The Mistress of Trevelyan (2 page)

Benedict Trevelyan hesitated, but only a moment, before he gripped and shook my hand. Though I'd been able to fashion a small hat from odds and ends of materials and netting left over from years past, I did not have the luxury of gloves; nor did he have any on at the moment. I'm not sure what he thought about this impropriety, but the shock of his bare hand upon mine struck me like a lightning bolt. Heat traveled through my veins to unmentionable places and coalesced to a burning in my cheeks.

I quickly promised myself I would buy a pair of gloves should I receive an employment offer. I instinctively knew it would be necessary for my peace of mind. The man was entirely too disturbing, and I had unprecedented trouble centering my thoughts on the conversation.

"Um, they are not necessarily unsatisfactory, Mr. Trevelyan. Unjust would be a more accurate word. A woman can teach as well as a man. What difference does gender make with—"

He tightened his grip and bowed as if greeting the governor's wife. My hands were reddened from years of laundering, not a lady's hands. My voice clogged in my throat, and my thoughts evaporated as his lips, warm and soft, brushed the back of my hand. A fever washed over me, leaving my skin even damper than the humid air had made it.

I forcibly snatched back my hand, and this time there was no mistaking the lifting corners of his mouth, but no matching light reached his shadowed eyes.

"Unjust?" he said softly.

I suddenly realized Benedict Trevelyan knew exactly what he'd done to me. Considering our stations in life— laundress to rich master of the manor—he'd no social obligation to greet me in such a way. A man as practiced as he had to know the effects his charm had on women, and he'd smoothly manipulated me into the traditional womanly role I'd just tried to step away from. I had best tread more carefully with him, I thought.

Gathering my practicality and composure, I narrowed my brows, striving to admonish him. My future depended on it. "Completely unjust. Did you even once consider a woman for the position?"

"No," he said flatly, pulling out his pocket watch. "I have my reasons."

The finality of his tone pricked holes in my confidence, and my hands clenched as the mountain of laundry I saw in the back of my mind grew tenfold, trying to bury me completely. Too many injustices in the world went unaddressed, especially in regards to a woman's capabilities, and I had to speak up.

"Reasons to eliminate candidates without giving just consideration?" I asked softly.

He tensed as I studied him, his stillness similar to that of a predator catching sight of its prey. I made myself meet and hold the intensity of his gaze. I would not let myself feel shame that I hadn't excused myself when told a woman was not wanted.

"Dobbs, please escort Miss Lovell to my study," he finally said.

I managed to snap my mouth shut before Dobbs repaired the surprised crack in his formal mask. Neither of us had expected Benedict Trevelyan would spend another moment upon a closed issue. I had the distinct impression his decisions were always final.

"I will join you there shortly. You'll have exactly ten minutes to state your credentials and explain why you believe a woman would be a better teacher for my sons." He turned on his heel and disappeared into the manor.

Dobbs stood frozen in place, and for a moment, so did I. I had no official credentials beyond my thirst for knowledge, and my mouth went completely dry over the lie I was about to tell.

Regaining his composure, Dobbs stepped aside, motioning me in with an impatient gesture. The look he gave me condemned without a trial. I might as well have been stealing the family silver rather than searching for employment. Even if Benedict Trevelyan laughed in my face, I'd demanded an opportunity to apply for the position, and I had gotten it. Renewed confidence swelled inside me.

I honesty believed in my abilities to teach. Thanks to my mother's determination, I'd had many teachers over the years, and thus, personal experience with what methods of instruction worked well.

A bittersweet wash of memories splashed over my heart. My education had been as important to my mother as food to eat and air to breathe. It was as if she had known I would be alone as she had been.

As I crossed the threshold into the manor, I was surprised to feel small for the first time in my life. Most often I identified with Lewis Carroll's Alice when she grew too big for the room in which she stood. The ceilings, beam after beam of carved wood, arched to an ornate point above the foyer, like I had seen in drawings of European cathedrals. The marbled floor tiles stretched like a black-and-white sea. Heavy, dark wood chests—massive in size—sat between a series of champagne-silk-covered sofas dotted with jewel-like pillows. Gold leaf adorned the fancy wood of the furniture and accented the frames of a multitude of imposing portraits hung on the walls. The faces of the ancestors were stern, as if they judged all who entered and found them lacking. A ramrod suit of armor stood sentry with a sword in his hand, ready to carry out the ancestors’ judgments. The room was the epitome of wealth tastefully displayed. Yet all of its richness paled in comparison to the stained glass windows on opposite ends of the hall.

As often as I had studied the house over the years, I'd never seen the window at the back of the hall. It was twice the size of the front and, in my opinion, the saving grace of Trevelyan Manor, countering its darkness. The combined beauty of the windows was indescribable. I stopped in the entryway, admiring the play of multicolored sunlight dancing over me. I could not help myself.

Either I had gotten lost in my astonishment or Dobbs had decided to abandon me in the hall, for the next thing I knew Benedict Trevelyan stood in front of me with a puzzled frown on his face.

"Miss Lovell, my time is limited. Do you wish to speak with me or not?"

"Yes, of course. Please forgive me, but I have never before seen anything so magnificent."

He spun in a circle, his gaze traveling the room. "I suppose the furnishings are impressive. It is not something to which I give much notice."

I shook my head. "No, not the room." I pointed to the stained glass. "The windows. They are like heaven itself." Each of the windows depicted a choir of angels singing to a Christ rising through the clouds. As I held out my hand, I realized little spots of color—reds, blues, purples, and greens—danced over my skin, masking its work-worn redness. "Look, they paint you with their beauty." My hand truly felt beautiful within the colored light.

"So they do." His voice dropped deeper, catching my attention.

I'd forgotten I still held his employment advertisement. He pulled the paper from my fingers. Unable to look him in the eye, I focused on his large hands as he smoothed out the creases. I found myself wondering what strength lay in such powerful hands.

He stood silent too long. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't let a stolen notice rob me of all that I had to offer. I had to say something on my behalf. "Do you not find the facets of light amazing?" I moved my hand through the colored beams filtering into the hall. "The hues hidden within its waves. Its warmth. Its refractivity. Its beauty. Why, one could spend a lifetime discovering more about its miracles. I have often wondered what it would have been like to be Newton or Huygens. To have made some of the discoveries they did in their scientific studies."

"I think you would have found them to be very lonely men, Miss Lovell. The world doesn't take kindly to new theories. Not until long after the discoverer is dead."

I met his gaze then and could not look away. He stared at me intently, his eyes unreadable and as dark as a starless night.

After an uncomfortable moment, he cleared his throat. "I have a pressing appointment, Miss Lovell, and very little time for musings. Your ten minutes are dwindling."

"Of course." I followed him into his office. Deep wood tones dominated the decor—paneled walls, heavy curtained windows, huge shelves of dark leather-bound books, and a massive mahogany desk.

The master of Trevelyan Hill didn't appear to be a lover of light. I found the room as oppressive as a mound of laundry.

My relief that he said nothing of the notice I'd stolen was minimal. The man radiated tension, and I felt it seeping into me. I clenched my jaw and washed my mind with a good dose of practicality. Nerves would not feed me.

He sat behind his desk and, with a curt nod of his head, motioned me to a burgundy leather chair facing him. I thankfully perched upon the seat.

Tossing the advertisement down on the desk amid the neat stacks of paper, he picked up a writing instrument and slid a pad in front of him. "Why don't we start with the name of your schooling institution?"

My stomach quivered. I'd planned to cite my mother's school in England, but now that the moment to lie had arrived, my mouth had gone numb. I bit down on my tongue, hoping to bring feeling back as I sent another prayer toward heaven. I had more to give than the name of an institution, and it was up to me to make him see that. "Sir, if I may. I have several questions first."

He blinked.

Wincing, I pressed on before he could. "If my information is right, your children are young yet?"

He placed the pen back into the inkwell and with deliberate slowness leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and glared at me. The hard set of his jaw told me I was about to be dismissed.

Perspiration beaded my lip. Throat dry, I swallowed and clenched my hands in my lap, blessing the inner kernel of determination that bolstered me. I had to stay strong—my future depended on it.

"Miss Lovell, I do not have time to—"

"Please," I said, softly but firmly.

"They are five and seven," he finally said after a long pause. Rather than easing, the tension between us increased.

"They are very young and without a mother. Might I inquire as to your reasons for particularly wanting a male tutor during this time as opposed to a governess?"

His lips pressed to a grim line, and I bit my bottom lip hard, already hearing my dismissal. My action drew his attention, and he stared at my mouth. The seconds seemed to grow longer as the tension in the room shifted from impatient antagonism to a physical awareness similar to the moment he kissed my hand. The heat of his regard made me much more aware of everything feminine within me, parts of myself I'd never given the least bit of attention.

I slowly released my lip, then curled my toes, welcoming the pinch of my boots. We both seemed to draw a deep breath at the same time.

Instead of asking me to leave, he slanted his head to one side and lifted his eyebrow, apparently deciding to humor me. "My boys are high-spirited and unruly. I think they need a firm hand."

"A gentle hand can also be firm."

"That has not been the case with their nurse."

"Because one person does not have a certain skill doesn't mean another person is equally lacking."

"True." His response was slow, as if dragged from him.

"Are there more reasons?"

"Dozens. It has been my experience that women have little patience for science and mathematics. They focus on fashion and parties as opposed to academics."

"True of some women," I conceded. "But not true of all, especially of me." To prove my point, I motioned to my starkly plain attire.

"So I see," he said dryly.

Though I had invited the criticism, the remark still burned.

"Miss Lovell, why don't you tell me in as few words as possible what you can offer my children over and above a tutor."

I closed my eyes, determined to state my case. "I hope to teach your children what my many teachers taught me. To love learning. To have a thirst for the next book that will take you to a new land. To have a curiosity and desire to press forward to uncover a new fact or invent a new thing. All the humdrum memorization of lessons can never be as valuable as that"

"Well put, but where does discipline fit into all this enthusiasm?"

"I cannot answer that, for each child is unique. Each child must be studied, encouraged, and if need be, admonished at his own level." I met his gaze steadily. He seemed to mull over my words. The more I gave voice to the feelings and ideas inside me, the stronger I felt.

"Tell me, Miss Lovell. Where did you come by this philosophy of education?"

"I learned what I know from my mother, from the many people of varied knowledge to whom she bartered her services as a laundress so that I would be educated. I learned much the same way as Abraham Lincoln did. Anything I want to know, anywhere I want to go, a book can take me."

"And you think this knowledge you have independently acquired would be more beneficial to my children than a man with the accreditation of a learned institution behind him?"

My heart sank at his incredulous tone. "At this point in your children's development, I most assuredly can offer them something that no institution can give, no matter how learned. It is called heart, Mr. Trevelyan "

He stood.

I stood, knowing that without credentials I had no hope for employment here. Benedict Trevelyan appeared too rigid to consider my unorthodox education. "I thank you for your time, Mr. Trevelyan, and I wish you luck in your search for a
proper
tutor."

"One more question, Miss Lovell. Your parents? How do they feel about you seeking employment here? I am not completely unaware of the whispers behind my back."

"I had a mother only, Mr. Trevelyan. So I am well versed in ignoring whispers. She cannot give her opinion. She recently passed away. Good day."

His voice stopped me at the door. "Be here at eight tomorrow morning, Miss Lovell. I will employ you on a trial basis until you've proven yourself capable. If at any time I find you are not being beneficial to my children's development, I will find another to replace you. Expect me to appear and observe your methods of teaching without warning, for I will be evaluating their progress frequently. Your salary will be in keeping with the current rate for teachers here in San Francisco, payable at the end of each month with Saturdays and half-day Sundays off. Room and board are included with the position, as I think having the teacher available to coordinate my children's development more important than just a few hours a day. I want them to be as well rounded in their education as money can buy. That goes from music to languages as well. If you are not particularly adept at something, then I expect you to hire someone who is, and to participate in that lesson enough to know my child is learning. I have high expectations, Miss Lovell. Have I made myself clear?"