A Lady's Point of View (6 page)

“Now we must be good hosts and
show you around the nursery,” announced Vanessa, standing up.

“Vanny, don’t,” pleaded Tom, his
eyes widening. “I like her.”

“Well, of course you do.” Vanny
had learned young to imitate her elders’ hypocrisy, Meg noted; the young girl
parroted polite phrases even while clearly intending mischief.

“I should be delighted to see
more of your playroom,” said Meg. If the children made convincing enough ghosts
to frighten off the last governess, she was mightily curious to see what else
they would try.

She heard a whispered conference.
In compensation for her eyesight, it seemed, Meg had developed keen hearing and
made out the words, “Where is it?” and “...under the chest, where it always goes.”

“This way, Miss Linley.” Vanessa
straightened and led the way about the large nursery, pointing out its shelves
of books, the rocking horse, and a chipped music box. With aplomb, Meg shook
hands with a stuffed bear and conducted a mock conversation with a china doll,
pretending not to notice that its voice issued from Vanessa’s mouth.

“I like her!” Tom repeated, more
forcefully than before.

“Get it!” hissed his sister.

After a moment’s hesitation, the
boy scrambled away, while Vanessa provided a diversion in the form of a
curtsey. “This is how my mother taught me, Miss Linley. Do you think I’m ready
to be presented at court?”

“I shouldn’t be in any hurry for
that if I were you,” Meg said.

“Why not?”

“It’s a horribly stiff affair,
everyone in black dresses afraid they’ll make some slip,” she said. “Queen
Charlotte is most imposing, and if you give offence, you are banished from
London at once. Not officially, of course, but it comes to the same thing.”

“You sound as if you’ve been
there.” The childish face gazed up at her with new interest.

“Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t
really a governess?” As she spoke, Meg felt something small and furry drop onto
her foot and arch itself against her leg. “Well, what have we here?”

She knelt and scooped up the
white mouse, which regarded her with beady black eyes. “What’s his name?”

“Terror,” admitted Vanessa, not
the least abashed. Tom could only stare up at the fearless governess in awe.

“Do you know,” continued Meg, who
had once owned a pet mouse, “that he might suffer serious harm being dropped on
a person’s foot that way? Suppose someone kicked him off by mistake?”

“It’s been done,” Tom said.

“Was he injured?”

“He limped for two days, just
like Uncle Andrew,” the little boy said.

Meg stifled a whoop of laughter.
A cat may look at a king, and a small boy may joke about the afflictions of his
distinguished relative. “You take my meaning. If you cannot treat an animal
well, you should release him to the out-of-doors.”

Carefully she lowered the rodent
into Tom’s outstretched hands, and watched as he tucked the animal into a
wooden box punched with airholes. “I promise never to do it again, Miss
Linley.”

Meg turned to see a triumphant
look in Vanessa’s eyes. “You must be a governess!” the little girl declared. “A
lady would have shrieked down the roof. You know all about children, don’t
you?”

“Not everything,” said Meg
modestly, “but I’ve met a few in my time. And I was one myself once.”

“That’s what Uncle Andrew always
says,” declared Tom. “Though I don’t think he was ever really a child. Not like
us.”

The housekeeper returned,
appearing pleased at how well the three were getting on. The maid Jenny
followed her to take charge of the youngsters’ bedtime preparations, while a
pensive Meg departed with Mrs. Franklin.

How could she leave these two
children, when she’d barely begun to know them? Clearly they needed guidance
and a feminine touch, someone who knew when to join in their games and when to
take a firm stand. Someone to help them over the difficult path to adulthood
that lay ahead.

Yet it was unthinkable to
masquerade as a governess. What a terrible scandal would ensue if anyone should
find out. She dared not even picture Lord Bryn’s fury.

But Meg might never have a
husband and children of her own. True, she hoped to have nieces and nephews,
but they would never be entrusted directly into her care. And she could not
help reflecting how much more pleasant it would be to remain at Brynwood for
the rest of the season. Letters could be dispatched to the Barkers and to
London, saying she had encountered an old school friend en route. Lady Mary
might think it peculiar, but no doubt she would accept the situation, for at
the home of a friend Meg would at least have the opportunity to meet eligible
gentlemen.

Good heavens, Meg told herself,
could she really be contemplating staying on? She must have taken leave of her
senses! But she was already in disgrace. Didn’t she deserve a little holiday
from being proper for once?

Her mind still in turmoil, she
went down to dinner.

His lordship awaited her at the
foot of the stairs, offering his arm in gentlemanly fashion and leading her
into the long dining room. “So formal, in the country?” she inquired, glad that
at least he seated her beside him rather than at the far end of the massive oak
table.

“I am accustomed to taking dinner in my study, but
in honour of your arrival, I thought it would be pleasant to hold a sort of
celebration.” The marquis surveyed a chilled bottle of Italian wine proffered
by Franklin. “Would you care for some?”

“Yes, thank you,” said Meg,
although she hardly ever drank anything stronger than ratafia.

She was starting on the soup of
creamed cucumbers and wondering how to broach the subject of her identity when
Lord Bryn himself took up the matter.

“When I went upstairs just now to
say good-night to the urchins, I was told the most amazing tales.” His brown
eyes caught Meg’s blue ones over the wineglasses.

“Indeed?” Her breath came
rapidly. The nearness of the man was daunting. Seated so close to him, she
could not help but be aware of the strong planes of his cheekbones, nor avoid
noticing the way his gaze kept returning to her face.

“First of all, Thomas informs me
that you sprang to the mouse’s defence and chastised the children firmly for
risking its life and limbs. Not the sort of conduct one normally encounters in
a governess.” He awaited her reply with evident interest.

“Children must learn to be kind
to creatures that are weaker than they,” she replied. “Furthermore, I once had
a pet mouse myself.”

“And then,” said his lordship,
“Vanessa told me some things I found even more unusual.”

“Yes?” Now she was for it, Meg
feared.

“She said that you are not a
governess at all, but a lady of fashion, who has been presented at court.
Wherever can she have got such ideas?” It might have been amusement lurking at
the corners of his mouth, or merely a dry irony, but in either case how
pleasant it would be to tease him, to joke and flirt, Meg thought, to her own
surprise. She had never particularly enjoyed such pursuits in London, but then
she had never met a man as magnetic as Lord Bryn.

In any event she must strive to
be honest. But by the time she gathered her wits to speak, the servants arrived
with venison in caper sauce, fillets of turbot, broiled mushrooms and ham
fritters. She drew in a deep breath until the two of them were left alone.

“Vanessa got those ideas from
me,” she said, and awaited his reply with a tight squeezing sensation across
her chest.

“From you?” The marquis poured
himself a second glass of wine, although Meg had scarcely begun her first. “How
intriguing. It might work, you know.”

“Might work?’’ she repeated.

“The child is incorrigible,” he
said. “She has no respect for man or beast. Except for grand ladies, since she
expects to be one.”

“I would hardly call myself
grand.” Meg kept her speech short, so that she might better enjoy the meal. To
her surprise, she was ravenously hungry, and the food was excellent.

“Nevertheless, your description
of Queen Charlotte appears to have made an impression,” he said. “You might
turn that wild creature into a young lady yet, Miss Linley.” He saluted her
with his glass before emptying it.

Meg nearly choked on a bite of
the veal. He was taking all this as a game! “Suppose it were true, my lord?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Suppose I were in fact a lady on
my way from London to Derby, and on account of my weak eyesight I mistook your
carriage for my post chaise?” Now she’d said it.

“Then what has become of the real
Miss Linley? Or Lindsay?” A glint in those dark eyes told her he was enjoying
the sport.

“She, er, was falsely accused of
a theft, and even though she was proved innocent, she quite lost all her
courage and insisted upon turning back.” The tale sounded impossibly weak in
Meg’s own ears. “She really was a fluttery creature, not at all suited to the
upbringing of such sturdy children as your wards, you see.”

“Indeed.” The marquis nodded in
mock gravity. “Now let me see. Ah, you haven’t yet explained why a young lady
of good breeding such as yourself would be travelling unaccompanied.”

“I had brought my maid from
London to Manchester, but she left, with my blessing, to join her true love,
who is about to depart from Liverpool for Canada.”
Oh, dear,
thought
Meg,
I wouldn’t even believe that one, were it told me by the prime
minister!

“Not quite up to your invention
about the governess being accused of thievery, but excellent work for a
moment’s notice,” said the marquis. “I must tell you, Miss Linley, that I am
delighted to find myself employing a
raconteuse
.”

“Suppose I’m telling the truth?”
She couldn’t quite bring herself to tell him so straight out. How could she
bear to ruin the most pleasant evening she’d enjoyed in months?
 

“If this preposterous invention
were fact,” mused the marquis, “I should nevertheless beseech you to grace us
with your company, for the children are desperately in need of a governess. And
I—” His voice broke off, as if from some strong emotion. In that moment, for
all the weakness of her eyes, Meg believed she’d glimpsed a dark sliver of
despair and loneliness slipping out through his tightly controlled features.

What had the war done to this man? Was she a fool to
think that he needed her, and that duty required her to stay?
More than
duty,
the caged needs of her own heart answered silently.
If I am never
to have a husband or children of my own, at least there can be this short
respite. I want to be near him for a time, until I am strong enough to go my
way alone.

“I will stay a while,” said Meg.
Oh, Lord, what had she done? Dessert was brought in, but she scarcely tasted
the Chantilly crème, and excused herself as soon as the meal was finished.

Impossible, she told herself as
she hurried up the stairs. She must write the marquis a note. Giving him her
parents’ names would suffice to clear up the matter. She might also confess her
friendship with Helen Cockerell, the cousin of his intended.

Yet even as she commanded herself
not to remain under this roof for a second night, Meg knew that she would. He
had touched a place in her buried so long that she had ceased to believe in its
existence.

She turned the knob and stepped
into her bedchamber, halting as she caught sight of something sparkling on the
dressing table. She crossed the room, picked up the silver-rimmed glasses, and
perched them upon her nose. Two side extensions balanced them loosely upon her
ears.

Around her, the room came sharply
into focus. How bright the golden bed cover appeared, and how the polished lamp
gleamed in its own light. How could she have failed to notice the intricate
leaf pattern on the wallpaper, which now leaped out at her?

They were the most splendid
glasses Meg had ever used. She did not see how she could bear to be parted from
them. But as the property of the late Lady Bryn, they could not possibly be
taken away from the premises. Perhaps it was a sign, she told herself shakily
as she began to undress.

That very evening, Meg wrote
notes to her cousins and her mother and Helen, describing her delight at
unexpectedly renewing old acquaintance with a dear friend and telling how she had
accepted the invitation to visit for a few weeks.

Angela passed the evening
following her sister’s departure in a state of unaccustomed agitation, although
she hid these emotions from her mother by keeping her head lowered over a piece
of embroidery.

How terribly she missed Meg! And
how she resented the shallow society that had, in effect, banished her. Those
silly ladies and gentlemen would forget the incident in a week, so long as Meg
was absent. Why should they levy so strong a penalty for a mere
misunderstanding? Angela loathed them all. How, then, could she still yearn so
to be a part of that society, to dance with handsome gentlemen and go riding in
Hyde Park? Her longings shamed her.

Lady Mary read aloud as they sat
in their private parlour, a task that Meg had always fulfilled before. Angela
scarcely heard the words, but she noted the dryness of her mother’s voice that
signalled her advancing years.

I shall do it for Mother, Angela
told herself, pleased at this compromise. I shan’t go about to gratify my own
selfish wishes, but for all our sakes I must find myself a husband.

Would it be right, under the
circumstances, to marry someone she did not love? Perhaps she should make a
noble sacrifice. But it would hurt Meg and Lady Mary to see me unhappy, she
reminded herself. With a sigh of relief, the girl concluded that duty required
her to do exactly what she most wanted, which was to go out and enjoy herself,
and to find a man she could cherish.