Nina Coombs Pykare (2 page)

She moistened her lips. “I live in the vicinity, milord. I was shopping in the village. It was there I heard that your governess had left and you needed someone, someone to care for your girls.”

He glared at her. He didn’t want to think about governesses, about children. Not even his children. He wanted to think about Catherine, about those times together, times when— He sighed. The girls did need a governess. That much was true. If this young woman had been in the village ... “Do you know about the castle, about the curse?”

Her back still straight, she kept her gaze on his face and said firmly. “Yes, milord, I know about it.”

He frowned. Why must he be bothered with this kind of thing? He wanted to think about Catherine, just Catherine. “You know about the curse and yet you came here anyway? What on earth is wrong with you?”

Chapter Two

The young woman draw herself even more erect, her eyes flashing green fire, but her voice remained even, controlled, tightly polite. “There’s nothing wrong with me, milord. It’s quite simple. I must live. I need work. You have a position I can fill.”

He saw the look of longing she sent toward the fire. Even its meager warmth must look good to her wet as she was. Still he didn’t invite her to move closer to it. He hadn’t asked her here. She had no right to interrupt his memories. “What’s your name, girl?”

Edwina didn’t care for his tone. But lords were always arrogant, and besides, she was in no position to take offense at anything. “Pierce, milord,” she replied. “My name is Edwina Pierce. My father was the baron. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.” She hoped he hadn’t, but that wasn’t the wisest thing to say.

The earl scowled at her, his dark eyebrows meeting in a long fierce line that was, strangely enough, attractive. “If you are seeking work, why do you come to me looking like this, like a drowned rat?”

“It’s raining, milord.” She was wet and tired. This aristocrat didn’t offer her a seat or even common courtesy. She glanced down at her sodden cloak. Though she tried, she was not entirely successful in keeping the irritation out of her voice. “I was caught in a downpour on my way here.”

He gave her a long hard look, his eyes black as midnight, showing nothing, yet somehow projecting great sadness. She caught herself wishing to erase that sadness. Then some of the harshness left his face and he heaved a great melancholy sigh. “Come in, Miss Pierce. Take a chair near the fire. I have been remiss. I fear that surprise temporarily suspended my good manners. We have few visitors here at the castle. I’m afraid I have not been myself lately. All this turmoil about governesses has over-set my nerves even more.”

She didn’t know why he’d softened toward her, but it didn’t matter. She took the seat he indicated and spread her hands gratefully to the warmth of the fire. At least she was off her feet, and she was nearer the warmth.

While the earl put another log on the grate and pulled up a chair across from her, she let herself appraise him. A tall lean man whose clothes, though obviously once well-cut and expensive, showed the effects of long wear. From their cut it appeared they’d been made in London, before his return to the castle.

Perhaps once he’d followed the dictates of the great Beau Brummell — a man Papa had greatly admired. Now the earl obviously no longer cared what sort of figure he cut. His cravat was sloppily tied, his coat wrinkled, and his boots dull and spotted with mud. Yet in spite of that he was still a commanding figure. The kind of man who could command a woman’s respect, and something more.

“Tell me,” he said, his eyes boring into hers. “Why should a young woman who knows about the curse come here?”

She might as well tell him the truth. Pride filled no bellies, after all — and her belly was touching her backbone. “My father, the baron, is dead. His substance is gone. His creditors will take the land and the house.” She shrugged. “Perhaps they have already. I have nothing left with which to support myself. I have no relations or friends to turn to. Therefore I must seek employment.”

“But here?” The earl frowned in puzzlement. “Why look for employment here? Surely there is something else you could do. The curse, you know ...”

She shrugged again. She wanted to look nonchalant, but it was hard under the scrutiny of those probing eyes. Anyway, all she could do was tell him the truth. “A curse, milord, is a nebulous thing. At the moment I must confess that I am much more concerned about the very definite — and ever present — possibility of starvation.”

The corners of his mouth curved upward ever so slightly, though there was no hint of a smile in his eyes. “Well, you will not starve here. I can promise you that much at least. Though I’m afraid I cannot give you much of a wage.”

He gave her another dark look, waiting, it seemed, for her to refuse his offer. Relieved that he hadn’t immediately sent her off, she hurried on. “I assure you, milord, I am not concerned about a wage. Not at all. For some time now I have been accustomed to very little. To be adequately fed and housed will be great luxury for me. How could I ask for more?”

He nodded soberly. “Yes, I understand. Life is often unkind — and to those who least deserve it, I’m afraid.”

Edwina sighed. Her own case apart, life had clearly been unkind to him, depriving him of his wife so tragically and leaving him with the responsibility of two young daughters. “So it is, milord. Still, I have discovered that there is little to be gained by bemoaning the fact. My best resource has always been to do what is humanly possible. Do that and leave the rest to God.”

The earl’s jaw grew taut and his eyes went cold and black — even bleaker than they had been before. “I’m afraid you will not find God around here, Miss Pierce. The Almighty seems to have deserted us.”

A cold chill enveloped her whole being. Such talk verged on blasphemy. She shivered in her damp clothes and tried to think of some way to answer. But she wanted this position, needed it, had to have it — and perhaps he was justified in at least wondering if the Almighty had deserted him.

She pulled in a deep breath and changed the subject. “Milord, perhaps you could tell me what course of study the girls have been following?”

He frowned, his forehead wrinkling in puzzlement. “Course of study?” he asked. “I’m afraid I do not know. You see, since my wife’s death—” He stopped and swallowed painfully. “I have seen very little of the children.”

She could scarcely believe her ears. He had left his children to deal with their grief alone! “But milord,

surely .. .”

The earl didn’t seem to hear her. He was staring intently into the fire. “They look so much like Catherine,” he mused, almost to himself. “Especially Henrietta. The resemblance is uncanny. For that reason the sight of them is painful to me. I do not wish to see them.”

“But milord!” This was far more shocking than any idle chatter about curses. “With their mother gone, surely the girls are in need of your care. To leave them alone, bereft ...”

He turned to her, shaking his head stubbornly, his eyes glinting in the firelight with a strange wildness. “I do not see them. Catherine’s sister, Leonore, takes care of them. She stayed on to help me, you see. After— After—”

So, Edwina thought, perhaps she had just detected another reason for the prompt return to London of several of her predecessors. It was difficult enough to handle children without someone else constantly interfering. “Does her ladyship’s sister expect to continue in these duties?” she asked in carefully neutral tones.

The earl raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Of course not. She’ll be glad to be relieved of such a duty.”

Edwina suppressed a frown. She’d be pleased to be left alone to take care of the girls, but her heart had always held a tender place for little ones and it hurt for these poor little ones left with no one to love them.

The earl returned his gaze to the fire, staring pensively into the flames. A heavy silence slowly filled the room. At first she wasn’t disturbed by it. It was pleasant after such a long walk to sit in relative comfort, close to the fire’s warmth. She’d made her speech to the earl. Now it was up to him.

But as the moments continued to pass and the earl seemed oblivious to her presence, she grew more and more uneasy. Into what sort of household was she trying to gain admittance? How could she hope to help children whose mother, purported to be mad, had died mysteriously; whose cold and distant father harshly refused to see them; and whose aunt would be ‘pleased’ to be relieved of their care? Yet were such little ones not sorely in need of love from someone? Who was there to give it to them but their new governess? If his lordship hired her.

She sighed and then, hearing it resound in the silent room, looked anxiously toward the earl. Still his lordship sat, his eyes intent on the flames, his bearing that of a man alone with his thoughts, quite sorrowful thoughts.

Fidgeting in her chair, Edwina tried to think. The earl hadn’t said he would hire her. He hadn’t said he wouldn’t either. But she couldn’t wait forever. Whatever his answer, she needed to know it.

The day was wearing on. If he hired her, she would need to get her valise from the greengrocer in the village, the valise that held the few personal belongings left her by her father’s creditors. If the earl didn’t hire her, she had still to make the long walk back to what was left of the estate. To another night of hunger and despair.

She took a deep breath. “Milord?”

His lordship stirred slightly, but still didn’t look at her.

“Milord?” she repeated with more force.

He swung round in his chair and started as though surprised to see her still there, fixing those dark eyes on her. “Yes, what is it?”

“I am waiting.”

“Waiting?”

“To see what you’ve decided.”

“What I’ve decided,” he repeated slowly, almost as though he didn’t know what she was talking about, as though he had to force himself back from some other place.

She stifled her irritation. “Yes, about your daughters. About my becoming their governess. That is why I’m here, you know. To see about becoming governess to your daughters.”

The earl shook his head as though clearing it of cobwebs. “My daughters? Yes, my daughters. Well, it appears that I have little choice in the matter. Those London governesses are always running off.” He paused for a moment, regarding her sternly. “At least you know the truth about this place.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it even more unruly. “Yes, you may have the position. Tell Wiggins I have engaged you. He’ll show you the room. It should be in reasonable shape since the other governess just left.”

He leaned back in the chair, his eyes again on the fire, effectively dismissing her.

“Yes, milord.” She got to her feet. “Milord?”

He looked up, obviously annoyed at another interruption. “Yes, yes, what is it?”

“I have a valise in the village, milord. At the greengrocers. Is there someone I can send to fetch it?”

His scowl deepened. “Ask Wiggins. He will know. We have very few servants left.” He smiled sardonically. “The curse, you know, always the curse. Ask Wiggins.”

“Yes, milord.”

The earl didn’t seem disposed to say more. In fact, he turned away, lapsing back into that silence that ignored her very existence. A chill stole over her. Even the heat of the fire no longer seemed comforting.

She scolded herself. She refused to allow herself to sink into the dismals. She’d achieved her purpose. She should feel good. She’d found a position. Now there were things to be done. If the master of the castle seemed a strange, almost sinister man ... Well, it was the children who were her concern. Not his lordship.

As the door closed behind the new governess, Charles settled back and resumed staring into the flames. At last. But the memories of a laughing happy Catherine had fled. Instead of the features of his beloved wife, his mind insisted on presenting him with the damp determined face of Edwina Pierce.

He sighed deeply. He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake hiring the girl. Leonore would object, of course, she objected to practically everything. But the children must be cared for. He wasn’t up to doing it himself, even if a man did such things; and Leonore wasn’t the person to do it. She wasn’t at all like Catherine. Catherine had loved children, really loved them. Leonore said she loved them. But he knew that no matter what kind of face she put on the matter, she found children bothersome.

This girl, this Edwina Pierce, with the hunger-pinched features, had reached through the miasma of sorrow that held him and touched something in him. She was so clearly alone in the world, alone and friendless — and hungry — and yet she stood there confronting him bravely, a pauper telling an earl that his children needed looking after. And she was probably right.

Catherine would know what to do. Catherine had always been good with the children. He didn’t know how to deal with this. He sighed and closed his eyes. If only he could bring Catherine back.

Chapter Three

Finding Wiggins proved to be a rather difficult chore, and it was only after having lost her way several times and wandered into obviously unused portions of the castle that Edwina finally discovered the kitchen wing. There two battered rockers crowded close to the hearth and the little fire burning there. Wiggins occupied one rocker, a steaming mug of tea clutched in his hand. In the other, an old woman huddled, also wizened and bent with years, her serviceable black gown considerably worn, but her eyes alert and bright as she surveyed Edwina over the rim of her mug.

“Wiggins,” Edwina said firmly, conscious that in her damp bedraggled condition she didn’t present much of a figure of authority. “I am the new governess, Miss Pierce. The earl just hired me.”

“‘Tis the baron’s daughter,” cried the old woman in a high-pitched voice much like a cackle. “Her that was—”

Wiggins sent the old woman a sharp glance that quieted her, and struggled to his feet. “This be the housekeeper, Mrs. Simpson,” he said, nodding to Edwina.

Edwina nodded back, barely giving a moment’s thought to what the housekeeper had been going to say about her. She’d been gossiped about for so long that it meant little. “Hello, Mrs. Simpson. Wiggins, my valise is in the village — at the greengrocer’s. Have you someone we can send to fetch it?”