The Bride of Time (5 page)

“That is not the only bottle of brandy in this house, Foster,” he reminded the valet.

“No, ’tisn’t,” Foster agreed. “But ’tis the closest, and you look too tuckered to go fetch another. Besides, I’ve got something better. I’ve fixed you a nice hot bath. Why don’t you have that, and then if you still want this…” He brandished the decanter.

The man was a sadist, though a hot bath did sound inviting. Giles stank of painting medium and sweat. “All right, you win, Foster,” he conceded, “but I will have that when I’ve done, you can bet your blunt upon it.”

He followed the valet into his dressing room, stripped off his clothes, and climbed into the tin tub set before the fire. The nights weren’t particularly cold yet, but the dampness was another matter: something they contended with all year round, and a good hot fire was the only thing that chased it. This one was fueled by apple wood, from a tree that had been uprooted during the
last gale, and the whole suite smelled delightfully like a cider mill.

“Tell me, how have we come by her, the new governess?” Foster asked, dumping a bucket of cold water over Giles’s head.

“Lud, man! You did that a-purpose!” Giles bellowed, slapping the water in the tub with his fist.

“It slipped, sir,” Foster said stoically.

“Mmmm…You’re full of happy little accidents of late, aren’t you? Never mind. Where were we? Oh yes! I told Dorcas to advertise; she must have done. The gel arrived to night. Truth to be told, I think I wished her here. How does that old Mother Goose rhyme go: ‘
If
wishes were horses, beggars would ride
…’? Well, I was begging any ears in the cosmos that would hear me to send another governess for the little bastard, and why wouldn’t I, after he drove the last one off, and the one before that? I need to get shot of him for a bit. I’m at the end of my tether with Master Monty, Foster.”

“Don’t we all know it,” the valet said.

Foster wasn’t aware of the whole of it, of the danger; neither were the others. No doubt they all suspected something untoward was going on with the boy, but Giles had never made the situation plain, primarily because it was so bizarre they wouldn’t have believed him if he had. They would have been certain it was a brandy-induced hallucination. They were all safe enough. None of them courted the child’s company. And Foster was perceptive enough to be wary on general principle. He would have to tell the valet soon, though. The situation was worsening, and the moon would be full again in two days. Miss Tessa LaPrelle was in no danger, or so he had convinced himself. Giles would arrange her hours with the boy to make certain of that.

“…and she just turned up out of the blue?” Foster was asking.

Giles nodded. “Literally. I thought she was the model I’d sent Andy to fetch. And why wouldn’t I? She’s perfect for it; exactly my vision for ‘The Bride of Time.’”

“And she refused to model for you,” Foster said, answering his own question.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Giles said through a guttural chuckle. There was no humor in it.

“You didn’t disgrace yourself, did you, sir?” Foster asked warily. “Though they’ve just made her acquaintance, everybody below stairs has taken a liking to the lass. She presents a personable appearance, if a bit of an odd dresser, and she speaks like a lady.”

“Good God, man, you make it sound as if I tried to ravish the gel. No, I did not disgrace myself…at least not in the way you imply…I don’t think…I don’t know; damn it, man. Suffice it to say she didn’t run screaming from the house. That should recommend me to civility somewhat, I should imagine.”

The valet hummed, dumping another pail of water—warmer, this time—over Giles’s head. Giles cast him a scathing glance, shaking himself like a dog.

“Don’t look at me,” Foster intoned. “You’ve gotten off lucky. It should have been cold again to get all the suds out. Stop squirming or I’ll have to do it again.”

“Well, hurry up with it, man, I want to address something while it’s still fresh in my mind.”

“You can climb out whenever you will, sir,” Foster said. “It’s no skin off my nose if you want to go about sticky with soap and green paint in your hair.”

Giles said no more. It wasn’t any use when the valet took that tack. It was better just to let him have his way. Besides, the bathwater was soothing his frayed nerves. He remained submerged until the water began to turn cold before climbing out into the thick bath towel Foster held at the ready.

“We need to talk, Foster,” he said, rubbing himself
briskly. “I’ll want to speak with you tomorrow about the situation here; after breakfast in the study will be as good a time as any. I’ll settle Miss LaPrelle in with Master Monty first. We won’t want to be disturbed.”

“Why don’t you just speak your piece now?” Foster suggested. “There’s no one to disturb us here, sir.”

Giles shook his head. “No, old boy, not now,” he said. “I’m too weary to do the subject matter justice.”

“As you wish, sir. I’ll fetch your dressing gown and turn down your bed then.”

“No,” Giles said. “Fetch me fresh togs instead, and leave the brandy. I want to go up to the studio for a while.”

“But you’ve just gotten shot of the paint and all!”

“Doesn’t matter; I need to work while I still can.”

“You mean to paint without a model, sir?”

“I mean to do what I can from memory while Miss LaPrelle’s image is fresh in my mind, since she chooses not to pose for me. She has the most exquisite hair….”

The nursery was situated on the third floor even beyond her rooms at the far end of the east wing, with the boy’s sleeping chamber adjoining. It appeared to Tessa that the master of Longhollow Abbey had ranged the boy as far from the rest in residence as was humanly possible.
It must be dreadfully incon venient caring for the
boy at such a distance in an understaffed house
, she thought, trying to keep up with Longworth’s long-legged stride.

Longworth didn’t knock, but barged into the nursery as if he meant to catch the boy out doing something scandalous, and scowled unattractively when he found the opposite to be true. Monty was seated at a low child’s table, drawing on a slate tablet with a piece of worn chalk.

“Get up, you little gudgeon, and receive Miss LaPrelle, your new governess, like a gentleman,” Longworth said, hauling the boy to his feet by the arm. “Miss
LaPrelle, my ward, Montclair Albert Montague, III, my late sister’s stepchild.”

“I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Miss LaPrelle,” the boy said, extending his hand. He was a handsome child, all eyes, it seemed; they were large and darker than his uncle’s, dominating his small, pale face.

Tessa took the boy’s limp fingers in hers. They were clammy and cold. The disdain between surrogate uncle and child was jarring at best. Taken aback by the display, Tessa was compelled to speak up.

“Do not bully the boy,” she said, as jovially as she could manage, though her meaning was clear. “Let him get to know me at his own rate.” Tessa had no experience with children whatsoever, but she knew striking out on the right foot at the outset might preserve her situation there, though she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why she would want to after what she’d seen of Longhollow Abbey’s enigmatic master thus far.

“Oh, that is quite all right,” the boy put in. “I’m quite accustomed to uncle’s foul tempers.” Did Longworth wince? “He’s cross because I bit him, you see.”

“Enough, Monty!” Longworth said, his tone unequivocal. He jerked the ruffled shirtsleeve down over the scar Tessa had noticed the night before. So that’s how it happened! This was not going to be easy. What possible circumstances could have caused the child to bite his uncle? And such a savage bite! It was ragged and deep. She would never have taken it for a human bite, much less that of a small child.

“Might I have a word with you alone, Mr. Longworth?” she asked sweetly.

He started toward the door, and Tessa turned back to the boy. “I shall return presently, Master Monty,” she said, “and then we shall get to know one another.”

Once outside, Tessa bristled. “What sort of display was that?” she demanded. “Evidently, you are just as
much of a brute sober as you are in your cups, sir! He is only a child. No wonder your former governesses ran off. It wasn’t because of Master Monty, either, I’ll wager.”

Longworth flung his arm toward the staircase. “There’s the door!” he seethed. “Just follow the stairs. You may join them with my blessing, madam, whenever you please. There is much here of which you are in ignorance, so I would hold my peace if I were you until you have all the facts before you pass judgment upon me.”

“Whatever the circumstances, sir, there is no reason to revenge yourself upon that poor child. He seems a lovely, well-mannered boy. I’ve only been in his company a few brief moments, and I must say, I’m concerned.”

Longworth loosed a humorless laugh. “Before the sennight’s out, you will be coming to me with your ‘concerns’ regarding my ward, Miss LaPrelle, but I guarantee you they will be of quite a different nature. But we waste time. Far be it from me to keep you from your duties.” He swept his arm wide toward the boy’s chamber and sketched a dramatic bow. “Do carry on. I wish you well. Good morning!”

Spinning on his heel, Longworth stormed off toward the landing, his long-legged stomps shaking the corridor underfoot. Tessa stared after him for a hesitant moment before re-entering the nursery. What had she gotten herself into? There were mysteries afoot here, mysteries she was almost too afraid to solve, and yet, like a moth to the flame, she was drawn to do just that. If the Fates had put her here, they had to have a reason, and she was determined to discover what that reason was. She decided then and there that it would begin with Master Monty; and she shut the door and flashed him her most winsome smile.

“So, Master Monty,” she began. “What is your favorite subject?”

“Uncle,” the boy said flatly.

Tessa laughed. “No, silly, your favorite academic subject…what did your former governesses plan for your lessons?”

“Oh, that,” the boy said, pouting. He shrugged. “They didn’t do lessons overmuch. They weren’t here long enough.”

Tessa frowned. “How is it that your uncle hasn’t sent you off to school? You’re old enough.”

Again the boy shrugged. “You will have to ask Uncle,” he said.

“You could be with other boys your own age at school. Wouldn’t you like that?” Her thought was to separate uncle from child, for they seemed a volatile mix.

“Don’t you want to stay and be my governess?” the boy asked.

The look of him then sent a cold chill down Tessa’s spine. Of a sudden, there was almost a fiendish glare older than his years in the child’s innocent eyes. “W-well, of course I do, Master Monty. I was just thinking—”

“You were thinking I would be safer,” the boy interrupted her, his lips curving in a smug smile.

“I was thinking, young man, that you might benefit from the company of other children your own age. Are there no other children for you to play with hereabouts?”

Monty shook his head. “You aren’t going to start changing things about, are you?” he said.

“Of course not,” Tessa assured him. No, this wasn’t going to be easy. It wasn’t going to be easy at all. A dark shadow had fallen across the child’s riveting eyes that her answer hadn’t dispelled. It set a rush of fresh chills loose upon her spine.

“Good!” said the boy. “Because I wouldn’t like that.”

Why had he made it seem like a threat, or at the very least an ultimatum? Tessa’s blood ran cold, but still she was determined. “Well!” she said buoyantly. “Since
your lessons are sorely lacking, wipe off that slate and let us see how skilled you are at sums. There’s a good boy.”

“Don’t you like my drawing?”

“Of course I do,” Tessa assured him. “It’s a fine tree you’ve drawn, but sums would be more practical at the moment…since you haven’t had much practice.”

“Uncle draws,” the child observed, wiping the slate clean.

“Yes,” Tessa said.

“Do you like his paintings?”

“I haven’t seen enough of his work to judge,” Tessa replied.

“He’s better than me.”

“Yes, well, you’re very young, Master Monty. I’m sure when you’re his age—”

“He doesn’t like me to draw,” Monty cut in.

Tessa studied the boy for a long moment. “Master Monty,” she began hesitantly. “You didn’t really bite your uncle, did you?”

“I did,” the boy said with pride.

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because he made me angry,” the boy said flatly. “Take care that
you
do not make me angry, too.”

Chapter Four

Giles sprinted down the stairs and stalked to the study, his boot heels clacking an angry rhythm on the parquetry. Who the devil
was
this exasperating female? He’d wished for,
prayed
for…the perfect Bride of Time, and what did he get? Tessa LaPrelle! No milk-and-water-miss, she. She was what he’d envisioned for the painting of his heart and soul, the painting that would establish him as an artist to be reckoned with, and in less than twenty-four hours she had dashed his hopes and touched his heart, and turned his life upside down.

Never in his thirty-eight stormy miserable years had he ever painted without a model, set down an image from memory as exactly as he had done last night. And it was good! He had almost captured her likeness. That hair! That glorious hair, as soft as silk. His fingers had grazed it when he snatched the tortoiseshell pins from the intricacy of that strange coiffure. What he wouldn’t give to fondle that hair, to run his fingers through the magnificent length. What a treat for the eyes and the senses, when all the women from Land’s End to London were shearing their tresses—in some cases shorter than their male counterparts. He could still smell its fragrance. What flower was it that haunted him? He
wracked his brain trying to place it, but he couldn’t. It would come to him when he least expected it. That was happening a lot lately. He was too preoccupied, too distracted by the nightmare of his shocking existence to concentrate upon the everyday wonders of the world that everyone else took for granted, like the simple pleasure of smelling flowers.