Destined for the Brooding Baron, page 20
While Ethan had only been in the drawing room for a short time, Margery remained through the evening meal before disappearing upstairs. She seemed nervous at intervals, and on more than one occasion, Lady Serena crossed the room to whisper advice into her ear.
While Edward did not much care for Lady Serena’s control over his life, he did appreciate her taking an interest in Margery, and couldn’t help thinking with sadness that Anne would have been the one to walk the young girl through her first dinner party.
“Dear,” Lady Serena said, appearing at his elbow yet again. “The guests are taking their leave. Do walk out to the stairs with me to bid them all goodbye.”
He sighed and plastered the smile back on his face. At least it was over. She took his arm and they walked together to the doorway, watching the guests climb into their line of carriages and each wave politely back at the manor as their teams pulled away.
Lady Serena waved enthusiastically, calling out little farewells and giggling happily at his side. Edward felt like an imposter with her on his arm, as though he was setting up a false tableau for these guests with Lady Serena at his side.
His mind turned to another, a woman he had only seen for a few minutes that entire day. It would have been a better night if she had stayed near, he thought. But Miss Clairmont had disappeared with Ethan, not even taking a moment to bid him farewell. He could not understand it.
“Well, I’m going to turn in upstairs,” Lady Serena sighed, looking up at him with a beaming smile. “I think it was a grand success, don’t you?”
“Everyone said so,” he managed in response.
She squeezed his arm. “You’ve nothing else to be worried about, Edward dear. I’m here now, and I’ll take care of everything.” She slipped back into the house, her heavy rose perfume lingering behind her on the stairs. It made him feel a little ill.
He walked inside and made a decision in the space of a moment. He climbed the steps to the schoolroom, hoping to catch Miss Clairmont before she went down for the night, but the room was dark. He had almost given her up for sleep but realized with a jolt that the telescope was missing from the windowsill. Ah. I know where she is.
He walked downstairs to the quiet kitchen and then up the narrow steps to the kitchen roof. As he pulled himself over the ledge, he caught sight of her. She had expanded the two front legs of the telescope tripod to account for the gentle slope of the roof and was peering through the lens at the night sky above.
Beside her, a lantern burned beside a book filled with notes. She was perched like a bird, in a low crouch with her skirts splayed around her on the shingled roof and her hair loose down her back. She had tied a few strands out of her eyes with a ribbon, but the rest spilled over her shoulders in a dark, soft cloud. It was hard to take his eyes off her.
“My Lord, if you thought to surprise me yet again with your presence, you should have been more quiet in climbing those stairs.” She turned from the lens and smiled at him, her expression tired in the lamplight.
He pulled himself up the rest of the way and sat on the roof at her side, an arm’s length away.
“I thought you would be here,” he said.
“I couldn’t get the right angle on this star from the window upstairs,” she said, shrugging. “I thought pulling the telescope down here would be difficult, but I was wrong. It is actually quite portable.”
He desperately wanted to sit with her and talk about telescopes and stars, but something more pressing was on his mind.
“I told you I wanted you to attend the party tonight, and you made only the briefest of appearances.”
She turned away from him, putting her eye back on the telescope and peering into the dark beyond. “A brief appearance is still an appearance.”
“No,” he corrected her. “You made no conversation with the guests and did not stay long enough to learn their character or give me any real opinion of them.”
Her eye was still glued to the telescope. “I was not under the impression that governesses were expected to make conversation or to judge the character of fine lords and ladies.” Her slim fingers went up to the nob on the top, and she rotated it slightly before leaning back and scribbling something in her little notebook.
He was peeved at her even answers—even more so at the implication that she had not missed his company as much as he’d missed hers. “I asked you explicitly to stay.”
She turned and looked at him, a strange smile playing on her lips. “And did you have a good evening, My Lord?”
“No!” he burst out, louder than he’d intended. “No, it was positively dreadful.”
She laughed despite herself and sat back on the roof, tucking her legs underneath her body. “It is unkind of you to demand I stay longer at an event that you yourself admit to despising. Why would you wish to keep me in a place that you found unpleasant?”
“It would not have been unpleasant if you had stayed.”
He had not meant to show his hands so completely, and he saw a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “I beg your pardon? How could I have improved your evening, My Lord?”
He swallowed hard. “Your conversation would have been preferable to that of Lord Elliot’s, for a start. He is rather fond of discussing hunting, and I have little to add to such a topic.”
She looked away from him.
“Go on, then,” he prodded. “I can see that you are holding back some thought you desire to speak aloud.”
“I do not wish to speak this thought aloud,” she said quietly.
“Miss Clairmont.” He reached across the expanse between them and lightly touched her arm.
She turned and looked at him, pulling away at the same moment.
“My Lord, I cannot see how my conversation would have improved anything since I was not in a situation that encouraged me to converse. Had I stayed the entire evening, you would not have heard two words out of me.”
She let out a sigh and gave a weak smile. “As it should be, I will remind you. I am a governess, not a fine lady like your current houseguest. The world is not looking for my opinion.”
I am. He searched for words. “Still, I wish you had not gone.” It was a lame response, but she was flustering him with her calm and that sad little smile. He could not put together a proper rebuttal. “I noticed you took Ethan with you.”
She pursed her lips together. “My Lord, this is not a line of conversation that will be particularly pleasant to either of us. I am sorry you had a bad evening, and I hope future house parties will be more agreeable. I took Ethan with me because it was made clear to me that the party as a whole was more comfortable without a child present.”
“Made clear to you? By whom? Tell me their name at once.”
She smiled and shook her head.
“No, My Lord. I am not going to give in to your desire for a villain this evening. You had a bad time because you decided you would have a bad time from the beginning. You determined that you didn’t want the ton in your drawing room, and then when they arrived, you glowered at them regardless of their charms.”
He stared at her. She spoke with unusual boldness, perhaps strengthened by the night air all around her. Something about the smile on her lips and the wit in her tone drew him towards her. He had never found her more beautiful or enticing than now when she saw through his gruff manner and called him on his attitude.
“You speak very boldly, for one in my employ.”
“I suspect it is the reason I am still in your employ, My Lord,” she said with a small laugh, turning back to her telescope. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—I have a little star I’m seeking on the edge of this constellation. It’s hiding tonight.”
He didn’t want to excuse her. Talking to her was the best moment he’d had all day. Something about the way the lantern flickered on her skin and her fingers danced on the dial made him want to reach out and pull her into his arms. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to be practical—to shatter the magic that she seemed to spin like a web around everything she touched.
“Miss Clairmont, I had a realization tonight. I believe Margery needs a mother to help her navigate society. She seemed to rely very heavily on Lady Serena’s presence.” He watched her closely.
She froze when he mentioned a mother figure, her fingers still perched above the nob on the telescope, her eye still pressed to the lens. “Oh?” she asked at last, her voice small and thin.
There was something cruel in this—Edward could sense it, even though he was not willing to look closely at his own feelings to understand why—but he pressed forward anyway, desperate to hold her attention for another moment. We’ve always been honest with each other. Why should I hold back now?
“I do not like it, in truth,” he added into the calm night. There seemed to be utter silence between them now, as though his words had driven the breeze and the night sounds away. “I am not one for romance, as you can well see, but I am beginning to wonder if society’s demands have merit after all. I have been selfish.”
“You think you should marry for the sake of the children.” She pulled back from the telescope but kept her eyes straight ahead. A wisp of hair moved in front of her face.
“I think it is my duty to find a wife and mother for them,” Edward acknowledged. He meant every word as he looked at her, and his mind screamed that the answer to all his problems was sitting there, only an arm’s length away. But she was not a fine lady. She was simply a governess. He forced himself to add, “a woman who could be the wife of a baron.”
She nodded and looked at him at last. “My Lord, what if I were to say—” she stopped and shook her head.
“No,” he urged her. “Go on.”
“It is not for me to have an opinion on your life,” she said. Whatever moment of truth had flitted into her mind was gone now. She put a wall back up between them as quickly as she had taken it down.
“I cannot tell you how I hate admitting this fact,” he said wryly. “I don’t like to agree with anything that society demands of me. Society is filled with gossip and lies. It is the thing I cannot stand above all else.”
“Lies?” she asked, her voice thin and nervous.
“Dishonesty of all kinds,” he said, “whether directly mentioned or implied with one’s actions. Hypocrisy can be a lie in its own right.”
His words seemed to have a real affect her. She looked uncomfortable, even pale—although that could have just been the effect of the lanternlight on her face. “I can see, from your experience, how that would be true. Untruth must feel like a betrayal to you.”
“It is a betrayal,” he agreed earnestly. He was thinking of all the people who had filled his drawing room that very night, each saying what they ought to say and moving how they ought to move—all part of some strange, choreographed world where no one was as they seemed.
They all talked to him as though he was the centre of their world, but that was just because every one of them wanted something from him. It was their hypocrisy that he thought of at this moment. He wondered if it was the same for Miss Clairmont, who looked pained—as though she was thinking about a personal brush with untruth.
He took a deep breath, hating the distance this conversation had put between them. “I hope you know,” he said, as kindly as he could, “that I treasure your influence on the children. You may continue teaching here during my search for a wife.”
“Of course,” she said quickly. Too quickly. She looked away again, and her fingers worried the notebook in her lap. “Although I do not imagine you will have to look for long. A lord such as yourself is likely in high demand.”
“You speak as though I am a commodity brought over from the Continent.”
She smiled stiffly in response, her face drawn. “Never, My Lord.”
“I do not think I will be in such demand as that,” he said, trying to break the discomfort stretching between them. “People may be interested in my title, but I think few would be interested in my ill moods or my dark past.”
“Your drawing room was evidence against that tonight, My Lord,” she said. She began to busy herself with the telescope, folding it up and tucking her instruments into a bag to sling over one shoulder. “I am sure that in your search for a wife, the only obstacle will be your own choosiness.”
He frowned. “Have I said something to displease you, Miss Clairmont?” Please, tell me all this displeases you. Tell me that you don’t want me to marry some society woman. Give me one glance, and I will know that your heart is free—perhaps I will throw it all away, governess or not …
But she would not look at him. “Of course not. I only grow weary.” She tucked the telescope under her arm and balanced carefully as she moved to the narrow, winding staircase. He reached to support her, but she waved him away. “I am quite well, My Lord. I need no assistance.”
And she disappeared, leaving him on the roof with her stars gleaming ahead—beautiful and out of reach.
Chapter 22
Cassandra’s heart was breaking as she walked away from him. Of course, he has to find a wife. Or course, she must be accepted by society. She had wanted to tell him the truth at that moment. I am a fine lady! I would marry you in a heartbeat, My Lord. Have me. Love me. But then he had spoken about the lies of society and the hypocrisy that comes even without words. And she could not bear to be another untruthful voice deceiving him.
Instead, she forced herself to walk away from the man she was growing to love more than anything else in all the world. She knew what she was doing with each step away from him. She was agreeing to this hunt for a wife—she was agreeing to watch the children and sit by at countless dinner parties while women threw themselves at him.
In truth, she knew after tonight that she was agreeing to watch one woman in particular, Lady Serena, work her way into his life until she was indispensable. And then I will leave. Because I am dispensable, and he will have no more need of me.
The next morning, the sky was grey and rained through the day. The house was quiet for most of the morning. Lady Serena slept in, and Lord Lincoln disappeared into his study. The children seemed languid and lost in thought. Ethan wanted to be outside and despised the rain.
Margery kept looking dreamily into the distance and scribbling in her notebook. Cassandra assumed she was writing about Henry and worried that the girl was letting her heart get carried away too soon.
When they finally appeared in the dining room, Cassandra was surprised to find that Lady Serena was in attendance without Lord Lincoln. She had never seen the woman appear at a scheduled dinner where the master of the house was not present.
They sat down to the first course—a thin asparagus soup—and no sooner had they all begun to eat but Lady Serena announced in a high and commanding voice, “I am sorry that your father could not be here to share the meal, children, but he had pressing business to arrange in town.
You see, he has given me leave to inform you of a very pleasant decision he made this morning—we are all going to London at last. He has arranged it all at his townhouse, but it will be some days before the servants are quite ready for visitors.”
She beamed.
“I’m sure you’re very excited, children.”
Ethan looked miserable, but Margery actually let down her guard enough to show a glimmer of delight. “For the Season?” she asked.
“Yes, my dear. Your debut shall be a glittering affair,” Lady Serena gushed. “I swear we shall have you in such a beautiful bit of tailoring that the whole ton will be speaking of your charms.”
