If the Slipper Fits (7 page)

Nicholas was a duke, yet he had no leisure to be a child, either. Did he at least have the opportunity to have other children as friends? Or did Lord Simon keep his ward confined here, cut off from the rest of the world?

Just stay out of my way. Both you and the boy.

Annabelle found that callous statement more disturbing than ever. Her fingers itched to tear down the schedule and toss it into the nearest rubbish bin. But perhaps it was too soon to make judgments. Better she should observe for a few days before rushing headlong into changes.

Nicholas had a tutor, and how she would fit into the daily program remained unclear. Perhaps she could discern his academic progress by examining his textbooks.

Heading across the schoolroom, she glanced down the corridor and noticed a faint glimmer underneath the boy’s door. Was he still awake? Or had a lamp been left burning because he was afraid of the dark?

Annabelle had to know. Leaving her candle on a table, she walked quietly down the passageway. His door stood slightly ajar. She knocked softly, and when there was no response, she peeked inside to find a large, well-appointed bedchamber.

The light came from a wood fire burning low on the grate. A pair of wing chairs and a table created a cozy arrangement by the hearth. Her gaze swept over the shadowy lumps of furniture to the four-poster bed with its rich blue-and-gold hangings. The brocaded coverlet revealed the outline of a small form.

The duke must be asleep.

Annabelle told herself to leave. She had no business here when she’d been warned by the housekeeper not to disturb Nicholas. Yet she found herself tiptoeing to the bed. Surely it could do no harm to have a look at him. She wouldn’t wake him, of course; he might panic at seeing a stranger in his bedchamber. But after traveling halfway across England, she craved to put a face with his name.

On the bedside table sat a framed miniature of a distinguished-looking young man in ceremonial robes. Beside him stood a beautiful blond lady. They must be the boy’s parents, Annabelle realized with a pang. How tragic to think that he had lost them. Surely they had showered him with the love denied to him now by his coldhearted uncle.

Bending over the bed, she saw that Nicholas had burrowed deeply beneath the quilts. Could he breathe under there? Afraid he might grow uncomfortable during the night, she carefully drew back the quilt.

A grouping of feather pillows lay beneath the blankets. The bed was empty.

Sucking in a breath, Annabelle straightened up at once. Her heart thumped in shock. Where was the duke? Had he wandered off in his sleep? Should she raise an alarm?

How horrible if he came to harm on her very first night here …

No sooner had she taken two steps toward the door when a slight movement by the fireplace caught her attention. Half-hidden by one of the wing chairs, a small figure huddled on the rug. A pair of eyes peered out from between the furniture.

Nicholas
.

Relief made her sway on her feet. From his furtive manner, he clearly hoped to remain unseen.

The poor lad must be wondering who she was. And no doubt he wished to avoid being punished for sneaking out of bed.

Annabelle cast about for a way to alleviate his concerns. Tapping a finger on her chin, she said aloud, “Dear me, I wonder what could have happened to His Grace. I am to be his new governess, and I was very much looking forward to meeting him.”

Nicholas remained very still.

“Whatever am I to do now?” she went on, pacing in a show of worry. “His Grace is supposed to be in his bed at this hour. If he’s gone missing, I shall be obliged to inform Lord Simon. That is certainly
not
something I wish to do. Indeed, if it could be avoided, I would
never
cause trouble for His Grace over such a small matter.”

No response.

She heaved a loud sigh. “Oh, well, there is naught to be done here. I must make haste to find his uncle at once…”

As she started toward the door, something rustled by the fire. A boy with rumpled flaxen hair popped up to stare at her over the arm of the chair. His voice low and urgent, he said, “
Please
 … you mustn’t…”

A voluminous nightshirt swallowed his slight form. He had delicate features reminiscent of the woman in the miniature. The anxiety on his pale face reached out to Annabelle.

She feigned surprise by placing her hand on her cheek. “My word, you gave me quite a fright! I didn’t see you over there. Are you perchance Nicholas, the Duke of Kevern?”

A tiny bob of his head was her only answer. Both Lady Milford and Lord Simon had mentioned the duke’s shy nature. Who could blame him for being timid when he’d lost his parents and had been left to the care of servants? When his own uncle viewed him as a burden?

Annabelle curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace. I am Miss Annabelle Quinn, lately of Yorkshire.”

He made a credible half bow from the waist. Someone had taught him manners. Regarding her with wary green eyes, he whispered, “Are you … are you truly my governess?”

“Indeed I am. And may I add, I’ve traveled quite a long distance to meet you. I do hope you can forgive me for being too impatient to wait until morning.”

He nodded slowly. Just then, she noticed that he was clutching something in his hand.

Curious, she took a few steps closer, careful not to alarm him. She spied a small army of toy soldiers arranged on the rug before the fire. The sight touched her heart. Was this the only time he had to play? In secret, after he’d been put to bed?

It would seem so. It also seemed likely the canny little rascal had arranged the pillows in his bed so that it would appear as though he were asleep to anyone who came to check on him.

Annabelle knelt down, as much to examine the battlefield as to place herself on his level. The array of figurines were a sight to behold. He had made two armies facing each other, one of soldiers and the other of cavalry. The uniforms appeared somewhat old-fashioned, and the paint was chipped on a few as if they’d enjoyed frequent use.

“What a fearsome battle. May I take a look at one?”

Nicholas lifted his small shoulders in a shrug.

Annabelle decided to take that as an assent. Careful not to disturb the formation, she picked up a red-coated soldier holding a musket. Although the piece fit perfectly into the palm of her hand, it was surprisingly heavy. She glanced up to see that Nicholas held a miniature cavalryman on horseback. Keeping a furtive eye on her, he ran his fingertip over the figurine as if it were precious to him.

“Is that one special?” she asked.

Another shrug. His reluctance to speak could not be more clear.

Poor lad, she couldn’t blame him for being wary. No one had warned him that a new governess was to arrive. He had no way of knowing if she’d tattle on him or snatch his toys away.

Annabelle ached for him to realize that he was safe with her. Perhaps the toy soldiers gave her a chance to do so.

“Have you had these for a long time?” she asked gently.

He hung his head, rather guiltily, she thought.

“I shan’t scold you for being out of bed, at least not this once.” She placed her hand over her heart. “On my honor, I do solemnly swear that anything you confess to me will not go beyond these four walls.”

Nicholas stared down at his small bare toes. After a moment he glanced up and whispered, “I found them.”

“Found them where?”

He pointed toward a chest in the corner. “In there.”

“Then they are yours.”

His chin tilted down, he shook his head. “They belonged to Papa … and Uncle Simon. I’m not to touch them without permission.”

Annabelle couldn’t imagine why Nicholas should be denied the use of his father’s old toys. Everything in the castle belonged to him by birthright. Except, of course, that as the boy’s guardian, Lord Simon held the reins of power. “Then we must obtain your uncle’s consent.”

His face going pale, Nicholas lifted his chin to gaze beseechingly at her. “Please don’t tell … he’ll be angry.”

Annabelle’s heart squeezed painfully. How appalling that he should be terrified to ask his uncle a simple question. The man must have treated Nicholas harshly to have inspired such fear in him.

A hearty dislike for Lord Simon solidified in her. Family members should love each other, especially when one was a lonely orphaned boy in desperate need of affection.

A sound out in the corridor caught her attention. Rising to her feet, she placed a finger over her lips to warn Nicholas to be quiet. He watched, wide-eyed, as she went to the door to peek out.

In the schoolroom, a plump woman set down a tray on the desk and then disappeared into the corridor that led to Annabelle’s bedchamber. Elowen was back and she’d gone to lay the fire.

Annabelle returned to Nicholas. “The maid has brought my dinner. I’ll tell her that I’ve checked on you already, so there’s no need for her to disturb you.”

The boy said nothing. He stood clutching his tiny cavalry horse, looking so withdrawn and guarded that she yearned to draw him close in a hug. But given his reserve, it was too soon for that.

“I’ll come back in half an hour,” she said. “You may play for a bit longer, Your Grace, but I’ll expect you to pick up your army and be in bed when I return. I hope I can count on you to do so.”

Nicholas continued to regard her warily. He made no rush to return to his game, as he would have if he trusted her. Like a cautious creature of the forest, he remained unmoving as she walked out of the bedchamber.

Chapter 6

The following morning, Annabelle started her first day as governess by committing a serious blunder. She overslept.

Her eyelids fluttered open to the bright sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtains. For an instant, she didn’t recognize her surroundings: the stone walls, the single high window, the porcelain bowl on a washstand across from her narrow cot.

Then she sat up straight as the events of the previous day washed over her. Lord Simon Westbury had half dragged her out of the violent rainstorm and into Castle Kevern. His rude, hostile treatment of her had come as a shock. It had taken considerable persuasion to convince him to hire her, albeit temporarily. Today she needed to give him no reason to regret his decision.

How late
was
it?

Throwing off the covers, Annabelle hopped out of bed. The stone floor chilled her bare feet. Heedless, she raced to the door, cracked it open, and peered out. A man’s muffled tone came from the schoolroom. It was not a voice she recognized.

Nicholas’s tutor must be here already.

Aghast at her own tardiness, she hurried through her ablutions. Since her trunk hadn’t been delivered yet, she’d had to sleep in a borrowed shift. Her soaked garments had been borne away by a maid. Annabelle had meant to arise at dawn and fetch them back, for surely they were dry by now. Instead, she’d have to don the same ill-fitting dress she’d worn the previous afternoon.

Drat it all! Back at the academy, she’d always been awakened by the bonging of the casement clock outside her tiny chamber. But here, the thick stone walls had blocked out all household noise. The only sound was the lulling whisper of the sea against the rocky shore.

Heaven help her, she simply
must
appear the capable, efficient governess. If Lord Simon learned of her tardiness, she might very well be dismissed on the spot.

Bending down, she peered into the little mirror over the washstand while hastily pinning her hair. Then she jammed a white spinster’s cap over the slapdash bun. There was no time for breakfast. Longing for a hot cup of tea and a piece of toast, she hurried down the gloomy corridor to the schoolroom.

In the doorway, she came to an abrupt halt.

Nicholas sat at a pint-sized table directly in front of the teacher’s desk. Beside him towered a middle-aged man clad in the dark robes of a professor. The tutor’s back was turned, showing the wisps of graying brown hair that fringed his balding pate. In the next instant, she spied the ruler he lifted high in the air.

“Your uncle will hear about this!” The man brought the stick down and whacked the boy’s knuckles.

It happened so swiftly she had no time to react.

Nicholas cowered in his chair. A small whimper escaped his pinched lips.

As the tutor raised the ruler again, Annabelle sprang forward. She rushed across the schoolroom and seized hold of his forearm. With her other hand, she knocked the wooden stick out of his fingers. It went clattering to the floor and slid underneath the desk.

The man staggered sideways, then pivoted to face her. Anger twisted his narrow, foxlike features. “Wha—” he sputtered. “Who are you? How dare you interfere!”

“I’m Miss Annabelle Quinn, His Grace’s new governess. And you will
not
strike him like that ever again.”

He glowered, his brown eyes raking her up and down. “Governess? Lord Simon never informed me there was a new member of the staff.”

She should have guessed, Annabelle thought. Lord Simon had exhibited little interest in the education of his nephew. Why would he consider the hiring of a governess to be important enough to mention? The answer was, he wouldn’t.

She glanced down at Nicholas who sat very still. His small shoulders were hunched, his head lowered, as if he hoped to shrink from sight. Using a corner of his sleeve, he furtively rubbed at the slate in his lap. A fierce sense of protectiveness gripped her. She would not allow him to be mistreated, not by this man and not by Lord Simon, either.

“His lordship engaged my services only yesterday,” she told the tutor. “Henceforth, I shall be overseeing His Grace’s studies.”

“I beg your pardon? If Lord Simon was displeased with my lessons, he would have told me so. Why, he knows I’m an exemplary tutor.”

You’re a bully, that’s what.

Annabelle swallowed the retort. Her tenuous position here required a conciliatory manner, no matter how much she detested this man. Anyway, it wouldn’t do to fling insults in front of Nicholas.