4. Overheard Curiosities

4

Overheard Curiosities

“Oh, Primmy!” The youngling fidgeted beside her in the narrow corridor outside a little-used sitting room. “ Must I?”

As the long day approached the dinner hour, Aphrodite Primrose knew three things with utter certainty:

1. She was fortunate indeed, to have landed such a post earlier this year, being governess to Lord and Lady Ballenger’s youngest. No older brother “lordlings” assuming she was theirs for the summoning. No nose-hair-sporting arrogant Lord of the Manor creeping his way into her attic room at night. Aye, she was most fortunate. Most relieved. And likely the most appreciative governess in all England.

“But, Primmy,” the whining continued (something she suspected had gotten the child her way in the past), “the other does not fit nearly as good. It?—”

“As well .”

“As well .” Accompanied by a stomp from one slipper. “The color might be grand, but I cannot tolerate how it…”

Briefly shuttling her attention away from the childish excuses, she continued through her list.

2. Quickly now, she needed to devise a better way to chastise and discipline her energetic charge when the girl behaved in a manner unbecoming. Aphrodite approached her ninth month of employment and neither reasoning nor cajoling nor threats of meals withheld had the least effect on the exuberant girl.

“We were not even outside an hour this time!” That same slippered foot now kicked the wall twice before Aphrodite, wincing at how loud the thump , managed to take the girl by her shoulders and spin her around. “I am so addled I could scream!”

How was it her toes didn’t ache after that abuse against the wall? Had she put metal tips in her slippers?

“Lady Harriet!” Stern and forceful, for all that her words were nowhere near a scream, Aphrodite ordered, “Compose yourself this instant.”

“But, Prim my ! I barely had time to look?—”

3. And she absolutely, positively hated how Lady Harriet thought it amusing to address her as Primmy . Given not only her position but also the years between herself and the child, aside from the repeated requests, she should have been known solely as “Miss Primrose”.

Most certainly not the near-rhyming epithet similar to that which England’s Prince Regent had been saddled with: Prinny. At least he had the expectation of the crown to run alongside it; she had naught but boring brown dresses and a pleasant room in the attic—one with a sturdy lock she was thankful for every night.

Even tonight? With broad shoulders and haunted blue eyes, what if the ? —

She slammed that notion against the wall with more force than Harriet’s foot and wrenched her wayward attention back to the girl.

“—for Lancelot. He needs me!” The vivacious youth glanced over her shoulder, back toward the little-used way they had come, Aphrodite doing all she could to keep the state of Lady Harriet’s dress hidden from the girl’s mother, Lady Ballenger.

“There will be plenty of time to search for Lancelot tomorrow. As to the other, there is no question: you will be changing before dinner. Again ,” she told the girl on a resigned sigh, granting her shoulders a firm squeeze before releasing her.

Not apologetic in the least, Lady Harriet continued to bounce in place, unable to ever sit—or stand—still. She would complain until she got her way if Aphrodite didn’t halt things posthaste. “Though you managed to obtain permission to attend the gathering tonight,” she told the girl, still in awe at that feat, “a sludge-spattered, feather-bedecked dress is no way to greet guests nor partake of your first meal with the adults.”

Lady Ballenger had lost a wager to her youngest, and instead of paying the total sum—nearing an exorbitant 300 pounds, or so the story went—had agreed Lady Harriet could sit down to dinner with the guests, and only retire to the nursery once the adults abandoned the table for the ballroom.

“But Lancelot… Sir Galahad!”

What was it with her charge and her affinity for animals? Fur or feathers, skin or scales (Aphrodite shuddered at the last), it mattered naught; Lady Harriet adored them all—sometimes to her detriment.

With this most recent disastrous excursion outside, the hoglets had been exchanged for geese. “How you managed to soil two dresses in one day is a feat not to be repeated.”

Intelligent, precocious children were both a joy and a trial, and though teaching the headstrong, forthright Lady Harriet tested her will and her wits, Aphrodite wouldn’t trade her job for anything.

Except, mayhap, a family of her own.

Which wasn’t likely, she knew. At her age, even the only child of a scholarly father married to the daughter of a baronet’s sixth son who wed against her parents’ wishes had little hopes of matrimony. Not unless she wanted to marry a widowed man far too many years her senior and already endowed with a herd of unruly children in need of a mother.

Alas, she was already quite devoted to her unruly charge…

Before Harriet’s tears could start in earnest again, Aphrodite asked, “Are you not excited about this evening and the next several days?” The ball might be tonight, but the house party was intended to last the entire holiday week or more. “Have you yet met any guests near your age?”

“ Pffft. ” Lady Harriet wavered back and forth, showing a rip near the hem, the sight of which—in the new gown—made Aphrodite’s stomach pitch. “Babies, one and all. The oldest one of them is eight . I will be thirteen soon, so much closer to an adult than one who belongs in the nursery. With the children .”

“Shall I accompany you upstairs?” she asked, biting down a smile. “See that you attire yourself in that pretty scarlet?—”

“The red one?” Lady Harriet groaned, her normally happy expression turning harried. “It bothers me—here.” She tugged on the fabric near the crease of one arm, spreading yet more mud on the blue frock Lady Ballenger had selected for the evening, not realizing Harriet would put it on early enough to slip back outside. “Simply let me have this one washed.”

“Out of the question.” Aphrodite leaned back to better study the damage. “Is that a goose feather? I thought we brushed those off before entering. Never you mind, I do not want to know. Upstairs, please, lest your mother see the stains and chastise us both.”

“Fine, I shall change”—the mutinous tone was only slightly less so—“and you do not need to assist. If I cannot do it myself…” Her charge was surprisingly independent for one raised with indulgence. “Then, Primmy, I shall ring for the maid.”

Ugh. Primmy— again .

“There are two guests I admit curiosity over…” Lady Harriet said, plucking what was most definitely a goose feather off the front of her dirty smock and delaying her retreat upstairs.

What followed was more discussion, more bargaining, and more precious time keeping her charge occupied—and not outside…

After coming to an agreement—of sorts— about the hated nickname, they conversed briefly about the two military men arrived just that afternoon—friends of Lord Redford, Lady Harriet’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. While Aphrodite pretended great ignorance of either gentleman, busying herself with tidying her hair after looping the chin ribbon of her bonnet over her elbow.

Then they talked again about Harri’s ill-timed fascination with Christmas dinner which finally gave Aphrodite insight into today’s aberrant behavior.

Once sufficient time elapsed that the grime began to dry and another feather to fly on the once pristine blue gown, and Aphrodite feared more flaking off—leaving a trail straight to her charge’s chamber, which would not do, not at all, not considering what a catastrophe Lady Ballenger would consider the dirty and torn gown—she directed Harri up to her bedchamber. “Remain in your room until I join you?—”

“When will that be?” A mulish bottom lip thrust out.

No matter what expression she wore, Lady Harriet managed, to everyone’s consternation, to remain adorable . One reason why disciplining her proved such a challenge.

In a few short years, Aphrodite feared adorable would turn to beautiful , and what manner of trouble might her unrestrained charge get into then? Even when she pouted, the smile didn’t leave her face for more than a moment. Today was unusual. So much whining; not at all typical for her charge.

“You need not wait long. I will freshen myself as well. Then locate Lady Ballenger to explain the change from blue to scarlet, and be along.”

Grumbling beneath her breath, Harri sauntered slowly down the hallway in a weaving path and trudged up the servants’ stairs as though an execution waited instead of a new dress.

Aphrodite turned the opposite direction, knowing Lady Ballenger would be in the main part of the extensive home, seeing to her guests and ordering servants about.

Yet she walked even slower than Harri’s unhurried escape, knowing the longer they dawdled, the less time the girl would have to dirty her only other appropriate dress.

Are you certain it isn’t because you fear seeing your flirt again?

Moments prior…

The fierce thwap-thwap landing right behind him caused Warrick to flinch. Nearly caused the sort of chamber pot mishap no one ever, ever wants to experience.

He bit back an oath, watching things slosh for several seconds before balancing back to an even level, then ever so carefully he returned the pot to the covered shelf where he’d found it. A servant would no doubt empty it later.

Earlier, when he’d asked a footman about the most remote water closet to be found, the servant had informed Warrick that his chamber had been readied on this, the main floor—unlike the others that were all one or two levels above. After being shown the way, his chair rolling and creaking at an abysmal pace, the man had opened the door and gestured him inside, closing it only once Warrick assured the helpful footman he didn’t need further assistance.

He’d been situated in an airy sitting room converted for his use, the original furniture scooted to the far side and nestled tight along one wall. A bed had been brought in, certainly not as large as what he would have found upstairs but neither as small as what the servants made do with. Several tables had been placed about with strategic care (a couple of shelves added per the scent of fresh paint) and his belongings brought in and kept within arm’s reach, instead of remaining in his bags or a trunk on the floor.

Taking up a goodly portion of the corner nearest the door was a screen for privacy. Behind it, paraphernalia for tending to one’s bodily functions. The open spaces surrounding and in between everything generous enough to accommodate his Merlin’s chair.

The Ballengers’ thoughtfulness should have been touching.

Really, attempting to keep him independent and ambulatory, and not reliant upon servants to haul him up and down the stairs several times a day was truly thoughtful. He should appreciate the considerateness. The effort they had expended.

Instead, it was one more thing to be humiliated over—causing the servants more work. Both before and after his visit—setting things back to rights.

And since when do you give servants consideration?

When I now burden them constantly with every little request:

Giles, can you dip into my trunk and retrieve my dress shoes? They are stashed somewhere near the bottom, I believe. Warrick certainly couldn’t do it; not without unbalancing himself and toppling his chair, careening both of them onto the floor in an ungainly heap. (He knew. For he had done that more than once.)

Giles, I’m not able to reach that volume of (he could insert any number of enjoyable books one might wish to peruse); get it down for me, would you?

Giles, my apologies. I had a…erm…bloody-prigging-self-damning mishap in bed overnight. Please see that one of the maids tends to it posthaste.

By now, just the thought of everything that had gone on in the early days was enough to make his arms and neck tense. Make him glad he no longer held the slosh.

As to Giles? Warrick’s new valet had been hired by Mother, as he’d not had need of one since purchasing his commission. Soldiers and officers learned to be independent and self-sustaining; yet another reason depending upon others proved frustrating.

And with Mama choosing Giles, the servant wasn’t someone Warrick felt at liberty to lower his guard with, assuming the man had strict orders to report every little effort—or lack thereof—which would have kept Warrick on his toes, had his muscles the wherewithal to get him there.

Up till now, he’d ignored most of the quiet murmurs coming from the hallway that had started up scant moments ago, too busy concentrating on not making a hash—a horrifically humiliating mess—of things. But now?

Now?

“Primmy! I am so frustrated I could scream! We were not even outside an hour.”

“Lady Harriet. Compose yourself this instant.”

“But, Prim my ! I barely had time to look?—”

Upon hearing the strident complaints—and gentle yet stern admonitions that followed—a curious lurch in his chest telling him who might be on the other side—he rolled closer to the door…

Lancelot? Sir Galahad?

Primmy?

Curious and curiouser…

“…Lady Harriet ? —”

“Please, Primmy. I much prefer ‘Harri’. I keep telling you Lady Harriet just makes me feel as stuffed up as Miss Fairfax’s nose.”

He muffled a snort at that.

“So, you would rather be called Harri?”

“Did I not just say that?”

“And I would prefer not to be called Primmy. At all. ”

Another slight whine reached his ears.

“Shall we make an agreement?” His governess proposed this. For by now, he had deduced exactly who argued on the other side of his room. Yours? Tut-tut, man. “I shall use Harri when we are in private and I become Miss Primrose, for you will refrain from referring to me as Primmy in front of anyone else.”

“But I can still do it when we are alone?”

A very adult groan that time. “May.”

“May what?”

“May. May I still do it when we are alone?”

“Of course you can.” The entertaining Harri kicked his wall again. “Is that not what we just said?”

Was that a sigh he heard? Then a laugh. “Harri, you claim you need to learn Latin, correct?”

“If the boys are going to know it, I must know it too.” Smart little chit.

And the governess knew Latin sufficiently to teach it?

Unusual. Rather impressive too.

Miss Primrose , now that he had a name for her . Whom he knew wasn’t quite as prim as those around her might suppose…

“We will not continue your Latin lessons until you work to be more accurate on your English grammar.”

A few seconds of silence, then, “I forgot. Might not have been attending when you imparted that. Repeat it, please?”

“Of course. It is not can I do this or that. It is may I do this or that.”

“Of course you can. I mean may . You are the governess, after all. I am just a child.”

“The most contrary child imaginable.”

“Mayhap so, but I still do not want to change into that blasted red dress?—”

“Harri! Language.”

“What if I used Latin instead? Is there a good Latin swear word you know?”

“As if I would teach you that!”

“Perhaps I will ask one of the guests.”

“Whoa-ho! You do that, young lady, and I fear you would bury your poor mother in mortification.”

“I do not care.” The girl had turned mutinous.

“That is a harsh thing to say. What has happened? You are not usually this...”

Obstinate?

Entertaining?

Both applied to Lady Harriet; thank heavens his sisters didn’t behave quite so outrageously.

How would you know? You have not spent time with either of them.

“’Tis Sir Galahad. It is Mother’s fault he’s gone.”

“Oh, Harri.” Was she comforting the girl? Hugging her? Her voice had turned soft with understanding, and for some reason, it made his heart yearn. “You truly befriended the goose after all? Did I not tell you?—”

“I know. I know .” A loud sniff. “Beatrice is for petting; the geese are for eating.”

He gave a silent grunt. Bah. His heart wasn’t yearning, not for a hug or anything else.

And if it were? Well, he quite needed to meet this pettable Beatrice. His handle might be broke, but his hands worked just fine…

“…If I cannot do it myself, Primmy, I will ring for a maid. Although, there are two guests I admit curiosity over,” the boisterous Harri said, stalling, he suspected, at having to change into the detested red dress.

“And who might that be?”

“Lord Redford’s friends.”

He stiffened. Swallowed hard. Debated scrambling, rolling the wheels backward and escaping the rest… For that had every bit of ease that had seeped into his muscles the last few minutes drying up like a parched desert.

“Lords Frostwood and Warrick? What sort of curiosity?” The even tone of the yearned-for Miss Primrose stalled any retreat.

He needed to know what this Latin-speaking governess might say about him. Especially after he’d chased her off.

You want your already debilitatingly low self-worth trounced further?

“Over every thing ! What is war like? How does one fight on a horse? They are part of the dragoons, you know. How do you pittle when you are in the middle of battle? What if one’s horse needs to…scumber one out?”

He slapped a hand over his mouth so fast the pop of skin on skin reached his ears. His chest started shaking. Lips trembled beneath the firm clasp of his fingers as he fought a ferocious battle of his own not to howl with laughter.

The governess was silent. Fighting laughter as well? Or restraining herself from giving the lewd little lady a reprimand and that threatened rap across the knuckles?

“Harri. Wherever did you hear such a thing?” she asked with remarkable restraint.

“Near the kennels, where the hunt servants tend Papa’s hounds.”

“Please, please promise me never will you say such in front of your mother. She would likely dismiss me at once.”

“She would not!” Another—milder—kick to his wall. “I would not stand for it. For you are exceedingly better than the last two miseries they hired to teach me.”

A muffled snicker, then, “Thank you for that. But you and I both know I serve at the whim of your parents, not your own. Now, as to Lords Warrick and Frostwood… I fear you forget yourself, dear. Children are not to initiate any manner of conversation with adults not relatives. You know?—”

“But they are practically family! To hear Papa speak of Lord Redford’s father and the friendship they shared at school? To hear Lord Redford’s own mother speak of him as she visited with Anne the last months? Speak of both her son and Lord Warrick. I am curious over each of them. But since Lord Redford is marrying Merry Anne, why, I will have forever to ask him questions. But Lord Warrick? He will not be here beyond the holiday.”

Another groan reached his fascinated ears. “It is a shameful fact that you cannot study law, for I vow, you could sway anyone to your viewpoint. All right, since your mother agreed you could dine with the adults, if you have questions that absolutely cannot wait and you have the perfect and convenient opportunity to speak with either gentleman, mayhap you simply ask them? But, mind, only if you can moderate both your curiosity and your tongue. No inappropriate sallies about personal matters, equine or human! A young lady does not speak of such things in company. Or out of it, really.”

“Then how is one to ever learn?”

The governess had no answer to that.

“And what of Lord Warrick, himself?” He lowered his hand, his mirth evaporating, tension increasing.

“What of him, dear?”

“Do you know if he will walk again? What happened to confine him to the Merlin’s chair?”

“I doubt whether he would want to share that with you. It is truly none of our business.”

“But could I ask him?”

“Harriet. Dear. There are times I truly do not know how to answer you, and this is one of them. It would be better to ask him than to speculate or gossip, that I know with certainty, but neither do I believe it appropriate for you to voice such a thing.”

“What if I were to engage him in conversation that had nothing to do with his legs?”

Much as her governess accomplished earlier?

“Then if you can avoid everything to do with…scumbering”—her voice near lowered to a whisper—“I think that would be fine. But only if you find him not surrounded by others and you can mind your volume as well as politely inquire if he would like to visit and converse. If he says nay , be off with naught but a smile. Can you do that, do you think?”

He didn’t hear the chit’s answer, so very surprised by the response, the one not heaped in sympathy nor mired in disgust, simply common sense.

If he was alone, ask if he would like a visit.

Why could others not do the same?

His thoughts turned to the cackling horde. The staring. The tittering. The nauseating blaze that had flared through him knowing he was under discussion—and likely not a complimentary one.

A difficult and uncomfortable position for one who had never before worried what others thought, certainly cared naught about what they might be gossiping about.

He idly rubbed one fist over his chest.

“I will freshen myself as well,” said Miss Primrose. “Then find your mother and explain the change from blue to scarlet and be along shortly.”

Silence ensued as the chatter ended and the whirl-blast blew upstairs.

But strangely, he found it not awkward for once. They both had been so very forthright about his condition. No titters nor tittle-tattles nor excessive pity that made him want to claw something. Mayhap his unfeeling legs?

The door was right in front of him. He could not help but turn the knob and use his fingers on one side of its frame to pull himself forward several inches, just enough where his feet and knees poked out and he could safely lean forward to glance both directions.

Satisfaction blossomed, for he was in time to see her slim figure as she departed, no longer swine-slicked but once again encased in what looked like—from the back—a mourning shroud…

Leaving him oddly comforted by the overheard exchange. More than a little curious about Miss Primrose herself. And somewhat sick at the thought.

For he, crippled and committed to that unknown, unfound rich wife, had no right to be staring at the slim rumple hidden by the heavy material.

No right to notice the fabric nipped in at her waist just above the curved flesh he could not help but admire.

And certainly no right to study the inviting hair tied at her nape, no longer hiding beneath a bonnet, and wonder what those sunset strands would look like down, around her shoulders, upon his sheets…