Chapter 3
Miss Templeton gaped up at him, the demonic hellcat who’d sliced the back of his neck into ribbons clutched to her breast. “You’re dismissing me because of a cat?”
She was doused in drinking chocolate with shattered bits of porcelain tangled in the hems of her skirts, and she thought this was about the cat? Was the woman mad, or merely dull-witted?
But the cat hadn’t helped matters. There was only one circumstance under which a man appreciated claws in his back, and this was not it.
He eyed the furry gray menace, who was still glaring at him from the safety of Miss Templeton’s arms. “I’m dismissing you, Miss Templeton, because it’s obvious to me you aren’t suited to act as governess for two energetic young boys. ”
For one glorious moment she was rendered speechless, but she regained the power of her tongue before he had a chance to relish it. “May I ask, Lord Hawke, how you came to the conclusion that I can’t properly care for your sons?”
How? Surely, that must be obvious? “I arrived home less than two hours ago, Miss Templeton. In that time, you’ve abused my tree, reduced my porcelain to a powder, and now you’re sprawled at the bottom of my staircase in a puddle of drinking chocolate.
Are you somehow under the impression you’ve presented yourself favorably?
On the contrary, it’s abundantly clear to me you aren’t proper for this post.”
Though to her credit, she had lasted much longer than the six previous governesses who’d held it prior to her arrival.
His boys were high-spirited, or perhaps boisterous was a better word, or…
oh, for God’s sake, very well, then. They were rowdy, wild imps, their natural exuberance gone feral from a succession of spineless governesses who let them do as they pleased.
“Not qualified!” Her brows lowered, and her eyes darkened with such fury for a moment he thought she’d hurl her attack kitten at his head.
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but as you said, you’ve only just returned home.
I grant you we’ve had a few, er…unfortunate mishaps this morning, but it hardly seems fair for you to assess my fitness as governess based on those events alone. ”
He didn’t give a bloody damn whether it was fair or not. He was the earl, and he didn’t need any reason at all to dismiss her. “I think it’s perfectly fair, Miss Templeton, and as I’m the earl, my opinion is the only one that matters.”
Angry color surged into her cheeks. “And your sons, Lord Hawke? What of them? Does their welfare matter? Are their best interests of any concern to you at all, or—”
“You needn’t trouble yourself with my sons’ welfare any longer, Miss Templeton. I assure you they’ll be properly cared for. My decision is final. Once you’ve gathered your things, a servant will take you to Steeple Barton to catch the mail coach.”
She raised her chin with far more dignity than a lady who’d fallen on her arse had any right to command, shook the loose bits of porcelain from her skirts, and offered him a glare that could have drawn blood from a stone.
“You’re making a mistake, Lord Hawke, but I can see it’s pointless to argue with you. I’ll be ready to leave within the—”
“Noooo!”
The shout came from Etienne, spilling from his lips like a thunderclap. It bounced off the timbered ceilings and hit Adrian’s eardrums with the force of a blow. “God in heaven, Etienne! What—”
“No, no, no!” Etienne had clambered to his feet and was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his arms rigid at his sides and his small body shaking, his head thrown back and a howl of pure fury on his lips. “No!”
Adrian stared at the boy, shocked. “Etienne, what the devil is the—”
“I don’t want Miss Templeton to go away!” Etienne’s face was scarlet, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You can’t make her go!”
“We’ll discuss it later, Etienne, after—”
He was cut off by a deafening crash, and whirled around to find his namesake and heir had snatched up the silver chocolate pot and hurled it at the wall with all the strength in his six-year-old body.
The dented pot hit the floor and tumbled down the last few steps, chocolate dripping from the spout.
Ryan dove for one of the larger bits of broken porcelain, no doubt intending to send it the way of the chocolate pot, but Adrian shot forward, stumbling over the mess on the floor, and seized Ryan around his middle before he could cut his hands on the sharp edges.
“No, Ryan! Don’t touch that!” He held the boy’s arms to his side. “Stop this at once!”
But Ryan was well past the point of stopping.
He raged like a wild thing, heaving and thrashing in Adrian’s arms, kicking his legs and twisting like an eel in his effort to be free.
“No! Let me go! I don’t want you, I want Miss Templeton, and now you’re sending her away, and we’ll be all alone again! ”
Adrian stared down at his son’s red, twisted face, frozen with shock.
Never before, not once had his boys shown the least loyalty to any of their previous governesses.
On the contrary, they’d driven them off one after the next with their mad antics, but now they were ready to tear the house apart in defense of Miss Templeton?
He whirled around to face her, but she didn’t spare him a glance. She’d taken Etienne into her arms and was murmuring to him, smoothing his hair as he sobbed against her shoulder.
“Let me go!” Ryan screamed. “You’re never home, and now you’ve come and ruined everything! I hate—”
“That’s enough, Ryan.” Miss Templeton’s calm voice cut through Ryan’s hysterical shrieking. “I know you’re very angry right now, but you may not speak to your father that way. Now, take a deep breath, and beg his pardon.”
Adrian waited for another shriek of fury in response to this command, but somehow Miss Templeton’s quiet voice pierced the bubble of Ryan’s frenzy, and all the fight drained out of him. His body went limp, his thin shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry, papa,” he mumbled, wiping an arm over his eyes.
“I…it’s…” What? He hadn’t the vaguest idea what to say, or how to make sense of what had just happened, so he said only, “Miss Templeton, I would appreciate it if you would take the boys upstairs to their bedchamber.”
She cast him a flinty look, but she did as he bid her, taking each of the boys’ hands in hers and disappearing up the stairs without a word.
He turned on his heel, strode to his study and closed the door behind him.
What had just happened?
He was shaking as he reached for the crystal decanter and glass Mrs. Norris had left on the sideboard, poured himself a measure of brandy, then dropped into the chair behind his desk and let his head fall into his hands.
Pain throbbed in his temples, his eyeballs were sticky with grit, he needed a bath in the worst way, and there was hardly enough brandy left in the decanter to get him through the rest of the morning.
And his boys. His boys despised him.
Of course, they did. Had he expected anything less, after he’d kept away from Hawke’s Run for so long? Hadn’t there been a part of him who’d wanted this to happen? A secret, shameful part that believed it would be easier for them if they no longer expected anything of him?
Easier for them, or easier for you?
It was Sophie’s voice in his head. He was too much of a coward to ask such an honest question of himself, but she’d never been one to flatter him, or tell him pretty lies. She’d always told the truth, no matter how difficult it was to say, or how painful to hear.
He’d loved that about her, had always admired her honesty and bravery, but somehow in the two agonizing years since her death he’d grown accustomed to lying to himself again.
If she could see what a bloody mess he’d made of things, she’d be raining curses down on him from the heavens even now. Yes, indeed, he’d done a tidy bit of work for one morning, hadn’t he? Shouting, shrieking and tears were just what one wished for their homecoming.
He’d only just arrived, and he’d already tipped the entire house over into chaos. It would have been better for all of them if he’d remained in London and weathered the storm of this latest scandal alone rather than drawing his sons into it with his ill-conceived return this morning.
This was all Lady Pamela’s bloody fault, for tangling him up in her ridiculous schemes. He hadn’t even done anything wrong this time, for God’s sake. He was perfectly innocent of the crimes the gossips were insisting he’d committed, but it hardly mattered.
He’d been guilty too many times before.
If it wasn’t for Lady Pamela’s antics, he might have gone on as he had been, drinking the memories away and lying to himself, but it was too late now. He was here, for better or worse—
Worse. Certainly worse. Surely, they could all agree on that?
Mrs. Norris was going to be furious when she discovered he’d dismissed Miss Templeton. She’d be obliged to manage the boys until another governess could be found. Perhaps one of the village girls might be persuaded to take them on until—
“Lord Hawke!” There was a sharp knock on his study door, and Mrs. Norris’s voice came from the other side. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but might I have a word?”
He tossed back the rest of his brandy and wiped his mouth with his soiled sleeve. He may as well have it out with his housekeeper now. It wasn’t as if this morning could get any worse. “Come in, Mrs. Norris.”
The door opened, and she marched inside. “I understand you’ve dismissed Miss Templeton, my lord.”
Well, that news hadn’t taken long to make its way to his housekeeper. “Yes, that’s correct, Mrs. Norris. Miss Templeton is not a suitable governess for—”
“You’ve made a dreadful mistake, Lord Hawke, and must rectify it at once.”
He gaped at her. Mrs. Norris had been the housekeeper at Hawke’s Run for more than two decades, and in that time, she’d never ventured to question his judgment, much less presume to issue him a command. “I beg your pardon, but I haven’t the least intention of doing any such thing.”