have better things to do than indulge in such fruitless speculation?” he asked Serena. “Such as spend time with Marianne?”
“Your sister wanted to write some letters in her room,” Serena said. “She was tired after our long walk with Mr. Beaumont this morning.”
“Beaumont?” Dominic glanced toward the window. “Why was he here?”
She realized she didn’t know where Mr. Beaumont had been going. “I assume he was exercising his horse. He walked the bridle path with us for a while.”
Dominic wedged his hands in the pockets of his pantaloons. “Hmm.”
“I assure you it was all aboveboard.” Serena checked that the children were still engrossed in their game. “He acted the gentleman with Marianne the entire time.”
“With Marianne?” he said sharply.
Too late, it occurred to Serena that Dominic hadn’t noticed the mutual interest between Marianne and Beaumont. Not that he could possibly object, but it would have been better for him to hear it from his sister. “We were talking,” she clarified. “All three of us.”
“About what?” he demanded.
“Er...herbs. And chess.”
“You’re a keen chess player are you, Miss Somerton?”
“I’ve never played,” she admitted.
“Which rather suggests you didn’t participate in that conversation.”
“It was entirely innocent,” she said. “I don’t understand your— Oh!”
The butler had somehow materialized right next to her.
“Molson, where on earth did you come from?” she asked. “Is there a secret passage into this room?”
He allowed himself a half smile. “I came from the hallway, miss. Mr. Granville, sir, you asked me to remind you to pen a letter to your lawyer before the post is collected.”
Dominic checked his watch. “Thank you, I will. And now there’s another letter I must write.”
The butler glided from the room.
“How does he do that?” Serena watched him leave. “Just appear?”
“Dashed if I know. I fully expect to collapse in a fit of fright one day.” Dominic rubbed his chin. “Serena, I didn’t intend to interrogate you about Mr. Beaumont. Marianne will tell you I’m overprotective.”
“She has mentioned it once or twice.” Serena gave him a tentative smile, and was relieved when he responded in kind. “I’m aware your sister is my first responsibility,” she promised. “As soon as I’m finished here with the children, I’ll go up to see her.”
“Are you afraid I’m an ogre who’ll have you flogged if you’re not working every minute of the day, Miss Somerton?”
Aware of the children’s sudden attention, caught by the wood flogged, and their uncertainty as to whether their father was being serious, she said, “Only since I saw you munching on that small child yesterday.”
William giggled at the thought of his father as an ogre in one of his favorite fairy tales.
“Papa, we think you should marry Miss Somerton,” Hetty said. “She’s pretty, she’s kind and Aunt Marianne likes her....”
“And she knows about lizards.” Thomas inadvertently confirmed what his father had warned would be his assessment criteria.
“I’ve told them the notion of you marrying me is absurd,” Serena assured Dominic. “I believe it’s quite common for children to suggest such a thing with regard to their governess. You shouldn’t take it seriously.”
“I have no intention of taking it seriously,” he said. Of course he didn’t.
“Papa, are you going to marry a new lady?” Charlotte demanded.
“Possibly,” he said. “But rest assured, I will certainly not marry Miss Somerton.”
So adamant was his tone, he might as well have added, not if she were the last woman on earth.
Chapter Seven
Dominic’s home had metamorphosed from a gracious English country estate to some kind of Oriental bazaar, where merchants—matchmaking mamas and proud papas—did their utmost to convince Dominic that their product—a dutiful daughter—was superior to all others.
Unfortunately, the “product” he’d been most interested in, Miss Hester Lacey, wouldn’t be attending, thanks to a bout of influenza. Which left him a mere five women of looks, breeding and intelligence to choose from.
When Dominic led the gentlemen into the drawing room after their postdinner drinks on the first evening, the room teemed with women clad in every imaginable hue. The mamas whispered instructions to their daughters to be charming, judging by the number of feminine shoulders that straightened and mouths that curved in demure but welcoming smiles.
This was the first night of the house party, so he’d barely done more than greet most of them. Dinner had been formal, with conversation confined to those on his immediate right and left.
“Ah, there’s Sarah,” said Phillip Seton, father of Miss Sarah Seton. “Shall we go and talk to her, Granville?”
Dominic allowed the man to lead him toward his daughter. Seton had had the grace to be subtle as they lolled around the dinner table, far more relaxed without the ladies. The mention of his daughter’s substantial dowry had been couched in the context of some other matter. But Dominic had got the message.
Sarah Seton was engaged in conversation with Serena, which was useful, since Dominic needed to talk to his sister’s companion. He hadn’t seen much of her the past few days—she’d been busy with house party preparations—but she needed to know about the letter he’d received yesterday. She looked delightful tonight, in that same pink dress he’d admired a few weeks ago, but she also, when her eyes met his, seemed decidedly cool. He wondered why.
The ladies were talking about painting.
“Miss Seton is an accomplished artist,” Serena informed him, with an enthusiasm at odds with her coolness. “She specializes in watercolors of the landmarks around her home in Gloucestershire.” Serena tilted her head expectantly.
“Excellent
,” Dominic said. “Er, what do you find the most difficult aspect of painting, Miss Seton?”
The young lady began to talk of light and shadow and other artistic challenges.
When she wound down, Serena said, “Could you excuse us, Miss Seton? I particularly wish Mr. Granville to speak with Miss Peckham.”
He had no great desire to talk to the woman himself, but he went with Serena.
“Miss Peckham works with some of the poor in London’s East End, under the auspices of her church,” Serena said, as she introduced them.
“Admirable,” Dominic said. “Your efforts must be very rewarding, Miss Peckham.”
“I don’t do it for me, Mr. Granville, I do it for them,” she said earnestly.
Ten minutes later, even the tiny desire he’d had to hear about her charitable impulses had evaporated. Miss Peckham’s do-good spiel droned on, without discernible pauses for breath. When Serena claimed an urgent need to talk to Lady Mary Carruthers, and they escaped, he could have kissed her. On the hand, of course.
“Save me from do-gooders,” Dominic muttered as they crossed the room. “Is your family like Miss Peckham?”
“Not at all.” Serena didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to talk about her family, as she usually did. Had Dominic offended her?
“Serena, I need to talk to you about Marianne....”
“What about her?” She glanced across the room to where his sister was conversing with a group of the mamas. Tacit acknowledgment she wasn’t in the market for a husband.
Dominic’s friend Benedict Trent approached. “Miss Somerton, I believe there’s an excellent Reynolds portrait in the gallery. Would you be able to show me?” he asked. He’d sat next to Serena at dinner.
“Certainly.” She bestowed a warm smile on him, of the kind she hadn’t offered to Dominic.
“No, she cannot,” Dominic snapped.
Trent raised an eyebrow.
“I’d be delighted, Mr. Trent, but at some other time.” Serena scowled at Dominic, then swapped the scowl for another smile at Trent. “We were just about to beg Lady Mary to play the pianoforte for us. You won’t want to miss that.”
