The Beautiful One (9 page)

She wasn't certain she missed those things exactly. But…Lord Grandville made her feel more aware of herself as a woman.

She changed into her brown gown and, smoothing the wrinkles out of it with a few rough swipes of her hands, went downstairs.

He was in the library, standing with his back to her as she entered, and gazing at a small painting hanging on the wall by the night-dark window.

She liked the library, a room that was both grand and cozy. Its tall, handsome bookcases were filled with volumes new and old, and along the far wall behind the substantial desk, a set of French doors led onto the terrace and a view during the day of undulating fields and clusters of ash and oak trees. There were a few marble busts here and there, and a pair of chairs upholstered in a faded cornflower blue stood in welcome repose near the hearth, contributing to the room's feeling of cozy welcome, though they did make her wonder anew why some parts of Stillwell were spartanly furnished with threadbare furnishings.

He turned as she closed the door behind her, and the wary look in his eye told her he'd thought she might be his stepmother.

He'd changed into gentlemen's clothes. Of course he would come to dinner with his niece and stepmother well groomed. Still, she was hardly prepared for the sight of him freshly shaved and with his wavy, dark brown hair trimmed into neatness, his broad shoulders encased in a bottle-green coat, and his long legs showing to advantage in a pair of black trousers.

It wasn't that he'd been unappealing in his work clothes, but now he looked darkly impeccable and exceedingly handsome, and very much the viscount. When he was wearing the old clothes, the distance in their rank was less noticeable to her. But it was always there, and now she was reminded.

She hadn't forgotten how it had felt to be in his arms, nor the wonderful way he smelled up close and the momentary bliss she'd known on that chilly, dark spring morning. She knew she wanted to be in his arms again, and that, of course, this couldn't happen.

“Ah, Anna. And where is my ward? She
is
coming to dinner, is she not? You have, after all, commanded that I be here.”

“Yes.” She moved to join him by the painting. “Lizzie and Lady Grandville will be down shortly.”

At the mention of his stepmother, he pressed his lips together and returned to gazing at the painting. But she felt that she still had his attention.

“My lord, I wonder if you realize what a benefit your stepmother's arrival might be to Lizzie. How good it might be for Lizzie to spend time in her company and get to know her.”

He turned around, and the hard expression on his face startled her. “You don't care for the wise course, do you, Anna? Or the path of least resistance? But this is one area where I will allow you no leeway whatsoever.”

“But she might be a friend to Lizzie,” she pressed, “now, when she needs one so much. She could introduce her to society, perhaps take her to Town and give her a season.”

“No.” The masculine planes of his face seemed to have grown more pronounced. His dark blue eyes fastened on her with irritation from behind their inky lashes. “Has anyone ever told you that there's such a thing as too much persistence?”

“I don't believe I've ever heard that. Anyway, in Lizzie's case, I am prepared to be annoying.”

“I can see that.” He gave a heavy sigh. “I won't have Judith chaperoning her. She is not as wonderful as you think her to be. Shall I tell you about her? My parents were very happily married for all of my youth. The picture of contentment, a blessing to their friends and family. When I was eighteen, my mother became ill, and my father nursed her for a year with care and affection. He also began to seek comfort in a young mistress. That woman was Judith, and shortly after my mother died, he married her.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “That seems…complicated.”

“It wasn't that complicated. She was the daughter of a lawyer whom my father met on one of his visits to Town, a woman a mere three years older than I was. She saw her chance to be viscountess, and she cultivated him.”

“I find it hard to believe she was that calculating.”

“Believe it. When they married a few months after my mother died, Judith proceeded to do everything she could to erase our mother's presence. She had the paintings of Mother shifted to unused rooms and changed the way we did everything. I even overheard her telling my father she thought Mother might have had a lover, which was ridiculous.”

“Very well, I see it would be hard to trust her. And I can imagine it was awkward having a woman nearly your own age for a stepmother. But this all happened years ago. She was young. Perhaps she's changed.”

He gave her a skeptical look, and she had to admit it did seem that his stepmother had given him much reason to doubt her. Though Lady Grandville had been so frank with her, admitting she'd made mistakes. Anna liked her.

“And what about your father's part in this? You're putting a lot on your stepmother, but he was capable of making his own choices.”

“Enough of Judith,” he said, waving his hand. “She will, God willing, be gone from Stillwell tomorrow morning.”

Anna rather thought that Lady Grandville, who'd remained so steadfast in the face of her stepson's cool welcome, might not depart as quickly as he expected. But that was between the two of them.

“Come then, Governess, now that you are here, entertain me with your knowledge. Tell me something useful: The order of Spanish monarchs, how to draw a butterfly, your favorite part of speech.”

He wanted distraction. She'd already guessed that arguing with her provided a respite from things he didn't want to think about. She sighed. “I am fond of the semicolon. And you, I suppose, prefer the period, which lets you say ‘my will be done.'”

His bark of laughter gave her a little thrill, a sense of victory even. And, oh, how handsome he was with the sides of his mouth curled up and a spark of mirth in his eyes.

“Not a flattering portrait in the least,” he said, “though I don't suppose you would have such a thing to offer about me.”

“Not true,” she said. “I've heard these cottages you are making for your tenants are very fine. A generous thing for a master to provide.”

His expression turned sober. “They were an idea that my late wife and I conceived of together.”

“And you are building them yourself.”

He shrugged. “Builders did most of the work. I'm merely doing the finishing. I like to keep my hands busy.”

She was curious about something she'd noticed in the painting behind him, which he'd been looking at earlier. The picture was of a lake surrounded by cypresses. On the far bank, two figures sprawled lazily, and behind them people milled about, as if at a party. The whole feel of the painting—the colors, the light—was decidedly not English.

“Come, my lord, it's your turn to tell me something. Why is it that one of the people in that painting behind you looks familiar?”

His eyes settled on her. “I thought you were going to dress for dinner, but this is merely the other vile gown. Where do you get them? Is there perhaps a clutch of trolls somewhere sewing for you?”

She ignored him and peered closer at the painting. “It's you, isn't it, cavorting with the party people? I can see your viscountish nose, and isn't that a cloud of sour arrogance hovering about you?” She squinted at the details. “No, oddly. You look decidedly carefree. In fact, rather like a young peasant. And is your shirt untied?”

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall to the side of the painting. “I was on holiday in Italy. Why don't you get a magnifying glass so you can see how I've arranged my hair?”

“Tell me about Italy. Did you love it?”

“Such an inquisitive governess.”

He had a deep voice, and close as they stood to each other, it curled into her ears gratefully. She knew she would have been happy to trade questions with him all night just to hear it, which was not good at all, but she would allow herself this small indulgence. Somehow, talking with him soothed her wonderfully. She told herself this was merely because in his way, he treated her as an equal, something she'd missed over the last month, but it was far more than that. Talking with him—being with him—brought out new and magical feelings she'd never experienced before.

She wasn't so naive that she didn't realize these were the feelings of attraction—and a fairly strong attraction, it seemed—but she'd gone her whole life without knowing them, and she couldn't turn away from experiencing them now, if only a little bit. After she went north to her aunt's, she might very well have only them to savor for the rest of her life.

“I thirst for knowledge,” she said.

His lips quirked. “I traveled there a few years ago with my younger brother, Tommy, just before my engagement.”

Her heart gave a skip of fear at the mention of his brother, the one person in his family who might recognize her. As casually as possible, she asked, “And where is your brother? Does he visit Stillwell often?”

“He's in Italy, along with our Halifax cousins. Apparently we had such a famous time there that he couldn't resist going back.”

Relief flooded her. “Oh?” she said. “What did the two of you do there?”

“We traveled as merely a couple of gentlemen and thus dispensed with any courtesies or duties that might have been expected for a viscount. It was something of an adventure.”

He turned back to the painting. “And no,” he said, “I don't know the people dancing behind us—they were there for some kind of fete. Does that answer all of your questions, dear Governess, or will there be more?”

She hesitated. There was something she probably shouldn't ask about, but…she wanted to know more about him.

“I wonder, does this picture bother you?”

“Why should it bother me?”

“Because it's from a happier time, before your wife died. I suppose you must feel like a different person now, with all that's happened.”

He lifted a hand to rub his eyes and the gesture drew her attention to the lines of fatigue at their corners, which seemed incised, as if he never slept well at night. He let his hand fall.

“Nothing is sacred to you, is it, Anna?”

“Doesn't it pain you never to speak of her?” she asked softly. “I get the sense
she
is rather sacred. Almost not human and fallible like the rest of us.”

“Ginger had plenty of humanity!” he said with a vehemence that startled her. “She was a perfect person.”

All his love for his wife and his pain at the loss of her was there, naked now in his dark blue eyes, and it pierced her to see it. Along with compassion, she felt a fierce stab of jealousy that his wife still held his heart. She wanted him to see
her
, but his mind's eye was turned ever toward his wife. Perhaps she was being selfish in speaking about her in this way, but there was also truth in what she had to say.

“Surely an oxymoron, since to be human is to be flawed. Perfect isn't real, and I'm sure, from all you've said about her, that she was real.”

Will gave her a dark look meant to quell her. “I don't want to talk about this.”

She said nothing, just regarded him with those steady eyes, and again he had the feeling he'd had the first night, that she'd seen too much of life. Only now that he knew her better, he thought it was more this: that nothing in human nature would surprise her. She was a very good observer. He thought of her love of birds, and how she must be accustomed to watching patiently.

His gaze slid away from her. There had been no one with whom to talk of Ginger, or the past, for so long, and he felt, suddenly, an overwhelming need to let his thoughts spill out.

“When my father married Judith, I left Stillwell and practically took up residence with my cousins. I saw hardly anything of my father for the next several years. And then he was gone.”

“You felt he'd betrayed your mother. You're a man who takes vows and responsibilities very seriously.”

“How can you of all people say that, after I insulted you so abominably the first night you were here?”

“And yet, here you are, finishing those tenants' cottages you and your wife dreamed up to benefit others. It seems there's some good in you after all.”

He frowned, as if that were an unacceptable idea.

“You were a good son who loved his mother,” Anna said. “The eldest son, responsible for a great deal. I'm willing to bet you were something of a moralist who believed in all the noble principles his parents had embodied for most of his life. Your disappointment is understandable.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What could you possibly know about marriage, Anna? Surely, young as you are, you've never been married.”

“No.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Ever had a beau?”

Her gaze returned to the painting. “I've never been much interested in beaux.”

Independent as she was, that didn't surprise him. He wondered anew about what had happened with that aristocrat, the one who'd made her flush when he'd questioned her about him.

“That man who imposed on you… Was he someone you cared for in any way?” He felt himself hanging in terrible suspense over her answer.

“No!” She seemed to shudder. “Absolutely not. He…wanted things from me. But he never touched me.”

“Tell me his name. He must be made to answer for what he's done.”

“No,” she said firmly. “That would only give what happened more life. I've resolved the issue and put it behind me.”

He didn't like this, but he would not undermine her wishes. “Very well, I won't pursue it.”

But something in the region of his heart squeezed painfully. She was so lovely, and with no family, she would have been an easy victim for a powerful man bent on having her, a thought that made him furious. Yet she'd offered him that embrace in the garden, when she might easily have been skittish about men and the power they could wield over her. She was brave. Braver, perhaps, than he.

He wanted extremely to kiss her. From his own need, yes, but also to offer her something to counter this other man's actions.