Chapter Eight
W infield, rather Mr. Winfield—she had to remember she was part of the household as a staff member, not the lady of the house—the butler as old as the hills, led Verda to the earl’s study at precisely ten o’clock the next morning as instructed by the note sitting on the escritoire in her chamber. Exhaustion pelted her. Lizzie’s bed was horribly lumpy. And while Verda had slept little, it was more than she would have had she been forced to sleep in her own bed, imagining left-behind reptiles. Shuddering, she waited as Mr. Winfield tapped on the study door then entered on a muffled “Come in.”
She followed inside to yet another darkened room. There was a logical explanation for the gloom: the windows were draped in black in respect for the late Lady Pender.
Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined two walls and a blazing fire in the grate did little to stave off the chill that went bone deep. Stacks of papers covered the desk along with inkwells and quills. A globe sat on one corner. A lantern on the other.
The earl’s head was bent where she could see only the top of his dark hair.
He looked up. “Good morning.”
An unfamiliar leap in Verda’s chest stuttered to an odd wobbling. “Oh, Mr. Oshea.” Too breathless . She glanced quickly about, but the genuine Lord Pender was nowhere to be seen. On hesitant steps, she moved forward.
He grimaced. “It appears my brother has left the premises.”
“I see. And that affects me…how, exactly? I mean, do you require his signature or something?”
“Not at all, Miss Fairclough. His departure changes nothing. I thought you might be concerned. I didn’t learn he’d left until Winfield mentioned it this morning.”
She waved a hand in the direction of the windows. “How odd with the house in mourning.”
He cleared his throat. “Er, yes. As the gossipmongers report, my brother rarely acts as decorum dictates.”
White-hot embarrassment rushed through her veins. She swallowed a groan. “I-I’m sorry. I often speak before I think. Much too often,” she muttered under her breath.
“Please. As I told you last night, I’d been in Cornwall. So, things are a little dubious around here,” he responded. “I believe it was not unpredicted.”
“I expect that’s why Master Noah has taken on the position of nursemaid.”
Mr. Oshea’s gaze flickered his surprise. “Nursemaid?”
“I mentioned meeting him. In the vestibule upon our arrival yesterday,” she reminded him.
“Yes. Yes,” he said, impatience seeming to ripple over him. “Again, that is neither here nor there. But… he had the infant—”
The door opened and Verda turned.
Mr. Oshea stopped mid-sentence. “Excellent, Noah. I appreciate your promptness.” He rose from behind the desk and, rounding it, went to the seating area before the hearth. “Shall we sit?”
Verda took a seat on the settee, cutting a side glance at her new charge, who incidentally, entered empty handed—meaning… no infant.
Mr. Oshea took the wingback chair, forcing Noah beside her. He did his best to jam himself as close to the arm as he could get without sitting on it. He slid her a wary look, likely thinking of the little gift he’d planted in her bed the night before.
She met that glance and held it. “Do you have pets, Master Noah?”
“Er, no.”
Sympathy touched Mr. Oshea’s forehead. He leaned forward and set a hand on Master Noah’s knee. “I’m saddened to hear that, Noah. You’ve had your lizards for neigh on five years now, isn’t it?”
Noah’s— Master Noah , she silently reminded herself. His ears flamed red and he shifted uncomfortably, as well he should , and quickly turned to Mr. Oshea. “Am I in trouble, Uncle Sander?”
A fleeting wince flashed Mr. Oshea’s features before he affected as haughty a tone as any lord she’d ever heard. “Certainly not.”
“Where is Papa?”
“He departed this morning. He mentioned you were upset about not attending school with Lucius.” Mr. Oshea narrowed his eyes on the boy. “Are you?”
“Not any longer.” Master Noah’s gaze raked over her and he crossed his arms before turning back to his uncle.
Verda’s stomach dipped. She was going to have to leave. Her new life was over before it had begun. With her and Lizzie bound for London on the next mail coach. At least she wouldn’t find a family of lizards in her bed. No, the workhouse would house big, fat rats .
“Why not?” Mr. Oshea asked calmly.
“I have to take care of the baby. Papa told me so.”
Mr. Oshea rubbed his forehead. “Noah,” he said gently, “there is a wet nurse. You are a child. You can hardly care for an infant.”
Oh, dear. Verda held her breath watching as the young master’s hands squeezed into fists until his knuckles whitened. She made a silent vow to have Lizzie return his “pets” right away.
Noah shot to his feet. “I can take care of him. Papa gave him to me .”
“All right, all right. Calm down. I’m not here to take your new brother away from you, son.”
Master Noah’s lips tightened and he remained rigid as a board. Strangely enough, Mr. Oshea’s expression mirrored his nephew’s.
After a long moment, the tension in the room lowered and he narrowed his eyes on his uncle. “Where is Papa?”
“I’ve no idea. I’m as frustrated as you, to be sure. Now, please sit down and remember your manners. There is a young woman present.”
Master Noah slowly resumed his place on the settee.
“Miss Fairclough has graciously consented to being your governess until such time you leave for Eton.”
The boy’s lips compressed and he narrowed his eyes on Verda. “I’m not learning embroidery.”
“Thank goodness for that. As it happens, I cannot stitch a straight line to save my life,” she said, keeping her voice strictly matter-of-fact.
The surprise on Noah’s face had her biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.
“I would love to hear more about these”—she speared Mr. Oshea a questioning glance—“lizards, you say?”
“Noah is quite the caretaker,” he returned.
“Even for a family of lizards…” she muttered under her breath.
“What’s that? I didn’t hear you,” Mr. Oshea said.
She ignored that. “So… no embroidery, then, we are agreed. Is there a particular subject you prefer to another?” she asked young Noah.
“Well, I have been reading The Sceptical Chymist .” He spoke the words as a challenge. “I’m going to set up a laboratory.”
“Interesting,” she murmured. “I, too, have read some on the subject.”
Master Noah’s eyes widened in a look of sheer disbelief.
“It’s true. Elizabeth Fulhame did chemistry experiments in the late 1700s on dyeing methods.”
His mouth fell open. “A woman?”
She grinned at him. “Women have brains too, you know. Or haven’t your own studies mentioned that nugget of information?”
Noah’s mouth snapped shut. Only for a moment. “What does dying have to do with chemistry?” he demanded.
“She studied a method of infusing cloth with metals. Gold, silver…” She lifted a shoulder. “Metals of that sort.”
“To put on a dead body?” His incredulity had her swallowing a laugh. He was quite bright. She wondered briefly if that was normal for most children.
Verda stole a look at Mr. Oshea, who reclined back in his chair with his hands flattened on muscular thighs, momentarily distracting her. Her eyes moved up to see his lips tipped on one end. Cheeks flaming, and with an internal shake of her head, she went on. “No. Not dying as in expiring from life. Dyeing as in working with fabrics. Changing their colors and such.”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” he said with a smugness that sent her own blood rising in a heated temperature.
“You think so?” She curled her fingers and pretended to study her nails, being careful to remain nonchalant. “Mrs. Fulhame published a book on her findings in 1794.”
“I bet you’re lying—”
“Noah!” Mr. Oshea barked.
“Apologies, ma’am. But a woman writing a book on chemistry. That doesn’t seem likely to me. What is it called?”
“I can’t remember the exact title. It’s very long, cumbersome, even, but it has something to do with new art and painting wherein hypotheses are proved erroneous or some such incoherence. Truly, it is a ridiculously long title.”
A thoughtful glint gleamed in his eye. “If she did write a book on chemistry, then it’s probably in our library.”
“We shall look and if we cannot locate it, I shall pen a note to my father and have him send along my copy.”
“Thank you,” he said graciously.
“Now, what of our schedule, Master Noah? Is there a particular time that will work for you so that I may earn my wages?”
The wary look reappeared. “I suppose I could work while my Julius takes his morning and afternoon naps. I may have to bring him to my lessons. He doesn’t like it if I’m too far away when he wakes.”
“Brilliant. We shall begin this afternoon. What time does he nap?” she asked.
“It varies.”
She was on to him now. “Then I shall meet you in the schoolroom, say two of the clock?”
Noah glanced at Mr. Oshea, who gave a slight incline of his head. “That will be acceptable,” Noah said. He stood and turned to his uncle. “May I be excused, sir? I must check on my Julius.”
“Of course. Thank you for your time, Noah.”
Noah gave a proper bow in Verda’s direction. “Thank you, ma’am. I should be very interested in learning what Mrs. Fulhame has to say regarding dyeing. Even though it would be more exciting if she wrote about expiring.”
“I expect it would,” Verda agreed. “Perhaps you can show me these, um, lizards of yours.”
Red crawled up his neck and tipped his ears, his eyes flickered away. “They, um, ran away.”
“Oh? That seems a shame. I shall ask my maid if she’s happened upon them. Until this afternoon, then.”
Master Noah dashed out of the room as if fire licked at his heels.
“What an unusual young man,” she said to Mr. Oshea. “He seems quite dedicated to his new brother.”
Mr. Oshea’s gaze was on the closed door. “Yes. I suspect it’s due to his mother’s recent passing.” He turned back to Verda. “What was all that business regarding lizards? I was not aware that women had an interest in reptiles of any sort.”
“Perhaps I’m unlike any of the women you’ve ever met.”
His eyes darkened with an intensity that had her tempted to run out of the room in the same fashion as young Noah. She rose from the settee. “Well, if you’ll excuse me as well, I should like to take in some air.”
He frowned somewhat fiercely. “Do not stray far. The weather can turn treacherous in an instant. Not to mention the cliffs.”
Every independent hackle Verda possessed prickled along her skin. “It seems the men as well as the children in this family have not reconciled their thinking toward the idea that women indeed harbor brains of their own.” Glimpsing the bemused glint in his eyes seemed the perfect time for a timely exit.
She turned on her heel and escaped. She didn’t want to like him.
*
The click of the door echoed. Sander stood, went to the windows, and pushed aside the black covering representing the most recent death—after all, his parents had also perished at this very property. Father right there on the moors where Verda was determined to walk.
Breath held, he waited for her to appear as this side of the house didn’t face the front, but the worn path did. He waited… and waited until his hand clenched into a fist from the strain and he was forced to relax and flex his fingers.
He started to turn away, determined to go after her when he caught sight of her hair. Its flaming beacon allowed him to breathe. Miss Verda Fairclough was a most unusual woman and he was as taken with her now as he had been in London. She was as bold and forthright as that fiery hair of hers. But she was as out of his reach as the stars hidden behind the leaden clouds he was looking at. Secrets were horrible determents.
Frustrated with this line of thought, Sander turned his mind to Noah and another disturbing dilemma. The boy’s attachment to his new brother struck a chord deep in Sander. How close he and Damien had been as children. The memories were painful and Sander refused to dwell on them, but something had changed. Not that Damien had ever been predictable. There was the time not long before Father had died that Damien had appeared in the door of the schoolroom, his nose bloodied and broken. Sander had stormed down four flights of stairs. Sander had always been bigger and stronger than Damien. And their father had hated Damien—
Something had happened since Sander’s last visit to Stonemare, even before the countess’s death. His brother appeared more enigmatic than usual. His nephew defensive and outright combative. It was a blessing, he supposed, that Lucius was away at school. One less worry on Sander’s mounting pile.
It was past time he met this newest addition to the Oshea clan. The black covering fell from his grip and he left the study for the third floor where the nursery and the schoolroom were located.
Sander knocked on Noah’s chamber door, but there was no answer. He peered in the schoolroom. No fire blazed in the hearth and it was frigid. He made a note to avail the library for Noah’s lessons with Miss Fairclough. It didn’t hurt that he could visit at will with less speculation for his motives. Of which there were none .
After glancing in another couple of chambers, Sander found Noah sitting with the wet nurse enthralled, and not at all embarrassed at the baby’s suckling of the woman’s large breast. Sander, however, could have fallen through the floor. He did his utmost to keep his eyes on the woman’s face.
“Noah, your lessons with Miss Fairclough will be held in the library.”
“Why?” he asked without looking away from the infant.
An impatient snort erupted from him. “So I can keep an eye on you since you insist on keeping a newborn with you.”
Noah shrugged. “All right.”
“Mrs.—”
“Lyall, yer lordship.”
“Er, my brother is his lordship, Mrs. Lyall. I am Mr. Oshea or ‘sir.’” This wasn’t the first time he’d had to remind her. “I would like to visit with you as well. The study will do. Noah can escort you after you, er, ah…”
She grinned, clearly tickled with his awkwardness. “I’ll be there, sir.”
He pulled himself together. One shouldn’t feel mortification for a natural part of life.
Mrs. Lyall’s chuckle seemed to vibrate against the shut door.