7. Governess

Chapter seven

Governess

Yorkshire, England ~ July 1810

L ouisa flipped through the book of French grammar and began to read aloud. The second chapter was on introductions, something any well-bred lady would often encounter, particularly if she ever travelled to Paris. It was supremely useful and supremely elegant.

"To introduce yourself by name, the pronoun je should be employed along with a reflexive verb—"

The eldest Miss Trafford folded her arms and sighed.

"If you would be so good as to listen in silence," said Louisa.

"I don't know why we should be expected to learn such a silly language," replied Penelope Trafford with a huff. "Half the letters aren't even pronounced, and the ones that are seem to be stuck in your nose like a bad cold."

"French is the language of cosmopolitan society," said Louisa in rebuke. Her fingers clenched involuntarily around the grammar book. The last four weeks had been some of the most trying days of her life. She had always tolerated her tutors, mostly because she had nothing else to do with her day but to listen to them. But the eldest Miss Trafford had done everything in her power to thwart and upend Louisa's inaugural lessons. The girl wasted no opportunity to disrupt a drawing session, argue about a point of etiquette, or sabotage a pianoforte practice.

The younger two girls, considered by themselves, were not unbearable. In time, Louisa thought she might come to enjoy Milly's precociousness and Ginny's slow-moving sweetness. But Penny, who was only a year and a half younger than Louisa, had flaunted her displeasure from the first. Even during the lessons where Lord Kendall had been present, Penny had bridled and bucked like an unbroken pony.

Louisa was insightful enough to discern that Penny's dislike for her stemmed directly from the girl's dislike for her own guardian. Since Lord Kendall had hired Miss Lymington, Miss Trafford was determined to detest the governess. And since Lord Kendall was a "heartless and unfeeling tyrant," Louisa had been tarred with the same brush.

"I don't want to learn French!" Penny said, her delicate chin jutting out with determination.

"Ah, je suis désolée," said Louisa in a tone that was not at all apologetic. " Taisez-vous, fille stupide, et ecoutez!"

"Miss Lymington thinks you are stupid, Penny," said Milly, the youngest. Her ears were sharp, and somehow the nine-year-old was mastering all of Louisa's lessons far faster than her two elder sisters.

Penny began to wail at that. She had no more ability to keep her emotions under lock and key than did a hungry infant. "Not only does Uncle Bertie torment us by trapping us in the wilds of Yorkshire, but he has found us the harshest of all jailers to belittle us under the guise of education. I doubt that even Emily St. Aubert had to deal with such perfidious cruelty."

Louisa rolled her eyes. Miss Trafford might have read The Mysteries of Udolpho, but she clearly had no idea what it really meant to have a villainous uncle. "Now Ginny," she said, ignoring Penny's outburst. "Repeat after me: Je m'appelle Ginevra ."

Ginny screwed up her face to attempt the intimidating syllables. " Jum apple Ginevra ."

Louisa tried to conceal her distaste at such an unfortunate accent. Miss Ginevra Trafford might not be as refractory as her sister, but she clearly had no ear for imitation. "A valiant attempt," Louisa managed to say. It was not an altogether truthful statement, but the new governess was determined to reward painstaking efforts over emotional outbursts.

At least Milly was on her way to becoming a proficient. "Je m'appelle Camilla," she said without being prompted. "Comment allez-vous?"

"Je vais bien," responded Louisa. I am doing well. But was she doing well? She had been a governess for four weeks and already the activity grated on her like a door with rusty hinges. Could she sustain such a position for nearly a year before coming into her majority? At least there was no Mr. Digby at Barrowby Park, but dealing with a spoiled minx like Penelope Trafford was almost as infuriating.

Louisa pasted on a false smile. "Your turn, Penny: Je m'appelle Penelope ."

"No," said Penny, crossing her arms again. "I won't say it. And neither would Admiral Nelson if he were here."

"Admiral Nelson died at Trafalgar," remarked Milly helpfully.

"All the more reason for him not to say it," retorted Penny .

"Of course he wouldn't say it," said Louisa sharply. "He would say: Je m'appelle Horatio Nelson. But you will say Je m'appelle Penelope , or I shall tell Cook that you won't be joining us for tea."

"What?" gasped Penny. "You wouldn't dare. I shall tell Uncle Bertie that you mean to starve me into submission to your tyrannical whims." The dark-haired girl pulled herself up to her full height as she glared at Louisa, clearly piqued that her governess was still five inches taller than her.

"Tell him whatever you want," said Louisa, "but you will say—"

The opening door interrupted that ultimatum. Lord Kendall's aristocratic face peeked inside the schoolroom. "Miss Lymington," he said in sombre tones, before Penny could utter her complaint, "might I have a word downstairs in my study?"

"Oh, of course," said Louisa, adding a curtsy once again as an afterthought. What on earth could he want? She hoped Lord Kendall had nothing to criticise in her pedagogical methods, for she did not think her patience could stand any critique. If her need to avoid London had not been so great, she would have packed her trunk already and boarded the mail coach once again. But as things were, she had better bide her time and find out what Lord Kendall had to tell her.