If the Slipper Fits (3 page)

“Miss Quinn! Whatever is the meaning of this?”

Mrs. Baxter’s strident voice pierced the air. Her skull-like features were drawn with displeasure. It would take just the right words to avoid making her suspicious.

Annabelle rose to her feet and schooled her face into a look of concern. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. Something has happened that requires your immediate attention.”

“Whatever it is can wait until my guest departs. Now run along.” With a dismissing wave, she turned to Lady Milford and her voice took on a syrupy sweetness. “My lady, pray forgive the rude interruption. It’s such a trial to have insolent servants who do not obey orders.”

Annabelle gripped her fingers into fists at her sides. Servant! How demeaning to be placed beneath the rest of the teaching staff. The slight made her all the more determined to succeed in her scheme.

She took a firm step forward. “I’m afraid this is terribly important. It’s about your cat, Mr. Tibbles. He’s trapped.”

Mrs. Baxter’s face went pale. She lurched to her feet, a lace handkerchief pressed to her thin lips. “Trapped? What do you mean?”

“He somehow climbed into one of your clothespresses. Perhaps one of the maids left it open and then he knocked the lid shut. I heard him yowling when I passed by your chamber a moment ago.”

Mrs. Baxter hastened forward. “He isn’t injured, is he?”

Annabelle pictured the fat old tabby sulking on a soft bed of petticoats. “I can’t say, but he was mewling most pitifully.”

“Useless girl, why didn’t you let him loose?”

Annabelle displayed the scratches on her hand. “I did try, ma’am, but you know how he snarls and lashes at everyone but you.” She paused, then added the coup de grâce. “With the way he’s carrying on, I fear he could cause himself a great harm.”

“Oh!” Gasping, Mrs. Baxter turned to her guest. “Pray excuse me, my lady. This should take only a few moments.”

A bubble of elation made Annabelle giddy. Praise God, her plan had worked. But her triumph was short-lived.

As the headmistress started toward the door, she seized Annabelle by the arm. “Come along. You’re not needed here.”

The glint in her eyes revealed mistrust. Even in a dither about her cat, Mrs. Baxter had the wits to keep Annabelle firmly in her place.

“Oughtn’t I stay?” Annabelle said. “My next class doesn’t begin for another half an hour. Perhaps her ladyship wishes for me to bring her refreshment.”

“She needs naught from a lowborn chit like you.” With a firm grip, Mrs. Baxter yanked Annabelle forward. “Now, silence that impertinent tongue of yours. It’s time you learned to speak only when spoken to.”

Annabelle wanted to dig in her heels. Yet creating a scene would only serve to discredit her in Lady Milford’s eyes. Bitterly, she acknowledged that Mrs. Baxter had already besmirched Annabelle’s character. Now she might never have a chance to present her credentials and win her escape from the school.

“Let her stay.” Lady Milford’s dulcet voice held an unmistakable ring of command.

Looking dumbfounded, Mrs. Baxter turned, still clutching Annabelle. “My lady?”

“You said that I had interviewed all the teachers. But apparently you have forgotten this one.”

“Because she’s eminently unsuitable. Surely you cannot wish to hire a governess of questionable birth—”

“Nevertheless, I will have a word with Miss Quinn. You may go now.”

Mrs. Baxter reluctantly retracted her claws from Annabelle’s arm. She skewered Annabelle with a warning glare before scurrying out of the room.

“Pray close the door so that we may converse in private,” Lady Milford said.

Annabelle hastily obeyed. In the doing, she caught a glimpse of Mavis and Prudence dashing after Mrs. Baxter, no doubt to complain about the unfairness of Annabelle being allowed an interview. Let the biddies squawk. For once, Annabelle had the upper hand and she intended to use it to her best advantage.

Fortified by the thought, she rehearsed her qualifications as she approached Lady Milford. She halted in front of the noblewoman and stood with her hands clasped in a respectful pose. It was vital that she accomplish her purpose before Mrs. Baxter returned.

“My lady, I—”

Lady Milford held up a silencing hand. “One moment. You will have ample time to speak.”

She sat gazing up at Annabelle, assessing her critically, and Annabelle tried not to stare back for fear of being rude. By what criteria did Lady Milford judge the applicants? If it was fashion sense or pedigree, then Annabelle was doomed.

Her confidence faltered. Never before had she met anyone so elegantly lovely. In the turquoise gown and black hat with its peacock feathers, Lady Milford brought to mind an exotic creature from a foreign land. What had attracted such a refined noblewoman to this remote country school when she might have hired someone from London? Was she perhaps visiting friends or family in the area? The answer didn’t signify. All that mattered to Annabelle was securing the post for herself.

“Miss Quinn, I’ve a suspicion you devised that excuse to come in here,” Lady Milford said. “May I presume you are interested in the position of governess for the Duke of Kevern?”

“Yes, my lady. If it isn’t too forward of me, I’d hoped you might consider my application.”

Lady Milford inclined her head in a slight nod. “It is essential that I interview every teacher on staff so that I might make the best choice. Serving a duke is a great honor, no matter how young he might be.”

“How old is His Grace, if I may ask?”

“Nicholas is eight and the great-grandson of a very dear departed friend of mine. The child will be going off to boarding school in a year or so, and I worry about his readiness to leave home. You see, he lost both his parents last year in a tragic accident.”

Annabelle had surmised his father was deceased, else the boy wouldn’t have succeeded to the title. But she hadn’t realized he was an orphan. Her heart ached to imagine his loneliness. Perhaps she herself was lucky never to have known her parents at all. “I’m so sorry to hear it,” she murmured. “That must have been a dreadful time for His Grace.”

“Quite so.” Lady Milford glanced over at the dancing flames on the hearth. “Nicholas was always a rather quiet boy, and now he has withdrawn even more. That is why I believe he needs more than just tutors and nursemaids.” She looked straight up at Annabelle. “I believe he needs the affection of a mother.”

A mother? Annabelle’s mouth went dry. What did she know about mothering? Of all the requirements that could have been named, that was the one in which she lacked even a smidgen of experience. The one in which the other teachers held the advantage over her, for they all had come from families in the area.

“Surely the duke has aunts or cousins who might fill that role.”

“I’m afraid there’s only an uncle, his guardian, Lord Simon Westbury. He is a rather … difficult gentleman.” Lady Milford smiled enigmatically, then waved a hand at the chaise. “Now do sit down, Miss Quinn. You are quite tall and I’ve no wish to strain my neck.”

“Oh! Of course.” Annabelle quickly lowered herself to the edge of the cushions and folded her hands in her lap. Truly, the interview was not going as she’d envisioned. Her ladyship might very well believe one of the other teachers more suited to the task of
mothering
an orphaned boy. It would be wise to emphasize her strengths before Mrs. Baxter returned to malign Annabelle’s character even further.

She took a deep breath. “My lady, please know that I’m prepared to devote myself to watching after the duke. Let me assure you I’m more than capable of guiding his education, too. I’m knowledgeable in the subjects he will be studying: mathematics, botany, literature, geography, and much more. Whatever it is you wish for him to learn, I should be more than happy to work diligently with him until he masters the—”

Lady Milford held up her gloved hand. “I’m sure that is all quite true. I am an excellent judge of character, and you strike me as an intelligent woman, someone who is eminently qualified to teach the boy. That is why I would rather spend this time learning more about you.”

Annabelle hardly knew whether to be jubilant at the praise or worried at the prospect of any probing into her background. Cautiously, she said, “What do you wish to know?”

“First, what is your Christian name?”

“Annabelle, my lady.”

That slight, inscrutable smile returned to Lady Milford’s lips. “How very pretty. Is it a family name?”

“I … I have never been told so,” Annabelle hedged.

“I see.” Lady Milford tilted her head to the side. “I find myself curious about your connections. From where do you hail?”

Annabelle kept her fingers laced tightly in her lap. The last topic she wanted to dwell upon was her pedigree—or lack thereof. Her only hope was to skirt the issue. “I’ve always lived right here in Yorkshire, my lady. Perhaps that’s the source of my desire to seek another position. I should very much like to experience life in another part of England. I would be very content to devote myself to the care of His Grace.”

“How did you come to be an instructor at this school?”

Clearly, her ladyship would not be distracted. All manner of fibs and tall tales raced through Annabelle’s mind. She had prayed that a miracle would happen and she would not be asked about her past. But perhaps there was no escaping the truth. If she didn’t confess, then Mrs. Baxter surely would do so upon her return.

She lifted her chin, prepared to be rejected for her misbegotten birth. “I’ve been told, ma’am, that I was left here on the doorstep of this school as a babe in swaddling clothes. I do not know by whom.”

There, she had spoken it aloud. Would her ladyship assume her to be of the same low moral fiber as her nameless parents? Most people did. Her mother must have been a fallen woman. As to her father, for all Annabelle knew, she might be the daughter of a plowman or a blacksmith or even a highwayman. And as such, she would be unacceptable as companion to a duke.

Lady Milford leaned forward slightly. “Did Mrs. Baxter ever attempt to find out who had abandoned you?”

Abandoned
. The word stirred a faint bitterness in Annabelle as she shook her head. “She wasn’t the headmistress at the time. The school had a previous owner who died when I was not quite five.”

Annabelle glanced down at her entwined fingers. She hadn’t thought about that in years. From out of the past came vague memories of a soft voice crooning a lullaby, of gentle hands brushing her hair …

“A pity,” Lady Milford mused. “I don’t suppose you will ever know, then.”

Annabelle wished desperately that she could read the woman’s inscrutable features. Although Lady Milford didn’t look aghast at the story, perhaps she was too well-bred to show her distaste.

“Pray consider the advantage of my having no family,” Annabelle said, determined to turn the situation to her benefit. “I shan’t ever be called away to nurse a sick relation or beg leave to attend a wedding or a funeral. If you employ me, I shall be always at the service of His Grace, utterly devoted to his care. You can be certain he will never want for my attention.”

“You make quite the persuasive case, Miss Quinn.” Her violet eyes watchful, Lady Milford lowered her voice. “However, there remains one final test.”

Test? Annabelle wondered what it would entail. Perhaps she would be required to write an essay on why she was the superior choice for the position. Or maybe she’d be quizzed on her knowledge of geography or literature. The prospect actually calmed her misgivings. Whatever the examination might be, she felt confident in her ability to perform better than any other teacher on staff.

Then Lady Milford did something odd. Rising from her chair, she came forward to sit beside Annabelle on the chaise. “If you would be so kind as to slip off your shoes.”

“Pardon?”

The lady gestured at Annabelle’s feet. “Take them off, please. I know it sounds peculiar, but do bear with me. You’ll understand in a moment.”

She had brought a long velvet reticule, and now she opened the drawstrings and reached inside to produce a pair of fine slippers, which she placed on the floor. Annabelle blinked in surprise. The high-heeled shoes were made of satin the rich color of garnets and covered in exquisite crystal beadwork that sparkled in the light of the fire.

“Ohh,” she said on a sigh. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

“It’s merely an old pair given to me by a friend a long time ago,” Lady Milford said. “It seemed a shame to let them molder in my dressing chamber. Would you mind trying them on?”

“But … you’re so dainty,” Annabelle said, unable to tear her gaze away from the dazzling sight of the slippers long enough to think clearly. “Surely it’s impossible that we’d wear the same size.”

“You’ll never know until you try.”

Feeling caught in a strange spell, Annabelle unhooked her sturdy shoes and tugged them off, one by one. Brown and ugly, they thumped onto the carpet, a sacrilege beside the fine offering from Lady Milford.

Reverently, she slid her toes into one until, miracle of miracles, the elegant slipper perfectly enveloped her foot. It didn’t pinch or rub like her cheap shoes, either. The satin felt as soft and supple as wearing a cloud. Quickly, she donned its match and then rose from the chaise, holding up her skirts to admire the slippers. This must be how a princess felt, she thought giddily. Beautiful in every way.

On impulse, she whirled around on tiptoe, imagining herself dancing in the arms of a handsome prince. “Oh, my lady, they
do
fit. How can it be?”

“It appears they were meant for you,” Lady Milford said. “You will do me a great favor to take them off my hands.”

Annabelle stopped short as reality doused her dreams. Her fingers tightened around the bunched skirt of her gown. “Surely you’re jesting. You cannot
truly
mean to give me such an expensive gift.”

“Well, if it will pacify your conscience, you may consider them a loan. That is my only concession. You must humor me, for I am an old woman known for my eccentricities.”

Wisdom shone in those violet eyes. How old
was
she?