The Beautiful One (8 page)

“I was the seamstress.”

“
What?
I thought you were a teacher.”

His outraged expression made her want to laugh. She knew him a little now, perhaps more than a little, and she felt a sudden wish to know him as he might have been before his wife's tragedy. But that was a totally inappropriate wish. Even if there weren't a scandalous book of naked pictures of her circulating among his peers, he was a viscount and she was the daughter of a country doctor.

But she was also a woman, and he was a very, very handsome man, albeit one with a generous smudge of something dark on his cheekbone and another one on the side of his neck. He'd obviously just come from his cottages; he was wearing a loose, frayed brown coat that had seen better decades, and his trousers had clearly been laundered so many times that their color could only be called darkish. But the soft, old clothes couldn't disguise the hardness of his muscles, and they hung with an appealing drape on his long limbs.

“I can't be responsible for what you have assumed.”

“And so my niece is to have a seamstress as her companion?” His dark brows drew together in a scowl over stormy blue eyes. He was very good at bluster. She suspected it was an easy way to keep people distant.

“You didn't seem so particular about Miss Tarryton's companions before.”

“And now I have engaged a hoyden for a governess.” The note of exasperation in his voice made her want to smile. Was she insane, to be so enticed by this powerful, difficult man?

He watched her for a minute. “You said that your family was gone,” he said finally in a softer tone. “Tell me about them, Anna. Where did you live?”

Oh, this wasn't good. She couldn't risk him knowing more about her because of the chance, however slim, that it might somehow help the marquess find her, but she didn't have any confidence in her ability to create a believable fabric of lies. Nor did she like the idea of doing so. She must simply give him as little information as possible. “A village to the west.”

“And your family?” he pressed. “Who were they?”

“They were not people of any particular importance.”

“I doubt it felt that way to you.”

He was waiting for her to say more, but how could she? It had been a year since her brilliant, complicated father had died, but thinking about him could still bring a lump to her throat, and the last thing she wanted was to stand before Viscount Grandville on the verge of tears.

“Tell me about them,” he urged softly.

She forced a neutral tone. “My mother died when I was a baby, and I had one older brother, who was lost at sea some years ago. My father died last year.”

“I'm sorry. You've had your share of troubles, haven't you, Anna?”

The kindness in his voice touched her and softened something in her that needed to be hard. She wished he would go back to blustering at her—it was safer.

“Was your father a gentleman?”

“He was an educated man.”

“A scholar then?”

“Of sorts.”

“And did he never remarry?”

“No.”

“So you were raised by a man. This perhaps accounts for some of the less pliable aspects of your character. I think you must have been something of a wild little thing, roaming about the countryside, climbing trees and making friends with animals.”

He chuckled, and she was surprised by the way it changed his face and brought a little light to his usually haunted, dark blue eyes.
Oh…
She could see how this man might be completely irresistible.

“But why are you now forced to look for work?” he pressed. “What about your home?”

“It is…lost to me.”

He frowned. “Was it because of debts? But surely you had friends who might have helped you? You are educated, the daughter of an educated man. Was there no one to be a friend to you, so that you were not forced out of your home and driven to do menial work? Were they even
feeding
you at that school?”

She laughed and didn't correct his assumption that money troubles were why she'd left home. He seemed touchingly outraged on her behalf. But she shouldn't be surprised; he was used to being responsible for other people. Though she felt that being a viscount was more than a role to him, that his sense of responsibility was innate to his character. He clearly had a strong sense of justice, or he wouldn't have felt so bad about the proposition he'd made the first night.

It was his sense of responsibility, she'd come to see, that made him believe he wasn't fit to care for Lizzie.

“You must see how you have me at a disadvantage,” she said, “how, because of our positions, you might feel entitled to quiz me endlessly while offering no justifications for your own behavior or choices. Why, for instance, you appear to be building those cottages for your tenants yourself.”

He arched one dark, well-shaped eyebrow haughtily, and it made something flip over inside her.

“That's because I'm the viscount and you're the servant. But you're not used to being a servant, are you, Anna?” He cocked his head thoughtfully. “What about after Lizzie's month is up here? I'm not sure I like the idea of you with a future in some menial position.”

Oh, that she definitely didn't need—Lord Grandville feeling responsible for her future along with Lizzie's.

But he seemed to have reconsidered his words as well, because he sighed and waved his hand dismissively. “Go. You may go now.”

She didn't move. They'd still made no progress toward what Lizzie needed from him. “Shall we expect you at dinner this evening, my lord?”

He inclined his head. “I cannot conceive, Anna, what has given you the notion that you might order me about.”

“If you can't agree to make an effort to get to know Lizzie, then I'm afraid our bargain is voided and I will have to leave.”

“You would forego your wages over this?”

Doing so would leave her desperate again, but she didn't know how else to get his attention for Lizzie. “If necessary. You may have supported your ward in lavish style since her family died, but money is no substitute for affection.”

His eyes looked heavenward. “Do you appoint yourself my conscience?”

“I do care what happens to her. She is a bright, beautiful, and good young lady.”

“She is apparently not so very good or she wouldn't have been sent down from school. What was it she did, anyway?”

“She's only sixteen,” she said, ignoring his question, “and has lost her family. It wouldn't cost you much effort to at least come to dinner and converse with her. If you would spend some time with her, I'm sure it would be to your mutual benefit.”

He seemed to weigh her words.

“You're hurting her, you know, by avoiding her,” she said. “Try to see it her way. She has no family to count on now but you.”

“I know that. And I'm sorry about it. But I also think it will be harder to keep things separate if she becomes…attached.” He hesitated. “I'm a single man. I keep to myself here. I'm not going to go to Town or throw balls. And, damn it, she reminds me too much…”

“Of the past?”

“Well, yes.”

“But all we have is now,” she said.

His mouth tightened, as though he didn't wish to be reminded that each of them had a life to be lived.

“Very well, I promise not to
avoid
her. I will come to dinner tonight. But, Anna,” he said sternly, “remember, at the end of the month, she too will be leaving for a new situation. Another school will be found, or some other arrangement made. And it will be your job to see that she's ready to go.”

“I understand,” she said quietly.

“You will of course be at dinner tonight as well, Anna.”

Oh, not that. This conversation, their embrace from earlier with its irresistible sparks, the attraction she felt for this man… She was more than a little fascinated by him. She could feel herself wanting him to like her and weighing his words for flirtation, though she knew little of such things. She, who'd never drawn the attention of a man before the abominable Rawlins had shown up in her life. She, who needed to finish out this month at Stillwell and take her money and go north.

What she didn't need was extra time in the viscount's presence, and certainly not sitting at his table like some sort of guest or equal.

“Surely you would rather dine with Lizzie alone.”

“No. And this way I can be certain the conversation won't lag, as you seem to have no trouble making speeches.”

“As you wish,” she finally said, because she could hardly refuse. “If my lord is finished with me?”

“It is customary, Anna, for the viscount to dismiss the servant,” he said, but without any real spirit, and she turned to go.

She was almost to the door when a knock sounded on the other side and Dart appeared.

“My lord, the Dowager Lady Grandville has arrived.”

Behind her Lord Grandville received the news with silence. And then a muttered curse.

“Show her in,” Lord Grandville said, and Dart retreated to the corridor, closing the door just as Anna reached it. Apparently the viscount's mother was here. He didn't sound pleased to see her, though as this appeared to be his usual reaction to visitors, she wasn't surprised. She reached for the door handle.

“Where do you think you're going?” His voice sounded deeper than usual.

“Upstairs, of course, to prepare for dinner.”

“I require your presence here.”

“Oh, surely not,” she said, turning around. He didn't look as though he were jesting. “You will want to receive your mother alone.”

“Stepmother. And do not tell me what I want. You have an appalling habit of doing so.”

“Very well,” she said, coming back toward the desk. “If you're going to be overbearing, what can I do? I'm but a poor governess.”

“What you're going to be in a moment is mincemeat.”

The door opened again to reveal a woman who looked to be only a year or two older than the viscount. She was several inches shorter than Anna, with beautiful butter-yellow hair shot through with soft strands of cream, which was pulled into a neatly wound braid high on her head. She wore a handsome dark blue frock that fit her gently rounded figure well, and carried a stuffed-looking reticule that had a rolled paper and some ribbons protruding from its top.

She seemed to draw herself up in the doorway before she entered the room.

“Grandville,” she said warmly as she approached him. She let her reticule fall onto a side table as she passed by it and moved toward him, lifting her arms as if she would embrace him. But he stood unmoving, and she stopped and let her hands fall back to her sides.

“Judith,” he replied in a bland voice, executing a barely perceptible bow. “I am surprised to see you here.”

His stepmother's skin was fair, her cheeks perhaps a touch more hollow than they might have been in younger days, though the effect served only to make her more handsome. An apricot flush spread over them at her stepson's cold greeting. “I…came for a visit.”

From behind Lady Grandville came a yawning sound, and a regal liver-and-white spaniel emerged to stand like a buffer between her and the viscount. Lord Grandville's eyes flicked downward to the dog, and he looked away, as if the sight of the animal pained him. What was going on?

“I suppose you would think it your duty,” he said in that same mild tone which he might have used for a tradesman who'd shown up uninvited. Anna had glimpsed warmth and even a dark humor in him only moments before, but that had clearly been locked away again.

Though Lady Grandville would be justified in being offended at his words, she seemed unsurprised by his treatment. But not unpained—the corners of her mouth trembled a little before she coerced them back to a smile, as if she were determined to be kind and patient no matter the provocation.

“Of course I didn't come just out of duty,” she said. “I came out of affection.”

“Then I thank you for the pleasure of your company today,” he said, not sounding in the least grateful, “but I haven't time for visitors.”

The dog at Lady Grandville's side tossed its head and pressed it against her skirts, as if to give her courage. She seemed to draw herself up.

“I won't be put off, Grandville. You've been locked up here alone for months. I know you're grieving, but…this isn't healthy. I'm concerned about you. With your father gone, I must act as I believe he'd want. And I'm certain he wouldn't have wanted you to shut yourself away.”

His brows drew into slashes, and the thick fringe of lashes that hinted at boyishness couldn't soften the hard glint in his eyes. “Oh, for pity's sake. Can you never learn that your interference isn't wanted?”

And with that, he left the room.

Anna was still absorbing the full awkwardness of what had just happened as she glanced at Lady Grandville. The woman looked unhappy, but she didn't look surprised by his harshness.

The woman's eyes fell on Anna. “And you are…?”

“Miss Anna Black, ma'am.” She curtsied. “I am Miss Tarryton's governess.”

Lady Grandville's brow furrowed slightly, and Anna said, “My lord's ward has come to stay at Stillwell.”

Lady Grandville absorbed this information. “Why, she must be David's daughter.”

“Yes.”

“I confess myself surprised that Grandville invited her here.”

“Her arrival was unexpected. She had been at school, but the headmistress felt she would fare better in his lordship's care. I accompanied her here, and Lord Grandville engaged me as her governess. He is in the process of finding a new situation for her.”

“Interesting,” Lady Grandville said. “He's been alone here since his wife's death, as far as I know.”

“I think…” Anna hesitated.

“Do feel you may speak plainly, Miss Black.”

“Well, perhaps her arrival may do them both some good. It's very easy for a viscount to isolate himself from people.”

“We're a warm family, aren't we? Though of course Grandville would prefer to believe that he and I have never been family at all.”

“Maybe it would be best not to take his behavior personally,” Anna said gently.

“Oh, I don't blame him for hating me,” her companion replied. “I made mistakes. Let's just say he was very surprised when his father married me.”

“I'm sure it's not as bad as all that,” Anna said.

“It is, actually,” the other woman said. “But I loved Alistair Halifax, and I do care what happens to his sons.” She sighed. “Perhaps I shall retire to my room.”

As Lady Grandville was leaving, Anna saw her reticule.

“Don't forget this, ma'am,” she said, picking it up. As she did so, she saw that the rolled paper protruding from it was a newspaper, and she glimpsed a headline:
Who
is
The
Beautiful
One?

She couldn't quite swallow her gasp.

“Miss Black?” Lady Grandville said. “Is something amiss?”

“Oh—no,” Anna said, walking toward her with the reticule.

Lady Grandville took it, her eyes falling on the paper. She pulled it out. “I suppose you haven't seen the latest news yet. Would you like this? I've finished with it.”

“Yes, thank you,” Anna said, certain guilt must be written all over her features. Her heart pounded furiously. How many people must now have seen and heard of that accursed book if it was in the newspaper?

At that moment the library door opened, and Lizzie herself entered with a book under her arm. She was dressed beautifully, as she had been every day. Her gown was a fresh green muslin that seemed to make her blue eyes brighter, and it looked to have been designed to flatter every feminine curve of her youthful form. Her red-gold hair was dressed prettily, with soft curls framing her face, a look she'd surely accomplished on her own, since the household had no lady's maid.

“I beg your pardon,” Lizzie said. “I didn't know anyone was in here.”

“That's all right, Lizzie,” Anna said, and introduced them.

Lady Grandville smiled kindly. “I knew your father and your aunt, Miss Tarryton. Such lovely people.”

“Will you be staying at Stillwell long, Lady Grandville?” Lizzie asked with a trace of eagerness Anna couldn't miss. Likely she was already hoping to charm Lady Grandville into advocating for her with her stepson, but that hope was unlikely to come to fruition.

“I'm not certain,” Lady Grandville said. “But while I'm here I shall enjoy getting to know you, my dear. And you must call me Judith—after all, we are practically family. And now I'd better go and see where Dart has put my trunk, so I can change for dinner. Is Grandville setting a very fine table these days?”

“Oh, he doesn't come to dinner,” Lizzie said, a trace of bitterness pinching her pretty mouth. It was a mouth that looked as though a discreet amount of lip rouge had been applied to it.

“Actually,” Anna said, “the viscount plans to join us for dinner tonight.”

“He's coming?” Lizzie's face instantly lit up. “But why didn't you say so right off? I must change, and there's hardly any time!” And with the quickest of curtsies, she was gone.

Lady Grandville shared a look with Anna. “I hope he won't disappoint her too badly.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

* * *

Anna sought the privacy of her bedchamber, where she sat on her bed and took the newspaper out of her pocket, already dreading reading it. It was dated two days before.

All the ton is abuzz with curiosity over a certain very naughty book—and the identity of the woman shown within, known as the Beautiful One. Is she an actress? The daughter of a country squire? A milkmaid? Rumors are flying!

While some lucky gentlemen have seen the book, others are desperate for a glimpse of this paragon of beauty. Lord …shaw, the proud owner of this scandalous book of drawings, has promised a treat for all the guests at his annual house party this year: the unveiling of a painting of the Beautiful One—and of the identity of the woman herself!

Invitations to this event are extremely sought-after this year, and a number of wicked gentlemen have pledged to discover her identity before then and have been placing bets at White's.

Wherever you are, O Beautiful One, you shall not remain nameless for long!

She gripped the paper with shaking hands. The marquess hadn't forgotten about her as she'd so foolishly hoped. And it was all much, much worse than she could have imagined.

He must surely be looking for her. With the whole
ton
expecting to see her in his painting, he would not want to disappoint.

More men had now seen the book and were making bets about her.

How she hated Rawlins and the marquess. Fury took hold of her, and before she could think, she'd grabbed the small crockery vase on her nightstand and thrown it against the wall.

She blinked in shock at the mess. What was wrong with her?

Clearly, she must pull herself together.

She picked up the pieces and put them in the nightstand drawer. She was just nudging the last small bits of china under the bed with her toes when a knock sounded at her door.

It was Lizzie, in her dressing gown.

“Lizzie! Why aren't you dressed yet? You'll be late for dinner.”

Lizzie closed the door and laughed. She'd dressed as far as her hair, which was arranged in a pretty, high, plaited knot. One hand was behind her back, as if she was hiding something.

“Gentlemen expect a lady to be a little late,” she said. “It increases their suspense.”

“I doubt your uncle is like that. And you want to make a good impression.”

“Don't worry—I mean to. And anyway, I saw Lady Grandville's maid taking her gown downstairs to be ironed, so she'll be late, too. But you're coming to dinner as well, and here”—she brought her hand forward with a flourish—“I thought you might like something pretty to wear.”

It was a pink gown.
Pink
. Anna had never worn pink in her life. She couldn't imagine its candy-sweet softness on her.

“Oh, Lizzie,” she said kindly, “this is so thoughtful of you. But I'm your governess, and I could never wear such a thing to dinner at his lordship's table. It wouldn't be appropriate.”

Lizzie cast her eyes to the ceiling. “Who cares about appropriate?”

Anna reminded herself that when she was sixteen, she'd thought she knew better than any number of people as well. Lizzie would doubtless think quite differently of her badly dressed governess if she knew that Anna's naked image was currently making the rounds of the
ton
. Though if anyone would be inclined to overlook the scandal, it would be Lizzie, who would probably just encourage her to enjoy the attention.

Anna smiled. “As your governess, I do.”

“But I'm dying to see you in something pretty. Your dresses are so drab.” Lizzie laid the dress over the back of the chair in front of Anna's vanity. “I'll leave it here, in case you change your mind. I have another one that's similar, so I don't need it. No arguments!”

Anna didn't suppose it would do any good to say she'd never wear it. Instead she put her hands on Lizzie's shoulders and gently turned her around. “Very well. But
you
must finish dressing and not keep Lord Grandville waiting.”

“I have some Pear's Liquid Bloom of Roses, too,” Lizzie pressed, “if you should like to enhance your cheeks a bit.”

“Face paint? Certainly not. Nor should you use such things. You're far too young, and you're already entirely lovely.”

Lizzie's only reply as she left was a giggle.

So, Lizzie and Lady Grandville would both be late. This meant that Anna might have a chance to talk to the viscount.

She fluttered her fingers over the pink gown. It was gossamer fine, fragile enough to be easily torn and smudged. Her eyes went to the looking glass on the vanity beyond.

Her thick, curly black hair was collected in its customary rough knot, the unruly strands pulling in bumpy sections across her head—she'd long ago abandoned trying to get it to lie smoothly. And her eyebrows were surely too strong—mannish, she'd always thought, and her face, too, with its angles and planes that seemed to her like a miniature version of her father's face. It was a sharp face, not soft and delicate, as women were supposed to be.

Flirtation and the artfulness of attraction were foreign to her. She'd grown up amid talk of the latest discoveries in medicine and her father's studies of birds. She could draw a sparrow hawk in intricate detail and knew the correct dose of willow bark to relieve a headache, but she didn't know about plucking eyebrows and piercing ears, and she'd never cared about fabrics or threads or all the other things she might have shared with a mother or sister.