Gift-Wrapped Governess (11 page)

She gasped as though he had struck her. And he found himself, once more, having to explain his position.

‘Not that you can help it, I am sure. It is clearly too much for you, having all these extra children foisted on you. Especially those boys. Who are they?'

And why did it all bother him so much? Or at all?

He had never felt the least bit protective of any other female, except Pippa. He could remember his hackles raising in just this way whenever some unsavoury character had attempted to take advantage of his sister's innocent nature during her Season.

And suddenly it all made perfect sense. He'd only ever seen her before in company with Pippa. He identified her with his sister. And he couldn't help wondering how she would cope, faced with similar difficulties. After all, if their parents had been as improvident as Miss Miller's, Pippa could have ended up having to earn her own living.

This was some sort of…misguided brotherly concern he was experiencing.

‘If you had the least scrap of intelligence you would realise these are the children of Lord and Lady Budworth's guests.'

Which reminded him she was not a bit like his sweet-natured sister.

‘Yes, yes, that much is obvious,' he said witheringly. ‘But why are they here? And why are there not more staff helping you mind them?'

‘Since when,' she said, drawing herself up to her full height, which still did not make much of her visible over the greenery, ‘did you care tuppence for servants, or how much work you make for them?'

‘What? I—'

‘Never! And the way you waltzed in here, without bothering to let anyone know you had decided to accept an invitation
sent to you for all I know
weeks
ago, just goes to show you haven't changed a bit. You didn't care what problems turning up unexpectedly might cause the housekeeper or the maids who had to make up a room in the twinkling of an eye, not to mention the other staff who had to shift about to make room for the servants you brought with you—and you accuse the
other
guests of not considering the servants because they have consigned their children to my care for the duration of their stay?'

It looked as though she only paused then because she had run out of breath.

‘You haven't changed much either,' he observed in a lazy drawl. ‘Still as grumpy as you ever were. Quite unjustly, as it happens. It is true, I came here on a…whim, if you like, but I am most considerate of my own servants.'

‘That's not what I remember. Your own housekeeper used to tell us tales of how you would disappear for weeks on end because you'd taken it into your head to…well, to sail off in a fishing boat so that you could find out what it felt like to be a smuggler, or some such ridiculous prank. And then as like as not you'd turn up with half a dozen guests she would be expected to put up and feed, and—'

‘It is not the place of any of my servants to question my movements. And if they don't like their working conditions, they are free to leave my employ. But by and large, they don't, you know.'

‘That is just because you turn on that smile of yours whenever one of them complains, I dare say, and…and grease their palms in the belief that your money can buy you out of
any
amount of trouble—'

‘I think you have said quite enough, Miss Miller. I came up here in a spirit of goodwill. And I only spoke of your own position as a member of staff here because it seems to me that you are being taken advantage of. Surely you should not be in sole charge of so many children?'

‘I am quite capable of minding any number of children. I have been doing so for years.'

‘Girls, maybe. But not boys. And not boys who are used to being kept in check by regular use of the birch. What on earth made you decide not to use it?'

‘How dare you question my capability?' she snapped. ‘And what business is it of yours how I run my own schoolroom?'

‘As much as it is your business to question the way I live my life, or the relationship I have with my own sister, or my treatment of my own staff.'

She gasped. He was right!

She couldn't believe he'd provoked her into losing her temper like that. In front of the children, too. She always remained cool, calm and collected when in charge of children, no matter what the provocation.

But then no child could possibly be as provoking as Lord Chepstow.

‘You need help,' he said firmly. ‘You cannot possibly hope to control all these children.'

‘I
was
controlling them very nicely before you strolled in.'

‘That was before they discovered you will not beat them, no matter how naughty they are. There is nothing more appealing than taking down an authority figure without any real power. Only consider how much pleasure young men first on the town take in boxing the Watch.'

‘Y…yes, I know.' It was galling to admit it, but he was right about that, too. She had no problem at all controlling any number of girls, of whatever age. She'd had plenty of experience during her time at Moulsham Lodge. But boys…well, she knew nothing about them at all. Jane, the second parlourmaid, who had lots of little brothers, had advised her to give them plenty of exercise and plenty of food. And so she had taken them outside and kept them there as long as she could, hoping they would burn off the staggering amount of
energy they seemed to possess. So far, she had managed to keep them so busy they'd had no time to get into mischief.

But the look of glee that had passed between William and Thomas when Annabel had let slip that she never used the birch did not bode well.

‘It is as well I am here, then.'

‘Why?'

‘Because,' he said irritably, ‘I can keep an eye on them. Make sure they behave.'

‘You?'

Why on earth would he do such a thing when she'd done nothing but shout at him from the moment he'd walked through the door? She felt terrible. If this was an example of turning the other cheek, then no wonder the Bible recommended it. It made her feel horribly guilty without him having to utter a single word of rebuke.

‘I really can manage. Truly. You don't need to…' she began, only to stutter to a halt when he peeled off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

She could not tear her eyes away from his forearms, which were corded with muscle and dusted with dark blond hair. So very strong. So very masculine.

So very…vexing. She couldn't stand here, drooling over the sight of his bare arms, when she was in charge of a room full of children.

Nor could she realistically beg him to cover himself up. It would be an admission that the sight of his skin did things to her that…were totally inappropriate for a lowly governess to feel for a viscount.

‘I want some more!' One of the little ones was wailing, which drew her attention away from Lord Chepstow for long enough to notice that the chestnuts had all gone.

She clapped her hands to gain everyone's attention.

‘Time to clean up,' she said. ‘Jane will be arriving with some lovely hot chocolate any time now. Boys, will you sweep
up the husks, and clear away the fire irons, while you two, Lotty and Honoria, clear a space on the table there for Jane to set out the drink. Annabel and Mary, would you please keep an eye on the little ones, so that—' There was a clatter of metal, and a bloodcurdling yell.

‘Lord Chepstow. What do you think you are doing?' While her back had been turned to marshall the girls, he had got hold of a poker, which he was brandishing as though it were a sword. William was employing the tongs to fence with him, while Thomas was writhing on the hearthrug, clutching his shovel to his armpit and groaning.

‘Defending the poop deck against boarders,' said Lord Chepstow, parrying a thrust from William's tongs. ‘Take that!' He thrust his poker at the boy, who caught it neatly under his arm and collapsed onto the hearthrug next to his companion, by which she perceived everyone was supposed to understand he had slain both boys.

‘Vile dogs,' he snarled, ‘you are now my captives. Either walk the plank, or be prepared to swab the decks.'

From a pocket, he produced a red spotted handkerchief, which he tied over his head. And since he was already without a jacket, he immediately looked exactly like a pirate captain.

She watched, spellbound, as the boys, groaning piteously, picked up the brush and shovel and, on their knees, began to sweep up the chestnut husks, while Lord Chepstow stood over them, legs braced, hands on hips, threatening them with all manner of revolting punishments if they did not do dread Cap'n Cutthroat's bidding.

‘Lord Chepstow,' she repeated sternly, advancing on him across the schoolroom, while the girls, rather than clearing anything away, giggled as they watched the performance.

‘There be no Lord Chepstow here, me proud beauty,' he said in a most peculiar accent.

And felt as though he had been struck dumb when he turned to look at her. He couldn't reconcile the shapely sylph
who was sashaying out from behind that table with the dumpy little creature who'd been huddled on that tree stump. Or the awkward little girl with her hair in braids who'd glowered at him over the breakfast cups. She was not wearing any kind of head covering today and had arranged her hair—oh, yes, very well then, her
braided
hair—into an intricate arrangement on the top of her head which put him in mind of a coronet.

And in the past she'd always worn such badly fitting dresses there had been no telling what shape she might have been underneath. There was no mistaking her shape now, though. The gown might be as unfashionable as anything he had ever seen her wearing, but that did her no disservice. It followed the natural contours of her body, nipping in at her neat little waistline before flaring out over generous hips.

He swept her a courtly bow, while he attempted to recover from the shock, and said, ‘Cap'n Cutthroat, at your service.'

Then, to distract himself from the jolt of attraction he'd felt, he poked William in the back with the toe of his boot. ‘Faster, you dog!'

‘Lord Chepstow! That is no way to treat children.'

‘These b'aint be no children,' he said, his accent growing even thicker. ‘These be scurvy sea dogs, doomed to swab the decks of my ship for the next—'

‘That is quite enough. I will not have you mistreating any child under my care…'

He leaned towards her, saying in an undertone, ‘They're loving it. I've made a game of a chore they would have balked at, Miss Miller. You should be thanking me…'

She smelled of the greenery she had been handling. And soap. And woman. And the skin of her cheek was as soft as a peach. And she had a delicate little chin and a neck that seemed to go on for ever. And for some reason, the fact that her earlobes were bare of any adornment made him want to nip at them with his teeth.

‘You are getting them over-excited,' she protested, ‘when it has taken me all day to get them into a tractable state.'

Damn, but they weren't the only ones getting excited. He stepped back, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

She marched to the door. He found himself watching her hips swaying and her skirts swishing in time with her angry footsteps. And promptly decided he liked a woman to wear full skirts. There were such possibilities. She could hitch them up and go running after her charges, should the situation demand it.

And everyone would get a tantalising glimpse of ankles…probably calves and knees, too…

He brought himself up short. He had no business speculating about the shapeliness, or otherwise, of Miss Miller's legs.

‘Get out,' she said sternly, flinging open the door.

‘You don't mean that,' he said with his most disarming smile.

‘No pirate captains allowed in my schoolroom.' She folded her arms and glared at him. ‘Out!'

Earlier that day he had remarked on the tangible air of authority she bore. And now, with her hair as it was, she looked positively…queenly.

He shrugged. It did not matter how she established her authority over her subjects, only that she did so. And vanquishing a pirate captain was as good a way as any to demonstrate who was in charge around here.

‘If that be the law of this land,' he said in his best pirate voice, ‘then I must obey, my queen. Farewell, shipmates,' he said, saluting the children as he strode to the door.

They waved back, but among the choruses of farewell, he thought he heard her muttering, ‘And good riddance,' as she slammed the door behind him.

W
ell, naturally he couldn't leave it at that. Lord Chepstow thrived on challenges and there was nothing at Budworth Hall that was anywhere near as challenging as Miss Miller's attitude towards him.

So, after dinner that night, instead of joining the ladies in the drawing room or going along with the men who were making their way to the billiard room, he headed straight up to the schoolroom.

He hadn't won Miss Miller over with his apology earlier. Nor his heroic efforts to keep the boys in line for her. She seemed to have stored up so many grievances towards him over the years that it would take some ingenuity to discover the way to win her round.

But then, as he mounted the stairs, it occurred to him that he'd never really attempted to do so before. He'd not thought her worth the effort. But he'd seen her in a new light today. In the two years since he'd last seen her, she'd metamorphosed into a shapely and quite startlingly attractive young woman—if you but ignored the spectacles.

Not only that, but she had character traits not often found in a female. She was intelligent, hard working, loyal to her
friends, not motivated by greed… He came to a standstill. Had he just recited the first four items on Havelock's list? He shook his head in wonder. By that reckoning, Miss Miller would make his friend the ideal wife.

He frowned. No, by heaven, she wouldn't though. If Miss Miller had wanted a husband, she would have jumped at the chance to share a Season with Pippa.

He carried on climbing the stairs. Unlikely as it sounded, Miss Miller was a woman who would rather fend for herself than hand over control of her life to a man. In fact, she… Good God! What on earth had been going on since he'd last been up here?

The children were no longer in evidence, but they'd left behind a scene of…utter carnage. Boughs of pine and holly were strewn all over the schoolroom floor. Their buckets were overturned, the floorboards stained with the murky water that had seeped from them. The desks and chairs were strewn haphazardly around the room as though a giant had been playing spillikins with them.

And on the hearth, with a bucket of water at her side and a scrubbing brush in her hand, knelt Miss Miller.

She turned to see who had opened the door and, when she recognised him, her whole face screwed up into the most ferocious scowl he'd ever seen her muster.

‘Now what do you want? Is there nobody else in this entire household you would rather torment?'

She dunked her brush into the bucket with a splash and set to scrubbing the fire surround with vigour. It drew his eyes to the way her skirts moulded the stubborn little bottom pointing in his direction. His lips curved into a smile. If she had any idea how enticing those regular, rhythmic movements were, she would most certainly
not
be giving him such a treat.

He cleared his throat and dragged his mind out of the gutter.

‘Miss Miller, it is most unfair of you to make such a cutting
remark,' he said, feeling a bit like he did at the beginning of a fencing match, raising his sword in salute to his opponent.

In fact, if he stood here staring at her bottom for very much longer, he would be saluting her with something more tangible than an imaginary sword.

He turned round to shut the door behind him, incidentally shutting out the sight of her kneeling figure and the erotic possibilities that inviting posture had put into his brain.

‘I know that I let some words slip from my mouth, earlier, before thinking what effect they might have had upon you, but you cannot deny I apologised and made amends.'

‘You call this making amends?' She knelt up and waved her scrubbing brush round to indicate the wreckage of the room, spraying a wide arc of dirty water across the hearth.

He was about to point out, in the spirit of a riposte, that she could hardly blame him for anything that had happened when he wasn't even there, when a telltale tremble to her lower lip slipped under his guard. She was not just angry. She was really upset. Almost on the verge of tears.

That was why she'd turned her back on him. She had not wanted him to see.

Any more than he had wanted her to see his burgeoning arousal.

‘No horde of vandals,' she breathed, ‘could have wrought more devastation upon ancient Rome than those…those little
beasts
did today.'

He knew she was talking about the boys. ‘It was finding out you won't beat them, no matter what they do,' he said. Hands on hips, he gave the room a leisurely perusal. ‘It must have acted upon them like a…' his gaze returned to her, to see her hunched over, one hand over her face, the other still clutching the brush, which was dripping water on to the hearthrug ‘…challenge,' he finished lamely.

‘A challenge?' She raised her face to glare at him. ‘You brush aside all their naughtiness as a…as a…' She flung the
brush into the bucket with a splash. ‘It was
you
who set them off with that stupid pirate game,' she said. ‘After that, they turned every implement they could find into a weapon.'

The duel was on again. Thankfully. He much preferred to see her with the energy to spar with him rather than slumped down in an attitude of defeat.

‘I was at my wits' end by the time Jane—that's the second parlourmaid—came in with the drinks. I had run out of ideas to keep them at least in one corner of the room, so that they wouldn't accidentally hurt any of the little ones. But fortunately, or so I stupidly thought, she has lots of little brothers, so I asked her to find them something they would enjoy that would keep them quiet…'

‘That was not a stupid idea. It was a very good idea…'

‘No, it wasn't! She taught them how to make… Well, I don't know what you would call them, but I never knew paper could be put to such a disgusting use.' She waved at the hearth, which he now saw was peppered with spitballs.

His lips twitched.

‘You find this amusing? Of course you do. Because at heart, you are just the same.' She scrambled to her feet, clenching her hands into fists as though gearing herself up to do battle.

‘You saunter through life, untouched by care while legions of servants follow in your wake, cleaning up the mess you make…'

She'd said something of the same nature earlier regarding his treatment of servants. And since all his staff appeared perfectly content in his employ, it stood to reason that it was her own treatment, at the hands of her own employers, about which she was really talking.

‘Miss Miller, you have already stated that the fact that the boys learned to make spitballs was not my fault. You are—'

‘But you do think it sport to ruin everything I've worked so hard for.' She stalked towards him, her whole body quivering
with fury. ‘I…h-hate Christmas! All it is is an excuse to pile more and more work on us so that you can have your stupid balls and parties, and…'

She was within striking distance. On a reflex, he caught hold of her clenched fists and drew them to his chest.

‘Miss Miller, I don't think you know what you are saying. You are overtired and overwrought—'

‘I know exactly what I'm saying,' she protested, but quickly turned her head to one side, as though she could not meet his eye. But it didn't appear to help her, because her shoulders sagged.

‘How could I ever have been so deluded as to think I had any control over any aspect of my life? Not even this schoolroom. All it took was Christmas to burst in and shatter all my schedules, all my routine, into so much…chaos.'

Normally, whenever a woman began to make a litany of complaints, he would put on his hat and leave.

But then normally the woman doing the complaining would be a mistress, with whom he was already growing bored.

Instead of wanting to take to his heels, he found himself wishing he could do something to lift some of her burdens from her.

He put one arm about her shoulder, led her across to one of the window seats and pushed her down onto the cushions.

The fact that she immediately turned her face away, removed her spectacles and, closing her eyes, pressed her face to the glass wrenched at him. She hated him seeing her like this. But she had used up every last ounce of her self-control.

He stepped back, racking his brains to think of something he could do for her. What was distressing her the most?

The state in which the boys had left her schoolroom.

‘I'm dreading tomorrow,' she said in a weary voice, not even bothering to open her eyes. ‘I was so grateful when Pippa got her husband to get this job for me. But I should have
known from that interview…' She sighed heavily. ‘When Lord Budworth told me he wanted someone who would keep his daughters in line and that I looked exactly the sort of woman who wouldn't stand any nonsense, I should have told him I would never, ever maltreat any child entrusted to my care. Instead, I stupidly thought that I would show him my way was better. I thought I could prove you don't need to beat children who can't do their sums or lock them in a cupboard for letting their attention wander during grammar. I thought I could be the kind of teacher I wished I could have had. The kind who listened and tried to understand, and found ways to help children overcome their difficulties, not beat them for failing to meet impossible standards.'

She could hear Lord Chepstow moving about the room. Unsettled, she supposed, by hearing about a side of life in which he could have no interest. And trapped by his innate breeding into staying until he could come up with a legitimate excuse for leaving.

‘You were locked in a cupboard?'

‘I was not talking about me.' She sighed. ‘I was bright enough to escape the worst sorts of punishment inflicted by teachers whose sole source of consolation seemed to be in making others more miserable than they were.'

But she had not had a happy childhood. He thought back to some of the things Pippa had said about her in the past and matched it up now to the fact that he always thought she looked as though she had forgotten how to smile.

And felt a flash of irritation with himself. She hadn't had anything much to smile about. He could have been kinder to her, rather than dismissing her as being dour and dull, and not worthy of a second look. He
should
have looked. He would have seen, if he had bothered, what Pippa had always seen: that she was basically a kind person, struggling to survive in a harsh environment. Then he would not have been so surprised to find her pre
vailing over a band of happy, carefree children in the woods earlier.

‘I don't even know why I'm talking to you at all.'

It was such a luxury to have someone in whom to confide. Someone she could trust. Oh, not because Lord Chepstow cared. In fact, the very opposite was true. It was because he
didn't
care, because there was nothing she could say that could possibly give him a lower opinion of her than he already had that freed her to speak the truth. She'd not dared let any of the staff here know how badly she was struggling. Who knew what they would do with the information that she was an impostor? That she didn't deserve to hold such a responsible position?

And the proof of that was that she was sitting here, complaining, when there was work to be done. Indulging in just one more weary sigh, she opened her eyes and put her spectacles back on.

‘What are you doing?' While she'd been unburdening herself, he'd whisked through the room, righting overturned chairs and pushing desks back into place. More or less.

‘Well, even though I have never done the work of a house-maid before, I would have thought it was obvious I am making some attempt to set this room to rights.'

‘You?'

‘Why not?'

She briefly considered handing him a brush and shovel. Or the scrubbing brush. She would love to see him roll up his sleeves again…

She shook her head, impatient with herself.

‘Because…you are just one of life's butterflies. You flit through life sipping at nectar wherever you happen to alight. You don't really care about…about anything.'

That was not true. He cared about a lot of things. Not that he was the type to go round making a lot of noise about it, like Pippa's self-righteous husband. But to liken him to a but
terfly…well, that conjured up the image of a man who only thought about his clothes.

‘I enjoy life. I make no apologies for that. I am impulsive, certainly—'

‘Oh, so
that
is why you have come up here. It was some sort of…whim.'

The fact that she had pretty much hit the nail on the head made him determined to change the subject.

‘More to the point, what is the likelihood of Lord or Lady Budworth coming up here? From what I have observed, I should think the chances pretty slim. So that they are never likely to know things got a little out of hand.'

‘That's…that is true, actually.' She sat up a little straighter. ‘Lord Budworth has only set foot in this schoolroom the once. And fortunately, at the time, the girls were both sitting at their desks, working on their letters.'

He bent to right an overturned chair. ‘And by tomorrow morning you will have thought of some way to keep those… Vandals gainfully occupied. Boys are no worse than girls,' he said, suddenly determined to defend his entire sex. ‘Just different. You have no experience with them, but I have never known you to fail at anything you put your mind to.'

‘How do you know that? You have barely ever spoken to me.'

‘Pippa never ceases to sing your praises,' he said drily, pushing a table back into almost exactly its original position. ‘I expect the children are all a bit more lively than usual, with Christmas being so close. And I know you don't like Christmas now, but can you not remember what it felt like when you were a child?'

She flinched.

‘Christmas was the worst, the very worst time of the year,' she said vehemently, ‘because it…because, oh, everyone else in the town would be decking their homes with greenery and preparing to celebrate, but the tide of jollity would always
sweep right past the doors of Moulsham Lodge, leaving its pupils stranded on our desolate little island. And it was always such a stark contrast to what I remembered from my…early years when Christmas
was
a time of warmth and jollity. That was what made it the worst day of the year. That was why I hated Christmas. It made me so painfully aware of all I'd lost.'