A Guardians Angel (8 page)

“I plan to say that you are a talented artist and that your skills should be given a chance to be refined.”

He stared at her in astonishment, and she knew this was not the answer he had expected. “Will you really? You really think I have talent?”

Angela smiled when his pose changed from a young tyrant to a child eager for a compliment. “Yes, Master Thomas, I think your work is exceptional. I would be glad to speak to your guardian about obtaining a drawing master for you.” She paused, then added, “If you will recall your promise not to pay calls to Harrington Grange.”

“That is blackmail.”

“I am not trying to coerce you into doing something you should not do. I am trying to convince you to do what you should do.”

“Obey such a jobbernowl order?” He flung out his hands in frustration, then jammed his fists against his hips.

“You told me that you promised your father that you would be true to your word, and you gave His Grace your word.”

Master Thomas’s lip quivered, revealing the vulnerable, grieving child beneath his cocky disregard. Tears filled his eyes. She took a step toward him, holding out her hand, but he backed away, once again defiant. “I do not need your pity.”

“Good, because I was not offering it. However, you do need my friendship.”

“I do not need that, either.”

“You do, if you want an ally to help persuade His Grace that you have true talent as an artist.”

“Why do you want to do that?”

Angela hesitated. She could not tell him the truth of how her own dreams of meeting a man who would travel the world with her had been squashed by her sister-in-law’s assumption that Angela would be a servant in her brother’s house. Banished to dusky corners when her brother and sister-in-law entertained, she had known that she must set aside that silly hope. She did not want Master Thomas to suffer the same disillusionment.

“It is what friends do,” she replied simply.

He gave her another peculiar glance. She did not give him a chance to ask more questions. Walking back into the house, she sighed. This was going to be even more difficult than she had guessed when neither of them—Justin nor Master Thomas—trusted her.

Angela hoped today would be better than yesterday had been. Everything she had done, everything she had tried to do, had been far less than successful.

She went out onto the balcony opening from her bedchamber. The sun was barely over the horizon, but already the voices of servants drifted about the gardens. This was her favorite part of the day, a time before the hubbub began. Mayhap that was why she never had been able to keep to Town hours during her short Season. With a smile, she leaned on the railing. Mayhap it was as simple as she feared she would miss too much if she stayed abed even a minute longer.

Or was it that she wanted to avoid having another dream about Justin Harrington? Dash that man! He found a way into her thoughts far too often. His charming, lopsided grin that suggested he was no older than Master Thomas contrasted with the strong passions in his eyes, passions that belonged to a man. He seemed determined to do everything he could to unsettle her … and he was doing a fine job of it if her dream last night had been any example. She had been walking with him across the moor, looking for a rare butterfly. When, far from both his house and Oslington Court, he had drawn her into his arms, she had offered up her lips eagerly, wanting to sample his kiss.

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, although the sensation that raced through her was most definitely not cold. His touch had been heated and her response as fervid.

Was she out of her mind? Her employer insisted that his wards remain far from Harrington Court. He would not be pleased to discover the direction of her dreams.

“Don’t be silly!” she chided herself. “One cannot control one’s dreams.” That was true, but her thoughts that wandered toward Justin too often when she was awake were being rebellious.

Angela’s eyes were caught by someone waving wildly from a window set in the uppermost floor of a tower across a narrow court. Hearing a shout, she could not understand the words, but was sure it must be Miss Esther. She wondered how the solemn duke managed with such a flamboyant child. Then she recalled how little time he spent with the children. Otherwise he would have understood how talented Master Thomas was, as Justin did.

Egad! She had to put Justin Harrington out of her head.

She waved back and laughed when the little girl whistled before closing the window. There was something definitely delightful about such enthusiasm. She must find a way to make Miss Sutton and her family suitable to be welcomed into the
ton
without curbing their wonderful spirits.

Angela faltered in midstep. In disbelief, she realized Miss Esther’s tune was the same one Justin had whistled during their walk beyond the gate the day after her arrival at Oslington Court. Was Master Thomas the only one paying calls at Harrington Grange?

She tried to leave that thought behind her with all other thoughts about Justin as she went down the stairs to the breakfast-parlor on the east side of Oslington Court. Its wide windows were thrown open to the morning light, which washed over the surprisingly modest oak table that could seat no more than a dozen people. The sideboard was carved with leaping stags and vines and roses. Atop it awaited a generous selection of breakfast-foods.

An apple-cheeked woman popped into the room and smiled. “Good morning, Miss Needham,” she said with a hint of a lisp.

“Good morning, Mrs. Seger.” The cook had been one of the first to welcome her to Oslington Court.

Angela looked around the otherwise empty room, then back to the gray-haired woman wiping her hands on her apron. “Has Miss Sutton eaten?”

“She is taking her breakfast with the children in the nursery today.” Mrs. Seger gestured toward the table. “Help yourself to breakfast while I bring you some coffee. Make it nice and dark, I do. His Grace likes it that way.” With a friendly wink, she pointed to a pitcher. “There is cream if you want it less strong. Help yourself to some kippers and eggs. Biscuits and jam, too. If you do not mind me saying so, you are too thin, Miss Needham. It would be good for you to eat some food that would stick to your ribs.”

“Thank you,” Angela said when the garrulous cook paused to take a breath.

Only when Angela had taken a plate and started to fill it from the salvers on the sideboard did the cook seem satisfied. When the door had closed behind Mrs. Seger, Angela looked down at her plate with dismay. It contained twice as much breakfast as she customarily ate. She began to spoon some of it back into the serving platters when assertive footfalls echoed from the corridor.

Consternation cramped through her. If the duke saw her standing by the sideboard, putting eggs back like a naughty child, he would question anew his decision to hire her to be Miss Sutton’s companion. She sighed and carried the plate to the table. It was her fault that she had allowed the cook to intimidate her. Now she must pay the price.

Angela was spreading sweet butter on a blueberry muffin when the duke entered. Under the arm of his dark green coat, he carried a newspaper. He nodded to her before serving himself. Setting the newspaper by his plate, he sat across from her. His eyes widened when he looked at the amount of food on her plate, but he said only, “I see you have made yourself quite at home here.”

As heat rose along her face, Angela said, “I was unsure if I should wait for anyone else this morning. If—”

“We keep the hours we wish here in the country, as you have no doubt seen, Miss Needham.” He opened the folded newspaper and raised it in front of him. “I trust you will eventually accustom yourself to our ways.”

Angela could not tell if he was jesting, for the newspaper remained between them. His even voice gave no hint, and she wondered, despite Miss Sutton’s assertions to the contrary, if this stern man ever smiled.

“Your Grace?” she asked.

“Yes.” He still did not lower the newspaper.

“I wish to speak to you about Master Thomas.”

“What has the boy done now?”

“Done?” She wished he would look at her instead of the tiny print on the pages between them. “I wish to speak to you of his drawing skills. Your Grace, he is very talented.”

“So I understand.”

“But I thought you had seen his work.”

The duke finally lowered the newspaper and regarded her steadily. “Who told you that?”

“Just—” She bit back Justin’s name, which would cause the duke’s brows to lower even farther. “’Tis just an assumption.”

“Making assumptions is not a wise thing to do.”

Heavy footsteps stopped by the doorway and halted Angela’s answer. A generously proportioned woman wrung her hands over her dull gray uniform that matched the streaks in her hair. The keys at her side identified her as Mrs. Burkhardt, the housekeeper. She glanced at Angela, then, dampening her lips, said, “Your Grace, that beast is loose in the conservatory again.”

Angela looked from the woman’s scowl to the duke’s newspaper. He did not lower it as he said, “Mrs. Burkhardt, send someone to have Esther remove it immediately. She knows there may be plants in the conservatory that would not agree with it.”

“But, Your Grace, she—”

“Take the message yourself, Mrs. Burkhardt, if you feel she will heed you more than anyone else. If not, send for Mrs. Meyer. After all, it is her duty as governess to keep track of that imp.” He raised the newspaper and, turning a page, leaned back in his chair. Without waiting to see if his orders were carried out, he added, “Miss Needham, I fear Esther has an endless aptitude for mischief.”

Angela’s gaze remained on the housekeeper, who was clearly torn between obeying the duke and urging him to help her. Taking pity on the poor woman, Angela said, “If you wish, Your Grace, I shall assist Mrs. Burkhardt.”

“You?” He kept on reading, but she heard his amazement. “I believe you have scant idea of what an adventure you might be setting upon.”

“Your Grace—”

The duke interrupted Mrs. Burkhardt again, “Do go and find Mrs. Meyer if you feel unequal to the task, Mrs. Burkhardt. Tell her that she should collect her charges and be done with this idiocy before the household is disturbed more.”

Angela watched the housekeeper’s face blanch as she edged out of the room. Staring at the newspaper’s bold headlines, Angela asked, “What sort of beast does Miss Esther have?”

“A monkey.”

“A monkey?” she gasped.

He set the newspaper on the table and sighed as if he were greatly set-upon to have to speak to her during breakfast. “Miss Needham, you need not look so aghast. It is no great African ape. Merely a small monkey like those possessed by many children in India.”

Angela was unsure how to reply. Could it be that he was hoaxing her? She negated that thought, for she had seen no signs that the duke had a humorous bent. Even with the collection of children he had had foisted on him, he acted as if his household were very much an ordinary one.

Mayhap it was … to him.

“The beast runs tame about the house?” Angela asked.

“
Climbs
about the house would be a better description.” He glanced at the newspaper and jabbed it with his forefinger. “By the heavens, here is yet another tale of the Prince Regent’s wife’s endless adventures on the continent. When will these papers realize no one cares about her behavior?”

“I trust the Prince Regent does.”

He affixed her with a stern glower. “That, Miss Needham, goes without saying. Clearly the Prince Regent’s concerns are the cause of this rigmarole.”

When he bent to read the newspaper again, Angela released the breath she had not known she was holding. What a bizarre place Oslington Court was! Not only was there an Indian monkey roaming freely, but the duke chided her for the poker-talk that had been enjoyed in London. She was beginning to despair that she never would get used to this curious family.

Before Angela could speak, Mrs. Burkhardt returned, her face even paler than before. “Your Grace, forgive me for another interruption.”

“What is it now, Mrs. Burkhardt?” He grumbled something else under his breath, but it seemed to be aimed at whatever he was reading.

“I fear the beast is still creating undue havoc in the conservatory. Miss Esther is trying to retrieve him, but her efforts have been less than effective.”

The duke pushed back his chair. “I shall talk to the child myself and remind her of her promise to watch over the creature. Come along, Miss Needham, so I may introduce you to your folly of believing you could handle this. You have only begun to find out what this household is truly like, I fear. The sooner you learn to deal with these crises, the sooner I may turn my attention to other concerns.”

Angela rose, nodding, then paused. She was to be Miss Sutton’s companion, not a governess to these ungovernable children. When she saw relief on the housekeeper’s face, she realized that everyone in the house had been asked to try to restrain the youngsters. They had failed, and now Miss Needham was going to be given her chance to bring them to heel. That was fine, because this might give her the opportunity to persuade the duke to heed her about Master Thomas.

She simply must be cautious not to mention Justin’s name. If she did, everything she was trying to do for Master Thomas would be ruined.

The conservatory was reached by going through another of the dark corridors, but its wide doors opened to a chamber built into the sunniest corner of the Court. Squeals of excitement welcomed Angela into a large room smelling of stagnant heat. Greenery sprouted wildly in every direction, and she wondered if the duke was trying to recreate India in here.

The gravel around the plants crunched, and Angela turned to see Miss Sutton running toward them. “Esther refuses to leave until Wallah is safe. Wallah will not come down while Esther is racing about.”

“Wallah is the monkey,” the duke said, staring through the overgrown garden.

“I suspected as much,” Angela replied. When he glanced at her, astonishment on his face, she kept hers expressionless. Let him think what he wished about her cool answer. “Where is Miss Esther?”