Love With the Proper Husband (9 page)

“I warn you, cousin, regardless of what you expect you will not find it here,” Miss Hilliard said.

“I scarcely need your warning,
cousin
.” Gwen met the other woman’s gaze firmly. “I expect nothing more than to make the acquaintance of my sister’s children.”

“Well, I shall be most relieved to have these hellions off my hands. Ungrateful little beasts. Although how you, as an unmarried woman, intend to care for them is beyond me.”

Gwen heaved an annoyed sigh. “I have no intention of caring for them. You have already provided them with an excellent home and I have no—”

“We don’t want to go with you anyway.” A voice sounded from the doorway, and Gwen turned. Three pairs of accusing eyes glared at her. Gwen stared back, struck by the altogether startling sensation of looking at herself in various stages of childhood.

They were stair steps of a fashion, ranging in height according to age. The three were remarkably similar in appearance, all with hair in varying shades of red, much like Gwen’s own. The tallest was obviously the oldest at fourteen. It was apparent from the look on her face that she was the one who had spoken, equally obvious that she had a great deal more to say, and not at all farfetched to assume what she had to say would not be the least bit pleasant. The next tallest, most likely the twelve-year-old, was in the middle, the youngest at age ten stood beside her. This would be much easier if Gwen could remember their names. They were all named for various Christian virtues but Gwen couldn’t remember which ones.

Regardless of the nature of their names, there was scarcely a hint of anything even vaguely resembling virtuous qualities in the malevolent looks they leveled at her. At the moment Gwen doubted they were called Pleasance or Tolerance or Kindness. She had seen looks like that from children before. They quite despised her.

“The choice is not up to you,” Miss Hilliard said in an unyielding manner, then turned her gaze to Gwen. “Decisions must be made as to their future. However, we shall discuss it later. For now, I will leave you alone for your…visit.” She cast a disapproving glare at the girls. “I’m sure it shall be most informative.” She turned and marched from the room, snapping the door shut behind her. As if of one mind, all eyes followed the older woman’s departure, and Gwen realized the girls disliked Miss Hilliard even more than they disliked her. At least they had that in common. They turned their attention back to Gwen, and she knew shared dislike would not be nearly enough.

“Are you Aunt Gwendolyn, then?” the oldest asked coolly.

Gwen nodded. “Indeed I am. And you are?”

The girl hesitated, as if she wasn’t certain revealing even that much information was wise.

“You can tell her
that
.” The middle girl sighed. “Her name is Charity, and this is Hope.” She nodded at her younger sister. “I am Patience.” Patience smiled politely and flicked her gaze over Gwen in that dismissive manner perfected by girls some time after their tenth year, when they start assessing every other woman with a critical eye. “Did you know you look a little like our mother?”

“Except she was pretty,” Hope added. “Very pretty.”

Patience studied Gwen thoughtfully. “She’s pretty. Just not
very
pretty.”

“Or”—Charity’s eyes narrowed—“I daresay very nice.”

Gwen started. “I am quite nice. Or at least I can be.”

Charity snorted in disbelief.

“But you’re right about one thing.” Gwen’s gaze shifted from one sister to the next. “You’re not being fair. We’ve only just met. You’ve not given me the opportunity to be nice or anything else.”

Hope planted her hands on her hips. “Why should we?”

“Indeed.” Patience crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s not as if you deserve it.”

“Nonsense. I have done nothing whatsoever to warrant not deserving the opportunity to be, at the very least, friends.” Gwen cringed to herself at the note in her voice. She was speaking to these girls, the only family she had, in the same collected, firm manner she had always spoken to the children in her charge. In her
governess
voice, intended to display authority tempered with kindness. Gwen had never mastered it and knew full well she sounded hard instead of firm, and cold rather than collected. She tried again. “Now what, precisely, are you are talking about?”

“We’re talking about where you have been since Mama and Papa died and why you haven’t come for us.” Resentment flashed in Charity’s eyes and she fairly spit the word. “
Precisely
.”

“Mama said if anything happened to her and Papa, you would take care of us,” Patience said.

“But I’ve only just learned of your existence,” Gwen started. “I couldn’t possibly have—”

Hope paid her no heed.

“Sisters are supposed to take care of one another. That’s what Mama always said. It’s what sisters do. It’s what
families
do.” The trio nodded in unison.

“She said grandfather no longer counted as family because he didn’t like Papa and Papa was her family.” Charity glared as if that was somehow Gwen’s fault. “And therefore we should not expect that he would like us.”

“Besides.” Hope’s glare matched her older sister’s. “He’s dead. Like Mama and Papa. Only they

’re in heaven and he’s probably in—”

“That’s quite enough,” Gwen said sharply in her best no-nonsense governess manner.

“Hell.” Defiance rang in Charity’s voice.

“Hell,” Patience said firmly.

“Hell.” Hope nodded. “Where he shall burn forever in retribution for his sins.”

All three glared at Gwen, challenging her to rebuke them for their language. She’d seen that look before on the faces of children in her care. Children whose sole purpose in life was to drive their current governess stark, raving mad.

She certainly could not handle these children as she had handled those even if, in truth, the vast majority of the time she’d been at their mercy rather than in charge.

“You’re not being fair to him either, you know,” Gwen said slowly, realizing the irony of defending her father. “He wasn’t a bad man. But he did not approve of your mother’s choices and she defied him.”

“Nonetheless, we don’t like him.” Charity’s voice was cool. “And we don’t like you.”

A horrible and familiar sense of helplessness gripped Gwen. Was there anything more frightening on the face of the earth than angry and defiant children? She’d been scarcely more than a child herself when she’d fled home and taken her first position. She’d had no more idea what to do with children then than she did now. And if truth were told, each time she was compelled to leave a job it was with a fair amount of relief and a grim determination to do better the next time. She never had. From the moment her father had died, Gwen had faced every insurmountable problem, be it poverty or unsuitable employment, with the same solution. The panic that never failed to surge within in her could be quelled by only one thing.

Escape.

And panic seized her now.

“Very well.” She straightened her shoulders. “That’s that then.”

“What do you mean?” Suspicion sounded in Charity’s voice.

“Well, you said it yourself: you don’t like me. And it’s quite obvious you’re unwilling to make any effort to change that nor are you willing to make the tiniest effort to encourage me to like you. And thus far, well, I don’t.” Gwen shrugged. “It seems to me we are at an impasse. I only came here to ascertain for myself if you were being well cared for.”

She studied them for a moment, then nodded. “You are adequately clothed and do not appear to be starving. Therefore I shall take my leave.” She turned and started toward the door, ignoring a twinge of guilt and an odd touch of regret.

“I told you she wouldn’t be any different than old Pickleface,” one of the girls said behind her.

“She doesn’t want us either.”

“No one does, do they?” Hope said, or at least Gwen thought it was Hope. She might not be able to recognize the child’s voice, but the note of resignation was all too familiar. For a moment the years vanished and Gwen was once again a young girl in this very house. A girl who could not help but hear the whispers of the servants about what a shame it was that His Lordship had had daughters instead of sons. And what a waste that all His Lordship had would go to a distant relation rather than his own flesh-and-blood son. And wasn’t it a pity that there was no boy to carry on His Lordship’s name.

And wasn’t it wise of His Lordship to send the girl off to school to learn what she would need for a suitable match someday because, if truth were told, daughters weren’t good for much else. If truth were told, daughters,
girls
weren’t particularly wanted. Gwen wasn’t particularly wanted.

She doesn’t want us either.

Gwen’s throat tightened, and an ache she’d thought long since put to rest returned with a vengeance. Surely it was only the result of being back in this house.
No one does, do they?

It might have been little more than Gwen’s impulsive nature. Or some long-buried sense of familial connection or responsibility or even affection. Or perhaps it was simply that the pain in the girl’s voice was a far stronger bond than sisters or family or blood.

Abruptly Gwen turned on her heel and considered them, realizing they were as scared as she. Probably more so. She stepped briskly to the sofa and sat down, pulling off her gloves in a deliberate manner, nothing more than a ploy to gain a moment to marshal her thoughts and make sense of her feelings, far too tumultuous to understand at the moment. The only thing she was certain of was that for the first time in her life, she was not alone. The fate of someone other than herself lay in her hands. Even if those others were children.

She drew a deep breath. “Do you like living at Townsend Park?”

“It’s a lovely house with wonderful grounds,” Charity said staunchly.

“But do you
like
it?” Gwen wasn’t sure why it mattered, but it did.

“It’s quite the nicest place we’ve ever lived.” Patience’s voice was cool. Gwen sighed. “Very well then, if you’re happy, I can scarcely—”

“No!” Hope shot a panicked glare at her sisters, then stepped toward Gwen. “We’re not at all happy. We hate it here. It’s horrid. Truly, truly horrid. No one, not even the servants, talks to us. Pickleface constantly looks at us as if she’s just eaten something nasty.”

“Oh dear,” Gwen murmured, wondering how some of her charges might have described her and suspecting it was no better, and possibly a great deal worse, than Pickleface.

“Yes and do you know what else?” Patience sank on the sofa beside her. “She sniffs. All the time. Not like the sniffles but like she’s smelling something the rest of us can’t see. Something really nasty.”

“Like a dog.” Hope plopped onto the sofa on Gwen’s other side. “Did you know dogs are remarkably good at sniffing? They have excellent noses.”

“I had heard that somewhere,” Gwen murmured.

“She doesn’t like us.” A vague edge of surprise sounded in Hope’s voice. “And she says…”

Hope’s bottom lip trembled.

“She says…” Patience slanted a glance at her older sister, then drew a deep breath, her words coming in a breathless rush. “She says we’re a dreadful inconvenience and a terrible burden and when her brother returns he shall probably send us away.” Patience’s eyes glistened. “One at a time.”

“One at a time?” Gwen drew her brows together. “What do you mean?”

“She means we won’t be able to stay together,” Charity said sharply. “Pickleface says no one will take three girls, particularly girls who are as old as we are.”

Hope sighed. “She says girls of our age are costly to maintain. Dresses and seasons and dowries and all sorts of things.”

“We won’t go, you know.” Patience crossed her arms and settled deeper into the sofa. “We’ve already decided.”

Gwen didn’t like the sound of that, not that she blamed them. “Exactly what have you decided?”

“We’re going to run away.” Patience grinned in a smug manner. “We’re going to the Friendly Islands. Do you know where they are?”

“Of course.” Gwen nodded. “Polynesia.”

“We visited there once with Mama and Papa.” Hope paused. “Before they were eaten by cannibals, of course.”

“Cannibals?” Gwen studied the child. “I thought they were—” Three challenging gazes met hers.

“Never mind. Do go on.”

“The Friendly Islands are very pretty and we quite like the name.” Hope nodded eagerly. “We shall live on the beach in little huts and catch fish for our supper.”

“Running away never solved one’s problems,” Gwen said without thinking. Admittedly, while she spouted the time-honored advice, she’d never paid any heed to it herself. Still, who should know better than she the truth of it? “Besides, I suspect you need a fair amount of money to get to the Friendly Islands. Do you have a fair amount of money?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Patience murmured.

“I have.” Determination sounded in Charity’s voice. “And we won’t need money. We shall stow away on a ship and it won’t cost us anything at all.” She slanted Gwen a triumphant look.

“I daresay that is clever.” Gwen pulled her brows together. “Dreadfully uncomfortable though, I should think. You would have to hide throughout the entire voyage. Where does one hide on a ship bound for the Friendly Islands?”

“In the hold,” Hope said firmly. “With the cargo.”

“There are plenty of places to hide,” Patience confided. “We know all about ships. We’ve been on them before, you know. A great deal actually.”

“Of course you have. The three of you are far better traveled than most people I know. If you are willing to hide for weeks—how long does it take to get to the Friendly Islands anyway?” Gwen widened her eyes innocently.

“It took eight weeks, I think, to return to England,” Charity said, her manner cautious as if she trusted neither the question nor Gwen’s reason for asking.

“Eight weeks? My goodness. That’s a long time to stay hidden.” Gwen considered the trio curiously. “Will you bring food along with you, then?”

The girls traded glances.

“Of course,” Hope said stoutly. “Lots of food. In our bags.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Charity sighed in the universal manner of older sisters. “We shall have to take food from the galley when no one is looking.”