The Mistress of Trevelyan (6 page)

But the task of teaching appeared more daunting by the moment, for both of the boys were looking at me with mutinous expressions. I held my tongue, biting back the urge to say that old nurses should be put to rest, and focused on the boys. "Well, I daresay our first lesson will be—"

"I don't want lessons." Little Robert burst into a renewed storm of tears. "I want a mother!"

The longing in his cry pulled at my heart.

"Robert!" Benedict Trevelyan bellowed.

I knew from his obvious exasperation that another admonishment on gentleman-like behavior was about to be delivered. A firm hand needed to be tempered by the needs of the child, and my instincts were telling me that little Robert needed a touch of love and understanding. I couldn't imagine what life as a child without a mother would be like, but I knew it had to be terribly hard. For I, though grown, deeply missed my own. Before Benedict Trevelyan or Robert could say anything else, I interjected myself into the situation. "Odd that you should say that, Master Robert, because that's exactly the first thing we're going to study. Mothers. To find a mother, you have to know exactly what you are looking for."

Robert's teary eyes went wide even as he shut his mouth, silencing his next wail. Benedict Trevelyan seemed startled—the grim line of his jaw dropped a bit—but I didn't give any of them time to question.

"Morning is the best time for such a study as that, so we must hurry and get this mess cleaned up, or it will be too late today for that lesson. Master Justin, if you would please fetch me a handful of rags, we will get started. Master Robert, find a stool to make yourself tall enough to reach the sink."

The boys were slow-moving at first, clearly torn between wanting to object and curiosity over what kind of lesson I had in mind. Once they were in motion, I turned my back on them and grabbed the broom Maria had abandoned. Benedict Trevelyan hadn't moved yet. I glanced his way. "Please let me know when you wish to reschedule our appointment. There's no need for you to disrupt your morning schedule a moment more; I am sure the boys and I will deal well with one another."

He blinked, and a mortified flush heated my cheeks. In my nervous haste, I believe I'd just dismissed the master of Trevelyan Hill.

To my relief, he didn't comment, just headed toward the door. "Dobbs will get you anything you need, Miss Lovell."

"Thank you," I said.

"Very well then, Miss Lovell. I will see you at dinner this evening." With that, he left the room, but his departure did nothing to alleviate my chaffed nerves. His presence had a way of lingering long after he had gone.

After the mess was cleared away, in a surprisingly short time, the boys and I stepped outside to the formal gardens that spanned part of the distance between the manor and the craggy cliffs of the bay to my left. To the right lay the stables, and beyond that, a hilly stretch of shady trees thickening to a forest. The sun had managed to chase away the lingering mists of the morn that had greeted me earlier, and a lone gull spun playfully in the blue sky before it called out a good-bye and darted away.

I looked back at the glorious stained window held captive between the two small turrets and crowned by the tallest turret, and drew a deep breath of the invigorating salty breeze coming from the bay. My practical spirit soared with wonder at the change in my life. The colors of the late spring's flowers rivaled those within the stained glass. Bluebells and gladiolas danced behind rows of red, gold, purple, and pink flowers, but were just colorful frames for what would soon be the garden's crowning glory—hundreds of lush green rosebushes laden with a multitude of buds.

A massive white marble fountain graced the center of the garden in the form of a delicate angel. With her protective wings spread wide, she presided joyfully over the surrounding beauty. I promised myself to return with my sketchbook as soon as I could, hoping that before the roses lost their blooms to the fall, I'd be able to afford paints to put this glory upon paper.

The breeze from the bay tugged at wisps of my hair, pulling them from my bun, which had been loosened by Benedict Trevelyan's hand after my fall. I thought it rather unseemly, but I felt too free, too delighted in the morning, to worry with fixing my bun.

"You lieded to me. There's no mothers out here." Robert stamped his foot upon the cobblestone walkway, but there was more disappointment than petulance in his voice.

Returning my attention to the task before me, I turned to the little boy. Rather than chastise him, I wanted to hug him tight, to ease the pain I heard crying from his heart. I had to wrap my fingers into the folds of my skirt to stop myself. Instinctively, I knew that though he wanted love, he wouldn't welcome it from a stranger. I smiled at him instead, which set him off balance, for I think he expected to be reprimanded. "Then you must not be able to see anything at all, Master Robert, because there are dozens of mothers all around us. Why, all of these flowers and plants had to have a mommy sometime." Robert didn't look impressed.

Walking over to a wispy web stretching between the leaves of two flowering gladiolas, I pointed to a tiny sac cleverly hidden in one corner. "Do you know what is in there?"

"No." Robert scrunched his nose and moved closer to the web. Justin rolled his eyes as if he knew everything there was to know.

"Master Justin, while I tell Robert about the mother spider and her babies, why don't you hunt up another example for us to study"

Justin blinked, much the same way as his father did when confronted with the unexpected. The endearing reaction brought a warm smile to my lips and set off a distant tinkling of what might be warning bells. Surely I couldn't be so impractical as to develop a fondness for anything that Benedict Trevelyan did. I quickly turned to Robert to avoid any excuse Justin might offer, and refused to believe that I was escaping from my own thoughts, too.

When I pointed out the little sac where spider babies hid, Robert beamed with interest

"How many babies are in there?"

"Quite a few, I should think. Some spider mommies can have hundreds."

"Really? That many in there?"

"They are very tiny."

His dark eyes grew big. Then he frowned and leaned closer to the web, nearly planting his nose in it. "Where is the mommy spider?"

Oh, dear. I'd stumbled onto a problem. Once laying eggs, some spiders moved on or died. What if there was no mommy spider? I examined the web closely, too. "We will have to look for her tomorrow. The spider mommy left all the babies wrapped up in a soft blanket, and inside there she left them food, too."

"How?" Robert asked.

"She worked hard to spin this big web, and then she waited. When a fat juicy insect flew into her trap, she didn't gobble him up for herself. She tied up the bug, put her spider eggs next to it, and made them safe with her own special blanket."

"Miss Lovell."

I looked up to see Justin waving from near the end of the gardens. He stood beneath the full boughs of a sturdy oak with a smile as big as a plum pie. I assumed that he'd found a bird nest.

"Let's go see Master Justin," I said, lightly touching Robert's shoulder.

Justin had found an ant nest. Robert glared at it. "There's no mommies and babies in there. There's only mean ants."

I remembered how formidable I'd thought ants were when I was little. "Ants have a mommy who has thousands of babies. So, yes, there's a mommy in the nest, thousands of babies; and all the ants you see running about are working to feed and protect the mommy ant and her babies."

Expressing his boredom, Justin picked up a stick and started drawing circles in a patch of dirt nearby.

Robert studied the anthill for a moment. "Does the mommy ant leave the babies or stay with them?"

"She stays with them."

"That's nice," Robert said.

Justin came over and stabbed the stick into the anthill. "There," he said. "Now the mommy will leave just like ours."

I stepped back from the angry, scurrying ants, pulling Robert with me.

"You killed the mommy," Robert shouted. Then, slipping from my grasp, he went after Justin with his fists flying.

Justin yelled, and Robert cried. Any minute they'd both topple into the ants.

"Hold it," I shouted, but I might as well have been speaking to a washboard. About that time, I saw Benedict Trevelyan exit the manor. Panic raced up my spine, rendering my bones to water. Please God. I could not have this situation be his first impression of my teaching abilities.

Driven to desperation, I let out a shrill whistle that would have rivaled cannon fire. I daresay they had never heard a lady whistle before, especially not with such volume. I had definitely gotten their attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Benedict Trevelyan quicken his pace in our direction. I stabbed at my hair, stuffing it any way I could to form some semblance of a proper bun.

"Master Justin, put down that stick immediately. Being older means having the intelligence to be kind to those around you. After I speak to your father, you and I will discuss this incident. You will be given the opportunity to explain yourself, and that explanation had better be good.

"Master Robert, dry your tears and straighten your attire to greet your father. The mother ant lives deep in the ground, as do the babies, and they are most likely undisturbed by Master Justin's thoughtless action. You must realize that growing bigger carries the responsibility to carefully consider your actions even in the face of provocation. Twice today, you have created havoc. The first incident has cost you a full dinner. I would hate to see you pay a second price today."

I knew Benedict Trevelyan had to be getting close to us, so I launched into a quick lesson about sound. The diversion would give us all a moment to collect ourselves. Both my new charges carried hurts that would need a great deal of love and understanding to heal, and the task daunted me.

"Now, sirs. I must hear each of you whistle." Robert's attempt was a soundless puff of air. Justin's had more sound, but nothing to brag about.

"You both need a lot of work if you're going to learn how to whistle like a man with salt."

"What's a man with salt?" Robert asked.

I'd learned the expression from Captain Balder, who'd taught me navigation. He'd use it to describe a good ship hand. I knew that Benedict Trevelyan had to be within hearing distance, and failure loomed over me. I hadn't been hired to teach the boys how to whistle and to characterize men as salts. "Why, a man who is, well, uh, a man who is—"

"Worthy?" Benedict Trevelyan inquired from just behind my left shoulder.

He stopped close enough by my side that I felt his body's heat and smelled hints of sandalwood and leather flavoring the air. Sensing the force of his direct scrutiny, my heart wrangled with my mind as to which would function properly.

"Exactly," I concurred as I thanked my mind for winning and chastised my heart for its fluttering ways. "In order to whistle, you must first understand the dynamics of sound. When you whistle, sound is created by how much air you push through how little a space. To accomplish this you must align your lips and tongue just right." I demonstrated another whistle, though not as loud as my last.

The boys tried again, and were encouraged by the slight improvement in their sound-making capabilities. As they practiced, I turned to Benedict Trevelyan.

"We were just about to go in for a lesson in mathematics," I finished lamely. I thought I'd sufficiently braced myself for the strength of his presence, but I found my breath catch in my throat again as I tilted my head up to see him.

Sunlight gleamed off his dark hair and the rich brown of his coat with a vibrancy that matched his eyes. He neither smiled nor frowned, so I did not know what he thought of our activity. His gaze left mine and studied the boys for a moment.

In the full light of the sun, the shadow of his beard darkened his face, and I imagined that the feel of his determined jaw would be as interestingly rough as his coat would be luxuriantly soft. Again I dug my fingers into the folds of my skirts, stilling my urge to touch, then belatedly noticed he'd returned his attention to me. He glanced down at my hands wrapped so tightly in my skirt and quirked his brow, but thankfully made no comment upon my odd behavior. I knew I had to be horribly wrinkling my dress.

"You need to know that the cliffs are forbidden to the children. Near the edge the ground can be unstable, and most any fall would be fatal."

"Thank you. I will make sure the children stay safe." About that moment a gust of wind undid my hasty bun, and my hair blew across my face, blinding me. Before I could reach up, Benedict Trevelyan drew his finger down the side of my face, catching the errant tress in his fingers.

"Yourself, also " he said, taking me by surprise. He didn't release my hair immediately, but slid his thumb across the strands several times, as if relishing the texture of my hair for a moment, before easing the tress behind my ear. I tingled in every place he touched, which made every place forbidden to his touch ache. My curiosity over the mysteries between a man and a woman grew tenfold within a moment's time. It would seem gloves were going to be very little protection from Benedict Trevelyan's touch, for I realized my need was as potent as his appeal.

Perhaps I should have taken offense at his momentary familiarity, but besides my mother and Mr. McGuire, few in this bustling town of ever-increasing strangers had expressed concern for my well-being. Though I held all life sacred, such was not the reality of the West. I had no illusions as to the harshness of life, and his words and gesture touched me inside, easing the loneliness.

He stepped back from me, shaking his head as if to dispel his thoughts, and I drew a deep breath.

"Justin and Robert, do not forget your punishments this evening," he said curty, then turned and strode purposefully toward the stables.

The boys' whistling efforts immediately fell flat, and the yearning for their father's approval on their faces reminded me of newborn babes crying for help. Benedict Trevelyan had either ignored his sons' needs or had walked away oblivious to them. I felt the kernel of warmth that his concern for my welfare had instilled turn cold, and I wondered if there weren't more hazardous things than crumbling cliffs in a child's life.