Rules of Surrender

RULES OF SURRENDER

CHRISTINA DODD

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

AVON BOOKS

An Imprint of Harper Collins Publishers

10 East 53rd Street

New York, New York 10022-5299

Copyright © 2000 by Christina Dodd

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 99-96435

ISBN: 0-380-81197-9

www.avonromance.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address Avon Books, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

First Avon Books printing: March 2000

This first book in my governess series is dedicated to my teachers.

To the ones who taught me to read— you’ve given me the world.

The ones who taught me to love study and research— because of you, my head is stuffed with information.

Most of it useless, but I treasure it nevertheless.

And especially to Mrs. Knowlton and Mrs. Reed— you taught me to see, to think, and most important, to write.

To my teachers, bless you all.

CHAPTER 1

ENGLAND; 1840

ENGLAND, 1839

Adorna, Viscountess Huskin, looked at the ornate lettering on the calling card in her gloved hand, then up at the tall limestone townhouse. In London’s overcast March sunlight, the place looked respectable, if slightly shabby, and while this neighborhood had been fashionable in the days of Adorna’s youth thirty years before, many of England’s best families still lived along this street. That information allowed her hope.

Tucking the calling card into her pocketbook, she mounted the steps and rang the bell. At once the door opened.

A butler stood there, a proper butler of the old school in a powdered wig and knee breeches. He summed her up in a single, comprehensive glance. His summation produced a bow so obsequious his corset creaked, and in an accent that was almost more upper class than young Queen Victoria’s, he said, “How may I help you, madam?”

“I am Viscountess Ruskin.”

From his expression, she knew he recognized her name, although whether for her wealth, her connections or her notoriety, she didn’t know. Nor did she care. Adorna had long ago grown into her role as the most beautiful woman in England.

Taking a step back to allow her entrance, he said, “My lady Ruskin, we at Miss Setterington’s Distinguished Academy of Governesses are honored.”

As she stepped inside, she smiled at him with the admiration she showed every man, regardless of his rank or age. “And you are?”

A dark flush started beneath his cravat and dyed his cheeks and forehead, but his demeanor never changed. “I am Cusheon, my lady.”

“Cusheon. What a
lovely
name.”

The creaky old butler’s lips lifted ever so slightly. “Thank you, my lady.”

“There’s that smile. I knew you had one.” Adorna enjoyed coaxing cheer out of the sourest puss. “Cusheon, I’ve come to speak to the proprietors of this establishment.”

He snapped his fingers and a towheaded serving boy ran forward to accept her hat and coat. With her thumb, she rubbed a smudge off his chin. “You look very much like my son at your age,” she said. “Right down to the flour.”

“I’ve been helping Cook with the baking,” the lad said.

“Wynter used to do that, too,” she confirmed, and reluctantly let him go. So many changes had occurred in her life lately. Changes were good, of course. Of course they were.

“Miss Hannah Setterington is currently assisting a countess,” Cusheon said, “but if you would allow me, I will see if they have concluded their business.”

“Thank you. That is most acceptable.” While the butler made his stately way across the foyer, she assessed her surroundings. Although the tables were old-fashioned, everything here sparkled with polish and smelled of beeswax. Impressive. Very well tended. She relaxed infinitesimally.

The butler rapped on massive double doors and, at a call from within, entered. He returned almost at once. “Miss Hannah Setterington and the countess have concluded their business. If my lady would come this way?”

As they neared the office, an elderly woman, stooped, heavily veiled and wrapped against March’s chill, stepped into the foyer on the arm of a tall woman. In a creaking voice, the countess said, “Miss Setterington, I am delighted with the companion you found me. You may be assured of my continued patronage.”

This was Miss Setterington? Startled, Adorna studied the young woman in black bombazine. She hadn’t expected the proprietress to be so lacking in years, yet Miss Setterington’s easy manner bespoke experience in dealing with the peevish and crotchety. Indeed, she patted the gloved hand on her arm as she handed the countess over to Cusheon. “Thank you, my lady. We are always anxious to be of service.” With a smile and a curtsy, she turned to Adorna. “And we are anxious to be of service to you, too, my lady. If you would come into the office…”

Adorna studied the old woman as she hobbled past, then followed Miss Setterington into a well-appointed library. A fire burned in the fireplace, the Aubusson carpets were clean if well worn and oiled leather books filled the shelves. “I thought I knew every titled person in England,” Adorna said, “but I don’t remember that countess.”

“Lady Temperly travels abroad extensively,” Miss Setterington answered. “That was why she had difficulty finding a companion. So many young people today want to stay only in England.”

“Lady Temperly.” The name
was
familiar. “No, I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure.” Although it seemed Adorna had recently heard gossip about her. But she didn’t have time to worry about the elderly Lady Temperly. Her own personal crisis beckoned.

Miss Setterington offered a chair set before a delicate walnut writing desk, and Adorna settled into it.

The desk, too, was old-fashioned, well crafted and well tended, with a bottle of ink, a penknife and a pile of well-made pens. Files of every sort stood in stacks on its surface. As Miss Setterington rounded the desk to her chair, Adorna cocked her head to read the notations.
Marchioness Winokur,
proclaimed one.
Baroness Rand,
read another. The knowledge that she was not the first to utilize the Distinguished Academy for Governesses offered comfort. “I rely on your discretion, of course, Miss Setterington.”

Miss Setterington seated herself in a delicate chair and reached for an empty file. “Of course, my lady.”

“I need a governess.” When Miss Setterington would have spoken, Adorna held up her hand. “Not just any governess. I find myself in quite an unusual situation, and the woman I would hire must be of strong moral fiber and unyielding determination.”

‘That would be Lady Charlotte Dalrumple,“ Miss Setterington replied instantly.

Adorna studied Miss Setterington, wondering if she was a fool.

”You doubt me, my lady, for my seemingly thoughtless reply,“ Miss Setterington continued, ”but if I were to espouse two phrases to describe Lady Charlotte Dalrumple, they would be the phrases you chose. I suspect you have heard of her through the success of her pupils. In the nine years she has been a governess, she has taken six incorrigible pupils and prepared them for their debuts. Surely you heard how young Lord Marchant wished only for dissipation and fought the necessity of taking his bow before the queen?“

”Oh, yes!“ Adorna had indeed heard the tale, and for the first time in two weeks, hope blossomed in her bosom. ”Was that Lady Charlotte Dalrumple? Miss Priss, I believe he called his governess.“

”Her other references are impeccable as well.“ Dipping a quill pen in the ink, Miss Setterington lettered
Viscountess Ruskin
on a folder. ”Miss Adler was one of her students, as well as Lady Cromble.“

Adorna’s brief hope died. ”Lady Charlotte polishes young ladies and gentlemen for their debuts. My… that is… those I wish her to teach aren’t adolescents.“

”She no longer wishes to confine herself to the training of adolescents.“

”Why?“

”She is upstairs. We’ll call her for an interview and you may ask her.“ Picking up the bell on her desk, Miss Setterington rang it. Cusheon came at once, and she asked both for Lady Charlotte Dalrumple and for tea.

When he had disappeared, Adorna smiled with a great deal of charm and ill-concealed curiosity. ”As we tarry, Miss Setterington, you could tell me about the founding of the Distinguished Academy for Governesses.“

Miss Setterington, Adorna noted, smoothly covered an expression of… was it alarm?… by rising to her feet. ”I would like nothing better, but perhaps we could make ourselves more comfortable as we wait for our tea.“

As Adorna chose a chair on one side of the fire, Miss Setterington arranged a small table between them. ”This is cozier,“ she pronounced, and sat opposite Adorna. ”We called it the Governess School.“ She folded her hands in her lap and smiled with such satisfaction Adorna thought she must have misread her previous uneasiness. ”It is a venture between Lady Charlotte Dalrumple, Miss Pamela Lockhart and myself.“

Adorna gestured toward the desk with its folders. ”You have a great many clients for so new a business.“

”Yes, between us we have years of experience.“

Adorna blinked. Miss Setterington hadn’t really replied to Adorna’s comment.

Yet Miss Setterington swept on. ”We will place governesses, companions to the elderly and dance, pianoforte and needlework instructors. As we grow, we’ll train our teachers ourselves. Soon, when the
ton
has a need, they will automatically think of the Governess School.“

The idea seemed so fresh, yet so logical, Adorna marveled that no one had ever thought of it before. ”Such commerce seems a difficult venture for three ladies. Had you not thought of approaching a man to lend a hand?“

Miss Setterington’s smile slipped. ”We are all unmarried, and you know how people gossip.“

Adorna had been the center of gossip her whole life. ”I do indeed.“

”Such a masculine influence would be interpreted incorrectly, I fear,“ Miss Setterington continued. ”No, we will succeed on our own.“

”You remind me a great deal of my aunt Jane. She is a famous artist and refuses to countenance the gossip of narrow-minded people.“

Miss Setterington smoothed her skirt. ”Perhaps, then, we worry for nothing.“

”Oh, no. Your venture has already been misinterpreted. My friends said a great many unkind things when we received the calling card.“

Miss Setterington leveled her brown eyes on Adorna. ”Unkind?“

Adorna touched her chin as she tried to remember. ”Unthinkable, unbelievable, absurd, they said.“ She removed her gloves in preparation for tea. ”But my friends have grown to be a bunch of old wheyfaces.“

Miss Setterington’s eyes danced. ”Have they?“

”To hear them talk now, one would never think they once dampened their gowns and waltzed the night away.“ Adorna smiled as she remembered the scandalous evenings of her debut. ”To tell the truth, if I weren’t so desperate, I would have done the proper thing and sought a recommendation for a governess from among my friends.“

”We’re glad you did not,“ Miss Setterington assured her.

So was Adorna. She harbored no illusions that anyone, no matter how dear a friend, could keep this delicate situation a secret.

Miss Setterington recalled her from her abstraction. ”Here is the tea, carried by Lady Charlotte herself.“

Lady Charlotte Dalrumple. Adorna could scarcely believe it as she observed the young lady enter the room burdened by a heavy silver tray.

Miss Setterington had described Lady Charlotte as having strong moral fiber and unyielding determination.

She didn’t look big enough to contain either of those virtues. She, too, was young, surely not more than twenty-two, and dainty, with a curvaceous bosom and a waist a man could span between his hands. Her face could only be described as sweet, with lips too generous for anything but kissing. Her hair was a shocking copper which captured the fire’s glow within its strands, but the length of it had been parted in the middle and smoothed away from her face to nestle in a net of black cord that effectively subdued the brilliance. And no matter how much effort Lady Charlotte put into repressing her naturally vibrant coloring, that dimple in her chin voided any attempt at severity.