The Mistress of Trevelyan (5 page)

I barely stopped my gasp of surprise. What had Benedict Trevelyan done? Did they speak of his wife, or someone else?

"I do not happen to share your guilt, Stephen. I suggest you go sober yourself up. You are becoming a disgrace to the Trevelyan name." Benedict Trevelyan's voice was calm in the face of the other man's slurred and angry words.

Either Benedict Trevelyan had no hand in the death of the woman they spoke of, or ... he had no conscience? I remembered the merciless black of his eyes. I knew Benedict Trevelyan had a younger brother who had moved East right after the death of Benedict Trevelyan's wife.

"Pretending none of it ever happened will not make it go away. It will not change what I did, and it will not change what you did either," the man slurred, his words so full of anguish, they seemed as if they had been dragged across shards of glass before being uttered.

"I refuse to discuss this with a drunk."

I started to step back, planning to retreat and return later, but I'd hesitated too long. The man swung on his heel and ran into me. Hard.  I cried out, surprised to feel my balance waver. He smelled of whiskey and of trail dust, as if he'd traveled a long road with a big bottle. The man was so sodden with drink that he would have been hard-pressed to stay upright even without the mishap of running into me.

My presence was the apple that tipped the cart. He fell forward, and I fell backward. We landed on the floor with a thud. Or, more accurately, I landed on the marble floor with a thud. The man landed on me with a thump. His face was buried uncomfortably deep into the middle of my stomach, but the most disturbing problem was that after he fell—he didn't move.

"Umm, sir... umm, mister!" I squirmed to no avail. The man was dead weight upon my legs. Mortification at my predicament filled me and grew as I heard the suspicious rumble of a snore. About that same moment, my gaze met Benedict Trevelyan's, and I thought I would die with embarrassment. My lord! What a fix!

"Are you hurt?" He stood above me, the stern lines of his face hardened with anger.

I blinked. "I am not quite sure. I have never been knocked down before."

He stared at me a moment, and it wasn't until he spoke that the harshness in his face eased a little. "I daresay there is a first time for everything, Miss Lovell. I must apologize for my brother's rudeness."

Squatting down, he pried his brother off my person, and I went from one uncomfortable situation to another. I immediately wanted the crushing protection of Stephen Trevelyan's body back. For Stephen Trevelyan now lay snoring on the ground beside me, and Benedict Trevelyan knelt over me, deftly examining my shoulders and the back of my head with his large warm hands. My word!

He was too close. I suddenly felt as if I'd been exposed in the middle of my bath, and I wanted to cover myself from his dark gaze. My dazed mind imagined that his eyes heated as he examined me, revealing a fire within the darkness. Imagined or not, the situation was entirely too intimate.

I opened my mouth to order a stop to his examination, but my breath caught in my throat as he threaded his fingers beneath the bun holding my long hair neatly in place. His touch both soothed and seared my skin, filling me with sensations that were unlike anything I'd ever experienced. My blood rushed with dizzying force as warmth suffused my body. I tingled strangely... everywhere ... and had to wiggle my toes to stay sane. For the first time in my life, I wished I were subject to fainting spells.

"I do not feel a goose egg." His voice rumbled over me as pervadingly as his touch.

"A goose's what?" I gasped.

He sat back, releasing my head, and I remembered to breathe. But that was a mistake. His scent—the sandalwood I'd recognized yesterday and something else, a hint of leather and of mint—washed over me, making me hunger for more. It was a scent already too familiar, for I found pleasure in eagerly breathing it in.

"Bump," he said.

"Goose bumps?" I replied, lifting my hand to my neck. I had to look at anything but him, so I stared up at the massive beams arching to the ceiling. Even they reminded me of him, though—large and powerful. Had he given me goose bumps? I didn't doubt it.

He took my hand and placed his fingers over my pulse at my wrist, causing more havoc with my person. I'd never realized how many vulnerable places I had.

"Your heart is racing," he said. "I think Dobbs should send for the doctor."

The sight of my reddened hand in his hit me with a bucket of cold reality. Though I had often rubbed rose oil on my skin after a day's labor, my hands and nails were still those of a laundress. I quickly pulled my disgraced hand from his and pushed myself up from the floor. That, plus the thought of Dobbs seeing me prostrate, settled my sensibilities back into place.

"Absolutely not. No doctor needed. I have a remarkably strong constitution. Mr. Trevelyan, I mean your brother, just surprised me." I'd had my fill of doctors during my mother's illness. In my opinion, they hindered more than they helped.

He hesitated a moment, as if he were about to insist but didn't "Very well, Miss Lovell. If you change your mind about the doctor, let Dobbs know." After steadying me with a polite hand to my elbow, he stepped back.

I straightened my gown and tried to push my loosened hair back into the confines of a strict bun. When I looked up at him, I found him watching me. His midnight eyes were remote, unreadable, and cold. I knew then I had imagined the heat of last few moments.

"Since my brother has seen fit to return, I think it best if you'd call me Benedict and him Stephen to forgo any confusion. That is, if he sobers up enough to be in polite company. I must apologize again for this incident."

"There is no need to apologize, Mr. Trevelyan. I seem to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I did not mean to intrude...." My reeling senses steadied as the normal, comfortable walls of propriety fell back into place. I wasn't about to shake them up by using his Christian name. He didn't insist on the matter, nor did he comment on my accidental eavesdropping.

"No. You were exactly where I asked you to be. The error is on Stephen's part. He should have stayed back East. I am going to have to postpone our meeting until another time. It appears I have a family matter to tend." He frowned at his brother.

I followed his gaze. In sleep, Stephen Trevelyan looked harmless, like a small lad needing a comforting touch from a mother's hand. I wondered what had driven him to drown himself in drink, and to be so angry with his brother. Yet I was in no position to ask questions. I was in the Trevelyan household to teach, and I'd yet to meet my pupils. But first I had to address the matter of my room.

I cleared my throat. "Mr. Trevelyan, I cannot possibly accept the room you have assigned me. It is far too extravagant. Something simpler would be much more in keeping with my position."

He frowned. "Do you not find the room appealing, Miss Lovell?"

"Oh, it is wondrous! Like a sleepy blue cloud on a summer's day." I cleared my throat, discomfited by my outburst.

"Then I don't see where the problem lies. As it connects to the schoolroom and the nursery where Justin and Robert sleep, it is the most practical. It is the governess's quarters, and you are here to teach my children, are you not?"

"Absolutely, but—"

"Then it is settled." He waved his hand as if to swat away a bothersome fly, and I knew it was useless to argue.

He was right. It was the most practical room for me to occupy as the children's governess. Yet I wondered if I could be comfortable in such luxury. "And about the dining arrangements—"

"Miss Lovell, do you have a problem with that also?" He sounded somewhat irritated.

I swallowed what I'd been about to say. "Uh, no. They are fine." Realizing I'd be unable to sway his decisions at the moment, I moved on to the reason I'd come to Trevelyan Manor. "If I may, I would like to meet Masters Justin and Robert and begin my instruction today."

He quirked a brow. "You are not a woman who wastes time, Miss Lovell."

"I learned the merits of frugality at a young age, Mr. Trevelyan. I waste nothing."

He stared at me for a few moments, seemingly assessing my truthfulness. I met his gaze directly, refusing to give in to the urge to smooth my hair again. An eternity passed before he turned away with a frown and left me wondering what he found displeasing.

"If you will follow me, I will have Dobbs take care of Stephen, and we will locate the children. I believe Maria should have them at breakfast by now. Which reminds me, have you eaten?"

Though I had not, I assured him that I had. My stomach was in so many knots, I didn't think I could swallow a bite this morning. I suddenly wondered if I was equal to the task I had set for myself. Would I be able to teach what was in my heart, or would I fail?

The moment I walked into the kitchen, failure loomed heavily in my mind. The woman I assumed to be Nurse Maria had a broom, which she waved like a flag as she chased a small boy about the room. A thick, white substance lay plastered on the side of her face and hung in her hair. Another, older boy sat at the table, encouraging the smaller boy to run faster. I took a step back, daunted by the reigning pandemonium. "Goodness gracious!"

Benedict Trevelyan lifted a disdainful brow and muttered, "An ineffective response, Miss Lovell. Goodness and gracious have little to do with it. Stop!" he yelled, his voice booming like a cannon. Everyone froze. His ferocious tenor sent a chill through me, and I wondered what madness had urged me to enter the mists shrouding Trevelyan Manor.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

"What is the meaning of this? Robert? Justin?" Benedict Trevelyan fired his words like bullets.

Maria spoke first. "The child threw his food. He needs to be punished, just as you said I must do when the children misbehave."

Five-year-old Robert looked fearfully at his father, tears already gathering in his soft chocolate eyes. He had a head full of dark curly hair and rosy cheeks. His small chin trembled as he spoke. "Miss Maria putted milk in my oatmeal. I tolded her not to and she did anyway. When I wouldn't eat it, she tried to force it in my mouth. I do not want milk in my oatmeal! I want Aunt Kaff!"

Benedict Trevelyan was unmoved by his son's tears. "There is no excuse for this kind of behavior. I expect this mess cleaned up immediately, and tonight you will go to bed early with only bread and water. A gentleman does not throw food, do you understand me, son?"

"But—"

"No buts. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Two tears fell from his eyes, and my heart twisted.

"Justin, the same for you. You were not acting in a responsible, helpful manner, were you?"

"No, sir," Justin looked down at his bowl and twiddled with his spoon. I could see a hint of his father's stern nature in the firming of the boy's jaw. Though his hair was a lighter shade, more brown than black, he looked as if he'd be the spitting image of his father someday.

Benedict Trevelyan introduced Maria to me. She only nodded a greeting, and I reciprocated. Then Trevelyan spoke to his children again.

"I want both of you boys to meet Miss Lovell. She is your new governess, and you are to begin lessons as soon as this mess is cleaned up. You are to give her your complete attention and best behavior at all times. Do you have any questions?"

"No, sir." Justin and Robert answered in subdued unison. The air hung heavy with Benedict Trevelyan's displeasure, and I felt my insides churning. His punishment, though not harsh or cruel, unsettled me greatly.

"Where is Cook Thomas?" he demanded.

"At the market," Maria replied. She had a satisfied smile on her face, and I wondered at that moment if the boys weren't in need of a more loving hand rather than the firm hand their father thought necessary. In my mind, I held her responsible for the fiasco. Her black hair was graying at the temples, and she should have known a better way to handle little Robert. I believe the Bible stated that you shouldn't provoke children to wrath, and it seemed to me that she'd done little to avoid the confrontation. I didn't like milk in my oatmeal, either. I much preferred a dollop of honey on those rare occasions we were able to afford the luxury.

"Disaster seems to be the order of the day around here. Would you like for them to meet you in the schoolroom, Miss Lovell?"

If possible, he was more remote and imposing than before. Maybe he expected me to march out the door. I'm not sure if it was the laundress in me or the fact that he didn't see me as capable of handling his sons, but my hands suddenly itched to clean up the messy situation the Trevelyan household appeared to be in. In my mind, the first thing that needed to be swept out the door was the nurse.

"Not at all. I would like to have time to talk with Master Justin and Master Robert before we get to the schoolroom. Why don't I take charge of this and let Nurse Maria go clean up? I will make sure they are back in her care after their lessons."

He lifted his brow, but I knew not whether he expressed surprise or doubt before he turned away from me to speak to the nurse. "Maria, perhaps your services would be better suited toward tending to my mother this morning."

The censure in his voice eased some of the disquiet in my stomach. He obviously did not hold the woman blameless. Maria's face flushed a deep red. She set the broom forcefully into the corner, then left without speaking.

Her impertinence shocked me, for it was not something I thought Benedict Trevelyan would ever tolerate.

"Maria was my wife's childhood nurse," he said, and I jumped. He must have read my mind, must have been closely observing me without my knowing it. I tingled at the thought, then blinked at the utter ridiculousness of it. A man like Benedict Trevelyan would never look at me as anything but an expendable commodity. In fact, the truth of it was that a man had never—and would never—look at me with anything in mind except how I might be of service. I was not a woman to inspire passion in a man, and I accepted my fate. Therefore I had laundered, turned down the few lukewarm propositions of men interested in a warm body, and now I would teach and do the same.