Chapter Three
C hapter T hree
C outanche House was one of the loveliest houses Abby had ever set foot in, let alone stayed in. And she had certainly never resided in one so elegant and spacious. She was a Charteris—which counted for a great deal in certain circles—but she was not directly related to those of the vaulted status often so envied. Her family had been rather average in station for several generations, and she had always been grateful to be unremarkable in that regard.
Since becoming an operative and a teacher at Miss Masters’s, which had once been a grand estate house itself, she had stayed in a great many places for this mission or that assignment. But none of those places had suited her tastes quite like Coutanche.
The front facade was touched by ivy and wisteria in moderation, giving the silvery grey stone beneath the air of a steppingstone in a pond. The windows glistened brilliantly in any light shone upon them, and the expanse of the building was not enough to be particularly intimidating in grandeur. Simple adornments by way of colonnades, pillars, balconies, and dormers, and less than a dozen windows on three faces of the main house. There was a long extension from the west facade towards the older portion of the house, which, as she understood things, had been made over into more of the servants’ quarters, leaving the newer wing to the family.
It presented a degree of privacy that Abby had never seen before, and she’d not even been in residence for a whole day.
Being the governess, Abby had not been certain if she would be in a servants’ room or a family room. She had been delighted to find that her room was directly adjacent to the nursery itself, with an adjoining door for convenience. Despite arriving prior to supper, she had not met any member of the family yet. She’d wandered the house before bed last night without encountering a single soul, and it had held a sense of calm as well as one of foreboding.
Mrs. Corbin had been warm and friendly, just as Abby had anticipated from their exchanges in letter, but she was also more of the no-nonsense sort than she had anticipated. Not overbearing, per se, but strict and brisk in her orders. She had insisted that Abby sit for a cup of tea with such force that it had become a matter of obedience to do so. They had talked in jovial tones and Mrs. Corbin had fretted over Abby’s fatigue, and particularly over what the trip must have done for her weak leg. Then she had sent her to bed with a brusqueness that would brook absolutely no argument and demanded a hot bath to soothe her frame before she slept.
It was a terrifying combination to have in a woman of authority in a house. There was nothing to do but as she ordered and think back with as much fondness as fear because her intentions were clearly good, and yet…
Well, suffice it to say that Abby would need to tread carefully if she was going to be disrupting this family’s life. Mrs. Corbin would probably be her biggest threat if she did. This was her family, and no one was going to upset them.
Would Milliner allow Abby to be relocated under a false identity after this assignment to be protected from this terse housekeeper and her unwavering loyalty?
Abby shook her head quickly as she paced slowly in the drawing room where she would soon meet Mr. Bichard and his daughters. She’d had breakfast, and despite having no plans to teach today, was hoping the girls would like to take a picnic with her on the terrace or the grounds. She hadn’t explored them yet, but perhaps there was a good place for a picnic that they knew of. She wanted to get a sense of these girls and guide her lessons accordingly. With five years of teaching at Miss Masters’s, some of those terms being spent specifically at the Rothchild Academy with the sponsorship students from low classes, she had seen every sort of student imaginable.
Madeline and Marie-Claire were younger than her usual students, of course, but that would only make the teaching experience more fun, in Abby’s mind. Meeting Mr. Bichard and asking a few specific questions would determine how structured her teaching needed to be and in what directions he’d prefer she go, all of which was crucial to her time here. She was an operative, yes, but she was also supposed to be a governess, and she was going to do her best by those girls as part of her assignment. They were innocents and should not have anything but her very best, even if she could not stay long.
Hopefully she would not stay long. That would mean her assignment was complete and she had done what she needed to and there was at least some increase in the security of the kingdom against the aims of the Faction.
But that was wishful thinking, and she had never been especially keen on that. She was an optimistic realist, calmly accepting what came and making the best of it.
As she would do here.
She heard the unmistakable sound of young voices from beyond the room and stopped her pacing, turning towards the door in anticipation. She flicked at her skirts, surprised at the sudden burst of nerves.
Children, she reminded herself. These were only children.
But there would be their father.
What would he be like?
The door opened, and two little girls entered, almost perfect images of each other, though one was taller than the other. Both had beautiful golden curls, complexions like china dolls, and wore pinafores of white and blue. The only notable physical difference, size aside, was the color of their eyes. The taller one had dark eyes and the smaller one bright blue, but both pairs of eyes were wide and staring at her.
They were utterly beautiful girls, and Abby could not resist smiling at them to put them at ease, if nothing else. “Bonjour, mes chéries. Comment vas-tu ce matin?”
The girls looked at each other, then up at the figure behind them.
Abby had momentarily forgotten that anyone else would be joining them, and followed their gazes quickly, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment.
A jolt of recognition flashed through her body with such a startling speed and intensity that she could not find a single word at first.
It was the man who had looked at her through the window last evening. The handsome, disheveled man with a piercing gaze and a burdened bearing, whose expression had been incredibly difficult to discern.
He was their father?
His gaze was on her, just as piercing as the night before, and in this light, she could tell that his eyes were a rather muted blue. He was more kempt this morning, but still not perfectly clean-shaven. She did not mind that, not that it was any of her business what he did or did not do about his facial hair or whiskers.
But it was worth noting, for informative purposes, that stubble suited him.
Rather well.
“They do speak English,” he said in softly accented English himself, his voice low and almost rumbling. “But French, too. And what the locals say is Guernésiais.”
Abby curtseyed quickly, dropping her eyes to the edge of the rug as she did so. “Mr. Bichard, forgive me. I should have introduced myself before speaking to the girls.”
“Why?” he asked, his head tilting with the question. “Your attention will be with them, and you greeted them first. I see no fault in this.”
“Perhaps,” Abby allowed, “but they will not be curious about my surname.”
Mr. Bichard made a soft tsking sound. “True. What is it?”
“Chorley, sir. My name is Abigail Chorley.” She smiled belatedly and met his eyes again. “I hope you do not mind, sir, but my hope is that the girls will call me Mademoiselle Abby. Or Miss Abby, if you prefer the English. I can teach them in either language. Or both. Whatever you like.”
Mr. Bichard looked a little impressed, though it was difficult to tell if it was playacting or genuine. “Indeed? Whatever I like? Well, I am not the student, so I do not suppose what I like is the particular point, is it?” He looked down at his daughters, smiling in a way that crinkled his eyes. “What say you, ma filles? Anglais ou francais? Or both?”
“Both!” the older one cried with a laugh, the younger one nodding with a slight smile.
He looked back to Abby, gesturing to them. “There you have it. Les étudiants have spoken, and so it shall be.”
“Very good, then.” She clasped her hands and looked at the girls warmly. “My name is Mademoiselle Abby. Will you tell me who you are?”
The older one curtseyed quickly, her dark eyes as bright as her smile. “Madeline, mademoiselle.”
The younger one stared at Abby without moving, her expression as indiscernible as her father’s had been the night before.
Madeline nudged her with an elbow, and she bobbed a very quick, unsteady, childish sort of curtsey. “Marie-Claire,” she recited in a beautiful French accent.
“Papa and I call her Mariette,” Madeline informed Abby, as though it would be helpful.
Marie-Claire was already inching towards her father, her fingers gripping at the leg of his trousers.
Abby smiled at her. “Would you like me to call you Mariette as well? Or should that name be just for Papa and your sister?”
“Papa,” Marie-Claire whispered as she started to hide her face against him.
“Very well, then. It will be their name for you alone, hmm?” Abby nodded in encouragement, unsure if the girl would even see it.
But Marie-Claire nodded into her father’s leg, so that would be good enough for now.
Abby looked at Mr. Bichard quickly. “May I sit, sir?” She gestured to a chair close to Madeline.
He seemed surprised by the question. “Of course.”
“Madeline,” Abby began as she sat, leaning towards the smiling girl, “do you enjoy having lessons?”
“Sometimes,” came her honest reply, her nose wrinkling up. “They can be ennuyeux , but learning is très divertissant when I like it.”
Abby chuckled at the response. “Many things are entertaining when we like them, but we must endure the other times to learn all we must. What is your favorite thing to learn about?”
“Reading,” Madeline immediately told her. “I am getting better, am I not, Papa?”
“Oui, ma chérie,” Mr. Bichard answered with a warm smile. His eyes crinkled again with the action, and Abby found herself wondering if every smile he bore did the same thing. He ruffled Marie-Claire’s curls gently, looking down at her with a fond, patient expression. “Vas-tu parler, ma petite?”
Marie-Claire shook her head, but rested her cheek against his leg, her eyes on Abby now.
It was a little progress, which was enough.
Smiling in as a warm a manner as possible, Abby tilted her head at Marie-Claire. “I was hoping we could take a picnic today. I don’t know anything about your house or the grounds. Is there a good place to have a picnic?”
Marie-Claire’s brow creased very slightly for a moment, and then she nodded firmly.
“Really?” Abby looked playfully delighted. “Where?”
“By the pond,” she told her simply.
Abby nodded at the suggestion. “Excellent. If your father agrees, then we’ll take a luncheon picnic there.”
“I think it sounds très bien, ” Mr. Bichard praised, still absently brushing at Marie-Claire’s curls. “Should I come as well?”
“Can you?” Madeline cried with great enthusiasm. “You don’t have work to do?”
Mr. Bichard smiled at his oldest, but Abby caught the flash of a different emotion crossing his face just before the smile settled. “Nothing that cannot wait, ma petite. And I cannot remember the last time we had a picnic, can you?”
Both girls shook their heads almost somberly, but the smiles they wore were brighter than the sun at noonday.
There was so much love and affection between the three of them. Anyone with eyes would be able to see it, and Abby was delighted by the notion. There was nothing to indicate the girls had any fear of their father or had any significant distance from him, and the very fact that they wanted him to come on the picnic with them was lovely.
But she also had not missed Madeline’s question about her father’s work, and she wondered how often her father had used work as an excuse to not do something. Even if it was a legitimate excuse, she knew all too well how easily it could be said and employed. And when there was no other parent to cover the lapses in time and attention, it must seem as though he always had to work and never play. His wish could be to spend all of his time with the girls, but responsibilities did not vanish based on one’s wishes or tastes.
Even if those responsibilities involved an evil group of terrorists attempting to overthrow the English and French governments.
The irritation Abby felt at the prospect of this man’s true nature and cause burst like a fire in her chest, intense and hot. But with practiced effort, she doused those flames with the icy water of calm determination to see the assignment through. To deliver justice. To use him for the larger purpose of ending the entire Faction.
Which meant pretending he was nothing more than the father of her students, and she was nothing more than an eager governess.
“Should I ask Mrs. Corbin about the picnic fare?” Abby asked Mr. Bichard, uncertain if her thoughts had caused her to miss another exchange between the father and daughters.
He shook his head slightly. “No, I will. Perhaps the girls might give you a tour of Coutanche in the interim. Through their eyes, it might be more interesting, hmm?” He smiled easily, the creases appearing at the corners of his eyes again.
So it was natural, then.
What a distracting prospect.
“It is interesting already, I can assure you.” Abby laughed a little and winked at Madeline. “I’ve never been to Guernsey before, and this house is so large! I am sure I shall become quite lost.” She widened her eyes as though she could not believe she was even here.
Madeline giggled loudly and Marie-Claire cracked a wide smile.
The taste of victory was sweet.
“We’ll show you everything, Mademoiselle Abby!” Madeline insisted with great fervency. “Mariette will come too, won’t you, Mariette?”
Marie-Claire nodded obediently, her smile turning almost impish despite the fact that she still clung to her father’s leg.
She was going to require some special attention, that one, if Abby wanted her to open up. But shyness wasn’t a problem, only a trait, and one that Abby entirely understood. Once Marie-Claire trusted her enough to be less afraid in her presence, her deeper personality would appear, and perhaps show a little bit of a silly side.
If Madeline was as full of life and energy as she appeared, and she and Marie-Claire were indeed close, she suspected they had a great deal of fun and silliness together.
“Lessons?” Marie-Claire asked quietly.
Abby did her best not to beam at the child, not wanting to embarrass her. “Not today, Marie-Claire. I thought you might want to get to know me a little better before I start any lessons. Is that all right?”
Marie-Claire popped a finger in the corner of her mouth, making her look even younger. She smiled widely, her eyes crinkling just like her father’s. She nodded without looking away from Abby or ducking into her father’s leg.
This little one was the most adorable creature Abby had ever seen, and she was already wanting to sweep her up and playfully cuddle her like an infant just to hear her giggle.
That was possibly more dangerous than her father’s smile, but in a very different way.
“How soon is luncheon, Mademoiselle Abby?” Madeline asked her, almost dancing where she stood.
Abby looked at Mr. Bichard with questioning eyes and a slight smile, not entirely sure when any meals took place for the family.
“Not for a little while, Madeline,” Mr. Bichard answered with a laugh. “But you could start a tour for your new governess, if you like. By the time you are done, it may be time for our picnic.”
Madeline seized Abby’s hand and started tugging her away, grabbing her sister’s hand as they reached her.
Abby slowed her step, looking at Mr. Bichard earnestly. “I do have some questions about your wishes for the girls’ education, sir. When would be an appropriate time to discuss them?”
Mr. Bichard shrugged easily, the motion reminding her of the version of him she had seen the night before, casual and relaxed in his shirtsleeves. “Why not at the picnic? It does not need to be formal. If you cannot tell, mademoiselle, we are not quite the formal family here.” He smiled for her now, a touch of pride mingling with the honest delight in it.
And the crinkling eyes seemed to be smiling all on their own.
She had to smile in return; there was no other course.
“I am beginning to sense that, sir,” she told him through that helpless smile as the girls pulled at her.
“Mademoiselle Abby, are you hurt? You are walking strangely,” Madeline broke in with some concern, but mostly curiosity.
“Madeline,” her father scolded at once, though gently, “ tu ne dois pas dire ca. Apologize, please.”
Abby shook her head, letting herself be pulled now. “No, no, it is quite all right. She asked a sincere question based on her observations, and I am not offended.” She cleared her throat and smiled at Madeline. “You are very astute, ma chèrie. That means you notice things and have a quick mind. On our picnic, I will tell you a very exciting story about my leg and how I came to walk as I do. For now, I will say that I am not hurting at the moment, but I was hurt a long time ago, and now this is simply the way I walk.”
Madeline made an O shape with her mouth and nodded quickly. “We have a boy in the stables who walks strangely, but one of his legs is longer than the other. And he runs ever so fast, Mademoiselle. I am still faster, but Papa says I may grow out of that. I do not think I shall.”
She continued to rattle on as she tugged Abby completely from the room, making Abby smile with her incessant chatter and details.
Marie-Claire released her sister’s hand and came to Abby, taking her free hand without a word, content to silently walk beside her.
Whether that was due to learning about Abby’s leg or out of habit when an adult was near was not clear, but she did not mind either way. It was the sweetest gesture, and she decided not to make any sign that something significant had taken place.
But oh, what a beautiful first impression this had been!