The Mistress of Trevelyan (8 page)

I lifted my hand to my brow, brushing away the perspiration that suddenly beaded my skin. I felt strange, possibly even ill. Stephen Trevelyan's familiarity was a bit disconcerting, but Benedict Trevelyan's scrutiny was completely unnerving. "Perhaps I will go and—"

"Perhaps you would like to accompany me to the garden for a few moments and tell me your impressions of my sons. I know Mother and Stephen will want to spend a few minutes alone. Constance is habitually a quarter of an hour late, and Katherine…" He shrugged. "Well, no one can predict what she will do. She is shy and may decide to delay meeting you for a time yet."

Very little news of Benedict Trevelyan's sister, Katherine, had ever filtered down to my ears, but I'd heard several things. One was that she had a debilitating illness; the other was that she was mad, but I had no intention of asking him about his family. I was practical enough to realize the boundaries of my station and would adhere to them, no matter how curious I was.

The fresh air of the garden appealed to me as just what my nerves needed, even though I suspected that Trevelyan's presence would immediately nullify any calming effect the evening breeze and fading light might provide.

I should go back to my bedchamber, I thought. Not to hide as much as to settle myself back into what I considered my proper role as a governess. Truly, going from laundress to walking in the garden and eating dinner with the master of Trevelyan Hill was more than I felt ready to swallow. Though it was somewhat comforting that Benedict didn't consider me to be a beggar off the streets, there was no way to hide the fact that I did not belong.

Yet complying with his demand that I give him my impressions of his sons was part of my job, and I could not deny his request. "The garden is fine," I said.

He motioned for me to precede him across the entryway and out the rear door to the garden. "This way, then."

As I passed him, the awareness of his presence behind me penetrated every nuance of my being—his size, his heat, the surety of his step. Even the power of his gaze upon me affected me. He was a large man, and never in my life had I felt more of a woman than I did in his company.

Unfortunately, the garden by day with his sons was not the same garden by evening with the man himself. The shadows beyond the angel fountain were darker, the breeze from the bay more invigorating, and the scent of the flowers sweeter.

I slowed my step, not wanting to trespass into the more intimate shadows near the edges of the garden. He adjusted his step to mine; the gentlemanly consideration only made me more aware of him beside me, and I had to force myself to focus on my purpose in being in the garden with him. "What about your sons do you wish to know?"

"As I said. Your impression of them, but first I must mention that Dobbs said—"

My back stiffened. "I apologized to him for that. I will not let it happen again."

He caught my elbow, forcing me to stop and face him. His eyes were too black, as if they held too many secrets to ever lighten with a smile. The sharp angles of his features that I'd taken so close a note of the day before imprinted themselves again into my mind, only deeper and subtly different this time. The Roman nose and conquering chin were the same, but in the dimmer light his lips appeared softer, as did his manner.

A ruffling breeze from the bay played with his raven hair and lent him an air of rakish vulnerability that I didn't want to see, for it made him even more attractive. His fingers upon my arm were warm, so very warm through the fabric of my dress that I knew they'd burn were he to touch my skin directly. A wonderfully pleasurable burn, I thought, remembering the feel of his hands upon my person from this morning. I shut my eyes.

"I'm curious, Miss Lovell. What exactly are you apologizing for?" He released my arm, but the heat of his touch lingered. The urge to touch him, to see if I affected him the way he affected me, washed over me.

My eyes popped open, and I clenched the skirt of my dress with my hands. What had I been apologizing for? The children. I had to clear my throat to find my voice. "Yes, well, for the children running up to the school room for their lessons. Mr. Dobbs has already called me to the carpet for their boisterous manner."

Benedict Trevelyan's lips twitched, but just as before, the hint of humor never reached his eyes. "As I was about to say, Dobbs informed me that both Justin and Robert were calmer today than they have been in quite some time"

Blinking, I registered that Dobbs had actually uttered something decent about my care of the children. "I am sure the calmness was due to the fact that they had new things to learn and think about today. Both Master Justin and Master Robert are bright children who very much want approval, but I sense they have unresolved hurts that cause them to lash out with their emotions. They need direction, encouragement, understanding, and the sense that they are loved. Once those needs are met, I believe some of their unruliness will subside."

"Only some?" He lifted his brow, emphasizing he'd hoped for more.

I couldn't tell if he spoke in jest or not "As well as being practical, Mr. Trevelyan, I am also realistic. Master Justin and Master Robert are lively boys. They are children, and a certain amount of enthusiasm and rambunctiousness are inevitable." His gaze focused on my mouth as I spoke, and my throat became dry.

"
Inevitable
has never been a favored word of mine," he said softly, almost as if he spoke only to himself. Then he lifted his gaze to mine, and I tensed as a strange feeling of expectation filled me. "I thought I had more control over circumstances and life for
inevitable
to ever be a part of them. But perhaps I am... mistaken."

From the deepness of his voice and the intensity in his eyes, I thought he spoke of something other than the children, and my breath caught on the notion that the inevitable had something to do with me. I found myself subtly leaning toward him, as if a strong magnet drew me. The thought of being kissed by this man sent my mind and blood racing. He looked at my lips again. Did he want to kiss me?

My lips parted before my sensibilities could stand up and shout their disapproval. When they did, I realized that everything I felt was surely a figment of my imagination, and I was making an utter fool out of myself. I scrambled for something to say as I fought the overwhelming urge to run and hide.

I spoke in a rush. "Cook Thomas mentioned you captained a ship, Mr. Trevelyan. Do you miss it? I have been told there is nothing like seeing the stars with only the ocean on the horizon." Turning abruptly, I looked at the night sky, pretending to study the stars a moment, even though my nervous state made them nothing but a blur.

"Do I hear a note of envy, Miss Lovell?"

"Perhaps," I said, forcing a calming breath to moderate the tone of my voice. "I have wondered many times what the stars are like on the underside of the world."

He stepped closer to me, lifted his hand, and pointed without hesitation, immediately knowing where he stood in the universe. "Instead of the North Star to guide like we have here, they have the Southern Cross. Its five stars would lie in this direction. And over here, Sagittarius aims his arrow at Scorpius's deadly tail, which is marked by a bright red star known as Antares."

Almost seeing the constellations of which he spoke, I leaned his way, and my arm brushed his side. I felt the heat of his hand press against my back, urging me nearer. His voice deepened again, as if he were sharing something very special. "And Centaurus, the half-man half-horse creature of myth, lurks over here, waiting for unsuspecting prey to wander into his arms."

"There you are, Benedict" A woman's sultry voice, flavored with a Spanish accent, startled me, stealing away the vision of stars. I stepped back from Mr. Trevelyan's nearness, turning to see who approached.

A dark-haired woman, dressed in a rich, soft pink gown, approached us. Her walk matched her voice— intriguing and effervescent. She was beautiful in a delicate and exotic way, petite with ivory skin and curly black hair that she'd swept into an elaborate style and held in place by gleaming Spanish combs. She waved her hands as she spoke, and I couldn't help but notice how creamy white and delicate they were. They were beautiful hands. Not like mine. I tucked mine into the folds of my dress. "Stephen suggested you might have ventured into the garden, but I did not believe him. I asked myself, does Benedict ever walk in the garden during the evening? I answer no. He tells me he is always too busy for such a trivial thing. Yet here you are."

"Discussing my sons' unruliness with their new governess," he said slightly forcefully, as if he were rushing to stem the bubbling of the woman's words. He took a step back from me, too.

I didn't think I'd ever met so small a woman, or one who expressed herself in so physical a way.

"Constance, this is the governess, Miss Ann Lovell. Miss Lovell, this is Miss Ortega, my sister-in-law. She has been helping care for Justin and Robert."

"This is a surprise, Benedict. You did not mention you had found someone to teach the children, though Maria and I were managing them well enough. Welcome, Miss Lovell," she said, extending her hand to me.

"Thank you, Miss Ortega," I said, taking her hand. I didn't like the tone she used when she'd spoken of Justin and Robert. She sounded as if they were tiresome pests.

She had a butterfly shake, barely there and barely felt before she turned to Benedict Trevelyan. "Dinner is served, and we must hurry, yes? Cook Thomas is threatening to go back to sea."

"As usual," he said, extending his arm. "Ladies first."

Given no choice, I was forced to walk in front of him again. Only this time, with Miss Ortega at my side, I was acutely aware of my ungainly height next to her petite proportions, and I cringed at the thought that he would be making the same comparison. My brown cotton dress and its borrowed lace, so painfully plain next to Miss Ortega's beautiful muslin gown, had to be an eyesore.

Though I'd resigned myself to my lot in life long ago, I now realized that by escaping the bleak life of a laundress, I'd put myself in a position to continually expose my deficiencies.

Every choice had consequences.

As I entered the dining room, I deducted from the cold stare directed my way that the middle-aged woman was Benedict Trevelyan's mother, and I wondered what other consequences I would face in choosing to pass through the demon-carved doors of Trevelyan Manor. For if looks were capable of killing, I'd be dead upon the spot.

Mrs. Trevelyan sat in a wheelchair pushed up to the table. Her hair was piled in an elaborate style, its darkness a stark contrast to her pale skin. A sprig of white lace about her neck relieved the severity of her black silk gown, but that one bright accessory was overshadowed by her baleful expression and the grim set of her lips. Her husband had died two years before, yet she was still in mourning. Her hands were lily-white, too.

No one seemed to notice that she'd wished me dead with one look. Benedict Trevelyan introduced me to her. She inclined her head my way, but didn't speak. Stephen Trevelyan, a drink in his hand, stood at one end of an ornate mahogany dining table; its curved legs ended in claws that reminded me of the demons and beasts on the manor's front door. The chairs, fashioned with ivy leaves etched in the dark wood, were padded and looked immensely expensive, as did the crystal chandelier centered above us. I marveled at the gas lighting. I had heard of this luxury, but had yet to see it for myself.

"Is Katherine not coming?" Benedict Trevelyan asked.

Miss Ortega threw her hands up, then used them to accent her every word. "She is in one of her impossible moods again. We were absorbed in a fashion article from
Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper.
Did you realize, Benedict, that the elite in New York
do not
wear the same dress twice? When it comes to fashion, we are so appallingly behind here. They recommend a lady travel with no less than sixty dresses. I must order three Swiss muslin evening robes before the weather turns chilly. The climate here is so much cooler than the weather at our hacienda, no? It will be the death of me. But,
madre de Dios
, when Katherine learned Stephen had arrived, she—" Biting her lip, Miss Ortega sent Stephen Trevelyan an apologetic look. "I think your return has upset her."

Sixty dresses! My mind could hardly fathom such an extravagance. Bouncing my gaze to Stephen Trevelyan, I saw an expression of deep pain sweep over his face before he hid it by taking a hefty sip of his drink.

"I will speak to her," Benedict Trevelyan said with almost a sigh, as if the burdens he carried weighed heavily on him.

"I will handle it," Stephen Trevelyan replied, his voice strained.

"Then I take it you are planning to stay sober?" Benedict Trevelyan said, his tone harsh.

Stephen Trevelyan fisted his hands and placed them on the table, his handsome face darkened with anger. For a moment, I thought he'd leap over the table at his brother. "God forbid. I had forgotten how perfect you are."

"That's enough," Mrs. Trevelyan commanded, then picked up the bell resting on the table before her and rang it. "I will have civility at my meals."

Dinner proceeded with an edge of tense politeness between Benedict Trevelyan and his brother. Their mother remained mostly silent unless she spoke to criticize something. Toward the end of the dinner, she excused herself, citing illness. Her departure surprised me a little, since she'd said several times how glad she was that Stephen had returned home.

The moment Mrs. Trevelyan left, Miss Ortega caught Benedict Trevelyan's attention by waving her hand. "I saw the
Commodore
anchored in the bay while I was out shopping today. What cargo did she bring?"

"The last shipment of sugar I will be transporting. I am selling her." Benedict Trevelyan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, clearly stating ahead of time that his decision was final. I was surprised he felt the need to make that statement to fashion-minded Miss Ortega.