The American Bride (7 page)

"If anyone can help the lass, I think you can."

Pennyfeather's heartening words rang in Cara's ears on the trip back to the Hall. However that evening as she waited for the children's arrival her heart was heavy with trepidation.

Chapter Four

The schoolroom door opened and Richard entered. At his well groomed, yet closed-in expression, Cara sighed. Gone was the boy, painted face aglow, who had leaped out of a tree brandishing an Indian tomahawk.

"Richard, could you do me a favor?" Cara asked.

"I suppose so," he answered, far from enthusiastically.

"Despite the fact that the days are warm it does get a bit cool once the sun goes down. I thought perhaps you could take care of the fire each evening. I can do it but I thought you should be in charge. Belin might be able to help but she is still very young."

"Oh, rather," the boy drawled, trying to hide his elation. He reached for the largest log and began to drag it over to the fireplace.

"Would you like me to show you how an Indian makes a fire?" Cara asked diplomatically.

"Oh, rather!"

Kneeling down in front of the fireplace Cara told him how to lay the fire, starting with kindling and building up to the larger logs. Soon Richard's coat was off and he was immersed in his project. Returning to her chair Cara noticed that Belin had entered, standing just inside the doorway, her hands behind her back.

"Oh, Belin, I'm glad you've come to join us." Cara kept her voice cheerful, although her heart sank at the sight of the filthy child. Like the night before, her dress was streaked and her hair tangled. Preparing herself for the fight to come, Cara sank onto the edge of the sofa cushion. "You'll have to come over here if you want to hear the story. Richard's working on a fire for us, so everything will be nice and cozy."

Rigidly the child approached until she stood directly in front of Cara. There were traces of tears on her cheeks and an inconsolable sadness in the brown eyes that shrank before Cara's glance. Slowly Belin withdrew her hands from behind her back and placed them in Cara's lap, then closed her eyes waiting for the inspection. As she looked down at the hands in her lap, Cara understood the root of Belin's rebellion.

Between each pudgy finger of both hands there was a tiny webbing of skin.

Pity made her reach out to Belin but she dropped her hands before she touched the child. Angrily Cara wondered why no one had told her about the slight deformity. It explained so much of the child's behavior. Schooling her voice to it's most matter-of-fact, she picked up the tiny cold hands in her own warm ones.

"Why they're perfectly clean, Belin." She had to smile. Belin had taken Cara at her word and had washed her hands in order to participate in the treats. But, only her hands. From the wrists up, water had not touched her body. "Here, I'll pour you some chocolate."

The child relaxed, her body sagging in her relief that Cara hadn't mentioned her hands. Cautiously she peeked up at her governess. Her face was a complex of fear and puzzlement. The fear won. Snatching her hands away from Cara, she waved them in front of her body. Her face was screwed up in agony, her body fairly vibrating with her agitation.

"Can't you see my hands?" Her eyes were wide open, spitting fire. "I'm a witch's spawn!"

Although her heart raced in fear, Cara answered calmly, knowing how important her actions were to the furious child. "Of course I saw your hands, Belin. I thought you just didn't want me to know your secret. But even in America we've heard of the sign of the Frog Princess." Then quickly while the child was still off balance, Cara hurried on. "Sit down, Belin. Richard's got the fire going now and as soon as we get some chocolate I'll tell you about it. I'm sure you've been told the story a hundred times but perhaps Richard hasn't heard it."

Ignoring the spluttering child, Cara busied herself handing around the chocolate and cakes. She complimented Richard on the fire. His face flushed with pride as he sipped the hot chocolate. Belin sat on the edge of her chair, clutching her cup in an agony of suspense. Cara reseated herself and began her story. Both children's eyes were fixed on her face.

"You see, a long, long time ago a king had a beautiful daughter who was in love with a handsome prince. He lived across a huge body of water. One day she wanted to see him and there were no boats to take her across the water. A wicked wizard told her he would change her into a frog so that she could swim across." Cara noticed that although Belin was absorbed in the fairy tale, her body was taut with tension. "Delighted with the clever plan, the princess let him turn her into a frog. In the twinkling of an eye she swam to the other side. But the wizard had tricked her and she did not change back into a princess. She remained a frog. The prince married someone else when he thought he had lost his true love. So every night the frog princess sat on a lily pad and cried. Even today on certain nights you can hear her cry."

"But what's that got to do with my hands?" Belin wailed.

"As you probably know, every hundred years a girl is born with hands like yours. It's a great honor, you know. It means that if she ever falls in love with someone across the water she won't have to turn into a frog. Her hands will help her swim."

For a moment the child sat stock-still and then two huge tears rolled down her cheeks and her whole body shook in a shuddering cry. She dropped her cup and wrapped her arms around her knees, rocking back and forth in an agony of grief. Alarmed at the child's reaction, Cara scooped the trembling girl on to her lap and rocked and petted her, murmuring words of comfort.

Richard who had been watching with brotherly disinterest, spoke. "Ghisele told Belin she was a witch's spawn and would burn in hell no matter what she did."

"Who is Ghisele?" Cara asked, mentally condemning the woman to eternal damnation.

"She was our old nanny. I think she was a witch herself." Richard sounded more hopeful than worried. "She said that's why our mother didn't want to see Belin. It would be like looking at the Devil."

"Nonsense," Cara snapped.

"Then how come our mother never wanted to have us around?"

Belin had stopped her trembling and now lay still in Cara's lap.

"To be perfectly honest, Richard, I don't know. I didn't know your mother so I can't be sure." Cara knew what she said would be very important in her future dealings with the children. She knew she needed to be honest. "There are some people that just aren't very comfortable around children. They don't know what to say to them so they just take the easy way out and try to stay away from them."

"I never know what to say either," Richard confided, accepting her explanation.

"She didn't want to see my hands. When she looked at them she always cried," Belin accused.

Cara cursed the insensitivity of the children's mother.

"Well, Belin, if you were ashamed of your hands perhaps she felt sorry that you were sad and that made her cry." Cara looked down at the girl in her lap, wanting to hug away all the hurts. "I don't know, Belin. I honestly don't."

Red-rimmed eyes stared into Cara's blue-green ones. Used to ridicule and evasions, the little girl recognized the truth in her governess' reply. Belin blinked, accepting the fact that Cara did not know the answers to some questions and childlike, skipped to another subject.

"Does that mean I can swim?"

"No. Unless you've practiced you won't be able to swim. And by the looks of you, young lady, I don't think you've been near very much water."

"If I'm dirty, no one looks at my hands." The streaked face was wreathed in an enchanting smile and Cara hugged her impulsively.

"So that's your game, is it?" Cara beamed at the girl whose smile transformed her. "I have a proposition for you. If you take a bath and wash your hair tomorrow, I'll teach you both to swim. Is it a bargain?"

Belin hugged Cara for an answer and Richard whooped with delight. The remainder of the evening passed quickly with tales of princes, warriors and other stories culled from Cara's memory of her own childhood.

After the children left for bed Cara changed into her nightgown but found she was too restless to sleep. She rummaged in the wardrobe, groaning at the atrocious plaid woolen robe she found among her acquired wardrobe. Cara belted the bulky material around her waist trying not to trip on the hem which dragged on the floor as she walked barefoot into the schoolroom. Prodding the dying fire with a poker, Cara sighed as the flames rekindled and the heat fought off the chill of the room. Pacing to the windows she smiled at her reflection in the darkened panes. The lacy nightcap looked ludicrous with the serviceable plaid robe. Cara promised herself when she returned to her grandmother's she would burn the offending article.

The hallway door opened sending the flames shooting up in the fireplace. Gasping in fright, Cara swung around as Julian strode across the threshold. Clutching the robe at her throat, she pressed against the windows, her heart pounding as her husband stalked toward her. Cara closed her eyes to shut out the huge figure looming in front of her.

Bracing herself she waited for the assault.

"I am not here to ravish you, Miss Farraday," Julian snapped, offended by the fear on the girl's face. "I've never had a penchant for plaid."

Stiffening at the insult, Cara drew herself up and stared coldly at Julian's raised eyebrow. "One should never mock those less fortunate."

"Hah!" Julian snorted. He averted his eyes as though unable to look at the atrocious garment.

"You shouldn't be here, Lord Wilton."

"I was passing by."

"Really, your lordship? Looking for the children, no doubt?"

"All right. All right. I came to apologize," Julian muttered under his breath.

Cara had to smile at his peeved tone of voice. It was obvious that her husband was unused to apologizing for his behavior. Yet despite her gratification at his words, she still felt anger.

"When I took the position as governess I did not suspect that I would be subjected to such insults, Lord Wilton," Cara accused.

"I assure you, Miss Farraday, that your sensibilities will not be further enraged. Put it down to a touch of the sun and the uncontrolled lusts of a gentleman."

It was Cara's turn to snort with amusement. Although Julian's apology was laced with sarcasm, she did sense embarrassment behind the taunting words. Straightening her spine, Cara prepared to be gracious.

"I think it will be best for us to start over, Lord Wilton. The encounter in the woods never happened."

"I have already forgotten it," Julian replied, his voice filled with indifference.

Cara was surprised when she felt a sharp pang of regret at his words. She chided herself, remembering that Julian's behavior was insulting at best, adulterous at worst.

"Is there anything else, Lord Wilton?"

"My man Craten recommended Barrett," Julian said to Cara's total mystification.

"Recommended him for what? And who is Barrett?"

"Barrett is one of the footmen. He's just sixteen and, Craten, my valet thought he ought to be able to take care of Richard."

"I see," Cara said, understanding that they were talking about a servant to act as valet for Richard. "I'm glad."

"Craten's standards are more exacting than the Regent's. He'll keep an eye on Barrett so that by the time Richard goes through the man-milliner stage he can keep the boy from some of the gaudier excesses of fashion."

Julian's words filled Cara with a warm glow of gratitude. She searched her husband's face looking for a softening of his normal autocratic expression. Her eyes were drawn to his lips and she remembered their pressure on her own mouth. Hot color rose to her cheeks and she pulled her bathrobe around her.

"What will happen to Janey?" Cara asked, pulling her thoughts back to the discussion.

"She'll help Mrs. Clayton do, uhh, things." Julian airily waved his hand to indicate Janey's new duties.

"Thank you, Lord Wilton."

At the softly spoken words, Julian's head swung around to stare at the governess. He had expected a more acerbic comment and was surprised at the simple response. He winced at the garish robe, his eyes transfixed by a particularly discordant shade of orange that ran around the uneven hem. As if the girl sensed his scrutiny she tucked her bare toes modestly away from his prying eyes. The childish gesture struck Julian with the vulnerability of the girl and he was further discomfited by his behavior in the woods. He wondered at his own presence in the schoolroom at such an hour and chastised himself for remembering the soft innocence of the young girl's lips.

"That will be all, Miss Farraday," Julian announced, spinning on his heel and stalking out of the room.

Cara stood transfixed, staring after the departing figure. Although relieved, she felt a spurt of anger at the suddenness of his departure. Grumbling and muttering over Julian's rudeness, she banked the fire for the night and returned to her bedroom.

Wriggling luxuriously under the covers, Cara woke slowly. She stretched her arms above her head and yawned, letting full wakefulness steal through her body. She was surprised at the bright sunshine that poured in the windows, puddling in cheerful splotches on the carpet. Reaching for her watchpin on the table beside her bed she was aghast at the lateness of the hour.

Cara leaped out of bed and hurried to the wardrobe, wondering that no one had roused her for breakfast. Making a moue of distaste she pulled a brown merino dress out of the wardrobe. She remembered all the fashionable dresses she had brought to England and moaned at the graceless dress with the prim white collar and bulky skirt. She gazed into the mirror as she tied the stiff cloth of her headdress making sure that her hair was covered. I look like a poor postulant waiting with little joy the prospect of joining the nunnery, she thought. She sighed and opened the door to the nursery.

On entering the schoolroom she was greeted by Richard with a conspiratorial grin on his face. After a courteous greeting he stood, hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on the heels of his shiny black boots. Before Cara could do more than note his restrained eagerness, the hallway door opened and Mrs. Clayton sailed in, followed by a line of servants with loaded breakfast trays. The oak table by the windows was covered with a snowy linen cloth and sparkled with crystal and china. The housekeeper smiled broadly at Cara then turned to face the door as though waiting for an apparition. At Richard's widening eyes, Cara swiveled to find the object of his bemusement.