The Mistress of Trevelyan (12 page)

"You do recall that Saturday is your day off."

"I am aware of that."

"Yet last Saturday I am told you spent the day with Justin and Robert, nor did you leave the house on Sunday."

"We were unable to finish our planting project Friday, and I felt it necessary to complete the task on Saturday." I'd decided to stay here and work on lessons after that, for I'd not the funds to do anything in town. Suddenly the money in my hand gained even more significance, and I met Benedict Trevelyan's gaze across the room, my eyes widening with understanding.

He cleared his throat and turned from me. "Outings on Saturday will not be necessary. You may inform me of your plans, and we shall see about them and my involvement. Is there anything else, Miss Lovell?"

Though I could think of several other things, I'd said more than enough for now. "No."

"Amazing." He glanced back at me. "I expect I shall see you at dinner tonight, then. And one more thing—don't let your projects carry over to your days off other than occasionally. I expect you to manage your time more efficiently." This time he turned with a dismissing finality, and I left his study, feeling the need to tread quickly through the dancing lights in the entry hall, lest he find me lingering there again, mismanaging my time.

Humph. The man seemed impossible to please.

I arrived for dinner early, wearing my brown dress, but this time I didn't bother to adorn it with the black lace, having realized that my efforts had only drawn attention to the meagerness of my belongings. Or perhaps after two weeks I had less of a need for pretense than before. Walking into the parlor, I came to a sudden stop. Upon the brocade settee sat a young lady dressed in white. She could very well be the mysterious woman who'd made those ghostly appearances. Her skin was incredibly fair, almost as white as the china that graced the table. Her hair, as dark as a moonless night, was pulled into a severe bun, so tightly wound it was difficult to discern its length. Her hands were as white and delicate as a dove's wing, and flowed just as gracefully as she sewed.

Now that I was pressed to recall specifics, I realized that both times I'd seen my mysterious ghost woman at a distance, and her features had been less than clear. It was disturbing to realize that I might be in need of spectacles. I cleared my throat, hoping to draw her attention away from the embroidery she intently worked upon. She didn't stop, didn't look up, and didn't offer any greeting.

Before I could decide what to do in the face of her seeming rudeness, Stephen Trevelyan breezed into the room. He came to an abrupt stop when he saw the woman. Emotion so intense that I'd have been hard-pressed to give it any other name but pain settled on his face.

"Excuse me for a minute, Miss Ann," he said, handing me an elaborately wrapped package. To my surprise, he crossed the room and knelt at the woman's feet. She stopped sewing then and looked up. Deep trouble marred the perfection of a face that took my breath away. Her eyes were the color of antique gold, and the delicacy of her features made me think that any disturbance would shatter them. It was as if she were the finest life-size porcelain doll.

Stephen Trevelyan didn't say a word. All he did was bow his head, placing his forehead upon her lap. Moved, the woman started to touch him, hesitated, and then placed her hand lovingly upon his head.

His shoulders relaxed at her touch, as if he'd been holding his breath and had finally exhaled.

"Touching, is it not? The act of absolution. It would seem my sister has forgiven her fallen knight," Benedict Trevelyan whispered in my ear, sending such a shock of pleasure to my toes that I had to strain to hear the rest of his words over the roaring of blood that made me lightheaded. The man had a strange effect upon my senses.

Forgiveness? For what? "Absolution" seemed a strong word for him to have chosen for a mere estrangement between siblings. Seeing Katherine Trevelyan, of whom many dark things were whispered, was as disconcerting as meeting Benedict Trevelyan himself.

I turned abruptly to find him but inches away. My breath caught, and our gazes met. He searched my face for answers that I did not know the questions to. Perhaps he was remembering our encounter in the park. I sensed a change between us. The words we'd exchanged in his study, rather than creating distance, had formed an odd bond.

His gaze dropped to my lips, and I swallowed, wondering how, with so little a movement, he could change the world about me, the direction of my thoughts, and the very beat of my heart.

He must have heard a noise that I didn't, because before I could blink, he stepped away and whipped around to greet Constance Ortega. She flitted into the room wearing a sapphire blue gown that shimmered with stars and matched the huge blue jewels encircling her neck and dangling from her ears. I wondered if important company was expected and felt an unaccustomed flutter of panic in my breast at the notion.

I'd resigned myself to being a guest at the Trevelyans' table despite my station as an employee. The West was wont to flout Eastern protocols, though it coveted its luxuries, and finding a personage of learning but of meager means as a guest at the table of the rich was not beyond belief. But I had no wish to meet the Trevelyans' equals and put that supposition to the test publicly.

Meeting the disapproving gaze of Benedict Trevelyan's mother was difficult enough. I'd attempted several times during Benedict Trevelayn's absence this past week to dine in my room, but both Dobbs and Stephen Trevelyan had insisted otherwise.

"You are looking especially turned out tonight, Constance. The Ortega sapphires are as opulent as ever," Benedict Trevelyan said. "Is this a special occasion?"

Constance Ortega gave him a broad smile. "This dress arrived from New York today. I just simply had to wear it.  Is it not divine?" She pirouetted daintily.

"Quite nice," he added. "Alan will think you have dressed so elegantly just for him."

Alan? I wondered. Was company expected? Then I remembered Benedict mentioning his business partner before.

Constance scoffed, "That man. He thinks everything is just for him. He will be joining us for dinner, yes? And did you sell the
Commodore
?"

"Yes, I sold the
Commodore
. Business is fine, so there's no need for you to worry. I believe Alan will be staying tonight, at least. Though I do not know if he will be returning directly back to Kansas City or not."

"Splendid." Constance Ortega said. "He can tell me all the latest news."

"Which you will undoubtedly wrangle toward fashion, costing Benedict more money. It is a wonder he allows me to visit." We all turned to the expensively dressed speaker standing in the doorway. He was a handsome man, slight of frame, much older and much shorter than I expected. The top of his head reached the bridge of my nose. Still, when he walked into the room, he filled it with an Old World gentlemanly flair that made him appear much bigger. "Might I say you ladies look beautiful tonight."

Constance raised her eyebrows, giving my dress a dismissive glance before she smiled and held out her hand to the man. "You may, but only if you will sit next to me at dinner."

"It will be my pleasure," he replied, bowing and kissing her hand as if she were a queen. He stood, then looked my way and cleared his throat.

Benedict stepped up. "I apologize, Alan. Let me introduce you to Miss Lovell, Justin and Robert's new governess. Miss Lovell, Mr. Henderson, a family friend and business partner of my father's until he sold out, moved to Kansas City, and struck gold in cattle."

"The governess?" Mr. Henderson's brows shot up in what I thought to be disapproving surprise, then he made an attempt to hide his hesitation. "Ah, yes, the governess. A pleasure, Miss Lovell." Mr. Henderson held out his hand, and I again had no choice but to place mine in his. He bowed before me just as he had before Constance, but his gesture made me feel more uncomfortable rather than more accepted.

"Thank you, Mr. Henderson. It is a pleasure to meet you as well."

Mr. Henderson released my hand. Then he directed an admonishing gaze toward Benedict Trevelyan. " 'Efficient' and 'practical' nowhere near describes Miss Lovell's queenly stature. Not what I would expect in a governess."

My cheeks flushed. I didn't know if I was more embarrassed by Benedict's description of me—though it was how I saw myself—or by Mr. Henderson's prevarication. Queenly stature indeed. Before I could decide how to respond, Constance Ortega interrupted.

"Why, Miss Lovell, what is that absolutely divine package you have?"

I glanced down, seeing that I still held the box Stephen had given me. I'd forgotten it in my embarrassment. "It is Mr. Trevelyan's," I said.

Benedict Trevelyan frowned.

"I mean Mr. Stephen Trevelyan's."

"Actually," Stephen Trevelyan said, walking up with Katherine Trevelyan, her arm tucked in the crook of his, "it is a gift for you, Miss Ann."

"Still wooing the ladies, Stephen?" Mr. Henderson said. The room seemed to fall quiet at his remark. As a governess I shouldn't have been addressed as a lady of the family, and to speak so openly of wooing . . . well, that was rather improper.

"One can only hope," Stephen Trevelyan replied, cheerfully filling the void. "Open the box, Miss Ann, and let me know if I have succeeded."

I held out the gift. "I really cannot accept this, Mr. Trevelyan—"

"I insist" Stephen Trevelyan said, refusing to take the gift back. "Open it"

I had no choice without seeming rude. My hands shook a little as I slipped off the ribbon and loosened the golden paper. The smell of rich chocolate immediately enveloped my senses as the elegant scroll of Ghirardelli met my eyes. His thoughtfulness touched me. "Thank you, Mr. Trevelyan, but you should not have bought me anything."

Stephen Trevelyan shrugged. "I could not get Justin and Robert a treat without rewarding their diligent teacher. And I must say, this 'Mr. Trevelyan' situation is most annoying. If I cannot induce you to call me Stephen, I insist that you at least call me Mr. Stephen."

Another barrier between the Trevelyans and myself fell away, like sand between my fingers. I couldn't seem to hold onto my distance. I tucked the box of chocolates into my hand. "Then you must call me Ann," I said, wondering where this path would end. To refer to myself as Miss Ann seemed pretentious.

Constance Ortega laughed. "My, I had not made the connection before, but Anns have had ill luck among royalty. Why, did not Henry the Eighth behead an Ann for—"

"Connie, you pick the most morbid facts of history to dwell upon," Stephen Trevelyan said, interrupting.

"Not to worry," I said. "My actual name is Titania." The moment my name left my mouth, I pressed my fingers to my lips in shock. Never in my entire life had I told anyone the name I'd been christened with.

"Aha," Mr. Henderson said. "I was right. Definitely a queenly beauty."

"My word" Stephen Trevelyan said, untangling himself from his sister and extending a courtly bow to my feet. "I had no idea we were being graced by the presence of a queen. Please forgive our slight."

Burning heat fanned my cheeks. What had possessed me to expose myself so? I didn't know what to make of this whole exchange. Stephen didn't seem to be mocking me, but I still felt the sting of embarrassment.

Benedict Trevelyan frowned. "Stephen, if you are truly paying homage, then why not offer Miss Lovell a sherry instead of mocking her with archaic foolery?"

"She said to call her Ann," Stephen Trevelyan said. "Or, more beautifully, Titania. But you are quite right, Benedict I will fix everyone a drink. After all, that's what I do best, is it not?" The tension between the Trevelyan brothers always lurked beneath the surface, rearing its head at unexpected moments. I noted that Mr. Henderson kept glancing at the two brothers.

"And what country was Titania queen of?" Constance Ortega asked. "I do not recall—"

"In Shakespeare's
A Midsummer Night's Dream
, Titania is Queen of the Fairies," Benedict Trevelyan said.

"She falls in love with a mere mortal," Stephen Trevelyan added from across the room.

"Actually, it was an ass," Mrs. Trevelyan said, rolling into the room in her wheelchair like a dour cloud.

Mr. Henderson laughed. "I see you're as sharp as ever, Rosalind. Illness has not dulled your wit. Titania did indeed become enamored of an ass."

I might have found the moment mortifying were it not for Stephen Trevelyan. He crossed the room and handed a glass of sherry to Constance, his mother, and me. "Then I will hold out hope for myself," he said, moving over to a decanter of amber liquid. "I do believe the mortal was only made to look like an ass by a mischievous spell, Mother, Alan." He poured three more drinks, giving Alan one, and carrying one to his brother. "Here's a toast to being"—he glanced at everyone in the room—"an enamored ass."

"On that note of intellectual insight, I think we will adjourn to the dining room," Benedict Trevelyan said dryly.

Mr. Henderson extended his arm to Constance Ortega. She nodded like royalty receiving her due as she passed by me. It was only as Katherine Trevelyan glided by with her dress flowing about her like a cloud that I realized she hadn't said a word at all. Hadn't participated in the conversation. It was as if she wasn't there, and I shivered as I caught the scent of roses wafting from her.

The same aroma of roses, only thicker, more sweetly overpowering, assaulted me when Stephen Trevelyan rolled his mother into the room. I remembered that the same scent had been lingering in my room when my belongings were disturbed.

Before I entered the dining room, Benedict Trevelyan put his hand upon my arm, drawing my attention as he spoke softly. "Miss Lovell. I have neglected to tell you something important. My sister, Katherine, she is deaf and does not speak. You will have to make allowances for her—"

"Please," I said, placing my hand on his, feeling the vibrant warmth of his skin. "There's no need to say any more. I understand." My heart went out to Katherine Trevelyan. What must it be like to be locked in a world of silence? I then remembered Robert saying "Aunt Kaff" didn't like to talk. She couldn't. "Does she know sign language?"