The Impossible Governess (9 page)

“Are you saying we may not go?” she asked, trying to maintain her composure.  She felt like a volcano about to erupt!

“No, ‘tis too late now.  Besides, it would never do to disappoint Marissa.”

“Ah, yes, Marissa . . .”

“Your sarcasm is out of place, Miss Forsythe.”

“I do beg
your pardon, my lord,” she said.  “Perhaps we ought to stick to addressing the main reason for these teas.  It may have escaped your notice that Marissa has tried her best to talk with you—“

“Miss Forsythe, if you please.”

Georgeanne, however, ignored his superior tone and continued in a sweet voice as if she hadn’t been interrupted.  “As have we all, my lord, but your monosyllabic conversation is very difficult for an adult to cope with and doubly so for a young child.  You have had every opportunity to draw out your niece, but instead you have sat in silent judgment on my conduct.  Well, if you are dissatisfied with my services, you need only say so, and I will be gone.”

Raynor glared down at her, taking note of the glint in her eyes and the contentious thrust of her chin.  There wasn’t a doubt in his mind Miss Georgeanne Forsythe would turn on her heel, march upstairs, pack her belongings, and leave him with a hysterical Marissa.  And worse, she was correct. 

Only by holding his own anger in check was he able to conquer the fierce urge to grab her slender shoulders and shake some sense into the hot-tempered young woman. Couldn’t she see that Will was unworthy of her?  Didn’t she know that Marissa would suffer if she left?  He’d suffer, for that matter.

“Damnation!”  As this last thought penetrated his brain, he realized he was mottle
d through with jealous madness.  He studied her suspiciously bright eyes along with her defiant stance.  What an adorable passionate widgeon she was!  Oh yes, he still wanted to grab her, but not to throttle her.  Oh no, if he ever held her, he had a far different purpose in mind.  By Jupiter, the woman must be a witch, Raynor thought as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Georgeanne,” he said, spreading his hands in front of him in supplication.

“I beg your pardon,” said Georgeanne, thrusting her chin up.  “It is ‘Miss Forsythe’, my lord.”

As she turned and fled the room, Raynor knew there was scant hope that the lady would cooperate with his hoped for seduction.  Going over
to the sideboard, he reached for the bottle of brandy.

~~~~~

In her room, Georgeanne threw herself across the bed, buried her face in one fluffy pillow, and let the tears flow.  After several minutes, she sat up and clutched the damp pillow to her breast.  When loud, irritating hiccups developed, she crammed the edge of the pillow between her teeth to muffle them.  Thus she remained, as she morosely reviewed the argument, all of Raynor’s accusations, his unfair attack on her character and motives.  With a sinking heart, she lamented her quick tongue.  She expected a knock on her door from the housekeeper, Mrs. Williams, informing her that his lordship had decided her services were no longer needed.

All she had wanted was his respect, she thought, seeking some reason for the almost unbearable ache in her chest.  Then, dashing a hot tear away with the back of her hand, she reluctantly admitted that wasn’t strictly true.  She wanted more than that.  She wanted Raynor to like her, really like, even love her
. . .  Oh yes, fool that she was.  She desperately wanted what she couldn’t have.

“Georgeanne, he will never have any tender feelings for you,” she mumbled, choking back a sob.  “And if he did, what could come of it?  You are the governess.  The lords of this world do not marry
their children’s governesses.  That only happens in fairy tales.”

She flung the pillow away from her
and immediately regretted her action when it collided with the dressing table and knocked over several small jars.  They contained an assortment of expensive rouge, rice powder and restorative creams, all leftovers from her former life.  Little good could be accomplished with self-pity, she reminded herself as she cleaned up the mess.  Truth to tell, she was lucky to have this job.  Biting her lower lip in consternation, she tried to recollect if she’d actually told Raynor she was quitting or had merely threatened to do so. 

Not that it mattered.  Lord Raynor would insist she leave after her behavior today. 

At a timid knock on her door, Georgeanne’s head jerked up.  She studied her reflection in the mirror above her vanity and quickly smoothed her mussed up curls.  Checking her eyes, she was glad that, though they were slightly puffy, the redness had subsided.  The last thing she wanted was to frighten Marissa, especially since the child was beginning to exhibit some trust in her.  With guilt haunting her, she said a small prayer that nothing more would be mentioned about her leaving as much for Marissa’s sake as her own.

The soft knock came again.  Georgeanne plastered a smile on her wan face and opened the door.  One look at Marissa’s small pinched features told her the child had heard her crying.  She pulled Marissa into the room.  Fussing over her little visitor, she invited the child to sit on the bed.  “Why such a long face, Marissa?” she asked as Marissa sank against the fluffy pillows.

“’Cause Uncle Tony made you cry like he does me.”

Georgeanne heard the twinge of fear in the little girl’s voice and regretted her reckless tongue even more.  “Yes, dear, but you are here with me now and that makes everything all right.”

As velvety brown eyes brimming with tears searched her own, Georgeanne hugged Marissa affectionately, then settled comfortably next to her on the bed.  This earned a watery smile from her charge.  Hoping she’d reassured the child, she reached for a book on the bedstand,
The Fables of Aesop
.  “How would you like a story?” she asked cheerily and began reading to distract them both from their worries.

~~~~~

Two floors below, Raynor sat brooding before dying embers in the fireplace, a crystal goblet of brandy in one hand and a cut glass decanter in the other, and watched Bivens gather the remains of the tea.

“May I get your lordship anything else?”

“Yes, by Jupiter, some sanity!” growled Raynor.  This caused the worthy butler to hasten his withdrawal.

Raynor was bedeviled.  He recognized he’d handled Georgeanne badly.  She was not afraid of speaking her mind.  That he knew.  She also possessed a highly volatile nature.  So why had he goaded her into quitting?  After all, she made it plain from the outset just how much she needed this position.  Where else could the foolish girl go?  Some of the stories related to him by his friends were enough to
turn his stomach.  There was no telling what sort of depravity Georgeanne would encounter in another household.  At least here she was safe.  There, too, was Marissa to consider.  The child had definitely blossomed since Georgeanne’s arrival.

H
e would have to confront Georgeanne on the morrow and patiently explain how her open, friendly conduct could be misconstrued.  It didn’t matter that she wasn’t playing the coquette, like so many women of the
beau monde
.  That dazzling smile of hers was enough to encourage Will, or any gentleman for that matter, to dangle after her skirts.  It was so natural, so genuine.  And her eyes, egad, they were pools of liquid emeralds, mesmerizing in their unfathomable depths.

“Damnation,” he growled under his breath, slamming the decanter down on the arm of the chair.  It was obvious the girl needed a keeper not only to protect her against herself but every red blooded Englishman as well.  The mere thought of those eyes and kissable lips was all that was needed to roil his blood to a boil.

Well, he would take an interest in her welfare himself.  Beginning tomorrow, first thing, he’d see to it that there would be no outing.

***   Chapter 5   ***

The next day dawned bright and warm, an added encouragement for members of the
ton
to deck themselves out and appear at the fashionable hour of five to parade around Hyde Park.  It was the place to see and be seen.  Georgeanne was happy to experience this part of the elite world once again even though she was now relegated to the role of governess.

It was not easy for her and Marissa to escape Curzon Street.  She schemed and plotted most of the day in order to avoid Raynor.  Not trusting her employer, she fully expected him to have a change of mind and cancel their outing.  So, right after breakfast and without telling anyone, she hauled Marissa off to the small conservatory at the rear of the house, which was usually deserted.  There they spent the morning, sketching every type of foliage imaginable among the varied potted plants and exotic flowers.

Afterwards, she had Cook prepare a picnic lunch before hieing off to one of the neighborhood parks.  As they were scurrying out the back door, Bivens entered the kitchen.

“Miss Forsythe, I’ve
been searching all morning for you.  His lordship requests a moment of your time.”

Deliberately misunderstanding the frazzled butler, Georgeanne never slowed her pace and said over her shoulder, “Tell
her ladyship that we will be back in time for tea.”  Then she hustled Marissa out the door and through the mews at a break-neck pace.  Thus, they were well out of sight by the time Bivens reached the doorway to call them back.

Returning mid afternoon, she shamelessly used Marissa’s great aunt by hiding out in the older woman’s boudoir.  With her grand niece nestled close beside her on a chaise lounge, Lady Ashbury thumbed through ladies’ magazines a
nd even read Marissa a story.  Georgeanne wondered if the elegant lady was cognizant of the fact that she was aiding and abetting them in avoiding her nephew.

Shortly before their escort was due, Lady Ashbury had a sudden change of heart.  “I must beg off going out, my dears,” she said, patting Marissa’s curls.  “The quiet time will do me good, especially with the musical soiree at week’s end and all the preparation
s for a ball.”  Then she gave Georgeanne a sapient look.  “But that does not mean Marissa and you cannot go, Miss Forsythe.”

Georgeanne did not need much prompting.  She rushed Marissa up to her own bedchamber where they donned fresh gowns and put on their pelisses and bonnets.  Then Georgeanne stationed herself at a window in Melissa’s room that overlooked the street.  Once they espied Townsend round the corner, hand in hand, she and Marissa tore out the door and descended the stairs.

If Lord Townsend was surprised by their seeming undue haste as they ran down the flagstone steps to meet him, he made no comment.  He pulled his shiny yellow curricle with red wheels up to the curb and waited for a groom at the rear to come around and hold the heads of two matched thoroughbreds. Jumping down with aplomb, he assisted his passengers onto the curricle’s well sprung seats, then went around to the other side and climbed back up.

“My, what a fine curricle, my lord,” Georgeanne said, wondering where he would have seated Lady Ashbury, had she come.

Starting out into traffic, Townsend presented them with a boyish grin.  “Lady Ashbury sent me a note this morning, begging off because of her duties.  I decided to take the opportunity to show off my driving skills.”

“Oh,” Georgeanne replied thoughtfully as she remembered Lady Ashbury’s earlier words.  With
Marissa sitting between them, she looked over the child’s head and observed the sartorial splendor of Townsend’s rust colored jacket, yellow and green striped waistcoat and buff breeches.  With his beaver hat tilted at a rakish angle, he presented quite a handsome figure.

The three of them made a pretty picture and caught many an eye.  Georgeanne’s forest green riding ensemble consisted of a form fitting jacket that hugged her slender frame.  She knew it became her, the color enhancing her eyes and creamy complexion, even though the costume was several years old.  With a smart chip straw bonnet covering her auburn tresses, she doubted anyone would guess she was merely the governess sharing the seat with her young charge squeezed between herself and Townsend.  And Marissa was absolutely adorable encased in a blue velvet pelisse trimmed with fur with a matching bonnet.

As Townsend tooled down Rotten Row, he kept both passengers highly diverted with his witty comments on the various individuals they saw.  At the same time, he casually acknowledged acquaintances who looked their way with a nod of his head or a wave of his hand.

Marissa was agog over the finery worn by the ladies and gentlemen riding in sleek carriages or astride showy, spirited horses.  Taking a cue from Townsend, Marissa excitedly pointed
to a pale blue equipage, outfitted entirely in the same hue, including the groom’s livery.  Georgeanne also spotted the famous queen of the
demi-reps
, Harriette Wilson, a pretty woman with auburn curls and a voluptuous bosom, amidst a ring of ardent admirers.  She quickly grabbed Marissa’s tiny outstretched hand, pulling it down to hold securely in her lap.  She bit her lower lip to check her laughter over the child’s innocent solecism, then threw a quizzical glance at Townsend.

He appeared not to have noticed Marissa’s faux pax.  “See that gentleman with the painted face, Marissa?  The one completely done in bright, shiny yellow.  That,” Townsend explained to this young passenger, “is Sir Lumley Skeffington, better known as Skiffy to his friends.  He’s a penchant for bright satin suits and always matches his colors from head to toe.”

“The blue lady is prettier,” Marissa insisted, trying to tug her hand loose.

“Yes, dare say she is,” remarked Townsend in a strangled voice, “but, er—“

“It is never nice to point, dear,” Georgeanne said, coming to Townsend’s aid before they both broke out laughing.

They stopped innumerable times to wait for the barouches and phaetons ahead to move on.  They had just completed the circuit when they were hailed by Lord Raynor.  He approached them riding a large chestnut and was accompanied by one of the most beautiful women Georgeanne had ever seen.  As the pair came closer, she saw that Raynor looked none too pleased and briefly wondered at the spiteful look the statuesque blonde threw
her.  Georgeanne noted, though the blond beauty quickly hid her venom behind a tight smile, it failed to reach her large blue eyes.

As Townsend pulled back on his team to bring them to a standstill and acknowledged Raynor’s salute, Georgeanne took the opportunity to study the newcomer.  Her short golden curls sprang out from under the small balk torque and framed a flawless countenance.  Her high cheekbones were enhanced by a touch of blush.  She was dressed in an azure habit, elegantly styled with gold frogging.  When Georgeanne caught those blue eyes covertly sliding over her own outmoded gown, she suddenly felt like a veritable drab.

“Miss Forsythe.”  Raynor’s icy tone matched his barely bowed head.  “Olivia, you know my niece, Marissa.  Marissa, do you remember Lady Cosgrove?”

“Cousin Olivia,” Lady Cosgrove said, bestowing a benevolent smile on the child.

Marissa remained silent, inching closer to her governess.  Unconsciously, Georgeanne reached for the little girl’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.  She was not sure why, but Georgeanne sensed this beautiful woman did very little that was sincere or spontaneous and, moreover, was inclined to calculate each action for its specific effect.