Dangerous Lord, Innocent Governess. Christine Merrill
for he knew what mischief they were capable of. While he did not wish her here, neither did he wish to see Miss Collins running to his study in fits, or, worse yet, to the neighbours, because his children were being naughty. But if the governess were to try any of the evil tricks that the last one had, they were to send word. He would come and deal with her, and there would be no more trouble. He looked up at Daphne, to make sure that she had understood the warning.
She looked back at him, and raised her chin a fraction of an inch to show that she did not fear him. She had to admit, if the last woman had been as bad as the servants said, the family had a reason to be less than trusting of her.
But while Lord Colton obviously disliked her, his conversation was surprisingly innocent, and he was even tempered with both children. It came as rather a surprise, for she had expected some sign of the problems there. Perhaps the children did not understand what had happened to their mother, or their father’s part in it. He must be a master actor, to be so calm and pleasant with them that they felt nothing of what he had done.
And then he turned again, dropped to both knees and held his arms wide. ‘And where is my little Sophie? Come here, darling, and give your papa a hug.’
She turned and looked, expecting to find the strange, haunted child warming to the sight of her father, as the other two had done. But instead, she heard a quick scurrying behind her, and felt the tug upon her skirts. When she looked down, she saw Sophie’s little face turned up to hers, the tear-stained cheeks pressed tight to the fabric of her dress, fingers white and claw-like, twisted into the cloth so tightly that Daphne was afraid that there would be holes worn in it, when she managed to get the girl to release her.
And the little eyes were shut tight, screwed closed, as the mouth murmured something silently, over and over again, like a prayer.
‘Sophie, sweetheart, come here and tell me about your day.’ She would have expected the tone to be more demanding, in response to such obvious disobedience. But instead it was even softer, and more gentle then it had been the first time. ‘Did you draw a picture? You love to draw.’ There was a wistfulness to the tone, and Lord Colton cleared his throat, and addressed Daphne directly, as though she might not have heard. ‘She very much loves to draw, and is surprisingly proficient, for a girl of such small years.’
The little girl burrowed further into her skirts, clinging even tighter, as though each word from her father’s mouth was a blow upon her back.
Daphne looked helplessly at the master of the house, afraid that he would demand that she pry the poor creature loose, and turn her over to him. Then she put her hand upon the head of the child in a gentle caress, and felt the girl snuggle against it, eager for protection.
Still on his knees, her employer dropped his hands to his sides in a gesture of defeat. ‘No hug today then, little Sophie? Tomorrow, perhaps. I will wait.’ If she wished to see the man punished for his deeds, perhaps it had already happened. He was brought to his knees before her, and his daughter’s rejection was sufficient to leave him broken, his shoulders slumped, his expression downcast. As he rose to his feet, he seemed a much older man than he had when entering the room.
‘It is good to see you all doing well.’ He glanced at Daphne as though she were a canker in a rose. ‘And so, I will leave you in the capable hands of Miss Collins.’ It appeared she had bested him, without even realising they were competing. Lord Colton turned to leave.
The two older children took a step forwards, as though to stop him, but then froze in their tracks, afraid to signal.
And young Sophie was the strangest of all. For though she was obviously terrified of the man when he came close to her, she watched his retreating back with a hunger greater than the others. Daphne could feel the girl tensing, ready to spring after the man in the doorway, to throw herself upon him like a little animal.
But if she wanted her father to stay, why would she not just say so? It was clear that he wanted to be with her, and the other children as well. It was only Sophie’s rejection that was keeping them away.
Daphne shook her head, confused at her response to the scene. She was not here to make it easier to reconcile father and daughter. She was here to get the horrid man away from them, so that they had a chance at a normal life.
Chapter Five
Daphne rose the next day when the sun crept over the horizon, just as she had the day before. So this was to be her routine, while in the Colton house. Rise at dawn, take all meals above stairs with the children, and have what little time to herself she could, after she had readied them for bed. They had gone to their rooms easily enough after the previous night’s meal. And she had taken time straightening the classroom and lingering in the dining room over a cup of tea.
Before going up to bed she had passed Sophie’s room, trusting that the older children would not need her help. And through the door, she had heard faint sounds of the girl whimpering in her dreams. But when Daphne had opened the door to come to her aid, she had found a candle burning on the nightstand, and Lily, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand on the little girl’s shoulder. She’d looked up at Daphne, as though annoyed at the intrusion, and whispered, ‘She will be all right in a moment. But it is best not to wake her.’
Daphne nodded. Not her choice of action, perhaps. She would have shaken the girl awake immediately. But there was nothing about the sister’s actions that seemed rooted in malice. In fact, it appeared that Lily often took the role of comforter, and showed no desire to give it over to a stranger. Daphne had trusted her to do what was best and gone to her room.
Once there, she’d removed Sophie’s sketch from her own book and hidden it under the folded gowns in her trunk. Should someone enter the room, it would not do to let them think she was too interested in the subject. But should she need to provide proof of what she had found, it would be invaluable.
That morning, she went to breakfast with the children, and from there to the classroom. The Duchess had been right. They were quite capable of teaching themselves. In some subjects they were clever enough to teach her. She let them proceed, helping with such few questions as they had, trying to do as little damage to their educations as possible.
But if she wasn’t actually needed in the schoolroom, there was no reason she could not slip away for a short time, to begin her search of the rest of the house. She excused herself under the guise of going to the library for a book. And with one last glance at the bowed heads, she shut the schoolroom door and hurried down the hall.
She looked into the children’s rooms first. There was nothing out of the ordinary in Lily’s or Sophie’s room, other than that the connecting door appeared to stand open at all times, in testament to the sisters’ close bond. Further down the hall was Edmund’s room, orderly but boyish. And beside it the cold, dark room that would be Lily’s, still with some of her things scattered around, as if waiting for her to return.
She moved more slowly now. Somewhere down the hall was the master suite, and there was a risk of blundering into Lord Colton. Although at this hour he should be below in the conservatory, where she suspected he spent most of his days. She turned the knob on the door at the head of the stairs, and found his room, quiet and empty. It was ordered to the last degree, with no ornaments on the dressers, no item out of place in wardrobe or drawers. There was no wrinkle in the cover on the bed, no mashed pillow or lump in the mattress to hint that the owner of the bed might sleep restlessly, from guilt or any other reason.
If she had not known better, she would have suspected that the person whose room this was did not reside in the house. It was almost too neat to be inhabited. It was a blank. A cipher. And it was unlikely that he might be hiding anything in it. If he meant to write a journal of confession, there was not even a writing table on which to do it.
Perhaps Clare’s room would be different. She glanced to the wall that had the connecting door. If the servants had not already cleared the room, there might be some evidence of the state of her cousin’s mind in the days before her demise.
But