The Impossible Governess (23 page)

“All right, Caroline, do you understand your sums any better now that Charlotte has explained them to you?” she asked the younger of the two before wearily sinking down on a straight back chair placed directly across from her two pupils.  Both girls looked up at their governess with round hazel eyes with few lashes, set in round, freckled faces.  Each possessed limp, dark brown hair that hung down their backs.  But while Charlotte was one year older than her seven year old sister, her plumpness next to the leaner frame of the other girl made her appear the younger.

Before either one could answer, Claire let out another squeal.  Whipping around, Georgeanne spotted Geoffrey streaking back to the stool in the corner while the little toddler rubbed her head where her brother had viciously yanked her mousy brown ringlets.

“Oh, Geoffrey, that wasn’t nice,” Georgeanne scolded in exasperation.  Once again she went over to pick up the crying Claire.  “Where is Nanny?  Surely it has not taken all this time to rock Baby Nancy to sleep.”  With Claire still in her arms, she went out into the narrow corridor and glared crossly at the closed nursery door.  

Without bothering to knock, Georgeanne pushed open the badly scar
red door and saw a middle aged woman, whose ample portions were squeezed into an old wooden rocker, sound asleep, emitting deep snores with a baby cradled in her arms.

“Oh, this will not do.”  Shaking her head in disgust, Georgeanne advanced purposely toward the rocker and used the toe of her shoe to nudge the fat ankle stretched out from under the woman’s drab, gray muslin uniform covered by a shorter white apron.  Her own dainty foot, however, was quickly replaced by a small brown boot that shot out and viciously kicked the same ankle with considerably more force.

“Ouch!” cried the nurse, clutching the infant to her enormous bosom while rearing back in the rocker, setting it in furious motion.

“Geoffrey, go back to the schoolroom this instant!” demanded Georgeanne, looking more harassed by the second.  When the little boy drew his foot back, obviously intending to repeat the kick, she grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him against her skirts and, at the same time, stepped back a few paces, putting a comfortable distance between them and the nurse.  With one hand maintaining a firm grip on the wiggling boy while the other held the toddler straddled on her hip, she glared at the slovenly woman.

“Really, Mrs. Ripley, I cannot possibly handle all five of these children by myself.  You will have to take Claire.”

“Lord, Missy, how do you think I can take care of that cry baby when I’m trying to rock Baby Nancy to sleep?” whined the other woman contemptuously.

“Strange,” replied Georgeanne with a furrowed brow, “when I came in, I noticed the baby was sound asleep...as well as yourself.”

“Now, don’t you get huffy with me, girlie,” blustered the nurse, rocking faster now as the babe squalled at being so rudely awakened from her nap.  “You ain’t got no right telling me how to do me job.”

Having heard this lecture before, Georgeanne sighed loudly. “You must see, Mrs. Ripley, I cannot—“

“There you go again, putting on them fancy airs,” interjected the nanny.  “I told the Misses how it would be, hiring one with your fancy ways.  Ain’t ever seen a governess with dresses the likes of yours.  Why, just look at you, wearing cherry striped taffeta.  Ain’t no servant’s apron going to hide the fact them be expensive togs.”

The grossly stout nurse lowered her head, giving Georgeanne a sly glance from under puffy eyelids.  “No, madam, I told the Misses, I did, more than likely, since you ain’t a reference to your name, you’d probably got them fancy togs from your daddy, if you take me meaning.”

With an effort, Georgeanne ignored this slur and tried again to get the nanny to focus on her responsibility. “Mrs. Ripley, you must take Claire.  Geoffrey will not leave her alone, and I must spend time with Charlotte and Caroline on their lessons.”

“I can’t do it all, Missy, and so I told you from the beginning.  ‘This ain’t no free ride,’ I said.  Told you, you’d be expected to pull your own weight around here.”

“And so I do,” retorted Georgeanne with asperity.  “But there is no way I can do my job and yours.”  Adroitly shifting her hand to securely grip Geoffrey’s shoulder, she pushed the squirming little boy to one side of her skirts, blocking the nurse from him, and plopped the toddler on Mrs. Ripley’s ample lap.  “There, Claire, sit with Nanny and she will rock you,” said Georgeanne gently to the small child before taking Geoffrey by the hand and dragging him back across the hall to the schoolroom. 

It had taken considerable restraint on her part to turn a deaf ear to the lazy nurse’s diatribes, always defaming her character. 

They had started the very day she arrived, and Georgeanne had found the best method of handling the crotchety old woman and her malicious whining was to simply ignore her.  Whether Mrs. Kidd paid the nurse any heed, Georgeanne didn’t know and actually didn’t care.  All she really worried about was keeping this job as much as she hated it.  With the exception of Geoffrey, the children were likeable enough if not overly bright.  But she missed Marissa and her handsome uncle, and
not a night passed without her falling to sleep on a damp pillow.

Once back in the schoolroom, she swung the little boy about to face her and knelt down to talk with him.  “Listen to me, Geoffrey, I have had all I care to take from you today.  Now, you are going to sit in that corner and play with your soldiers while I teach your sisters their lessons.  Do you understand me, young man?”

“Can’t make me,” cried Geoffrey.  Then, he stuck out his tongue and tried to yank himself out of her grip.

But she had anticipated this and held fast.  “That is it, Geoffrey.  I am not playing anymore games with you.”  Then, before the child could react, she sank down on the floor and pulled his small body across her lap.

“This is for all those naughty things you have done to your sisters as well as Nanny and myself.”  Whereupon, Georgeanne administered a sound spanking with Geoffrey all the while protesting that she couldn’t spank him and he was going to tell his mama.

After half a dozen whacks on his well padded bottom, Georgeanne felt immensely better for no other reason than knowing the child had received at least a small measure of the punishment he deserved for his hitherto unchecked behavior.  So ignoring his wailings with a clear conscience, she stood the boy up, straightened his clothing, took his hand and hauled him over to a pile of toys, despite that all the way across the room he tried to dig his feet in the flooring.

“Sit down, Geoffrey,” she commanded.  When he shook his head, she spoke in a dangerously low voice.  “Sit, Geoffrey, or else you will get another spanking.” Unbelieving eyes stared at her before he began crying in earnest for his mama.  “Sit,” she commanded again, and he plunked himself down among the collection of wooden soldiers, carriages, horses and cannons.

Tu
rning to the girls, she saw all three were staring at her with incredulous faces.  Caroline’s expression was one of respectful awe while Charlotte looked as if she thought the governess was a candidate for Bedlam and Annie looked thoroughly puzzled. 

A wicked smile turned up the corners of Georgeanne’s mouth.  She didn’t care if the little demon tattled to his mother, though she didn’t believe for a moment that Mrs. Kidd wouldn’t be informed about the new governess’s transgression against her precious son.  No, if not Geoffrey, then one of the older two girls was sure to blab, hoping to be rewarded with some attention from the unfeeling woman.  But it wouldn’t matter, for she had experienced a moment of sheer joy, having at last won one battle with the unruly boy.

She could not imagine a more willful child.  With his doting mother catering to his every whim, Geoffrey was developing into a thoroughly self centered and vicious brat.  Glancing over to where he sat, she was surprised to see him playing with his toy soldiers.  She knew better than to expect his cooperation to last, but while it continued she’d enjoy every minute of the momentary tranquility.

“Now, girls,” she began with a smile that was genuine for the first time in a week, “just what exactly have you learned?”

~~~~~

Two floors below, while Georgeanne valiantly tried to maintain a semblance of order in the schoolroom, Fannie Kidd, stretched out on the Egyptian day bed, was studying the latest Parisian fashion plates in
La Belle Assemblee
, trying to decide on a style which would be most flattering to her in mourning black.  Mr. Kidd, after all, could not last forever.  So enthralled was she in contemplating her new wardrobe that she had not noticed the elegant coach with the embossed coat of arms on the shiny black door panel pull up at her own front door.  When the butler entered the drawing room a few minutes later, she was excessively annoyed and peevishly snapped, “What is it, Denton?”

“You have a caller, Madam.”  Why was it the blasted man always seemed to be looking down on her.  Fanny would have sacked the arrogant bloke long ago except that her husband insisted on keeping the uppity servant.

“I’m not in the mood for visitors today and distinctly recall telling you I wasn’t to be disturbed,” retorted Fanny acidly with her pug nose in the air, frowning at his smug expression. 

“His card, Madam,” was his sonorous reply.  Extending his pristine white-gloved hand, Denton proffered a silver salver on which laid a calling card with the left corner turned down.

Extending two jewel encrusted fingers, she gingerly plucked it up and squinted at the print for some seconds while deciphering the black script letting before reading aloud, “The Right Honorable The Viscount Raynor!”  Excitedly, her brows shot up and she squeaked, “Here?”  A devote reader of the court news in the
Morning Post
, the only section she ever took the time to read, Mrs. Kidd was well aware of the latest gossip and knew of his lordship’s reputation.

“Yes, madam,” the butler replied priggishly.

“Dear me, by all means show him in, Denton,” she commanded, quickly whipping one magazine behind a cushion and sitting up straighter.  While trying to arrange her skirts and smooth back her hair at the same time, Fannie thought how vexing it was that not one of her snobbish neighbors was there to witness this august personage come calling on her.  Of course, she had no idea what the nobleman wanted and really didn’t care.

The fact was, a member of the Quality, and a very distinguished member at that, was in her drawing room.  Her heart barely burst with pride as that toplofty Denton threw open the door and announced her guest.

Briskly, Raynor stepped into the room, then stopped dead in his tracks as he tried to locate his hostess.  It took him a moment to espy the day bed across the room with the overdressed matron attired in a profusion of purple silk ruffles from the daringly low and ample décolletage to the two pudgy feet, stuffed into matching satin slippers.   As he advanced forward, good manners prevented him from gawking at the exotic assortment of furnishings.  And it was with some reservations that he accepted the bejeweled hand extended to him as his hostess rose and gave him a shaky curtsey.  Quickly releasing her hand as she reseated herself, he watched her openly assess his measure and hid a shudder of revulsion when she moistened her painted lips while staring at his thighs encased in buff unmentionables.

He coughed, redirecting her attention.  He declined a seat or any refreshments, anxious to come directly to the point of his visit.

“You have a young woman in your employ by the name of Miss Georgeanne Forsythe,” he stated baldly.

Inclining her head slowly, she affirmed that was true. “And just what is your business with Miss Forsythe, my lord?” she asked bluntly, sounding miffed.

“She was governess to my niece before coming to you.”

“Since she ain’t no longer with you, what could you want with the girl, unless it’s you want to hire her back?” she ventured with her lower lip forming a snide curl, insinuating much more than she said.

Since he’d sought this woman out, Raynor recognized that he would have to give her an answer.  “While she was with us, Marissa, my niece, became quite attached to Miss Forsythe.”

“Then why’d she leave you?”

“A misunderstanding arose,” he said dampeningly, intending to stop the woman’s prying questions.

“My own dear children have also gotten attached to her and, of course, you do know how very hard ‘tis to find good help these days.”  She gave a tinkling titter which only served to irritate his lordship’s temper.  Her crass manner did nothing to disguise her mercenary soul.

He saw at once he would have to pay dearly to appease the calloused and grasping female.  “I would, of course, see that Miss Forsythe is replaced by another competent governess.”  In response, he received a calculating eye that assessed his superfine jacket fashioned by Weston and his Hessians with silver tassels by Hoby, almost as if she were toting up the guineas.  He asked, “She is here?

“Oh, yes,” came her reluctant re
ply before she reached for a silver bell on the hideous elephant’s foot stand nearest her. The ever decorous Denton responded within seconds, and Fannie Kidd curtly instructed him to bring the governess to the drawing room.

Not feeling kindly disposed to make small talk with the vulgar woman, Raynor deposited himself in one of the Chinese lacquered chairs and let his mind concentrate on the upcoming interview. He did not know how his fiery Georgeanne would receive him.  But he hoped, nay prayed, that her feelings matched his own and was determined to make her understand that he needed her as much as his little niece.  He knew she cared deeply for Marissa and fully intended to play that trump to lure her back if all else failed.  Given time and the right circumstances, he believed he could convince her of his love, his sincere desire to make her his wife.  The trouble was that while she was in this cit’s house, romancing her was near impossible.