Chapter Eight
With a conscious effort, Isabella retained her control. There was no cause to panic or overreact, she insisted to herself, just because Lady Edson’s gossip about two of the maids at Whatley Grange being pregnant had proved true. It could be nothing more than a bizarre coincidence, couldn’t it?
Firmly relegating the incident to the back of her mind, Isabella stepped forward and relieved Fran of one of the heavy buckets of water she carried.
“Would you be kind enough to lead the way to the schoolroom, children?” Isabella requested in a voice that sounded strained to her own ears.
The children eagerly complied, anxious to return to their new toy soldiers. Mrs. Amberly huffed in disapproval and rebelliously resumed her seat in the rocking chair by the fire. Isabella paid her no heed.
Once in the schoolroom, Isabella assigned everyone a task and the cleanup began. Isabella donned a borrowed apron and spent the remainder of the morning focusing her attention on cleaning the dusty room and avoided dwelling overlong on the pregnant condition of the two women working beside her.
Fran, like Maggie, was a friendly girl, and both woman were obviously appreciative of the assistance Isabella provided.
The maids and Isabella worked hard, and within a few hours, the room was sparkling clean and fresh smelling.
When their task was nearly completed, the two other maids, Molly and Penny, joined them.
“Fine time for you both to get here,” Maggie teased with a smile. “We’re nearly done.”
“Well, Molly and I have had our fill of cobwebs and dusty rooms today,” Penny replied. “We spent all morning cleaning that new governess’s room. Mrs. Amberly said she was a very fussy, demanding type and would be sure to speak harshly to us if the room was not found to her liking.”
Maggie’s eyes widened in distress at Penny’s words. She glanced nervously over at Isabella, who had heard every word.
“Please, Penny, do go on,” Isabella requested in a pleasant tone.
She felt too overcome by a sense of giddy relief as she viewed the slim-waisted Penny to be offended by the housemaid’s remarks.
It was certainly a pleasant change to meet a housemaid at Whatley Grange who was not heavily burdened with child.
The fourth maid, Molly, was equally slender.
Isabella’s smile broadened as she asked, “What else did Mrs. Amberly have to say about the new governess?”
“Not anything nice,” Penny readily answered, but her voice trailed off when she realized it was not Maggie or Fran, but another woman, a stranger, who had spoken.
Clearly embarrassed, Penny asked, “I don’t suppose you are the new maid from the village Mrs. Amberly been trying to hire for the last few months? ”
“No, I am not the new maid, Penny. I am Isabella Browning, the demanding, fussy new governess.” Taking pity on the maid’s discomfort, Isabella lightly added, “and I sincerely hope your opinion of me will not concur with Mrs. Amberly’s.”
Penny’s face turned a deep shade of scarlet.
“She meant no offense, Miss Browning,” Maggie interjected, walking up to Penny and placing a comforting arm around her shoulder.
“Then none was taken,” Isabella replied. She turned to the slight, pale-faced girl standing next to Penny. “You must be Molly.”
Molly said nothing, but dipped a curtsy in Isabella’s direction. Hastily Penny did the same.
Molly spoke up. “I hope you won’t feel it necessary to tell Mrs. Amberly about Penny’s impertinent remarks.”
Isabella waved her hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. “The incident is already forgotten,” she assured the maids, secretly believing Mrs. Amberly would probably be pleased to know the maids had spoken ill of the new governess.
“Penny hasn’t been herself lately,” Molly continued as if Isabella had not spoken. “She’s been feeling poorly these last few days.”
“I’ve just been a little tired and sick to my stomach at times,” Penny said. “It will pass soon enough, though, won’t it, Maggie?”
“As I’ve told you before, ’tis different for each woman,” Maggie replied philosophically, rubbing the small of her back vigorously. “I had the morning sickness real bad the first four months, but Fran wasn’t sick for a day, were you, Fran?”
“Not one day,” Fran agreed with a wide grin. “I swear I have never felt better in my life.” Fran patted her rounded stomach lovingly. “Of course I am getting fatter than a pig.”
The maids all giggled. “How about you, Molly, are you still getting the morning sickness?” Maggie asked conversationally.
“Haven’t thrown up in six days,” Molly confessed shyly. “I sure hope it lasts.”
Isabella turned a frantic eye from one maid to the next as she began to understand the nuances of their conversation.
Molly, it would appear, was getting over her bouts with morning sickness, while Penny’s morning sickness was just beginning.
That meant, of course, that both girls were expecting children.
Isabella’s own stomach felt decidedly queasy at the realization.
Not two or three, but all four of the maids working at The Grange were pregnant.
Her mind reeled with the implications. Was it in any way possible, as Lady Edson had so scandalously suggested, that the earl was responsible for the housemaids’ conditions?
Isabella shut her eyes in mortification, knowing that since she had now been confronted by the possibility, she was obligated to discover the truth.
The earl did not return home that day until sunset. He spared only a brief greeting to Isabella and his children before sequestering himself in his study. Marshaling her courage, Isabella breached the sanctuary of the earl’s study a few minutes after his dinner tray had been delivered by Jenkins.
As she entered, the earl was sitting in a leather wing chair in front of a blazing fire, a book in one hand, a glass of claret in the other.
His dinner lay untouched on a small table by his side.
His thick black hair was disheveled and falling over his forehead.
Both his boots and the knees of his breeches were muddy.
He was coatless, and Isabella could not help but notice the muscular strength in his forearms as he turned the page in his book.
He did not appear aware of her presence.
She coughed loudly to gain his attention.
“Yes,” the earl grumbled impatiently. He turned another page in his book and finally glanced up when he heard no response.
Isabella met his gaze without flinching, determined to show him she was not intimidated by his rude, unwelcome attitude.
All her life she had dealt with men who were decidedly displeased to be in her presence, starting with the man she had called Father and her maternal grandfather.
She was not about to let the earl’s disdain upset her.
“I need to speak with you, my lord.” Isabella’s request was courteously and firmly spoken.
The earl did not reply, but gestured for Isabella to seat herself in the matching wing chair flanking the fireplace. He scrutinized her intently as she did so, his gray eyes narrowing in anticipation of their conversation.
Damien was physically and mentally exhausted and had no desire to listen to the new governess’s complaints.
And the earl felt certain Isabella was going to complain about something, most likely his children.
Damien could only imagine the sort of day she had experienced trying to control the high-spirited Catherine and Ian.
Damien was sure he was about hear a long list of the children’s transgressions, and quite possible a lecture about his unsuitability as a parent.
The taut lines of the earl’s body conveyed to Isabella his mounting annoyance, and the icy look he flashed chilled her, yet she forced her features into a bland mask.
She openly challenged him with her calm demeanor, deftly rebuffing his attempts at intimidation.
She would show the earl she was no skittish miss.
“The children have already been bathed and put to bed, my lord,” Isabella began, deciding to begin the conversation on a more neutral topic before mentioning the pregnant housemaids, which was the reason she had sought the earl out.
“Catherine and Ian were tired, but I am certain that if you go up to their room within the next half hour you will be able to say good night to them.”
“Fine,” Damien replied, surprised at her words.
Bedtimes were a haphazard event at The Grange.
More often than not, Catherine and Ian were awake well into the night before their father thought to chase them off to bed.
“I will visit the children shortly.” Damien dropped his eyes to his book in a dismissing gesture, expecting Isabella to comply with his silent command.
“There are a few things I would like to discuss with you, my lord,” Isabella continued, deliberately ignoring his wordless dismissal.
“I feel compelled to caution you, Miss Browning,” the earl remarked in a neutral tone, not lifting his eyes from his book, “that I am tired and not in the most congenial mood. And I cannot abide chattering females.”
“Neither can I, my lord.”
Unwittingly, Damien’s firm mouth curved into a small smile.
Miss Browning was very persistent and not easily intimidated.
He shut his book with a resounding thud and placed it carelessly in his lap.
He settled back in his chair, steepled his fingers under his chiseled jaw, and focused his full attention on the lovely governess seated across from him.
“What specifically do you wish to discuss, Miss Browning?”
Isabella’s confidence wavered slightly under the earl’s steely gaze. His was such a dominating, forceful presence. She licked her lips nervously while frantically searching her mind for a diplomatic way to broach the subject of the maids. One could not simply blurt out an accusation.