Corey McFadden (8 page)

With a delicate crystal glass of sherry and a large snifter of brandy in his hands, Giles turned to Joanna and stopped in his tracks at the open-mouthed look on her face. His eyes following hers, he turned and beheld the sight that had her so startled. He moaned. He had long ago stopped noticing Eleanor’s bizarre, overripe artwork, sensual to the point of near obscenity. Above them both, larger than life, hung a voluptuous odalisque reclining in opulence, attended by a variety of overdressed blackamoors. The lady, painted in meticulous detail, was utterly sans attire. And judging from the expression on her pink, plump face, she was delighted about it.

“I—I’m sorry,” he began in confusion. Joanna’s expression was almost comical on her beet-red face, and he found himself fighting the urge to laugh. “It’s my stepsister’s, really. I had absolutely nothing to do with the decorating of the place...” he trailed off lamely as she turned her head to him. With a start, he realized that it wasn’t horror he was seeing in her eyes; it was merriment.

“Sir Giles, that painting is absolutely...edifying. I can safely say I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.” She sat rather primly, hands folded neatly in her lap. She was as unlike the odalisque as anyone could be, and all the more appealing for it. In spite of himself he gave her a lopsided grin, and she grinned back.

“Here,” he said, holding out a small glass filled with a glowing amber liquid. “Perhaps this will help restore your equilibrium.” He sat himself in a large overstuffed wing chair next to her. As he turned to face her, he was smartly confronted by the gloriously sculpted buttocks of the Apollo.

Joanna, in the act of swallowing her first sip of sherry, caught his eye over the Apollo. He had a very peculiar expression on his face, and she choked, trying hard to get the sherry down her throat instead of her windpipe.

Giles watched her sputter and cough, willing himself not to laugh. He could just imagine what the business end of this little artwork must look like on her side, if the arse was this well defined. He finally handed her a handkerchief to wipe her streaming eyes, allowing himself a smile.

“Your stepsister’s taste in art is certainly—unrestrained, Sir Giles,” she finally ventured. She was quite sure she had gotten sherry up her nose.

“Perhaps we ought to cover it, Miss Carpenter,” he offered. “I’m not at all sure it’s appropriate for us to converse under these circumstances.”

“Well, I am a vicar’s daughter, sir, and we do have certain standards....” The laughter in her eyes belied the severity of her sentiments. She handed him back his large square of white silk and he wrapped it deftly around the Apollo, like a toga.

“Is that better, Miss Carpenter? I wouldn’t wish to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

“Yes, that will do nicely, sir.” Joanna smiled at him. The sherry she had managed to get down her throat was warming her and it felt good.

“Tell me about your credentials. Mrs. Sneed’s letter was rather brief,” he said smoothly, taking a sip from his glass.

Her credentials! What credentials? She had come prepared to talk about the children, not about her credentials.

“You say you are a vicar’s daughter?” Giles prompted, aware that his question had unsettled the girl. Perhaps her credentials were slim, though he was damned if he could see that he had much choice at the moment. It did not seem, after all, to be a much-sought-after post.

“My father died a few weeks ago, sir. But, yes, he was a vicar.”

“I see. I’m sorry to have distressed you by mentioning it.”

There was an awkward pause as each sipped at the spirits. Joanna, fighting a sinking feeling, decided she had better address his question about credentials, uninspiring though they may be.

“Actually, Sir Giles, my father’s being a vicar has a great deal to do with the nature of my accomplishments. You see, he was quite a learned man and he did not much approve of denying girls the same academic opportunities as boys...” she paused and took another sip, venturing a peep at Sir Giles, who, she decided, looked vaguely uncomfortable.

“So you see,” she continued, “I have a rather extensive background in several academic areas. I know Latin and Greek, for instance, and I am rather good at mathematics and geography...” she trailed off again, seeking some sort of response. The man positively looked like a stuffed frog at the moment.

Giles sat back and took a deep gulp of his brandy. A bloody bluestocking! Of all the pointless....Here he was saddled with a boy who couldn’t speak English, much less Greek, and a girl who needed to be taught how to embroider and play the pianoforte, and this governess was a mathematician!

“And have you any of the more usual feminine skills, Miss Carpenter? Stitchery, music, painting—you know the sort of thing I mean,” he asked, trying to keep a note of exasperation out of his voice.

Joanna could feel her face flaming, as much from anger as discomfort. Feminine, indeed! Mindless ninny work, he meant! She swallowed her annoyance, nevertheless, hoping to keep a roof over her head a while longer. “I am told I am quite a good watercolorist, Sir Giles,” she said after taking a deep breath, “and naturally I am versed in oils as well. But I must admit, I have little skill in music and my needlework is utilitarian, nothing more.” There. He knew the worst. He could pack her off to Mrs. Sneed tonight or he could make the best of it. She waited.

“I see,” was his only response.

There was a long, sherry-sipping pause. Joanna was mentally reviewing how much money she had left and how much she could expect to be paid for a few days’ work. If he were fair-minded, he might even offer her a small severance allowance. It was four days back to London, after all.

“Actually, I am something of a mathematician as well,” came his startling response.

“Are you?” she managed to stammer back.

“Well, not exactly a mathematician, precisely,” he answered. “I use mathematics in my work. I design things, you see. My family has been involved in mining for some years, and I took an interest in how to improve the mining itself and our transportation systems.” He stopped, painfully aware that, bluestocking or no, she was not likely to be fascinated by the subject of the action of water flow against a wheel. He was making a perfect ass of himself.

“Oh, but that’s splendid, Sir Giles,” she said with real enthusiasm. “You see, I always complained to my teachers that pure mathematics was absurd if one had nothing to which to apply the principles. I mean, theorems and arcane equations are rather pointless standing alone...” she hesitated. Why on earth would Sir Giles, a self-described mathematician, be the least bit interested in her rather pedestrian opinion of mathematical theory? She was making a perfect ass of herself.

“Precisely, Miss Carpenter. I carried on the same arguments with my tutors, who despaired of teaching me anything at all unless they could show me the point of it.”

There was another silence. Joanna was in danger of finishing her glass of sherry and then how would she fill the awkward pauses? She felt she had gained an unexpected reprieve. “About the children, Sir Giles...” she began tentatively, unwilling to allow the silence to continue.

He gave her a questioning glance. She drew in a deep breath and continued.

“I haven’t really been with them long enough to form a particularly accurate assessment of their relative abilities. I just met them yesterday. But I do feel that Tom has some aptitude that he is hiding at the moment—I am not sure why. And both children seem—forgive me for saying this—extraordinarily depressed. Not that it isn’t natural under the circumstances. It’s just that...” she trailed off, aware that he was looking at her. She flushed, fearing she had offended him by criticizing his household’s care of the children.

“They’re not getting much love here, isn’t that what you mean, Miss Carpenter?” Giles raised his glass to his lips and Joanna could not see his eyes.

“I—I,” she began, then stopped. That’s exactly what she meant but she couldn’t very well say it. Perhaps he was already angry with her. She couldn’t tell from his voice.

“It’s all right,” he said, not looking at her. He rose and walked over to the brandy decanter.

“It happens I agree wholeheartedly with you,” he went on, filling his snifter again. “And I would like to ask your help in remedying the situation.” He walked to the window where the draperies were pulled back, revealing the dark of the night beyond. At a distance Joanna could hear the crashing of the sea. The wind must have come up, she reflected irrelevantly. The sea had been calm this afternoon.

“I suppose you already know that the other governesses we’ve engaged did not stay long,” he said flatly, looking out into the dark.

“Yes, sir. I was so informed. But no one seems to know why they left, sir.” She stopped, then plunged on to the question that had plagued her. “Why did they leave, sir?”

“I regret to say that I never took the time to talk with the other governesses, Miss Carpenter. You may have surmised that I am not often in residence. They had each left before I had the chance to question them.”

There was a long pause. Joanna could not think of anything to say. And she still had no answer to her question. She took a sip of sherry.

“I am not going to ask you to stay against your will, Miss Carpenter. I couldn’t if I wanted to. But I would like to request that if you should ever feel it necessary to resign your post, please write to me, even if after the fact, and let me know what your reasons were.” He stopped. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted from her, but more and more this evening he had found himself hoping that this one would stay, would care for the children and create some semblance of normalcy for the blighted little things.

Joanna felt a sudden chill, reminded of Mrs. Sneed’s parting remarks. The woman had asked almost the same thing of Joanna and there had been the suggestion of something unknown, something almost unsavory about the post.

“I would never just run off, Sir Giles. And besides, I have seen nothing yet that would lead me to wish to resign. Indeed, I find myself rather drawn to the children. When I make them laugh it all seems worthwhile, somehow.” She took the last sip of her sherry. How could she explain to this stranger that she needed the children right now as much as they needed her? They were all she had in the world to love at the moment, and she hoped she could bring them to love her. She needed it so badly. She felt her eyes filling with tears and looked away, missing the thoughtful look he bestowed on her from the window.

The massive carved doors to the hallway opened suddenly, startling them both into turning around. A woman stood in the doorway. Joanna had time to note that she was tall and rail thin. She wore a powdered wig, high and elaborate, with several ornaments intertwined into the false, whitened hair. Her dress was a dark rose, with a deeply plunging décolletage. Her face, neck, and arms were white with a thick powder. Her eyes were sharp and mocking, and a tight, sardonic smile twisted her features.

“Cozy, darling. Very cozy,” the woman purred. “I seem to have arrived in the nick of time.” Her voice was deep and husky. Joanna had the sudden thought that this would be the voice of the painted odalisque, could she talk. Joanna glanced at Sir Giles uncertainly, and was startled by the change in his face. Had she not just shared a pleasant half hour with him, she would have been frightened to death of this man, now a stranger, who stood facing this woman with a look of pure loathing.

There was a moment of charged silence, then he spoke. His voice was cold and deliberate. “What brings you home, Eleanor? I had understood you to be off at one of your floating parties.”

“Why, I understood that our little governess had arrived, darling, and you did tell me, didn’t you, to make sure that she got a warm welcome? Although it seems I am too late. You’ve already given her a warm welcome. Hasn’t he, dear?” Eleanor turned her smiling gaze on Joanna, who had scrambled to her feet and now dropped a curtsey.

“Yes, my lady, thank you. I’ve been welcomed very nicely,” Joanna stammered. Mrs. Sneed’s written instructions had been very specific about the titles and forms of address in this household. Lady Eleanor, as the daughter of an earl, was entitled to the honorific in her own right, and it was grander than that of a simple knight. Joanna hoped she’d got it right, disconcerted as she was.

“Splendid, my dear.” Eleanor turned her languid gaze on her brother. Joanna noted that he still stood by the window. His face was a mask, but his eyes were cold and his lips were thinned and tight. “How about fixing me a little brandy, darling?” Eleanor purred. “I had a long, cold ride this evening.”

Without saying a word, Giles moved over to the decanter and poured her a large snifter full. Eleanor crossed the room with slithering grace and took the glass from his hand. Joanna stood silent, uncomfortable and confused as to what she should do now. Was it late enough to plead suppertime? She cast a furtive look at the clock on the mantel and nearly rolled her eyes. The clock face was all but obscured by carved, naked cherubs, painted in gilt, bottoms dimpled and shining in the candlelight. At least the clock showed the hour to be late enough to pass for a governess’s suppertime. She watched as Lady Eleanor lifted her glass and drained a great deal of it one gulp. Licking her red lips, the woman smiled at Joanna, but the smile did not reach her eyes.

“Delicious. Very warming. Your glass is nearly empty, my dear. Would you care for another jot to jolly you up a bit? This is such a gloomy house when we’re all alone, isn’t it, brother dear?” Eleanor turned back to Giles, who made no answer. He watched his stepsister the way a mongoose might watch a snake, thought Joanna. There was something decidedly wrong between brother and sister, and it was definitely time for the governess to disappear.

“Thank you, my lady, no. I must be up early to teach the children, so I should have a quick supper and retire shortly.”

“Nonsense, dear, you will sup with us. I am just agog to hear all the latest educational theories. Won’t that just be fascinating, Giles?” she trilled in his direction, not bothering to pause for his answer. She moved over to the wall and gave a tug to the elaborate bell pull. “And besides, dear, Giles and I are bored to death with each other. We’d much rather have you to talk to, wouldn’t we, Giles?” Now she paused and gave him a brilliant, hard-eyed smile, holding out her glass for a refill.