The Governess Club: Claire (2 page)

Except for his mouth. And his eyes. Not that Claire had much experience meeting with tutors, but even she could tell that the spectacles enhanced rather than detracted from the pale blueness of his eyes. The lenses seemed to emphasize their round shape, emphasize the appreciative gleam in them before Mr. Knightly had a chance to hide it. Even when he did, the corners of his full mouth still remained turned up in a funny half-smile, all but oozing confidence and assurance, bordering on an arrogance one would not expect to find in a tutor.

Oh dear
. Claire sighed inwardly. Not only was the man handsome, but clearly, he knew it. There was little worse, in her opinion, than a man overconfident in his attractiveness. And if he were as intelligent as he was handsome, well, the arrogance may be well deserved, but still difficult to tolerate.

“You will take Mr. Knightly upstairs and show him the tutor’s room and the nursery,” Mrs. Morrison was saying. “You know the nursery best, so inform him of the schedule and expectations of the household. Prepare to introduce him to the children. I am sure his lordship would want the masters’ education to begin promptly.”

“Of course. Mr. Knightly, if you follow me.” Claire turned to leave the room, hearing Jacob step behind her. Turning toward the servants’ stairs, she stopped briefly at the kitchen door. “Mrs. Potter, this is Mr. Knightly, the new tutor. He is moving in today.”

The cook looked up but didn’t stop chopping the vegetables. “Good afternoon, Mr. Knightly. Breakfast is at half six in the morning. You will lunch and take cooked tea with the children; Miss Bannister will inform you of their schedule.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The man sounded amused. Claire continued toward the servants’ stairs as he followed her. “Where is the nursery?” Jacob’s deep voice echoed in the stairwell.

“The second floor, above the family wing and below the servants’ quarters,” Claire replied. “Your room will be next to it.”

“That sounds . . . typical.”

Claire glanced back at him. “Do you have any luggage?” She glanced pointedly at his hands, empty except for a threadbare hat.

He stopped and blinked at her in confusion. “Wouldn’t a footman—oh, right.” He gave her a sheepish look. “Excuse me.” Claire stood patiently when a few moments later Jacob returned, portmanteau in hand. He grinned. “Luggage retrieved.”

She continued up the stairs. “There are five children, three girls and two boys, the twins. Masters Peter and Michael are only seven—”

“A good age to start their education,” Mr. Knightly said.

Arrogant male.
“Their education started when I arrived, Mr. Knightly,” Claire said.

“Of course. And twins? Identical?”

“Yes. Not to worry, however. When they were born, Lord Aldgate cut a piece of Michael’s—the younger one—right lobe off to assist in telling them apart; he wanted no chance of any sort of discrepancy or deceit later in life.”

“That seems dramatic.” Mr. Jacob’s voice was beginning to sound strained, and his breaths were coming in heavier puffs.

Claire opened a door and entered the nursery. “Miss Sophie is eleven, Miss Mary is nine, and Miss Allison is four. The children sleep in the rooms across the corridor but take their meals and lessons in here.” One of the doors on the far side swung open and a maid exited, her arms full with cleaning supplies. “This is Lucy, who is assigned to the nursery; she assists with meals and cleaning and supervision. This is your room.” Claire indicated the door and stood off to the side, allowing him to enter.

Jacob lumbered past her, his face red from carrying his trunk. Placing it on the floor with a loud
thump
, he straightened with a groan. Catching her look, the groan cut off quickly, and he glanced around instead, turning his back to her as he rotated on the spot. Shock and disbelief began to show on his face.

“Is there something amiss with the room?” Claire asked.

“No, no, it’s just—unexpected.” Jacob moved over to the window and pushed the thin curtain aside. The view was merely a section of the roof covering a lower wing, just like hers on the other side of the wall. Inhaling deeply, he turned back toward her.

“Pray excuse me, Mr. Knightly. I must return to the children,” Claire said. “We will be having cooked tea at half five; the children will be in bed by nine. We will be able to have further discussions then.” She turned to leave.

“Jacob,” he called out after her. “My name is Jacob.”

Claire only paused to look over her shoulder. “Welcome to Aldgate Hall,
Mr. Knightly
.”

J
acob Knightly grinned as he watched the governess leave, her hips swaying nicely in her gray muslin dress. When the butler and housekeeper had told him to meet the governess, he had expected a short, plump, middle-aged dowd of a woman, the kind that haunts every young boy’s dreams, not this brisk beauty he was presented with. True, she wasn’t like the diamonds he was used to, but when she had burst into the housekeeper’s parlor, face flushed and green eyes lit with anticipation, she had fairly radiated beauty.

His grin faded into a grimace as Jacob faced his room again. Gads, what a horrible excuse for sleeping quarters. If he spread out his arms, he was sure his fingers would touch both walls simultaneously. He tried it, just to be sure.

With a deep sigh, he flopped his arms back to his sides. At least the room was clean. Moving to the washstand, he splashed some cold water on his face to wash off the travel dust; sitting on the back of a horse cart was a dirtier mode of transport than he’d expected. Glancing into the small, warped mirror, he offered his reflection a cynical grin. If only his friends could see him now. None of them would believe that the Earl of Rimmel would voluntarily place himself in such circumstances. He barely believed it himself, but it seemed to be the best place for him, plain sight and all that; people saw what they wanted to see.

At that thought, he was reminded of his first slip-up, assuming that a footman would carry his luggage up the stairs. Jacob would have to get into the mindset of a servant if this was to have any hope of succeeding. Good thing Miss Bannister was there to bring his faux pas to his attention. The puerile part of his mind wondered what else she might instruct him on.

His thoughts back to her, Jacob threw himself onto the small bed and folded his hands behind his head. Squeaks rebounded off the wall with each movement, but he barely heard them, instead filling his head with the sight of a young, shapely governess. A speculative smile spread across his face once more as he contemplated turning every schoolboy’s fantasy about prim, proper, pretty governesses into reality.

Well, he may be in voluntary exile for the time being, but no one said he couldn’t have fun while he did it.

C
laire winced as a loud creak wrenched through the silence. She quickly scanned the hall, her limbs ready to flee back up the stairs at the sight of the butler investigating the unexpected sound. Although Lady Aldgate had granted permission to the governess to make use of the library, Mr. Fosters had strict rules about staff wandering the manor house after hours.

Once she confirmed she had not been overheard, Claire silently chastised herself as she continued to make her way to the library. She knew the third step creaked but had not been paying attention. Instead, her mind had been on the new tutor. He had disappeared while she was putting the children to bed—the lack of light from under his chamber door led her to believe he had retired early—but not before making an impression on the female members of the staff during the afternoon. She, Mrs. Morrison, and Mrs. Potter seemed to be the only ones unaffected; every other body blessed with the female anatomy had been hanging on his every word, eating up his stories of London life like sweetmeats off a tray. Personally, Claire had found his general demeanor to be off-putting; arrogance and superiority seemed inherent to him, and she resented feeling as though she ought to be blessed to be sharing the table with him.

The library door opened on well-oiled hinges. Without hesitating, Claire moved toward the novels section, intent on finding a more interesting story than Defoe’s disappointing sequel to
Robinson Crusoe
. Replacing said book back on the shelf, she ran her fingers over the spines, relishing the feel of them, clacking her fingers together.

Unable to settle on a novel, her fingers continued to dance over the spines, the indecision making her restless. She let her shawl fall back from her shoulders and she shifted her weight to one leg, her head cocking to the same side. A frustrated huff left her.

“Having difficulty finding something to read?”

The unexpected deep voice close behind her caused a small shriek to escape Claire. Whirling around with wide eyes, she pressed her back to the bookcase. The candlestick in her hand, wavering frantically in tune with her fright, cast a glow over Jacob’s face where he stood a few feet away from her. Claire pressed a hand to her heart. “Goodness, you nearly scared the wits out of me.”

Jacob chuckled. “A witless governess—that would be something to see.”

Recovering slightly at his obvious humor, she frowned. “I do not appreciate being snuck upon, Mr. Knightly.”

He continued to grin. “I wasn’t skulking about. I was sitting in plain sight when you entered the room.” His gesture indicated an overstuffed chair set back in one of the corners near a window.

Swallowing the last of her fright, Claire moved past him further into the room. “Fosters has strict rules about staff roaming the halls at night. He doesn’t like it.” A single candelabra lit the sitting area just enough for reading; Mr. Knightly must have been here for quite some time. “You should know that the common way of things is to take a book back to your quarters, not read it here.!” She spied a half-full tumbler of amber liquid. She whirled back around. “Are you drinking Lord Aldgate’s Scotch?” She darted glances at the still open door.

Jacob shrugged and closed the door. “Again, I was told I could use the library freely.” He moved to a chair that held an open book and picked it up.

“The books, not the furniture, and most certainly not the spirits. The generosity of the Aldgates only goes so far.”

“Then they should have specified.” The man was unconcerned as he waved his book in the air. “Have you read this one,
Tom Jones
? It’s quite good.”

“You’re splitting hairs. Do you want to lose your position?”

“Why are you whispering?”

“I told you, Fosters has strict rules about staff being about at night.” Claire shot another glance at the door, as though she could see through it.

Jacob bent his head conspiratorially in her direction. “I think we’re safe,” he whispered. “I’m pretty sure I heard the old man snoring when I walked past his room earlier. Besides,” he straightened and resumed a normal speaking voice, “we’ll just be careful not to get caught.”

“Not getting caught does not mean a transgression has not been committed.”

“Indeed not. But it does mean we will escape punishment.” He picked up the tumbler and gave her a small salute with it before draining its contents.

“Have you no concern about what is at stake here? You could lose your position. I could lose my position merely by association.”

“Then perhaps you should leave. Heaven forbid you be tainted by my actions.” He turned his back on her.

Claire looked at his back through narrowed eyes. Good manners dictated she not say what was on her mind. The book clutched in her hands, she turned and marched out the door. As he said, best that she leave; she had too much at stake. The first good thing he had said since his arrival.

The next evening

C
laire shut the door to the girls’ room as softly as she could and rested her head against it, a weary sigh escaping her. After a rough day, Miss Allison had finally fallen asleep. A bee sting followed by a fall in the mud had caused the youngest girl to melt into a temper for the rest of the day, one that irked her sisters and brothers, further escalating the situation. And Mr. Knightly had been of no assistance; he hadn’t even made an appearance before noon, and even when he had, he’d had no concept of how to talk to or relate to the children.

“Here now, Miss.” Lucy was already in the nursery. “I’ve got the tea all set up. Even stole some of those sweet biscuits from Mrs. Potter. After the day you’ve had, you need ’em.”

Claire’s smile was tired, but grateful. “You are wonderful,.” Lucy handed her a cup. Claire’s eyes went up after taking a sip, and she started coughing. “Lucy, this is more than just tea!”

The maid grinned. “Like I said, you need it.” The two giggled.

“So Fosters’ rules about wandering the corridors frighten you, but you have no problem slipping a little tot into your tea?”

Claire stopped laughing and looked at Jacob standing in the entrance to his room. No coat or cravat, his waistcoat opened, a book in his hand. He grinned and sauntered over and sat in one of the chairs. “Don’t stop on my account. Fix me one.”

Lucy and Claire exchanged a glance, but the maid complied. Claire sipped her tea, her gaze unfocused on the tray on the table.

“I’ve always wondered what governesses and maids did once all the work was done. I’m looking forward to the exposé. My thanks, sweetheart.” His gaze raked over Lucy before doing the same to Claire. “What comes next?”

Claire cleared her throat. “This is your first position in service?”

“Why? What makes you think that?”

“Do you need a list?”

He blinked. “Am I that obvious? And I thought governesses taught manners.” Claire and Lucy exchanged another glance, one that Jacob did not miss. “I apologize. That was rude of me. Start at the top, then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why is it so obvious this is my first position?”

The ladies shared a third glance. “Will you stop doing that? I feel like you’re having a telepathic conversation about me.”

Lucy leaned toward to Claire. “What’s tela—tello—”

“Telepathic,” Claire supplied quietly. “Greek for talking with one’s mind.”