Arabella knew something was wrong when a sudden hush of silence fell over the table. She looked up and saw four faces in different states of curiosity staring at her. Her first reaction was to check whether she had a smudge of jam on her face, when she met Mr Merivale’s wary gaze. When he stated, “You are a lady,” she knew she had given herself away. But what exactly had she done?
And what was wrong with Mr Merivale? The cheerful, flirtatious light that had been in his eyes since the moment they met was replaced by a flinty, hostile look.
Her chest tightened. She laced her hands behind her back for support and cleared her throat. “Governesses are usually ladies of—of—” She searched for the right expression.
“Of genteel backgrounds who are forced to seek employment, either because their families have fallen on unfortunate circumstances or because they have been unable to contract a marriage.” Even his voice had changed. He spoke in a crisp, cool manner.
“Papa?” Joy looked at her father anxiously.
He broke his severe expression and smiled at her briefly. “If you are done with tea, Joy, Robin, and Katy, you may go outside and pick some more blackberries for me, will you? I’d like to talk to Miss Weston alone.”
“I want to stay.” Katy crossed her arms and thrust her chin upward.
Philip rolled his eyes. “Very well. But you two, off you go.”
There was a scraping of chairs on the stone ground, a scrambling through the door, and the sound of the door slamming outside.
In the silence of the kitchen, Mr Merivale said, “But you, my lady, are not merely of a ‘genteel background,’ as you put it, are you? You’re a noblewoman.”
Her stomach dropped.
“How high up?” he pressed.
“My father was a— ba—baron.” She felt heat prickle in her neck. Something told her that it wouldn’t bode well for her if she admitted that her brother was the Duke of Ashmore. Why, oh why, hadn’t she come up with a plausible tale beforehand?
She cleared her throat and tried again. “My father was a baron who fell on — unfortunate circumstances. He, er, gambled the family fortune away. I don’t want to talk about it.” That was good. Very good. She remembered that her friend Roberta, whom she called Birdie, was a baron’s daughter. Her family had indeed fallen on unfortunate circumstances, and poor Birdie was a governess. It was a true story. It just wasn’t her story.
“A baron’s daughter.” His eyes narrowed to two slits of green jade. “Try again. When I addressed you as ‘my lady’ just now, you didn’t even blink. Your father’s an earl, maybe? Or a marquess?”
“Does it make a difference?” She lifted her chin.
He threw down the kitchen towel he’d been holding. “Jove’s beard. Of course it makes a difference! We are a solid working-class family. I can’t have the daughter of a marquess teach my children! That’s ridiculous.”
Katy’s face brightened. “You’re a real lady, then? How grand!”
“Baron.” It was better to stick to the same version of a lie once it was uttered.
“Katy.” Mr Merivale massaged his temples. “I can’t have a noblewoman be in my employ as my children’s governess. It’s beyond the pale.”
“But, Papa, it would be so perfect! She’s quality and knows all about what a lady should be like, and she can teach us!” Katy bounced up and down in her chair.
Her father groaned.
“It would be wonderful!” There were two bright red spots on Katy’s cheeks, her eyes glistened. “Who knows better about etiquette and deportment than a marquess’s daughter? She can teach us how to behave.”
“Baron,” interjected Arabella weakly, but no one listened.
“I said it’s not happening and that is final.” Philip raked his fingers through his hair. “Marquess’s daughter. Bah. Besides, as I keep saying over and over again, I want my children to learn so much more than the superficial arts.”
Arabella sat up even straighter. His words pricked her pride. “I am very well capable of teaching the sciences, arithmetic, history, Latin, French, Italian, German, music, drawing and sewing, and, if necessary, dance.”
Katy clapped her hands. “Dance, Papa! Then we could finally go to the village balls and actually join in the dances and not always stand around by the buffet.”
He looked pained. “It’s not only the inappropriateness of class. The thing is really,” he swallowed, looked away and then looked frankly into Arabella’s face. “The thing is that we currently haven’t a feather to fly with.” He shrugged. “I can barely afford to pay our housemaid, and she comes only every third day. How the deuce am I to afford a governess who teaches dance on top of everything else?” He waved his hand dismissively.
His talk about money was vulgar. But then, everything about the man was impossible. Philip Merivale was in a category all his own, without any sense of propriety or etiquette. Arabella’s mind worked fast. Did she want to work for someone like that? She could leave now and be stranded on the road with nowhere to go. However, she wasn’t penniless. She’d had the foresight to bring along sufficient funds to support herself for several months.
She decided to compromise. “Most families need to hire dancing and drawing masters in addition to the governess. With me, you get everything in one.”
