The Game and the Governess (12 page)

“It will?” Ned ventured, but then remembered himself. “Oh, yes. Of course. It will.”

“Quite right!” Sir Nathan added, jovially. “See, Fanny, his lordship is not here to reminisce or to walk through follies. You could have saved yourself the trouble of putting them up.”

While Lady Widcoate turned a rather unwholesome shade of red, Sir Nathan continued, “You’re here on business, and business shall be done. I’ll drive out with you myself. Mr. Fennick will meet us—another member of the consortium—and I’m sure you will be impressed with the proposal. And then maybe a bit of shooting, eh?”

“Yes, what is the proposal?” Ned asked, ignoring the prospect of hunting.

“You should know—we’ve exchanged enough letters, Mr. Turner,” Sir Nathan replied queerly.

“Of course—but for those present who do not know, perhaps you could explain?”

Really, all this ingratiating was becoming most tedious. Next he would find himself having to ask permission to ask a question.

“Well, I should hate to bore the ladies . . .” Sir Nathan demurred, with a glance at his wife. But surprisingly, Miss Henrietta spoke up.

“Oh, but I am curious,” she said, her attention suddenly rapt. “What is the proposal for Hollyhock?”

“Well . . .” Sir Nathan began, taking a pleased, pompous tone toward the girl. He lit up seeing someone
interested in his interests. “It all began a few years ago, in Midville, which is a town about five miles away. They mine coal there, and while trying to open up a new site, they came across a natural mineral spring.”

“A mineral spring?” Henrietta asked, perplexed. “You mean like in Bath?”

“Precisely. And some people in the county struck upon the idea of turning the spring into a bathing resort, much like Bath—but as Midville is a coal-mining town, it was unlikely that anyone fashionable would want to visit there. So the idea was brought up that the spring could be piped to Hollyhock, and we could establish the bathing resort here.”

“It would be, I daresay, very good for the town and the county, to have something so attractive to travelers in its midst,” Henrietta replied, earning a look of approval from Sir Nathan.

“Right you are!” he cried, and as he and Henrietta began an earnest discussion about what could be built, and what sort of people they hoped to bring in, Ned saw his opportunity with Mrs. Rye.

She had moved her gaze off Turner, and was idly watching as Henrietta peppered Sir Nathan with questions.

Ned leaned into the table, and spoke in a whisper and with a sheepish smile. “At least she’s excited about something other than my making a fool of myself.”

When in doubt, play the trump card: make fun of one’s own self.

And, miraculously, it worked. Mrs. Rye gave him a smile—a real one—and stifled a giggle. Then, amazingly, she whispered back.

“The night is still young—you have plenty of time to make a bigger fool of yourself.”

Ned grinned at her.

She wasn’t too bad, Mrs. Rye. Oh, she was trying awfully hard to make an impression—and whether it was for her or for the girls in her charge, Ned thought even she didn’t know—but she looked well enough, and she was eager.

Mrs. Rye sent him another look under her lashes—one that in the candlelight appeared distinctly amused.

This might turn out to be easy after all, Ned thought with relish.

No time like the present, Ned thought, and slowly eased his foot forward under the table. Seeking, searching . . . and finding the satin skirts of Mrs. Rye.

Then, as the soup bowls were taken away and the next course came out, her attention drifted to the plates of roast pork and mutton that were being presented. Slowly he let his foot dig its way under the laces and petticoats, finally finding the slight plumpness of her ankle above her slipper—a long, slow stroke down the side.

“MR. TURNER!”

Ned straightened up immediately, banging his foot against his chair as he brought it back with force. Mrs. Rye was looking at him in shock and fury, but surprised, too, that she had cried out so loudly.

Everyone else at the table was equally surprised, and they all whipped their heads around and blinked, astonished at the two of them.

Oh, hell. Thus Ned did the only thing he could do. He straightened in his seat, and asked with aching politeness, “Yes, Mrs. Rye? Is something amiss?”

Mrs. Rye took in the blank and blinking faces around her, the shock of her niece and the shaking of her daughter, and did the only thing she could do.

“Indeed, Mr. Turner. But it is resolved now. I thank you.”

Everyone else at the table turned back to their meals, the sounds of silverware scraping plates filling the silence while everyone waited for conversations to resume. Once they had, however, Mrs. Rye leaned into the table in much the same conspiratorial fashion as Ned had before, making certain no one else could hear.

“You are remarkable, Mr. Turner,” she said harshly. “You managed to make a greater fool of yourself in even less time than I imagined.”

“JUST WHO THE
hell does this Mr. Turner think he is?” Fanny growled under her breath, seating herself next to Leticia in the window of the drawing room. The younger girls were gathered around the pianoforte, where Clara had begun to play a happy tune. For such a seemingly frail child, she could play the pianoforte with verve, Leticia mused. Henrietta turned the pages for her, while Minnie dealt out cards to Mrs. Rye, happy for games of any sort. Well,
almost
any sort.

“I don’t know how the earl puts up with him. Why, the way that man speaks to him!” Fanny continued in a hiss. “The way he spoke to me, and my darling Sir Nathan. I have never heard of such a jumped-up secretary in all my life!”

Leticia made a soothing hum, her eyes continually
on the door, waiting for the men to come in and join the ladies after dinner.

“He not only insulted us, he put us out entirely. Who wants a
secretary
staying under their roof?”

“Now, Fanny,” Leticia began. “I don’t know why you are being so high and mighty with him. He’s not so low as a tenant farmer, and you’ve had them to dinner. Why, anyone who is a secretary must be a man of at least some education. Think of Mr. Turner not as being in
service
to the earl, but as more of a . . . a clerk. You are only agitated because you did not think to expect him.”

“It just unsettles so many of my plans! Besides, we married men of status to get away from such
clerks
,” Fanny huffed. “And unless you want to go back there, you had better get the earl—”

“I know, Fanny, hush,” Leticia cooed. But the truth was, she did not want to think about the reasons she had to do what she was doing.

“What do you think of the man? The earl, I mean,” Fanny asked.

“He’s . . . different than I remember,” Leticia replied, a frown crossing her brow. “I thought he would have turned out more . . . cheeky. The way he pulled my hair and called me Letty when he was young is proof enough of that. But he’s very calm. And serious.”

“Serious?” Fanny prompted.

“The way he pauses before he speaks. As if he is very carefully considering his words, his speech. Perhaps his time in the army tempered him.” Leticia paused, considering her own words. “I asked him why he pushed Rose to know the answer to more difficult mathematics, and do you know what he said?”

“No . . . but nor do I know why any girl must know multiples of thirteen.”

“That’s exactly it. He whispered to me that one cannot rest on their laurels. If one wants to succeed, they must be challenged. They must fight.”

Which was a philosophy Leticia had herself come to adopt.

“It is unexpected,” she said with a dismissive smile. “That is all.”

What was more unexpected was the ease with which she had captured his attention. Goodness, he had come to her side immediately, fascinated as she reminisced about old times and flirted slyly. She would have thought a man as sought after as the Earl of Ashby would have been well trained not to fall for the first pretty face that came his way. But he seemed to prefer her company to any other—although, to be fair, he had been here just a few hours. He had showed her preference only by letting her walk him into the house when they arrived, and then by bringing her into the drawing room that evening.

“That Mrs. Rye is a piece of work—trying to pull the earl her way! And to think, she with children full grown, and a husband besides!” Fanny was saying under her breath.

“It was to be expected. Poor dear, her marriage is not a happy one,” Leticia replied back in similar volume, knowing the misery that Mrs. Rye had to deal with back in Bath. Giving her—and Clara and Minnie, who also lived in her charge—a respite was half the reason Leticia had invited her out. But only half the reason.

“You certainly took her apart at the dinner table.” Fanny was unable to hide the glee in her voice.

“She was trodding on my territory. Clumsily, too.” Leticia gave an elegant little shrug. “I’m perfectly willing to be pleasant as long as it does not interfere with my plans. But really, I have to think of myself first.”

“Which is why I don’t know why you had me invite them,” Fanny huffed.

“Don’t you?” she asked. “Silly Fanny—it is because they make me look good by comparison.”

Fanny blinked rapidly, as if the idea had never occurred to her, when, really, it should have been obvious all along. All the young ladies were good girls of decent enough background, and individually, their characters might have been allowed to blossom and grow and turn them into interesting people. But they lived in one another’s pockets—Henrietta having grown up neighbors to the Ryes—and being so young, their closeness tended to exacerbate their worst qualities. Minnie wanting to strong-arm everyone into playing a game. Henrietta wanting to know everything about everything. Clara permanently in some state of nervous indecision. None of them had the mind for seduction.

Top that off with Mrs. Rye, and Leticia, with her grace, beauty, and worldliness, would ultimately rule the day.

Yes, it was still early. And, yes, the earl also seemed careful to give his attention to anyone who asked for it. His deference to Mrs. Rye and each of the girls was evidence of that, she thought grimly.

But so far . . . so far . . . it was going well. She might even have him sewn up inside of a week. And wouldn’t that be a relief?

“Well, far be it for me to tell you how to handle
this little escapade,” Fanny said stiffly. “But I confess I still would think far better of the earl if he did not require the presence of that
person
. Just what do you think Mr. Turner did to cause such an outburst from Mrs. Rye?”

“I don’t know,” Leticia mused. Although, given the way Mr. Turner had been slouching at the table before hastily sitting up, she could guess.

“I can only guess something horrid, from such a nasty little man.”

It was impossible to judge from Leticia’s position what had set Fanny’s teeth on edge about the earl’s secretary. Maybe he had shown himself up too high when he challenged Sir Nathan to multiply thirteen times thirteen? Maybe she could not get over the mortification of having mistaken him for a valet? Perhaps she was just Fanny and, being the elder by six years, had felt their status as merchant’s daughters more keenly. After all, she had been almost full grown when their father’s mill suddenly became a success, and they had money enough to attract landed gentlemen in need of a little funding. For Leticia it had been different.

In truth, their father has been relieved to let his growing daughter grow somewhere else. He had never been the most comforting of men, and tending to family did not suit him the way tending to business did. Fanny, a new bride, and infinitely nervous, was happy to have her around to smooth the transition into married life. Thus, Leticia was free to reject their history as just that, history, and to reinvent herself anew.

Fanny had been the first one to step outside of their old lives. She always remembered being a miller’s
daughter, and as such, was more aware than anyone of class distinction.

In any case, Fanny’s ire had come to rest on poor Mr. Turner, and there it would stay.

“You are being an excellent hostess, Fanny,” Leticia soothed, squeezing her sister’s hand, “throwing a delightfully cozy party for us. I should not worry over much about Mr. Turner. He’s a bit of a nuisance, but nothing more.”

“Yes,” Fanny decided, a gleam in her eye. “He is a bit of a nuisance. But when I’m through with him, he won’t even be that.”

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