Chapter Twenty-One
Two Weeks Later
T he household had settled into a somewhat normal routine in the fourteen days since Miss Docia’s and Lord Perlsea’s additions to Stonemare. Additional wages would not be unwelcome. But how did one go about requesting such a thing without overstepping or being dismissed outright? She sucked in an indignant breath. When the devil did she become frightened of her own shadow? Frankly, Lord Pender and Mr. Oshea would be in a pickle if she left.
At least the weather was acting cooperatively—cold, rather than snowy or rainy—allowing her daily escape for bracing walks over the moors. Occasionally, she could even turn her face up to see a hazy sun breaking through the heavy clouds.
She encouraged her charges to take advantage as well. Fresh air was vital to a healthy constitution, she believed. It had a way of clearing the fog from one’s mind no matter one’s age.
Lord Pender had remained scarce since the day of Lord Perlsea’s return from Eton. And opportunities of visiting with Mr. Oshea had been limited to quiet evenings in the library after the children were abed. Sadly, there hadn’t been a repeat of that delicious kiss—
Verda groaned. She’d truly lost her mental faculties. He’d as much admitted to killing his own father. But when she looked at him, sat near enough to take in the heady scent he emanated, it drowned out any possibility he could do such harm to anyone, let alone his own father. Her conflicting emotions were the only dissonance in an otherwise unexpected harmony in her added duties.
Well, there was Miss Docia’s objections to Julius’s presence at the lessons. It was a conundrum in which Verda happened to agree. No matter how adorable she found Julius, he was a baby and a distraction. As a result, Maura was usually in attendance for the lessons as well. From the corner of her eye, Verda would catch her smiling about some comment one of the children had made.
These were the sorts of issues she preferred contemplating on her daily outings. She gazed out over the blustery winter day, lighted by the muted sun. The waves crashing below offered no solution that she could bring to Noah that would comfort him without alienating him.
When all was said and done, and in truth, what did it hurt for Julius to be in the library for their ongoing lessons? Surely, the discussions would embed in his developing brain, right? Noah deserved her constancy. He was her champion as much as she was his.
She let out a frosted breath and took the path back to Stonemare. To her surprise, Miss Docia and her maid were dashing across the lawn. Hmm. An intriguing sight, though Verda hadn’t detected any further animosity from Docia regarding the girl’s initial accusations. And it did thrill Verda to realize how her words for fresh air had been taken to heart.
Surprisingly, there was something infinitely satisfying and humbling in working with children. To know one was taking a hand in molding the future.
Verda entered the hall and handed off her cloak, bonnet, and gloves to Fletcher.
Mr. Winfield appeared as mysteriously as Baldric, startling her. “One moment, Miss Fairclough.”
“Yes, Mr. Winfield?”
He held out a brown wrapped package. “This arrived for you.”
“Oh, thank you.”
The butler stepped away.
It was from Papa. She stripped off the paper and grinned before unfolding the missive.
Dearest Daughter,
I cannot fathom your reasons for wanting this ridiculous book of essays, by a woman, no less. But here it is. I trust all else is well. I’m vastly perturbed that you abandoned all my plans for you and Rathbourne, who has since given me the direct cut.
While I was greatly encouraged by your note, you might have been more forthcoming about your presence in Lord Pender’s home. I thought you and the earl were to marry and I was disappointed to learn you are there as merely a governess.
Perhaps you could put a bug in Oshea’s ear regarding his henchman? The man is a brute. Better yet, speak with Lord Pender. There is still time to work your wiles on the earl. T’would benefit both you and I. Why, I am hardly allowed my leave. I lay all this at your feet, Verda, for the ungrateful daughter you are.
I expect to hear news regarding favorable nuptials soon.
Yrs,
Krupt.
Not Father , not Papa . Krupt. Ungrateful. That was what her father believed of her. Rarely had he offered a kind word for her since Mama’s death. Nothing of the years she’d spent handling the housekeeping duties, his matters of business. The list was endless, and for what? To be chastised because she couldn’t stand the thought of that horrid duke laying his hands on her, let alone tying herself to him for all of eternity?
Guilt-bidden tears blinded her. She blinked them back and looked at the note again. What did he mean by Mr. Oshea’s henchman being a brute? And of that nonsense of his not being allowed to leave? She certainly didn’t wish to see him hurt. He was her father. She stuffed the missive in a pocket. Mr. Oshea had a few questions to answer.
Docia flew in from a back hallway, breathless and windblown.
“Miss Fairclough?” Noah stood in the arch of the library. “We should start before my Julius wakes.”
“By all means,” Docia sneered. “Our schedules must revolve around an infant.”
The conundrum was rearing his head. “That’s enough, Miss Docia.”
“It’s Lady Docia,” she bit out.
“Actually, it’s Miss Docia, Miss Docia. Once you are presented, you will be Miss Hale.”
She pulled up and spun about, fury vibrating her small body. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are a viscount’s daughter. Not an earl’s, nor a marquess’s, nor a duke’s. The proper address for a viscount’s daughter is ‘Miss.’ If you like, I’m sure we can locate a copy of Debrett’s that could help clear the matter.”
Her mouth gaped. “But my mother—”
“Indulged you to your own detriment.”
“But you’re a ‘miss.’”
Verda handed down her own version of a peerage smile. “I’m also a member of the beau monde, Miss Docia. My father is Baron Krupt.”
It took all of two minutes for this reality to work its way into Docia’s brain and to her mouth. “I still outrank you, Miss Fairclough.”
“Not in the classroom, dear.” Verda indicated the way to the library with an outstretched hand. “Shall we?”
Docia stomped past her in a huff.
Verda followed her inside, where Noah and Lord Perlsea awaited. Julius, too, without Maura, for their afternoon session.
Inside, it felt as if she’d swallowed a pile of rusted tacks, and they tore at the lining of her stomach. Hearing the baby’s sweet coos were a balm she suddenly craved. When she thought how frightened she’d been when she’d first arrived at Stonemare. To fear such a tiny being was almost ludicrous in retrospect.
The basket, situated in its usual spot near the fire, beckoned her. She hurried over and leaning in, caressed the back of his tiny fist with her forefinger. “Good afternoon, Master Julius,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and collected her wavering fortitude. A second later, the disordered faculties once more ordered, she drew in a deep breath. “Are you ready for today’s lesson on history?” Collected wits, she spoke in her most stern governess guise. It was all a front, after all.
Groans sounded from behind. Verda straightened and faced her charges. She held up the book.
Only Noah reacted, his spine going rigid, excitement lighting his gray eyes. “Is that Mrs. Fulhame’s book on dyeing?”
The tightness in Verda’s chest gave way, allowing her to grin back. “It is, indeed.” She turned the book around and read, “ An Essay on Combustion With a View to a New Art of Dying and Painting, Wherein the Phlogistic and Antiphlogistic Hypotheses Are Proved Erroneous. ”
“I don’t wish to learn about dying.” Docia sniffed.
Lord Perlsea, unengaged as ever, drummed his fingers on the table.
“It’s not about being dead.” Noah’s small chest puffed out. “Mrs. Fulhame was a chemist, wasn’t she, Miss Fairclough?”
Lord Perlsea’s fingers stopped while skepticism covered Docia’s expression.
“Master Noah is quite correct. Mrs. Fulhame was a chemist who studied a process of infusing fabrics with precious metals.”
“Like what?” Lord Perlsea asked with a narrowed gaze that mimicked his uncle’s.
“Gold and bronze and silver,” Noah said.
“A woman scientist?” Miss Docia scowled. “You said we were to study history, not fairy tales.”
Verda caught Docia’s eyes and held them. “Are you not the least bit curious on how a woman made such headway in a man’s world?”
The silence in the room was poignant then broken by Lord Perlsea. “I am.”
Docia’s gaze shot to him and back. “Me too,” she said quickly.
Somehow, Verda managed to restrain sending her eyes skyward. “Excellent.” She took a seat at the table and opened Elizabeth Fulhame’s book of essays. “‘ As Hydrogen, or the base of inflammable air, seems to act an important part in the experiments, and is, according to some chymists, pure phlogiston itself; I have therefore assigned the first chapter …’”
Verda was halfway through Mrs. Fulhame’s first experiment of gold using sulfuric acid before Julius’s cries startled everyone at the table.
“Why is that infant allowed out of the nursery?” Docia demanded. Her churlishness upset the equilibrium of the session to an outrageous degree.
Mainly Noah’s.
He was instantly on his feet, his hands squeezed into fists, his face a twisted snarl. “It’s too cold for him up there. Besides, Miss Bash needs her rest. My Julius woke three times last night.”
“And why must you refer to him by that foolish name?” Apparently, Docia did not have the wherewithal to quit, as shown in her step closer to Noah. While Verda hadn’t witnessed further mistreatment of Olive, the girl had since redirected her animosity to Julius, thus setting Noah on the edge of a thin cliff.
His dislike of Docia bordered on true hatred and it worried Verda. Such depths of his loathing affected not just his attention on his studies, but spilled over, disrupting everyone’s ability to participate. Not to mention Julius’s sensitivity to Noah’s mood changes.
“Why don’t we take a short break? I believe it may be time for Master Julius to eat,” Verda said. “I think we could all use a small refreshment.” She stood from the table then went to the pull chord. Mrs. Knagg would soon have everyone fed and calmed down.
But Docia stomped from the chamber as only an indignant, eleven-year-old miss could—or so Verda imagined. She never remembered behaving that way herself.
Noah went to the basket and lifted Julius out.
“Do you have his cylinder, Master Noah?” Verda asked him.
“Of course, ma’am.”
As Noah settled in the large chair with the baby, Verda found the glass bottle and handed it to him.
Lord Perlsea rose from the table and wandered over. “Do you need help?” he asked his brother.
Verda stilled for this unexpected—what seemed to her—olive branch.
Noah, concentrating on situating Julius, didn’t look up. “No.”
“I’ll sit here with you just in case,” Lord Perlsea said.
The familiar stubbornness mottled Noah’s expression, jarring Verda into stepping in before the next wave of contention could take hold. “I believe what Lord Perlsea is trying to convey, Master Noah, is his interest in meeting his new brother.”
Noah met her pointed look. “Oh. Lucius, this is my Julius. Papa gave him to me to take care of.” His nose wrinkled, adorably so. “Kind of like a puppy.”
Lord Perlsea leaned in for a closer look. “He sure is tiny.”
“Yes. He really likes me. I think he’ll really like you too because we’re his brothers. He won’t care what that stupid Docia says. She’s a girl.”
Verda took umbrage at that. In her view, one must defend one’s gender where one could. “I’m a woman as well, Master Noah.”
“That’s true, Miss Fairclough.” He glanced at his older brother. “My Julius does like Miss Fairclough, even though she was afraid of him at first.” After a second, he added, “He likes Miss Bash too.”
“I’m in good company, it appears,” Verda murmured. “But in all fairness, we must do our utmost to include Miss Docia. It is the right thing to do.”
Lord Perlsea glanced at her, and for the first time since he’d been at Stonemare, she detected a touch of softening, laced with amusement from him. It lifted a great weight from her shoulders.
Two down, one to liberate , she thought, heading for the door. Perhaps Docia was the one most in need.