Almost an Angel (4 page)

Chapter Four

"You want me to wear that?" Carolly eyed the corset with distaste. A long tank top with bone slats, it seemed perfectly designed to torture the female body. "I'll never be able to sit!"

"You will sit like a lady," came Mrs. Potherby's firm response.

Carolly shook her head. "I'm not a lady, Mrs. Potherby. Never have been, never will be. Look, can't I just stand up tall and pretend? Without actually having . . ." Her voice trailed off. She could see by the older woman's face that she was getting nowhere. If she wanted to leave her room and meet James's niece, she'd have to wear the instrument of torture. "Oh, all right. Show me how to put it on."

She was wrong about it being uncomfortable—excruciatingly annoying described it better. Carolly felt like she'd just put on a tight barrel. Her breasts pushed up almost to her chin and as for breathing, her only choice was a delicate pant. On the up side, panties apparently hadn't yet been invented. She felt deliciously naughty walking around without them.

 Carolly grimaced as Mrs. Potherby tied her tights, just under her knees. She would have done it herself, but she hadn't figured out how to bend. She'd never thought she'd miss elastic, but here she was, wondering how on earth she would keep her stockings tied, especially when she couldn't reach them.

"All right," she said with a groan. "What's next?" Carolly had hoped they were done with the underclothing. No such luck. Mrs. Potherby brought out a dove-gray petticoat.

"It's a beautiful day," Carolly began. "A hot day. Surely I don't need—"

"Please raise your arms."

So much for avoiding the petticoat.

"It's like the layered look, only in reverse, right?"

Mrs. Potherby didn't answer. Instead, she dropped the rough fabric over Carolly's head.

"Ugh! It's stiff." Some sort of paste had been applied to the skin to keep it full. "I'm going to have to practice walking so I won't knock over tables or beat some poor dog senseless."

"I am sure you will remember soon enough."

Carolly lifted her head, fixing Mrs. Potherby with a pointed stare. "How can I remember something I've never done?”

The older woman refused to answer. She turned away and shook out a light gray dress with a high neckline and a lace collar. Carolly stopped the woman, taking her arm and not letting go until the housekeeper looked directly at her, but the woman said simply, "His lordship is waiting. Come. I still have to fix your hair."

She buttoned Carolly into the gray gown, tied her into the flimsiest slippers Carolly had ever seen, then pushed her onto a stool and began brushing out her hair with a vengeance.

"Ow! Go easy, will you?” Carolly gasped.

"Hush. Hand me that ribbon."

Carolly did as she was bid, wincing.

"It is beyond me," commented Mrs. Potherby, "why a woman with such beautiful hair would want to have it cropped almost to her ears."

"I like it short. It's easier to ignore that way." But even as she spoke, Carolly watched the mirror in fascination. The housekeeper tied the ribbon deftly, neatly pulling the hair up and away from Carolly's face.

"Add a few more inches and think of what we could do with it," coaxed Mrs. Potherby.

Carolly shook her head. "Short and sassy. That's me."

"Aye," agreed Mrs. Potherby sadly.

Carolly frowned. "Why do you say it like that?"

The older woman shook her head, then abruptly pushed Carolly off the stool. "His lordship awaits."

Carolly dug in her heels. "Let him wait. I want to know what you mean."

Mrs. Potherby only shook her head. "You are arrogant through and through, Miss Carolly. But you must remember, you reside in an earl's house, are here by his leave. He could toss you out this afternoon if he had a mind. Then where would you go?"

"I . . . " Carolly shut her mouth. She'd wanted to laugh and say she would find a way. But she had spent her first life doing just that: shrugging off others' concerns, allowing problems to get worse because she was too lazy to change. Now she was working toward becoming an angel. She had to be good and responsible.

Which meant heeding Mrs. Potherby's advice. Carolly was here on James's good will. It would be best to remember that.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Potherby. I'll try to act better."

Her resolve lasted for exactly two and a half minutes.

***

James stood in the door to the nursery and bristled.  Carolly had groaned. Actually groaned. He'd heard it quite distinctly.

He glanced around the pristine room. Everything appeared in order, every toy in its allotted place. Margaret sat at her desk holding open a book of edifying sermons for girls. But she was not looking at that; she was staring at him, her blue-green eyes open wide with surprise, her chin lifted in quiet defiance. To her right, the governess Miss Hornswallow, a beanpole in austere black, rose from behind her desk with regal formality.

"My lord, you did not inform me you intended to visit the nursery this morning." There was only the slightest hint of censure in her voice.

Then he heard it again: another of Carolly's groans. Or maybe it was one of those sighs that seemed to start from her toes, gathering momentum as it traveled through her system in search of escape. Whatever it was, it annoyed him greatly.

"Is there something wrong, Miss Carolly?"

"Hmmm? No, of course not. Whatever could be wrong?” Her tone clearly indicated the opposite.

James's eyes returned to his niece, and finally he divined the source of Carolly's dismay. Margaret had on one of her most shapeless brown dresses, the same one she had been wearing this morning when he refused to allow her to join him during his morning exercise. He had not been averse to sharing the ride with her, but her attire had been completely inappropriate. The light fabric she wore would not protect her from scrapes and bruises as her riding habit would. And now, looking at his sullen ward, he realized her dress was not only completely inappropriate for riding, it made her look like a formless lump.

His frown deepened as he tried to recall Miss Hornswallow's exact reason for dressing his ward in such ugly attire. She'd said something about neutral colors quieting a distressed child's mind. James had become so used to seeing Margaret in such clothing, he had initially missed how it must look to an outsider. "Miss Hornswallow, have you been allowing Margaret to eat sweets again? I distinctly told you she seems to be gaining."

The governess opened her mouth to respond, but she never got the chance. Carolly spun on her heel and began screeching: "James, what a cruel thing to say! And you said you love her!"

"But—"

"No, I don't want to hear it. I just don't! You men are impossible—hear me, impossible—when it comes to even the basics of raising a girl."

"Carolly." This time he infused his voice with all the annoyance he felt. That always controlled even the most unruly of his subordinates. It had worked marvels on the soldiers in Spain. As for his domestic staff, the tone had once reduced his impeccable butler to near blubbering idiocy.

But it seemed to have absolutely no effect on Carolly. Or rather, it appeared to have the opposite effect of the one he intended. Instead of bringing the woman into an acute awareness of her failings, it pushed her to further excesses of emotionalism.

"Don't try to freeze me out, James. It won't work. Not this time." She made a sweeping gesture at the nursery. "This is even worse than I feared! What could you be thinking, James, raising a little girl like this for the last four years?"

"I was caring for my ward—"

"You were
ignoring
her. Oh!" She cut herself off, whirling back to face the room like a soldier preparing for battle. As she spun, her soft gray skirts twisted and flared around her ankles in a most distracting display, but her aggrieved tone did not allow James the luxury of appreciating it. "I thought she was a servant, James. I saw you both this morning and I thought she was some servant's child. That's how you treat her."

James felt his words freeze in his throat. Was it possible? Could Carolly truly have thought his niece a servant?

Meanwhile, Carolly continued, her hands waving about in agitation. "What could you have been thinking? You can't throw her in a dull room with ugly clothing and hope no one will notice.
I
notice.
She
notices. James, think!" And when he did not immediately respond, she once again threw up her hands in disgust. "Oh, just leave me alone while I talk with her. And take Miss Hornwigging—Hornsweeney—"

"Hornswallow," corrected the governess in a cold tone of her own.

"Whatever. Take her with you."

James shook his head. "Carolly, if you wish to be alone, I suggest you return to your room."

She twisted around, once again presenting him with a magnificent view of her flushed face and heaving bosom. Initially he'd thought the dove-gray dress too drab for her, but now he saw she infused whatever was around her, whatever she wore, with vibrancy. Though the hastily-obtained gown's color was almost grim, its fabric clung to Carolly's curves with anything but modesty. He could not think for watching the lace around her breasts rise and fall with her agitated breathing.

"I will not be bullied, James. It's my job to rescue this situation, and I take that very seriously."

"Carolly," he repeated. He made his voice a near whisper. "You are overwrought. I suggest you return to your room. Now."

She stared at him, her mouth falling open in surprise. He could tell by the shock on her face that no one had ever refused her when she spoke so forcefully. In fact, she looked so completely thrown, he gave a small smile of pure masculine satisfaction.

It was a mistake.

Within seconds of his self-congratulation, her expression changed. He saw the look. He had seen it before in the few men he openly admired. An unshakable determination, a certain steel of the soul.

His smile faded.

Carolly snapped her mouth shut and lifted her chin. "My room? An excellent idea, James." She turned and smiled sweetly at the young girl. "Margaret, I am Carolly. Will you please come with me? I would like very much to talk with you for a few moments, and I believe his lordship is correct. We will be much more comfortable in my bedroom." She released a soft snort. "Lord knows, my prison can't be much worse than yours."

Margaret stared at her, clearly torn between admiration and fear. James could readily sympathize. He often felt that way himself around Carolly. But true to the girl's innate good sense, she turned to her uncle seeking his opinion.

He deliberated. Given Margaret's mood lately, she was likely to rush headlong into outright disobedience if he told her to stay put. Then again, the last thing his recalcitrant ward needed was the added influence of his unstable guest.

James was still contemplating his response when Miss Hornswallow stepped forward. "My lord, truly I must insist. I cannot have Margaret's day disrupted. As you yourself have told me, structure and schedule are exceedingly important in the rearing of young children."

Carolly did it again. She groaned, only this time she did nothing to disguise the sound. "By all means, James, stifle the poor girl. At least if you break her spirit, you won't have to worry about her acting out."

James felt his fury grow. So, while he still had some control of himself, he made a final stab at resolving the situation. "Miss Carolly, I find your meddling impertinent and exceedingly—"

"Yes, yes. We've already established that I'm impertinent, totally insane, and let's not forget immodest." Behind her desk, Miss Hornswallow gasped, but Carolly only rolled her eyes. "Henceforth we can add stubborn, intemperate, and . . . " She waved her arms, searching for another adjective. "And . . . "

"And you are an inappropriate role model for Margaret."

Carolly snorted. "That has yet to be seen. One would think my, uh, chosen profession would make me . . . " She fell silent at his raised eyebrow. "All right, we'll leave a discussion of my profession for another day."

"Yes, do. Or perhaps we should continue our discussion in the library and leave Margaret to her lessons."

He opened the nursery door, clearly indicating it was time to leave. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Margaret sink an inch lower in her seat. Miss Hornswallow sniffed in victory as she too settled back into her chair. Everyone, it seemed, had come to the conclusion that he was the victor.

Everyone, that is, except Carolly.

Carolly folded her arms across her chest and stared at him, her expression almost pleading. "Look, James. Really look. Does your niece look happy? Does she ever seem happy?"

James felt his shoulders tense. Indeed, no, he thought. He had been aware for some time that his niece seemed out of sorts. But for the life of him, he could not understand why. Was it possible that his mad guest somehow knew—had determined in the space of a few seconds, no less—what was missing in his ward's life? Something he and a score of governesses had not discovered in months and years of concerted effort?

The thought set him back on his heels. Yet he could not discount the possibility. After all, madness had its own logic. Perhaps the answer to Margaret's difficulties merely required a new perspective. Carolly's thoughts certainly were . . . unusual.

As if sensing his indecision, Carolly stepped forward. Her tone became soft and pleading. "James . . . " she began, but he glared at her, effectively telling her that feminine wiles would get her nowhere. She sighed and turned away from him, apparently deep in thought.

Relaxing against the doorway, James found himself admiring the delicate curve of her neck, smiling at the childish way she chewed on her lower lip, even feeling mesmerized by the simple play of her fingers in her hair. He found himself pleased. Her temerity inspired him. He had forgotten the sheer joy of a real hell-for-leather argument. The only other person to fight him like this had been his older brother. They had done it with the daily frequency possible only for siblings, and had driven their nanny close to distraction. That had been half the fun. Glancing over at the outraged face of Miss Hornswallow, James could not help but feel a similar childish glee.