“All right,” Catherine agreed, with a shrug of her shoulders.
The incident momentarily forgotten, the trio proceeded to the kitchens. They managed to reach their destination without further incident. Mrs. Amberly was rocking comfortable in a wooden chair by the fire, while two young maids were washing and drying the breakfast pots and dishes.
“We found the schoolroom, Mrs. Amberly,” Ian told the housekeeper in an excited voice. “ ’Tis up on the top floor. Father used it when he was a little boy.”
“We found a large box of soldiers, too,” Catherine added importantly. “Miss Browning said we may give them all a proper bath.”
“Sounds as though you children have had a busy morning,” Mrs. Amberly remarked. “I’ve missed you. Come and sit by the fire and tell me all about it.” She turned her attention away from the children and regarded Isabella with narrow eyes. “Was there something you wanted, Miss Browning?”
Isabella refused to be intimidated, deliberately ignoring the uncomfortable tension. For some reason the housekeeper had taken an instant and rather strong dislike to her. Isabella was determined to answer her hostility with a civil, polite voice, no matter how much she was provoked.
“The children and I will need rags, soap, and water to begin our cleanup of the schoolroom,” Isabella instructed, knowing there would be no servants to do the work. “And any members of the household staff that can be spared to assist us would be appreciated.”
Mrs. Amberly stood up, stiffening her spine. “Penny and Molly are cleaning the earl’s bedchamber. And as you plainly can see, Maggie and Fran are still busy with the breakfast dishes.”
“Fran and I are nearly done, Mrs. Amberly,” Maggie volunteered. “We can come upstairs as soon as we put away the last of the china.”
“I for one would certainly be grateful for your help, Maggie,” Isabella answered the maid. She turned to the housekeeper and added, “I assume you will be joining us, Mrs. Amberly? I am sure the earl would prefer his children to have their lessons in a clean environment, rather than a dirty, dusty schoolroom.”
Mrs. Amberly fairly bristled under Isabella’s criticism. “If the schoolroom isn’t a fit place for the children to be, then they should stay here in the kitchen with me, like they always do.”
“Catherine and Ian are under my care now, Mrs. Amberly,” Isabella replied firmly, realizing the housekeeper had just revealed the cause of her underlying hostility. Isabella felt a pang of sympathy for the housekeeper, but she had no intention of allowing her position to be undermined. The sooner Mrs. Amberly accepted her presence and her authority over the children, the better for the entire household. “The children and I will be spending a great deal of time in the schoolroom.”
Isabella’s calm statement of authority increased Mrs. Amberly’s anger, and she rose from the chair in mounting emotion. The inevitable clash of wills between the two women was momentarily diverted by Fran. The young maid stepped forward, carrying two large buckets, each brimming with sudsy water.
“I’d be glad to bring these up to the schoolroom if you’d like. May I go now, Mrs. Amberly?” Fran asked.
There were several tense minutes of silence while everyone awaited the housekeeper’s reply. After casting Isabella another scalding look, Mrs. Amberly finally agreed with a curt nod of her head. Isabella tactfully decided not to pursue the matter further. She turned to Fran to express her gratitude, and her eyes widened in surprise.
Fran was a country lass, a tall girl with a large, sturdy frame. She was pretty, in a robust, fresh way and she held the heavy buckets of water easily, with no apparent discomfort. Yet even Fran’s wide hips could not conceal the fact that she, like Maggie, was in an advanced stage of pregnancy.
Chapter Eight
With a conscious effort, Isabella retained her control. There was no cause to panic or overreact, she insisted to herself, just because Lady Edson’s gossip about two of the maids at Whatley Grange being pregnant had proved true. It could be nothing more than a bizarre coincidence, couldn’t it?
Firmly relegating the incident to the back of her mind, Isabella stepped forward and relieved Fran of one of the heavy buckets of water she carried.
“Would you be kind enough to lead the way to the schoolroom, children?” Isabella requested in a voice that sounded strained to her own ears.
The children eagerly complied, anxious to return to their new toy soldiers. Mrs. Amberly huffed in disapproval and rebelliously resumed her seat in the rocking chair by the fire. Isabella paid her no heed.
Once in the schoolroom, Isabella assigned everyone a task and the cleanup began. Isabella donned a borrowed apron and spent the remainder of the morning focusing her attention on cleaning the dusty room and avoided dwelling overlong on the pregnant condition of the two women working beside her.
Fran, like Maggie, was a friendly girl, and both woman were obviously appreciative of the assistance Isabella provided. The maids and Isabella worked hard, and within a few hours, the room was sparkling clean and fresh smelling. When their task was nearly completed, the two other maids, Molly and Penny, joined them.
“Fine time for you both to get here,” Maggie teased with a smile. “We’re nearly done.”
“Well, Molly and I have had our fill of cobwebs and dusty rooms today,” Penny replied. “We spent all morning cleaning that new governess’s room. Mrs. Amberly said she was a very fussy, demanding type and would be sure to speak harshly to us if the room was not found to her liking.”
Maggie’s eyes widened in distress at Penny’s words. She glanced nervously over at Isabella, who had heard every word.
“Please, Penny, do go on,” Isabella requested in a pleasant tone. She felt too overcome by a sense of giddy relief as she viewed the slim-waisted Penny to be offended by the housemaid’s remarks. It was certainly a pleasant change to meet a housemaid at Whatley Grange who was not heavily burdened with child. The fourth maid, Molly, was equally slender. Isabella’s smile broadened as she asked, “What else did Mrs. Amberly have to say about the new governess?”
“Not anything nice,” Penny readily answered, but her voice trailed off when she realized it was not Maggie or Fran, but another woman, a stranger, who had spoken. Clearly embarrassed, Penny asked, “I don’t suppose you are the new maid from the village Mrs. Amberly been trying to hire for the last few months?”
“No, I am not the new maid, Penny. I am Isabella Browning, the demanding, fussy new governess.” Taking pity on the maid’s discomfort, Isabella lightly added, “and I sincerely hope your opinion of me will not concur with Mrs. Amberly’s.”
Penny’s face turned a deep shade of scarlet.
“She meant no offense, Miss Browning,” Maggie interjected, walking up to Penny and placing a comforting arm around her shoulder.
“Then none was taken,” Isabella replied. She turned to the slight, pale-faced girl standing next to Penny. “You must be Molly.”
Molly said nothing, but dipped a curtsy in Isabella’s direction. Hastily Penny did the same.
Molly spoke up. “I hope you won’t feel it necessary to tell Mrs. Amberly about Penny’s impertinent remarks.”
Isabella waved her hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. “The incident is already forgotten,” she assured the maids, secretly believing Mrs. Amberly would probably be pleased to know the maids had spoken ill of the new governess.
“Penny hasn’t been herself lately,” Molly continued as if Isabella had not spoken. “She’s been feeling poorly these last few days.”
“I’ve just been a little tired and sick to my stomach at times,” Penny said. “It will pass soon enough, though, won’t it, Maggie?”
“As I’ve told you before, ’tis different for each woman,” Maggie replied philosophically, rubbing the small of her back vigorously. “I had the morning sickness real bad the first four months, but Fran wasn’t sick for a day, were you, Fran?”
“Not one day,” Fran agreed with a wide grin. “I swear I have neve
r felt better in my life.” Fran patted her rounded stomach lovingly. “Of course I am getting fatter than a pig.”
The maids all giggled. “How about you, Molly, are you still getting the morning sickness?” Maggie asked conversationally.
“Haven’t thrown up in six days,” Molly confessed shyly. “I sure hope it lasts.”
Isabella turned a frantic eye from one maid to the next as she began to understand the nuances of their conversation. Molly, it would appear, was getting over her bouts with morning sickness, while Penny’s morning sickness was just beginning. That meant, of course, that both girls were expecting children.
Isabella’s own stomach felt decidedly queasy at the realization. Not two or three, but all four of the maids working at The Grange were pregnant. Her mind reeled with the implications. Was it in any way possible, as Lady Edson had so scandalously suggested, that the earl was responsible for the housemaids’ conditions? Isabella shut her eyes in mortification, knowing that since she had now been confronted by the possibility, she was obligated to discover the truth.
The earl did not return home that day until sunset. He spared only a brief greeting to Isabella and his children before sequestering himself in his study. Marshaling her courage, Isabella breached the sanctuary of the earl’s study a few minutes after his dinner tray had been delivered by Jenkins.
As she entered, the earl was sitting in a leather wing chair in front of a blazing fire, a book in one hand, a glass of claret in the other. His dinner lay untouched on a small table by his side. His thick black hair was disheveled and falling over his forehead. Both his boots and the knees of his breeches were muddy. He was coatless, and Isabella could not help but notice the muscular strength in his forearms as he turned the page in his book. He did not appear aware of her presence. She coughed loudly to gain his attention.
“Yes,” the earl grumbled impatiently. He turned another page in his book and finally glanced up when he heard no response.
Isabella met his gaze without flinching, determined to show him she was not intimidated by his rude, unwelcome attitude. All her life she had dealt with men who were decidedly displeased to be in her presence, starting with the man she had called Father and her maternal grandfather. She was not about to let the earl’s disdain upset her.
“I need to speak with you, my lord.” Isabella’s request was courteously and firmly spoken.
The earl did not reply, but gestured for Isabella to seat herself in the matching wing chair flanking the fireplace. He scrutinized her intently as she did so, his gray eyes narrowing in anticipation of their conversation.
Damien was physically and mentally exhausted and had no desire to listen to the new governess’s complaints. And the earl felt certain Isabella was going to complain about something, most likely his children. Damien could only imagine the sort of day she had experienced trying to control the high-spirited Catherine and Ian. Damien was sure he was about hear a long list of the children’s transgressions, and quite possible a lecture about his unsuitability as a parent.
The taut lines of the earl’s body conveyed to Isabella his mounting annoyance, and the icy look he flashed chilled her, yet she forced her features into a bland mask. She openly challenged him with her calm demeanor, deftly rebuffing his attempts at intimidation. She would show the earl she was no skittish miss.
“The children have already been bathed and put to bed, my lord,” Isabella began, deciding to begin the conversation on a more neutral topic before mentioning the pregnant housemaids, which was the reason she had sought the earl out. “Catherine and Ian were tired, but I am certain that if you go up to their room within the next half hour you will be able to say good night to them.”
“Fine,” Damien replied, surprised at her words. Bedtimes were a haphazard event at The Grange. More often than not, Catherine and Ian were awake well into the night before their father thought to chase them off to bed. “I will visit the children shortly.” Damien dropped his eyes to his book in a dismissing gesture, expecting Isabella to comply with his silent command.
“There are a few things I would like to discuss with you, my lord,” Isabella continued, deliberately ignoring his wordless dismissal.
“I feel compelled to caution you, Miss Browning,” the earl remarked in a neutral tone, not lifting his eyes from his book, “that I am tired and not in the most congenial mood. And I cannot abide chattering females.”
“Neither can I, my lord.”
Unwittingly, Damien’s firm mouth curved into a small smile. Miss Browning was very persistent and not easily intimidated. He shut his book with a resounding thud and placed it carelessly in his lap. He settled back in his chair, steepled his fingers under his chiseled jaw, and focused his full attention on the lovely governess seated across from him. “What specifically do you wish to discuss, Miss Browning?”
Isabella’s confidence wavered slightly under the earl’s steely gaze. His was such a dominating, forceful presence. She licked her lips nervously while frantically searching her mind for a diplomatic way to broach the subject of the maids. One could not simply blurt out an accusation.
“I would like to discuss the housemaids, my lord,” Isabella finally said quietly.
“Is there a problem?”
“Not exactly a problem, my lord,” Isabella hedged. She felt her face growing warm, but she boldly plunged forward. “It is just that the housemaids are all ... umm ... that is to say, they are ... um, well, all ... expecting.”
“Expecting? Expecting what, Miss Browning?”
“Babies, my lord. Babies. All four of the housemaids are with child!” Isabella was aghast at the earl’s lighthearted tone. She felt this was a very serious matter indeed, yet she could almost swear she saw a smile cross his handsome face.
“I was under the impression that most governesses liked children. Are you an exception?”
She looked at him levelly. “I like children very much, my lord.” Isabella stiffened her back and sat up straight in her chair. “Since I have been hired to care for your own children, I was wondering if I will also be responsible for these yet unborn babies.”
Isabella had the satisfaction of seeing the earl shocked into stunned silence as it took several moments for him to realize what her question implied. She could clearly see the precise moment when the meaning of her question registered in his mind.
Sending Isabella a piercing stare, the earl said harshly, “Maggie, Fran, Molly, and Penny are all married women, Miss Browning. Their husbands are employed in various capacities at The Grange. Each couple occupies a small suite of rooms in the servants’ quarters on the fourth floor.”
Isabella made a slight sound to clear her throat and her violet eyes flickered uneasily. Her cheeks blushed an even brighter shade of pink as she lowered her gaze to the carpet.
“I was unaware that the maids were married, my lord,” Isabella responded quietly. “However, that makes little difference.” Recalling vividly that the man who had married Isabella’s own mother was not in fact her natural father propelled her to ask a direct question. “Are they your children, my lord?”
The earl appeared so taken aback by her directness that he had difficulty formulating an intelligent response. “You actually believe I am the father of these children?”
“Someone informed me that you had fathered several children from your housemaids,” Isabella answered with a slight quaver in her voice. She forced her eyes from the rug and cast a long, doubtful look at the earl. “I do not know if you are responsible, my lord. That is why I have asked this question.”
The earl was instantly suspicious. “Who told you I have fathered these children? Certainly not the maids?”
“I did not question the maids about the father of their children, my lord,” Isabella said, bristling at the suggestion she would be so insensitive. “Lady Edson informed me before I arrived at The Grange that three of the housemaids were carrying your babies. At the time I dismissed her gossip as pure slander, but after di
scovering all four of the maids were in truth with child, I did not know what to believe.”
“Lady Edson is a meddlesome, gossiping fool!” the earl shouted, obviously struggling to master his temper. He shifted suddenly in his chair, and the book on his lap fell to the floor. He ignored it.
“I am not sure if I should be flattered or insulted, Miss Browning,” the earl finally declared, his temper tightly leashed. He shook his head ruefully. “Bedding four different women, all of them living under the same roof. Extraordinary.”
“It does seem rather incredible,” Isabella mused, beginning to wonder if she had made a very serious mistake. “Exhausting actually.”
The last she had whispered under her breath, but the earl heard her. And it struck him as absurdly funny. He should be angry with her, furious really, for first crediting and then repeating such an absurd tale. And then having the unmitigated gall to face him directly with her allegations. Yet he suddenly found the entire situation ironically humorous, though he had no clear idea why.
His shoulders shook a bit with amusement as he recalled the shock on her face at his reaction to her questions. Damien decided it was time to put things to right, but first he intended to put the fear of God into the very proper Miss Browning. A teasing glint of anticipation entered the earl’s smoky gray eyes.
Stretching his back languidly, he threw Isabella an assessing glance. “What if these accusations are true, Miss Browning?” Damien inquired smoothly. He leaned seductively toward her, a calculated, lecherous grin on his handsome face. “Will you now flee from my house in abject terror, my dear, frightened beyond your wits at the thought of being seduced by such an unscrupulous rake as myself?”
Isabella hardly dared to breathe as the earl moved closer to her. He was so near, she could feel his warm breath on her cheek, could smell his distinctively masculine scent. She clearly felt the underlying tension emanating from the earl’s solidly built body, and it made her decidedly uneasy.
His Wicked Embrace Page 9
