Her Cursed Apple, page 2
“Been with the family since Miss Snow was born, milady.” Nurse bobbed another small curtsy.
“Where is her governess?”
“No governess, milady. I’ve been overseeing Miss Snow’s education.” Bee noticed a hint of pink in Nurse’s cheeks.
A crease formed between Malorie’s brows. “I see. And what has she learned?”
“She has a solid grasp of mathematics and literature, milady, as well as history, and she excels at geography.”
“What about accomplishments?”
“Milady?”
“Have you taught her music?”
“No, milady. Nor dancing. I never learned those myself.”
“Hmm. Magic?”
Nurse shook her head.
“The modern languages?”
“No, milady.”
“Drawing?”
“We tried that, milady, without much success.”
Bianca, listening, cringed. Their experiment with drawing had gone abysmally. She could admit to herself that she had absolutely no aptitude for art, but that didn’t mean she liked her deficiencies listed out so comprehensively.
“Has she been taught anything about running a household?”
“Yes, milady,” Mrs. Portman spoke up. “She’s been learning everything I could teach her for years.”
“Good. But what about planning and hosting a ball or a house party?”
“No, milady.”
Bee blinked from behind her book. Were those things expected? Her father often invited neighboring families over for dinner while he was home, but their table never sat more than eight, though it could fit more. Bee had no experience even attending larger events, let alone hosting them, and she barely had a wide enough acquaintance for the few social engagements they had.
Malorie pursed her lips and tutted. “This situation won’t do. I must engage a proper governess at once. My lord ought to have engaged one years ago. Bianca will have to work extra hard, or she’ll be behind all the other young ladies in accomplishments when she comes out.”
Bianca stared at her, aghast. Even Mrs. Portman looked surprised.
“That seems drastic, milady. Surely no harm has been done by the delay.”
“Lady Petersham’s daughters are only eight, and they’ve been taking lessons in magic and music for the past six months.” Malorie cast her gaze over Bianca, who quickly lowered her eyes to her book. “Hiring a governess will be my first priority. When she comes, Miss Smith, your services will no longer be required until our family increases.”
Bee scowled at the pages in front of her, barely seeing the words. Nurse would be dismissed as soon as the new governess took up residence, unless Malorie was expecting a baby. While Bianca had given up on wishing for younger siblings, she suddenly hoped for a baby so that Nurse could stay. She didn’t need a nurse any longer, and she liked the idea of having proper magic lessons from a governess rather than second-hand instruction from Winston. But while Malorie might see Nurse as staff, to Bianca, she was family.
***
“She’s sending Nurse away and hiring a governess.”
Winston looked up as Bianca swung herself down from her saddle. He could see at a glance how upset she was. Bee had always been one for big emotions that showed in every line of her body.
He finished feeding Grayling the last chunk of carrot then wiped his hands on his breeches, crossing to Bee as Harry took Diamond’s reins from her. She looked about ready to start swinging her fists if only a suitable target presented itself, but Winston could see the deeper hurt, so he risked injury by pulling her into a hug. They used to comfort each other like this after many a childhood scrape, but they hadn’t so much in recent years. Bee had decided, once she’d learned to take out her feelings through boxing, that she had no further need of cuddles or comfort. She probably had no idea that Winston had stopped for an entirely different reason. He liked the feel of his best friend in his arms far too much to risk the delightful torment often.
But she needed a hug now, and he felt justified in his choice as she leaned into him and laid her head against his collarbone with a soft sigh. He rested his cheek against her hair, smelling soap and summer sun on the raven-dark strands.
“I know Nurse gave you the only mothering you’ve ever known, but she’s not the only person who loves you, Bee.”
She straightened and pulled back, leaving Winston wishing he hadn’t broken the moment. Bee was blinking hard as if fending off tears, and he wanted to pull her back into his arms. But she shook her head and said lightly, teasing, “Of course not. I’m the most popular person in the parish and the darling of two estates. Even your parents like me best.”
Winston chuckled, loving her bravado as much as her vulnerability. “Naturally, they do.”
She sighed heavily, the lightness falling. “I’m going to miss her.”
“Of course you will. If it helps, you got to keep her longer than I did. Remember, Nanny was replaced by Mr. Turbot when I was twelve.”
“The reprieve only means that now I’ll have to catch up on years of the most awful lessons.” Bee stormed away from him across the clearing, all her agitation returning. “It’s just not fair that Malorie can come in and take over and immediately wreck my life.”
“That’s maybe a bit dramatic.” Though it wasn’t surprising that Bee felt that way. Her stepmother had been with them for less than a full day, and she was already making changes. Winston shoved his hands into his pockets. “She is your father’s wife, and we expected her to prepare you for your introduction to society.”
She rounded on him, pointing a finger for emphasis. “You should have heard her, Winston. She expects me to learn music and drawing and dancing and languages and hostessing and… and…” She threw her hands up. “I am apparently less accomplished than an eight year old.” She crossed her arms and glowered.
One corner of Winston’s mouth twitched up. Even her petulance was adorable. “I highly doubt that.” He leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree. “You’re well read, you can do magic nearly as well as I can, and you know more about geography than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Bee rolled her eyes, obviously in no mood to be mollified.
Winston tried again. “The rest is mostly frippery, to impress the ton. All the young ladies learn these things and show them off during their Seasons.”
“If you think for one moment, Winston Elliot Graham, that I care a jot for dancing at balls or drinking tea in stuffy drawing rooms with self-important strangers, then you’re an idiot.”
The grin he’d been suppressing stretched wide across his face. He used to hate when she was annoyed enough at him to bring out his full name, but now he just loved her fierceness. “But you do want to go to London.”
Bee sighed. “I do.”
It had been a sore point for years that her father left her behind when he went to town for Parliament. She’d been told that she’d be miserably bored in town and that she was much better off in the country with Diamond and the woods and gardens. This may have been true, but it didn’t stop Winston from feeling guilty every year when his mother took him along for a few weeks.
“I just want to see it all. Westminster and St. Paul’s, the Tower, the Exchange, Elgin’s Marbles…”
“And the only way they’ll take you for a Season when you’re eighteen is if they think you’re ready for the Marriage Mart.” He cringed at the final two words, but controlled his expression quickly. There was nothing he hated more than the idea of Bianca being on the market. But this conversation wasn’t about what he wanted. “So the best way to get what you want is…” He gestured for her to finish the sentence.
Bee scowled and said nothing.
“To study hard and learn whatever your governess teaches you,” he finished for her.
“But I don’t want to get married. From what I can see, a husband would want me to stay at home and raise children, and I’d never get to see anything of the world. My life would be just as limited, only in a different house.”
I wouldn’t. Winston gulped back the words that would give away his true feelings. She wasn’t ready to hear them. He said, carefully, “The right husband would do everything in his power to make your dreams come true, Bee. But I’m not suggesting you have to accept any suitors. I’m simply saying that to get your wish of seeing London, you need to—”
“Do what Malorie wants me to,” she sighed.
He gave her a sympathetic smile. “Some of your lessons might be fun—you might find you enjoy music or dancing, and you already like magic. And learning French and Italian would set you up well for a Grand Tour someday.”
Bee’s expression softened. He knew he’d scored a point. She didn’t just want to see London; she wanted to see everything, everywhere.
“And,” Winston added, stepping toward her and reaching out to touch her crossed arms, gently coaxing them out of their knot so that he could take her hands, “when you have your Season, I’ll come to town and show you all my favorite places.”
“But you’ll be at Oxford still, won’t you?”
“If I am, I’ll ride to London every weekend for the entire term.”
“Promise?”
To claim her time for himself to the exclusion of other men? “With all my heart.” He squeezed her hands gently before letting go.
Bianca dropped her gaze from his, a small frown still creasing her brow. He could see her coming to terms with the situation, accepting that she’d have to learn what she could from whatever governess her new stepmother hired because, for now, their goals aligned. The tension hadn’t left her shoulders, however.
Winston reached out and tapped a finger against the back of her wrist. “Want to hit something?”
“So badly.”
He grinned. This was why he kept sparring with her even when he knew he shouldn’t. He’d do anything to ease her irritation and bring her smile back. “For my personal safety, it’s probably best if you work out your frustration on a target that isn’t my face. What do you think, Harry?” He raised his voice to call the last question over his shoulder.
“Right you are, Master Graham.” Harry grinned as he pulled an old shawl from his saddlebag and wrapped it around his hand to serve as Bianca’s target. He’d been doing this since her very first boxing lessons so she could learn the skills without either of the two friends injuring each other.
Winston looked on as they took their places.
“Hands up, Miss Snow,” Harry coached. “Always protect yourself.”
Chapter 3
Malorie was as good as her word. Within a month, Nurse was packing to leave, and the new governess was expected to arrive any day. Malorie welcomed the new governess in the drawing room alone. If Bee had still been a child of ten, she would have hung over the banister in hopes of glimpsing the woman. Instead, she walked the gardens behind the house, trying to be patient through her growing apprehension. She couldn’t help wondering what dreadful things Malorie was saying as the conference seemed to stretch on for hours.
Not that her stepmother disliked her, or at least, she didn’t think so. But the new viscountess definitely disapproved. Each night at dinner, she corrected Bee’s posture, how she held her spoon, the size of the bites she took, how long to chew and swallow before speaking, whether to speak at the table at all. Suddenly the time Bee had loved most—the time she’d always shared with her father—was turning into the activity she most wished to avoid.
Dinner wasn’t the only time Malorie was critical. Bee was allowed to go riding, but never alone, and only at a sedate walk, a trot at most. She was used to having Harry along, of course, and they relaxed the rules as soon as they were out of sight of the house. She loved cantering across the back fields. Malorie insisted that Bee not leave the house without a bonnet—protection from the sun in good weather, protection from rain in wet. Bee only fought the command once. Lady Eston declared that if Bianca would not wear a bonnet, she would not set foot out of doors, and wearing the dratted hat was better than being cooped up inside.
Now Bee tugged on the bonnet strings tied snuggly under her chin but not hard enough to release the bow. She needed to look like a presentable young lady when she met the new governess if she was to make any sort of decent first impression.
“Bianca, dear,” Malorie’s musical voice said from behind her. “Come and meet Miss Hilton.”
Bianca slowly turned, her heart seeming to beat in her throat. Her stepmother and the governess glided toward her along the garden path, barely seeming to notice the flame-colored rose bushes they passed. She curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hilton.” She risked a glance at the woman who came to a halt beside Malorie.
Miss Hilton was older than Papa but younger than Nurse. She was trim and small, with a stiff spine and a prim expression. Her gray hair was in a simple knot at the nape of her neck, and her gray eyes evaluated Bee with cool intelligence.
“She’s not the worst case I’ve handled.” Miss Hilton addressed Malorie as if Bee weren’t standing there. “We’ll find her potential, I’m certain.”
“Good.” Malorie looked ready to dust her hands of the situation. “Lessons will begin tomorrow morning after breakfast. Bianca, please show Miss Hilton to her room.”
Bee gave Malorie a pleading look. Her stepmother raised an eyebrow. Bee pasted on a gracious smile and led the governess into the house and up the stairs to the schoolroom. She paused just inside the doorway. A table stood along one wall, set with two chairs, and the spinet from the back parlor had been moved to rest against another wall. Two bedrooms opened off of the former nursery: Bee’s on one side and Nurse’s—now Miss Hilton’s—on the other. Bee’s door was closed, but the other bedroom stood open and empty. There was a bed, a desk, a washstand, and a wardrobe, of course, but the hand-stitched quilt that usually lay over Nurse’s bed was gone, and the miniatures of Nurse’s parents that had sat on the desk were gone as well. It was just a room. It bore no sign that a grandmotherly woman had lived there for fifteen years.
The next morning, Miss Hilton met Bianca in the schoolroom just as a maid brought up a breakfast tray with enough food for the two of them to share.
“I thought we could begin over breakfast by discussing what you’ve learned.”
“Didn’t my stepmother tell you?” Bee had not intended to be rude, but in her surprise at the unexpected question, the words blurted out.
“She did,” Miss Hilton said in her prim manner, taking a seat at the table and pouring tea, “but I would like to hear from your perspective as well.”
They had soon settled that Bee knew nothing about music or dancing or any language other than English.
“And what about drawing? Painting?”
“Horrendous,” Bee admitted bluntly. “I have no aptitude for art at all.”
“Hmm,” considered Miss Hilton. “We’ll try a few beginner lessons and see how we do.”
Miss Hilton seemed to approve of Bianca’s grasp of history and literature. “I was afraid I’d find a young lady who read nothing but gothic novels.”
Bee shrugged. “I only have access to what’s in the shop in town or what Papa brings home for me from London. I prefer reading travels and journals, anyway.”
This led to a discussion of geography, which was by far Bianca’s favorite subject. She was slightly behind in mathematics, and she had learned no natural science at all.
“And what of magic?”
Bee brightened. Here was another area in which she excelled. “I’ve learned quite a lot of the basics, plus a few advanced spells.”
“Could you demonstrate, please?”
Bee obliged by lighting and snuffing the nearest candle with a murmured spell-word. Then she froze the dregs of tepid tea in her cup and melted it again. Finally, she levitated the book she’d been reading—the recently published narrative of the exploration across America by Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, which Papa had bought for her in town—so that it floated a few inches off the table before lowering back down with a soft thud.
Miss Hilton studied her for a moment. “Surprising. And very well done. Am I to assume you have learned no illusions?”
Bee frowned. “No. Should I have?”
A slight smile curved up the governess’s lips. “Ladies are taught primarily illusions, Miss Snow, once they progress beyond candle lighting and the like. Who have you been learning from?”
“Winston,” she said. At Miss Hilton’s raised brows, she blushed. “Winston Graham, the son of Lord Rowland of Pinehurst. He’s been teaching me magic ever since he began his own lessons.”
“And how long has that been?”
“Six years.”
“I see.” She shook her head. “Well, a child teaching a child is not how I would have wished to begin your education in such a finicky subject, but I cannot deny that you have excellent control. We will skip over the basics, then, and proceed with illusions.”
After several dozen more questions, Miss Hilton glanced at the clock. “It looks like we have our work cut out for us. The morning is half gone, but we will work on mathematics until lunch. Afterward, we will have your first music lesson.”
The thought of mathematics until lunch was enough to make Bee’s heart sink in horror, and the actual practice of it did not improve her opinion. She’d hoped that the music lesson would involve the spinet, but instead she was given sheets of music and shown how to read it. The notes spun in her vision, as if she’d somehow combined reading and mathematics into some bizarre third language that ought to translate into something beautiful but only made her head hurt.
After an hour of this, Miss Hilton released her for the afternoon. “Walking about in the sun will refresh you to study again tomorrow.”
Bee had no intention of merely walking about. She changed into her riding habit faster than ever, shoving her feet into her boots and tying on her bonnet as she hurried to the stable. Harry looked up as if he’d been expecting her and began saddling Diamond without her saying a word. While he prepared the horses, she buttoned her boots.
