“I’ll fill a bucket for you right away,” Maggie replied. Placing the basket of beans she held in her lap on the floor, Maggie struggled awkwardly to rise from her low chair.
“No, no, I can get it myself,” Isabella insisted, rushing forward before the maid could gain her feet. Lately, it pained Isabella greatly to watch Maggie. The young women’s body was so large and distended from her pregnancy that she appeared to be in a continual state of discomfort. It should only be a matter of days before Maggie’s baby was born, and Isabella prayed fervently every night that it would be a swift and uncomplicated birth.
“Don’t know why you’d be needing hot water in the middle of the afternoon,” Mrs. Amberly grumbled as she stirred a black pot simmering on the stove.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Amberly,” Isabella said sweetly. She pointedly ignored the housekeeper’s comment, not wanting to ignite Mrs. Amberly’s barely concealed hostility. The housekeeper’s attitude towards the new governess had not changed. She greatly resented Isabella’s influence over the children and was not averse to showing it.
“The earl will be home for tea this afternoon,” Isabella announced. She gave Maggie a stern look. “You must promise me you will have Molly or Fran bring in the tea tray, Maggie. And if for some reason they are unavailable, don’t hesitate to call me. I don’t want you lugging a heavy tray up all those stairs.”
“All right, Miss Browning,” Maggie replied shyly, her cheeks blushing pink with pleasure at Isabella’s concern.
Isabella could hear Mrs. Amberly’s grumbling objections as she left the kitchen, but she paid them no heed. Arms straining with the heavy bucket of hot water she carried, Isabella carefully climbed the staircase, heading directly towards the children’s room.
Isabella helped Catherine and Ian change out of their soiled garments and wash the dirt off their hands and faces. Freshly scrubbed and neatly dressed, the children were eager to race to the drawing room to await their father. Isabella restrained them.
“I expect both of you to behave in a suitable manner this afternoon. There will be no arguing, no shouting, no teasing, no physical roughness.” Isabella paused dramatically for effect. “In short, there will be no unpleasantness of any kind. Is that clearly understood?”
A telling look passed between Catherine and Ian. They regarded their governess with somber, innocent eyes, but Isabella was not fooled. Catherine and Ian could behave with total restraint and decorum when the mood suited them, but a few minutes in the company of their imposing father could reduce them to unbridled hellions. Sternly, Isabella made her final proclamation.
“I give you fair warning, children. The moment you begin bickering, I shall make you stand in the corner of the drawing room, with your noses touching the wall, until the hall clock strikes the hour.”
Isabella waited several moments for her dire threats of punishment to sink in before dismissing the children. Then she hurried across the hall to her bedchamber. She fretted for several moments over her appearance, sighing with regret as she looked into the wardrobe. No magical occurrence during the night had produced any fashionable and flattering gowns. Only the same dull, serviceable garments awaited her. Vainly she wished for something soft and gossamer to wear, something that would ignite the flame of passion she occasionally glimpsed in Damien’s eyes.
Blushing at her wayward thoughts, Isabella concentrated on washing the dirt from her face. She brushed her long hair slowly, savoring the comforting feeling of the soothing strokes. Her thoughts, as always, drifted again to the earl. Damien. Always Damien.
Isabella had been obsessing over it for days, but now it no longer seemed important to determine when she realized the true extent of her feelings for the handsome, arrogant earl. Perhaps she had fallen in love with him as she observed his dark head bent solicitously toward his children as he patiently listened to them recount the events of their day. Or maybe it occurred when she saw him lift a heavy tray of soiled dishes for the very pregnant Maggie while the maid blushed with gratitude and shyness.
Actually, Isabella suspected that she opened her heart to Damien the morning he appeared on the church steps to accompany her to services. He was nervous that day, but he put aside his own misgivings for her.
In truth, it didn’t matter when she began to love the earl, the fact was that she did. And it caused a combination of joy and pain within her heart the likes of which she had never known before. For Isabella knew she lacked the courage and self-confidence to ever reveal her feelings to Damien, and she never dared to hope he would somehow, miraculously, reciprocate her devotion.
Determinedly, she shook off her melancholy thoughts and deftly secured her hair in a tight coil. She knew she had no cause for complaint. All in all, she was living a satisfactory life. The earl and his unconventional household fully accepted her and she was allowed a freedom of expression she had always sought, but never attained.
Casting one last look at the mirror, Isabella turned and headed downstairs, her heart beating in familiar excitement at the thought of spending a pleasant afternoon in the earl’s company.
Chapter Twelve
“What do you mean, you can’t stay for tea?”
Isabella stood in the entrance hall, hands propped on her hips, and fairly shouted the words at Damien as he began the long climb up the staircase.
He paused suddenly in midstride and looked down on her, an expression of true exasperation marring his handsome features.
“I do believe my statement is very plain, Isabella.” There was an audible note of anger in the tone of his voice, but Isabella unwisely decided to ignore it. Lifting her skirts in an undignified manner, she raced up the stairs after the earl, stopping one rung below him.
“Catherine and Ian are at this very moment waiting for you to join them in the drawing room,” Isabella said in a brittle voice. “You cannot possible disappoint them.”
“I have no choice,” he said with a grim twist of his mouth. Taking full advantage of his superior height, Damien deliberately loomed over her. His steely gray eyes were glinting strangely. “Send my regrets to the children and inform them I shall attempt to speak with them before they go to bed this evening.” Casting Isabella a final dismissive glare, the earl turned away.
She stared at the broad expanse of his retreating shoulders for several moments. Stamping her foot in frustration, Isabella cursed loudly. How dare he act this way? The children had been looking forward to this all week. Damien had already canceled an outing two days ago. Now he was intending to do so again. Isabella decided she could not simply let it pass.
Cloaked in righteous indignation, she chased after the earl, her temper rising with each step. She reached him just as he entered his bedchamber.
“You have made a promise to your children, sir,” she said bluntly. “And I have every intention of making certain you keep your—Good lord, whatever are you doing?”
Amusement momentarily replaced the anger in the earl’s eyes. “I am changing my shirt,” Damien retorted, shrugging out of the unbuttoned garment and deliberately flinging it toward the corner of the room. “It is wet and ripped.”
“Oh.” Isabella sputtered with embarrassment, suddenly realizing she had unwittingly invaded the earl’s private chamber. She deliberately averted her eyes, but the glorious sight of Damien’s naked chest still burned in her memory. Her cheeks blushed pink and her breast rose and fell with her rapid breathing, yet Isabella stood her ground. She instinctively knew Damien expected her to turn and flee in maidenly horror, but she refused to cower.
