Page 4 of Aurelia

“You did not raise this objection when we hired a governess.”

Arthur’s mouth dropped open and for a moment he looked like a stymied carp. “No,” he finally admitted. “But that is…different.”

“Why?”

“Because the position of governess is an accepted one for a spinster. But painting—especially scientific illustration—is rightfully a male purview. Why, just imagine some of the specimens she might be called upon to examine?” Arthur’s cheeks pinkened and he leaned toward Roland. “She will have seen, erm, the private parts of animals.” His eyebrows threatened to launch off his forehead as he hissed, “She might even have studied human anatomy, Crewe!”

Roland laughed.

“Oh, you would find that amusing,” Arthur said in disgust. “But the mere fact that a female would presume to engage in such an activity shows a lamentable independence that is unbecoming in a woman.” He paused, took a deep breath, and then said, “Not to mention that having an unmarried woman in a bachelor household adds unwanted complications.”

It amused Roland how careful Arthur was to tiptoe around the subject of women who displayed lamentable independence. Roland’s deceased wife, Jane, had epitomized lamentable independence. At least to Arthur.

Roland had always enjoyed his wife’s ability to hold her own in the male-dominated field of botany. And he had also respected the fact that she had insisted on accompanying him on all his expeditions, no matter how dangerous.

Jane hadn’t just been a damned fine botanist, she had also been one of the most beautiful, overtly sexual, women Roland had ever met. Needless to say, Jane and Arthur had hated each other at first sight.

Roland had to admit that Arthur had a point when he mentioned women causing unwanted complications among a group that otherwise consisted of men.

If Jane had been meek and mild, her appearance might not have been a problem. But she’d had a fierce temperament to go along with her exceptional beauty. And she had also brimmed with mischief. Indeed, Jane had adored the sexual tension her presence had created on Roland’s expeditions and had enjoyed exacerbating it, bedding more than a few men, behavior which had nearly driven Arthur mad on the one journey he had made with them—Jane’s last, as it happened.

It had been Jane’s infidelity that had probably led—at least indirectly—to her death on their trip to Las Floridas. If she hadn’t been fucking one of the luggage bearers that night, she might have had a chance to shoot the panther that had killed both her and her lover.

When Roland had tried to save his wife, the cat had turned on him, leaving him blind in one eye, hideously scarred, and without the full use of his dominant arm.

He didn’t care about his appearance. Indeed, it was just as well that match-making mamas and their daughters found his scarred, one-eyed face hideous. But he missed his glorious bitch of a wife a great deal. Roland had never loved Jane—nor she, him—but she had been his closest friend and confidant for years.

It had not been a perfect marriage, or even a very good one, but then Roland was the sort of man who should never have married in the first place. He certainly had no intention of ever doing so again. Not when his first wife had run off with her lover and his second had died with another man in her bed. Or tent, rather.

Roland did not blame either woman. He had neglected poor Rebecca, his first wife, in favor of his studies, and he had argued and fought nonstop with Jane. The only times he and Jane had not argued had been when they’d been working or engaging in vigorous bouts of post-argument coitus.

Marriage just was not right for him—and it had been hell on his wives—and he’d made a terrible husband.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, his subdued voice breaking into Roland’s thoughts. “I didn’t mean to remind you of Jane. I know you—”

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Roland said, despising the soft, pitying look his cousin got in his eyes whenever anyone mentioned his dead wife. “However, I fail to see a correlation between my dead wife and the artist I’ve engaged. A woman on an expedition with fifty men is one thing. A woman on an island where at least half the population is female, is another matter entirely.”

Arthur sighed. “Yes, I suppose that is true.”

Once again, Roland changed the subject. “Do you think you can persuade Miss Hatchet to stay longer than a month? Hatchet!” he snorted and shook his head. “What an unfortunate name. Especially when she looks rather like one, and possesses a personality to match.”

“That is unkind, Crewe.” Arthur gave him a chastising look, reminding Roland that it had been Arthur who’d hired Miss Hatchet and he frequently sang the woman’s praises.

“Yes, you are right—it was not a nice thing to say,” he agreed. “So, do you think you might convince her to stay?”

Arthur chewed his lip, the action making him look like a pensive angel. All he lacked was wings and a harp to complete the picture. “I might be able to prevail upon her if Celsa can behave for—”

“So the answer is no in other words.”

Arthur sighed. “Probably not. Especially as Celsa seems to have taken a particular dislike to the poor woman for some inexplicable reason.”

Disliking the prudish, sanctimonious governess was a subject Roland and his daughter were of one mind about.

But just because he didn’t like Miss Hatchet didn’t mean he condoned tormenting her. Celsa needed to learn that being cruel to people who could not fight back—like one’s employees—was unacceptable.

“Would you like me to begin searching for a new governess?” Arthur asked.

Roland was beginning to wonder if the governesses themselves might bear some responsibility for the difficulties with Celsa. He had allowed his cousin to manage the hiring of the women and they had, to a one, been rigid, humorless, and self-righteous. At first, Roland had assumed that was the nature of governesses—creatures he’d heretofore known nothing about—but now he suspected the women reflected Arthur’s own beliefs.