Destined for the Brooding Baron, page 5
“Miss Clairmont,” he said. “If you are satisfied with this interview, I believe we can start on the morrow.”
She smiled at him, and the expression seemed to light the room. “I look forward to it, My Lord.”
Chapter 5
The next morning, Cassandra woke as the first fingers of dawn crept through her bedroom window. The room looked neat in the dim light, with only her green gown tossed over one of the chairs in the corner. She looked at it sleepily, the events of the day before tumbling around in her mind.
Her meal with Lord Lincoln had been an intimidating affair, set in a room as dark and heavy as Lord Lincoln’s mood seemed to be. His interrogation had been curt and intelligent, but in the end, Cassandra felt she had earned his grudging approval—at least enough to begin lessons today. She felt he was not the sort of man who easily gave out the entirety of his trust.
She climbed out of bed and looked anxiously at her chest of clothes. She was used to having a maid to help her and was glad the clothes Aunt Pearl had given were easier to lace and button. She slipped out of her nightgown and laid it over the chair beside her green gown, pulling out the grey silk and shrugging into it.
The fastening was easier than she guessed, and then she braided her thick brown hair and pinned it into a spiral on the back of her head. She examined herself critically in the mirror. I look more professional than I feel, she decided at last.
Next was the management of her rooms. She did not know if a maid would be assigned to her chambers, and she certainly knew there wasn’t one assigned to her dressing. For the first time in her life, Cassandra was responsible for managing her own living space. She bustled around, tucking in her bed sheets and arranging the pillows atop the smooth coverlet.
It was passable but not nearly as tidy as it had been before. How do the maids get the corners so sharp? She would have to ask when she had a moment. Then she hung her nightgown and gown up in the wardrobe and unpacked her other things, closing the doors and surveying her handiwork with pleasure. It felt good to do things for herself, even if those things were comically simple.
She stepped out into the large rooms where she would be conducting classes and looked up with appreciation at the great, slanted ceiling. It was a beautiful space, even more so when she walked to the windows and unlatched them, letting in the cool morning air and the smell of green things growing around her.
Cassandra took a deep breath, looking out over the misty forest ringing the manor. All was still and quiet, but in the distance, through the trees, she glimpsed something dark and sharp rising above the wood. She could not make out exactly what it was. It was as tall as a tower but far thinner—more like a monument—and craggy. She would have to ask the children about it later.
“Miss Clairmont.”
She whirled in surprise. The footman had appeared in the room so quietly that she hadn’t heard him. She recognized him from the day before, walking through the halls, but had not had a chance to speak with him. The man was young and fair-haired, with laughter in his blue eyes and an unabashed grin. He held her breakfast on a tray in his hand.
“I brought your morning meal,” he said, giving a little bow and setting the tray on the table between them.
“Most mornings, you are to take breakfast in the dining room with his lordship, but this day, he is out riding, and the children are being fed in their own chambers. The cook said to bring yours up.”
“Oh.” She would have to see to the matter of the children’s meals eventually. She did not like to see them shuffled off to the side of Lord Lincoln’s life as if they were an afterthought. She took a few steps forward and dropped into a curtsy. “I am at a disadvantage, I see. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
He smiled again, the grin wide and friendly. “I’m Nathan Green. Valet and footman both, to His Lordship. They run a tight house here at King’s Manor.”
She smiled back at him. He seemed as though he didn’t fit in this mysterious place, all smiles and friendliness when the house and the master were full of secrets. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Green.”
“Good luck with the children,” he said cheerfully.
“Why do they not eat with Lord Lincoln?” she asked.
He leaned forward, lowering his voice as though to share something confidential with her. “Do you want a bit of advice?”
She nodded.
He looked quickly behind him as though to be sure they were alone. “I would encourage you to avoid innovating as much as possible. It will take all your energy just to keep your place of employment here. The children are good children, but … not easy to control.”
She looked back at him and answered evenly, “Did you give this same advice to the governesses who came before?”
“The last few, yes.”
“And did they heed your advice regarding innovation?” she pressed.
Mr Green shrugged. “I would say so.”
She laughed despite herself. “Then forgive me if I do not. I’ve no desire to follow in their footsteps.”
He looked at her momentarily as though he meant to be offended but then seemed to think better of it, giving a short bark of amusement. “You are stronger than you look, Miss Clairmont. I think you will do well.”
He bowed and took his leave, telling Cassandra as he went that the children would be up within the hour. She watched him go and walked over to the breakfast tray. There was a soft-boiled egg in a stand, some toast, and tea. She nibbled the toast and drank the tea but could not bring herself to eat anything more. Her stomach lurched with nerves.
Instead, she held the teacup in one hand and walked around the schoolroom, taking inventory. There was a table in the centre of the room with slates and chalk stacked upon it. One wall had a small inventory of books—all primers and readers, nothing of particular interest.
She made a mental note to ask Lord Lincoln for access to his personal library to expand their collection. There was another shelf with inkwell, quill, paper, and a few other supplies, but largely the walls were bare and the shelves empty.
She thought of her astronomy books and all the maps and beakers this space seemed to crave. It filled her with a mixture of fear and excitement.
When the clock struck nine, the children appeared, deceptively dutiful, behind the housekeeper, Mrs Smith. The older woman seemed enormously relieved to pass off their care to Cassandra.
“Lord Lincoln informs me that this is the last morning I will be responsible for their breakfast and preparation,” Mrs Smith said coolly. “You will take over their care in the future.”
Now was the moment. Cassandra clasped her hands before her and tried to sound more confident than she felt. “Tomorrow morning, they will not be taking breakfast in their rooms,” she said softly. “They will be in the dining room with me, regardless of whether Lord Lincoln is able to join us. Please inform the kitchens.”
Mrs Smith raised her eyebrows. “That is not the way things are done.”
Cassandra was not worried about what the housekeeper considered proper. She was watching the children instead. Margery had arrived in a fine white day dress, still shortened above the top of her boots as was appropriate for a young girl, with her dark hair half up and styled in a bow. She was watching Cassandra carefully, as one might watch a spider.
Ethan was sloppier in appearance, with his shirt loosely tucked and bunched up under a vest that had been fastened hastily. He was licking jam from his fingernails as they talked, and his eyes brightened at the mention of a shared breakfast.
“Please give the command to the kitchens nonetheless,” Cassandra said.
“If we need to amend the plan per the lord’s request, we will discuss the matter again. Until then, please proceed with the children sharing the morning meal.”
She would add in the evening meal at a later time. She wasn’t sure how far she would be allowed to push the matter with Lord Lincoln, but she thought a few breakfasts would be a good place to start.
Mrs Smith sniffed and departed without further comment. When she’d gone, Margery raised a wicked eyebrow.
“You seem rather comfortable ordering around the household staff,” she said coolly. “I thought you said this was your first position.”
Cassandra bit back the insecurity that rose in her at the words. She would have to be more careful. You’re not the daughter of a viscount any longer, she told herself. You’re a governess. But if she showed any second-guessing, Margery would feed on it. She drew herself up a little straighter.
“Expressing your needs and desires firmly and clearly is not rude and officious, Margery. It is a good life skill and one you would do well to cultivate.” She stepped back into the room and gestured to the plain pine table in the centre. “I suppose you are both well-acquainted with this schoolroom?”
Ethan nodded glumly. Margery crossed her arms.
“What do you think about it?” Cassandra asked. An idea was beginning to form in her mind.
Ethan looked at Margery and shrugged, wordless. Margery smiled sweetly and said, “I think it is trimmed in the trappings of captivity.”
Cassandra smiled despite herself. She’s a clever one. “Actually, Miss White, I am rather concerned at the opposite problem—the lack of trimmings. We shall begin our morning while our minds are fresh, evaluating your scholastic skill. At lunchtime, however, we shall take our meal as a picnic in the yard.”
She continued as she saw Ethan’s face widening into a smile, “And afterwards, the remainder of our school day will be dedicated to finding plants that will do well indoors.”
Margery’s suspicion deepened. “Most of the day out of doors? Does Father know about this?”
Cassandra took a risk. “No, he doesn’t. Would you like to tell him?”
She watched Margery’s face flicker with indecision. The girl had to choose between tattling on the governess and having a day she actually enjoyed. She stepped back sullenly and crossed her arms. “Go on, then. Let’s get the boring part over with.”
Cassandra pretended not to notice her attitude. “I mentioned scholasticism, my dear. I did not say anything about ‘boring.’ Please draw your chairs away from the table and over by this window. We are going to have a conversation.”
She sat in the window seat, feeling the warm morning sun on her back as the children perched in front of her. She pulled out two slates and handed them to Ethan and Margery respectively.
She would test their knowledge of basic biology later when they were out of doors and among plants. She needed to see where they stood on mathematics, writing, and history.
She started with the discipline that came easiest to her. “Let us look at your sums. Ethan, are you well acquainted with multiplication by now?”
He wrinkled his brow at her. Margery nudged him in the side. “The ‘x’ one,” she whispered under her breath.
Cassandra was more encouraged by this than anything she had seen from Margery. It showed an ownership of the situation and a desire to help—two things previously hidden under a thick veil of insolence.
Ethan grinned. “Sure.”
Cassandra pulled out her own slate and wrote: 5 x 4 = 22.
Ethan dutifully wrote the problem down on his slate but stopped on the last number and frowned. “That’s wrong,” he said after a moment, his voice uncertain.
Cassandra grinned. “Good catch. What is the correct answer?”
“20,” he chirped, clearly proud of himself.
“Now for a harder one,” Cassandra said, writing down 3 x 12 and leaving the answer blank.
Ethan scribbled, smudged out, and re-scribbled. He held up the number “36.” Cassandra made a mental note to start him on division and then turned to Margery with a smile. “And now for you, young lady.”
Margery crossed her arms. “I’m no good at math,” she said primly. “In fact, it’s been two years since a governess has even given me a math problem. It’s not necessary for ladylike pursuits.” She said all this as though she had rehearsed it. Or been told it thousands of times.
Cassandra thought of her father, taking away her astronomy books and condemning her own love of math and physics. She was sad to see the same thing repeated here, even if it was not at Lord Lincoln’s behest.
“As long as I am your teacher,” she said firmly, “you will be expanding your mind in every way possible. Ladylike pursuits are not limited to embroidery and the fine arts, Miss White.” She reached forward and tapped the chalkboard. “We will be testing your understanding of algebra.”
For the first time, a note of insecurity passed over Margery’s face. “I don’t know algebra.” Immediately, it changed into a challenge. “Why on earth would I need to know algebra?”
Cassandra quickly scribbled an equation on her chalkboard and turned it around. “Do you know what a telescope is?”
Margery rolled her eyes. “Yes. You use it to look at the stars.”
“Let us suppose that we wanted to compare the light-gathering power of a telescope to that of a human eye,” Cassandra said. She had actually done this very problem before. “The amount of light is dependent on the area of the telescope’s primary lens, so …” she continued explaining the equation as she worked it.
Margery watched the chalk intently. Cassandra could see confusion in her gaze and noted that she did not seem to know that basic geometrical equations were necessary for the problem. However, she also saw a hunger and interest in Margery’s eyes that she could work with.
After the initial mathematics evaluation was done, Cassandra moved on to writing. Both children were comfortable with their letters and basic grammar. Margery even seemed to have a poetic turn of phrase, although Cassandra would not know more without time. History proved nearly impossible to evaluate, and Cassandra abandoned the attempt as lunchtime neared. She could see her inexperience showing in this area—where she had considered history a desk-top study like she had been taught, she saw that it would need to be woven into everyday life like the sciences.
She would ask questions as the days progressed and make history more of a treasure hunt in Lord Lincoln’s library than a working of notes and facts on chalkboards.
As Cassandra and the children made their way down to the kitchens to collect picnic supplies, she felt a little stab of excitement, as though she was a child again learning about the stars and planets for the first time. Something was thrilling about teaching, even if the students were sullen—even if the topics were difficult. That one moment of light in Margery’s eyes had set a fervour in Cassandra for more.
Chapter 6
Edward felt the old throbbing again, a pain he knew like an old and unwelcome house guest, pulsing down his arm and into his fingers. He shifted the reins to the other hand and stretched his hurt fingers stiffly, feeling the withered skin of his burn taut over his knuckles. The leather of customary gloves, worn to help stave off stares from the townsfolk, chaffed. He pulled up his mount and peeled the gloves off, feeling the relief of a breeze against his skin.
He wore them whenever he rode out on business—ever since the tragedy had started a constant stream of whispers in the village. Today was no different. He could see King’s Manor ahead, a few glimpses of brick between the trees. The day’s business had been successful if one did not count the stiff silence that had fallen over the bank offices when he strode in, clad head to toe in black, a scowl on his face.
Edward had begun to enjoy the effect he had on people. In the beginning, the isolation and gossip had only added to his loneliness, but now he was growing used to playing the role of a villain. If they would make his life out to be a ghost story, he could play the role of a ghost.
