The Unrepentant Rake. Barbara Monajem

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      ‘Tut, tut, Miss March,’ Simon said. ‘A governess should always be truthful. Not only did I startle Nellie, I accosted her, poor girl. I simply can’t keep my hands off pretty chambermaids.’ He brushed his sooty fingers, as if he could get rid of the dust of sin as well as coal. ‘Miss March stepped in to save her. I tried to make up for my abominable behaviour by picking up the coal myself, but Nellie wouldn’t let me.’

      Lady Ottersby rebuked Nellie and turned her frown on Beatrix. ‘Why are you here? I ordered you to keep an eye on Helena and Louisa.’ She simpered at Simon. ‘They are such innocents, and need a watchful eye upon them at every moment. A girl’s reputation is so fragile nowadays. One indiscretion and she is compromised!’

      ‘Come now, Lady Ottersby,’ Simon said. ‘With such an unparalleled example as yours to follow, your daughters couldn’t possibly do anything indiscreet. And Miss March is a positive fount of propriety.’

      Beatrix suppressed an indignant outburst, which made no sense. As a governess, she was obliged to be extremely proper. She should be thankful to know she was playing her role so very well.

      If only propriety wasn’t such an almighty bore!

      Simon grinned at Beatrix as if he read her thoughts. ‘I remember Miss March from London, when she worked for Lady Wade.’

      Simon remembered her?

      ‘She protected the daughters of the house from me with her very life, and just now she calmed poor, frightened Nellie and did her best to set me straight.’ He was laughing at her, blast the man. ‘Hopefully, she’ll be someplace else next time I come across a pretty young maid.’

      ‘Oh, pshaw, Mr. Carling! You do say such things!’ Lady Ottersby cried.

      A spasm of irritation crossed Mr. Carling’s face. He rolled his eyes ever so briefly.

      Lady Ottersby snapped, ‘Explain yourself, Miss March!’

      Beatrix had been gazing in growing astonishment at Mr. Carling, but now composed herself. ‘Miss Eudora asked me to fetch a shawl.’ She tried to sound obedient and submissive, neither of which virtue she could rightly claim.

      ‘Not that old rag,’ Lady Ottersby said with a contemptuous laugh and an arch glance at Simon. ‘Miss March has no concept of fashion.’

      Again, Beatrix stomped on her indignation. She possessed plenty of fashion sense. She’d spent much of her time here playing lady’s maid as well as governess, doing her utmost to prevent the Ottersby girls from looking like dowds.

      Judging by the spark in Lady Ottersby’s eye, Beatrix hadn’t suppressed her true feelings well enough. ‘The new Norwich shawl, stupid girl. Hop to it and return to your post, or I shall consider replacing you.’

      ‘Yes, my lady,’ Beatrix said. This was no idle threat, and a shiver of trepidation ran though her. She couldn’t leave without the reliquary. She had to get it back.

      Lady Ottersby jabbed her hand into the crook of Simon’s arm. ‘Mr. Carling, we are about to indulge in some music. You must hear my Eudora play. You shall be rapt, I assure you!’ She hauled him down the passageway.

      Appalled, Beatrix watched them go. Mr. Conk had spent most of his time in London for the past few months, dashing Eudora’s hopes, and meanwhile Lady Ottersby’s ambition for her daughters had grown more and more unrealistic. That afternoon, Beatrix had tried to warn Lady Ottersby about Simon’s reputation and been rebuked for gossiping about her betters. Now, after Simon’s frank confession of his lecherous nature, Lady Ottersby still saw him as a prospective suitor for her daughters.

      Beatrix considered speaking to Lord Ottersby, but dismissed the idea immediately. When she’d first come to the household, he’d seemed a fond enough father, but she must have been mistaken. Lately, he’d paid no attention to his daughters at all.

      Beatrix hesitated outside the door of Eudora’s chamber, her eyes still on Simon. His appearance was faultless: his cravat snowy-white, his coat perfection across his wide shoulders, his buff pantaloons snug on well-formed calves, but underneath…oh, underneath those clothes he was doubtless a fine-looking man as well, and she shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts. Inside, then. Inside, he was a Bad Man.

      Bad or not, he would undoubtedly approve Beatrix’s choice of shawls for Eudora, once he saw how the new one would clash with her evening gown. Why Beatrix should care what Mr. Carling thought, she had no idea, but as the ill-assorted pair rounded the corner, he turned and flashed her a wink.

      A little thrill tingled inside Beatrix’s belly. Resolutely, she ignored it. He probably winked at every attractive woman who crossed his path. Determination simmered inside her. She’d begun to pity Eudora, thief though she was, and she couldn’t let her life or the lives of her younger sisters be ruined by this callous rake. Lady Ottersby might think she could trap him into marriage with one of her daughters, but Beatrix knew better.

      She folded the old shawl and put it away, got out the new one, and glanced into the adjoining dressing room. Yes! There were a number of boxes on the shelves which might contain personal items. All she needed was another chance to search before she lost her temper and her job.

      By professing to know nothing about music, ignoring his hostess’s machinations, and doing some insistent shoving, Simon maneuvered Delbert Conk into turning the pages of Miss Ottersby’s music. At this rate, he would have to propose marriage for Del as well. He stepped a little behind the circle of guests standing around the piano, pondering whom to choose for his next victim. He’d ogled every female guest, but apparently he would have to try harder to convince Lady Ottersby, or at least her daughters, of his lecherous nature. Their father seemed hardly aware of their existence, so he could expect no help there. A married guest might be more useful than a maid, as long as she could be counted upon to shriek at his effrontery and vilify his character to all the other guests. Oh, and as long as her husband didn’t take offence and try to kill him.

      There weren’t many to choose from. He was taking stock of the female guests, wondering which might prove most high-strung, when he found himself trapped: Miss Helena Ottersby sidled up on his left flank and Miss Louisa on his right. On the far side of the piano, a little smile played about their mother’s mouth. As if at some invisible signal, the two girls—ridiculously young at sixteen and seventeen—moved closer. Helena put her hand on his arm and smiled archly up at him, while Louisa’s hip bumped his and stayed there.

      Simon began to be annoyed. Such blatant tactics merited an equally crude response.

      Miss March appeared in the doorway. He smiled at her, and she stared haughtily back, but he didn’t miss the flush that rose to her cheekbones. Now, this was a woman worth pursuing. He’d noticed her in London a year earlier, but rake though he might be, he didn’t seduce virtuous governesses.

      Pretty, but not in the common way, with lush chestnut hair and an elegant figure, she was far more of a lady than his dragon of a hostess. Although her simple gown befitted her occupation, its excellent cut and expensive fabric spoke of money and taste. A cast-off from a previous mistress, perhaps, but that didn’t explain her poise. She held herself with too much confidence for a semi-servant, and she had a temper. She hadn’t hesitated to say what she thought of him, and she’d been within Ames’-ace of retorting to Lady Ottersby. It seemed she was appalled as he at the idea that he might compromise one of her charges, although for another reason entirely.

      How amusing. He followed her graceful СКАЧАТЬ