13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

B eatrice was as good as her word, which was really all that the Hillmot girls had needed, even if they could not articulate it. Neither she nor they had any real head for traditional lessons, and so Beatrice undertook a more naturalist approach to teaching. Or, that is, she would have called it that if she'd had any idea that was what she was doing. The truth was that she felt as if she were constantly a half-step ahead of the girls, and she had to always be quick-witted and on her toes to stay that way.

She could feel the colonel watching, his dark eyes on the lot of them as the weeks passed. He was disinclined to take meals with them, and Beatrice did not push allowing the girls to eat dinner with him. He never smiled, nor gave any indication that he was pleased; it did not help that the scar on one side of his face added to his general air of displeasure and ferocity. He was unreadable, which she had never experienced in a man before.

Still, Beatrice refused to let him see that he unnerved her. She gave the girls an hour of quiet and solitude each afternoon directly following luncheon, in which they were encouraged to read or work on their skills with a needle in the nursery. This reprieve was necessary for Beatrice, not least of which so that she might gather her wits and attempt to find ways of keeping her promises to them.

It had become patently obvious that the library was largely the colonel's domain, with him spending hours at a time locked in there. Beatrice had no idea what he did in there, and she was more than a little curious about it, but she had no time to sort it out. She had far more pressing concerns these days.

She picked an hour when she believed him to be out of doors, and crept into the library. The door, heavy and thick like all the others in the house, thankfully opened relatively silently. She did not bother closing it fully, merely pushing it most of the way shut so that the ancient latch did not rattle about in the catch. Putting all of her skills with light, leaping steps into practice, she minced lightly across the floor on her toes, wincing a little as one of the boards creaked loudly.

"This is more than a little absurd," she muttered to herself. It wasn't as if she were strictly forbidden from the library, but it still felt like some sort of intrusion. It was possible she felt this way because it was so clearly the colonel's space: The desk was covered with his letters and papers; the chair was overtly masculine, a sturdy dark wooden frame and upholstered in dark green leather with brass rivets holding the cushions; and, most obviously, the smell of pipe tobacco lingered in the air. Reflexively, Beatrice breathed deep, savouring the scent, rich and smoky with a hint of vanilla.

She shook her head; this was not the time to become distracted. Lightly, she made her way to one of the shelves, and began running her fingers softly over the spines. It was difficult to ascertain how the library was organised, and it was taking Beatrice longer than she would have liked to find what she was looking for.

"Ah, there you are," she murmured at last, spotting a thick volume on a shelf over her head. The title, embossed in gold, read, Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne by the Reverend Gilbert White. Eliza had told Beatrice that there was a copy in the library, but had been vague as to where.

Beatrice frowned. How to get this down, now? she wondered to herself. She looked about, but there was no convenient stool or ladder to reach the higher shelves. She stood on her toes, pulling herself upward with one hand on a shelf. She was not a diminutive woman at all, and she had far more reach due to her flexible shoulders, but the book remained stubbornly out of reach, her fingertips not even brushing it.

With a sigh of irritation, Beatrice put her hands on her hips for a moment and cocked her head. The shelves were sturdy and old, built deep into the library walls. Experimentally, she placed the toe of her right shoe on the second shelf and put a little weight upon it, nudging the books back a little. The shelf held, but groaned a little. She hoped this was due to age and not the structural stability. Still, she was not discouraged, and shifted closer to the shelf, and grasping higher shelves, hoisted herself upward.

"Why could you not be at a more reasonable height, blast you?" she muttered between her teeth as she reached for the book. Her fingers brushed the spine and she seized onto it.

"To keep adventuress governesses out of it, I would think," a voice said from directly behind her.

Startled, Beatrice squeaked, and her foot slipped from its narrow perch on the shelf. Instinctively, her arms went out, and her other foot went backward to catch herself. She was a little overbalanced, and found herself caught up by a pair of strong arms. Refusing to let go of the book, she floundered about for a moment, wriggling around a little to find that it was the colonel who had both startled and caught her.

Instantly, her expression flattened and she righted herself. Pointedly, she chose to ignore the fact that they were standing very near each other, so close that she could nearly feel the colonel breathing. He wore an oilskin greatcoat against the weather, clearly having just come inside from one of his habitual turns about the grounds. The front was unbuttoned, and captured all of the natural warmth from his skin. When he moved even the slightest bit, some of this warmth escaped, wafting over Beatrice.

Despite her irritation, she found herself fighting the urge to bury herself against him, for she had been a little chilled ever since she arrived at the old, draughty house. She became aware that he, too, was staring down at her, with something between interest and anger, his dark eyes flashing.

"Miss Heart, are you quite alright? Have you injured your ankle, perhaps?"

"I have not," she snapped back, temper covering for the uncomfortable way that her heart was thrashing about inside her chest. "I am far sturdier than you care to give me credit for."

"Sturdy enough to climb library shelves, it seems," the colonel said, stepping back politely. His face shifted a little as he did so, as if he regretted the action; Beatrice filed that away, refusing to contemplate what it meant in that moment.

"It isn't my fault if your library is ill-equipped," Beatrice sniffed, tossing her head for good measure and attempting to recover whatever dignity she could.

The colonel looked positively offended at the notion that his library could possibly be lacking in any capacity. "It is equipped exactly in the correct manner for which it is intended to be used," he shot back. "To that end, books are placed out of reach for very good reason." He held out his hand as if expecting Beatrice to place the book in it, but she refused to relinquish it.

"I worked hard for this; I shan't be giving it up," she said defiantly.

Colonel Hillmot sighed. "Let me hazard a guess: Eliza?" When Beatrice did not answer, he took this for confirmation. "She has been attempting to get her hands on that book for two years now. I am sad to see that she managed to rope you into her enterprise."

"I have not been the victim of some schoolgirl scheme," Beatrice snapped, vaguely insulted. The whole encounter had her ruffled, her hackles raised.

"So you knew that I had forbidden her to read it, and yet you chose to take matters into your own hands—quite literally?" he demanded, moving a half-step closer again, his face hard.

"It's an absurd thing to keep from her," Beatrice argued. "It is not as if she is asking permission to play roulette or take up shooting—"

"Which I imagine you would only be happy to support her in as well," the colonel interrupted.

"Why shouldn't I?" Beatrice retorted.

"Because you are meant to be instructing them in becoming ladies, not indulging their proclivities for uncouth behaviour!" he said, his voice rising.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, do not pretend as if allowing her to read a collection of scientific essays is going to ruin her," Beatrice huffed, rolling her eyes a little in a manner most bold for a governess. "If you must know, I struck a deal with her, and I feel duty-bound to uphold it."

"A deal? What sort of deal?" the colonel demanded, angling himself so that the scarred side of his face was a little closer to Beatrice. "Why do you strike bargains with my daughters?"

"Because it would do none of us in this house any good at all for me to be at loggerheads with them at every turn." Beatrice stopped, took a breath, and tamped her temper down. She had the distinct impression that the colonel was a keg of gunpowder for all of his cool composure, and Beatrice had never hesitated to play with fire.

"I am fully willing to own that I may not be...well, I very much doubt that I am what you were expecting, even hoping for, in a governess," she began again, her voice and expression softer. "But it seemed to me to be a waste to spend all of my time with your daughters in conflict. It is much better for us to move forward as friends, as that would mean that moving forward were even possible."

Colonel Hillmot looked a little mutinous at her calm explanation, but it was difficult to tell how much of that was his genuine disagreement with her methods or simply his scarred face making him look fierce. Still, he did not immediately contradict her, which Beatrice took as encouragement to continue.

"I believe you are a practical man," she hurried on, "who will respect practical results, no?" The colonel merely inclined his head. "To that end, when is the last time you heard the girls quarrelling? I daresay there has been a marked reduction in tears in the past couple of weeks."

"I do not see how you can possibly claim success, if this alleged success is simply the result of giving in to their whims," the colonel said, locking his hands tighter behind his back.

"I am not just 'giving in to their whims'," Beatrice retorted, clutching the book a little harder to herself. "I am giving them inducement to good behaviour, and doing them the courtesy of treating them as people, not merely noisy ornaments about the house." Beatrice snapped her mouth shut; she could not believe that she had said that, but she refused to offer apologies.

There was a long moment of silence that stretched between them. The colonel stared down into Beatrice's eyes, and she could practically see his mind at work. It was a bit uncouth for a man to stare at a woman so, but Beatrice had an unknown advantage: She was quite used to being stared at, and her time as an object of entertainment provided her with a sort of armour. She refused to be intimidated, staring right back at him.

What she did not count on was the way that her heart began to beat a little harder, nor for her palms to begin to sweat. Her mouth was suddenly very dry, and she swallowed hard against the sensation. The colonel's eyes flicked to her throat, following the motion as much as he could with her high-necked chemisette. It could very easily have been Beatrice's imagination, but she could have sworn that he had somehow shifted closer to her.

"Very well," he allowed suddenly. "If, as you say, I am a practical man, then I should like a practical demonstration."

"A demonstration?" Beatrice repeated, her eyebrows flying up. "What sort of demonstration?"

"That shall be entirely up to you; I believe that is only fair, as I am the one issuing the challenge," the colonel said, his eyes creasing a little at the edges. "However, I shall expect it to be given within the week."

Beatrice considered for a moment. The colonel's face was still impassive, but a sort of mocking triumph flitted behind his eyes. She could not help but imagine that she had just been called out, but instead of pistols at dawn, their duel would be fought with genteel manners and conversation.

"Very well," Beatrice said, equally stiff and formal. "I accept your terms." Caught up in the role, she stuck her hand out like a man, ready to shake and seal their bargain.

The colonel stared down at her hand, clearly taken aback by such a masculine gesture and unsure of the proper response. Beatrice could sense his unease, which only served to embolden her. She gave the colonel an arch look, which seemed to only deepen his scowl. He loosened his hands from behind his back, and took up Beatrice's hand.

It was her turn to be surprised, for he had apparently at some point removed his brown leather gloves, and it was with a bare hand that he took hers. The warmth from his hand seeped into her fingers, and she had to resist the urge to melt into the feeling a little. Perhaps with more vigour than was strictly necessary, he shook her hand once, twice, then released his grip.

Beatrice, stunned a little from the sudden absence of the warmth on her hand (certainly not the fact that she and the colonel had touched palm-to-palm, with nary a glove between them), wrapped her arms tightly around the book again. She gripped the cover hard, channelling all of her tension into her hands. Avoiding the colonel's watchful gaze, she bobbed a quick, perfunctory curtsy.

She swept past the colonel without waiting to be dismissed. All the while, she could feel his eyes upon her. When she had reached the doorway of the library, she could not stop herself from tossing a saucy glance over her shoulder.

"For all your derision regarding my making bargains with your daughters, you have just entered into one with a governess, have you not?" she said, like a parting shot.

Beatrice did not wait to hear his answer, sweeping from the library in a manner so grand that it would have met the approval of even the most snobbish dowager.