Dangerous Lord, Innocent Governess. Christine Merrill

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      Daphne awoke with the dawn, the rays of morning light streaming upon her bed with aggressive good cheer, making sleep impossible. It was just as well. For she suspected the real Miss Collins would have risen intentionally at this time, so that she might be washed and dressed and down the stairs to breakfast. She would be ready to start lessons before the children were half out of bed.

      Daphne had never been an early riser. The best she was likely to manage was prompt, but surly. She pasted a smile upon her face and put on one of the sensible gowns that she had bought off the real Miss Collins. Then she came down the stairs to the nursery wing, walking down the hall until she found the open door to the children’s dining room.

      The sight of it made her smile; it was attractively decorated but informal, rather like the breakfast room in her own home back in London. The woman who had been introduced to her on the previous evening as Cook was setting eggs and ham and tea things on a side table. It was most unusual to see her doing work that would be better suited to a footman. But she gave Miss Collins a defiant look, that seemed to say, What if I am? Someone must watch out for them.

      The children filed in from the hall, and Cook greeted them pleasantly, making sure that their plates were full and that everyone had enough of what they wanted. She extended her offers to Miss Collins, as though relieved to see that there would be an adult present at the meal, before excusing herself and returning to the kitchen.

      Daphne smiled hopefully at the three children across the table from her, and attempted polite breakfast talk. Had they slept well? Was it not a beautiful day? Did they have enough to eat? And were they sure that they did not want a second helping of anything? Absolutely sure? Because she had no problems with delaying the lesson, and they should not feel a need to rush their morning meal.

      It would have been a blessing to her if they could manage to delay lessons indefinitely. She had no more interest in sitting in a classroom as teacher than she had managed to display when she had been a student.

      The children answered all questions in polite monosyllables, as though they had decided her presence was to be tolerated for the moment. But they intended to make no effort at a closer relationship than was absolutely necessary.

      Eventually, her attempts at conversation were exhausted, as was the breakfast food. She suggested that they wash their hands and make their way to the classroom, where the real business of the day could begin.

      They were almost eerily agreeable to it, as though faintly relieved to be able to do something they preferred over socialising with the governess. They took what appeared to be their regular seats in the room, and folded their hands on their empty desks, waiting to be impressed.

      ‘Very well then,’ she said, and waited for something to fill the blank void in her mind as to what would happen next. Perhaps it was best to discover what the children already knew, before attempting to educate them further. ‘Please, children, gather the books you have been working in and show me your progress.’

      They remained unmoved, still in their seats, staring out at her.

      So she reached for the nearest book, a maths primer that had given her much trouble when she was their age. She opened it, paging through the equations. ‘This would probably be yours, wouldn’t it, Lily?’ She arched an eyebrow, for she had seen the girl’s name written clearly inside the front cover. ‘Show me how far you have got.’ And please Lord, let it be not far, for Daphne had given up on that particular subject before she was halfway through the text.

      The girl took the book sullenly and flipped through pages until she was nearly at the end.

      Daphne gave a nervous laugh. ‘My, my. How well you are doing. Perhaps I will allow you to tutor your brother.’

      Lily gave her a disgusted look. ‘He has been this far and further for at least six months.’

      Daphne narrowed her eyes. ‘Then perhaps I shall allow him to tutor you. Edmund!’ She smiled and turned suddenly upon the boy, to catch him making faces at his sister.

      He had the grace to look embarrassed at being caught, and then his expression turned as sullen as his sister’s.

      ‘Lily says you are good at maths. Is that your best subject?’

      The boy raised his chin and said, ‘I prefer reading.’

      ‘Do you? Well, we can not always do what we prefer, but I wish for our time together to be enjoyable. What is it you like to read? We will see if we can incorporate it into our studies.’

      He went to the shelf and brought down a book that was almost as big as himself, and held it out to her. ‘Plutarch.’

      She smiled feebly. ‘In Greek.’

      He nodded. And she could tell by his smile that he knew he had bested her.

      She turned to Lily. ‘And I suppose you enjoy Plutarch as well?’

      ‘Yes. But not so well as Edmund.’

      ‘Then we must see what can be done to encourage you.’ She pointed to the front of the room. ‘Edmund. Today, you may read to us. I wish to hear you declaim. Choose your favourite passage.’ She walked to the back of the room and took a seat.

      The boy began in a clear, unwavering voice, reading with what she supposed was accurate and enthusiastic inflection. But the prose was, quite literally, all Greek to her. She had no idea how to correct him, or if it was even necessary. So she chose a polite and interested expression, similar to the one Lily was wearing, and folded her arms across her chest. It would be possible to spend at least an hour of the school day, if the passage was long enough. By then, she would think of some other trick with which to keep them occupied.

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