Rules of Engagement Read online

  Hannah barely restrained her gasp. Pamela did not, and Lord Kerrich heard it, Hannah was sure. He didn’t turn, only smiled. “You see? Even our clandestine listener believes it a great amount and worth the effort.”

  He was correct. Pamela danced with impatience, silently demanding that Hannah accept for her. But Hannah had to object. “My lord, you mentioned the queen. I cannot in conscience take part in deceiving our sovereign!”

  He glared. “I’m not going to harm her, I’m going to help our monarch—as I have done all these years. It’s for her own good.”

  Somehow, Hannah believed that. This man, with his cold eyes and proud face, had an honor of his own. It wasn’t an easy honor, or a humane honor, but he carried it as part of the fabric of his being. In a lower voice, she said, “But your plan is so heartless.”

  He reared back in his chair, his dark, perfectly formed eyebrows raised in astonishment. “Heartless? Why heartless?”

  “Unless you plan on adopting the child.”

  “That’s going a little far.”

  “So you’re going to lie and tell him he’s to be adopted, then renege?”

  “I see no choice. A child can’t be trusted with the details of my plan.” Placing his cane firmly on the floor, he placed both his hands atop the ivory knob that formed the handle. “Miss Setterington, he’ll have every advantage while he lives with me, and he’ll be out of the orphanage for a time, at least. You cannot say this is a bad thing.”

  Hannah agreed. She had been a lady’s companion not so long ago, and the lady had been a compassionate woman. Hannah had had occasion to visit a few orphanages to deliver clothing and food, and they were uniformly dreadful places. “But afterward, to be forced to go back…”

  Waving a long, gloved hand, Lord Kerrich agreed. “You do have a point, and a good one. I’m a compassionate man.”

  Obviously, he was not, and just as obviously he was oblivious to the fact.

  He continued, “I concede you are correct. I’ll help the youngster learn a trade and find a place for him in my household. It will be the least I can do.” He leveled a stern glance at Hannah. “But first he must help me win the queen’s favor. Now—as to my requirements.”

  “For the orphan?”

  “No. One orphan’s much the same as another, I suspect. My requirements for the governess.”

  He might be the handsomest man Hannah had ever met, but he made her head whirl with his assumptions, his requisites and his loathsome ruthlessness. To deal with him was to deal with the devil, yet he bore an air of implacability that convinced her that open defiance would have unpleasant repercussions. Yes, she was familiar with lords who imagined themselves so superior they could do as they wished regardless of the unhappiness they caused, and yes, she knew well that unless she employed tact, she and the Distinguished Academy of Governesses would be much the worse for it.

  “Do you wish to interview our selection of governesses?” she asked.

  “I will tell you what I need and you will get it for me.”

  She was relieved, for their current selection included only her and Pamela. “What do you need?”

  “A plain woman, one not given to fantasizing, one with her feet firmly planted on the ground. An older woman.” His full mouth compressed into a thin line. “An older woman who has left all hope of marriage, or even romance, behind.”

  I don’t know of a governess like that. Hannah wanted to cut him down to size so badly! But Pamela now waved her hands emphatically, demanding the job as if she weren’t the feminine counterpart of the handsome Lord Kerrich. Had she gone mad?

  When Hannah hesitated, his teeth clamped together. “Come, Miss Setterington, you know the reason. I am sick of being the object of lovelorn sighs. I have to put up with it in my own household—one needs scullery maids, the housekeeper assures me. But if I must spend time with a governess, and I will have to, then I want to be assured she will not be making cow eyes at me or, God forbid, sneaking into my bedchamber and peeling down to nothing. Which just happened with the senior upstairs maid who one would think knew better.”

  “One would think so.” Hannah might have been tempted to laugh, but he was so sincere—and so conceited.

  Actually, if not for his demand that the governess be plain, Pamela was the perfect candidate. She had little use for men. In fact, she could have wed many a time, but always she had refused, and haughtily, too.

  But she liked children, and they liked her. Why she was willing to be part of a scheme that must end in a child’s heartache, Hannah didn’t understand. Rising, she cut the interview short. “I will see if I can find a governess to fill your needs, my lord, but I make no promises.”

  He rose also, and smiled at her with such charm she almost staggered under the influence. And she didn’t even like him!

  “Try,” he suggested. “I’m not in the position to help you gain respectability—quite the opposite, I’m afraid. But the money will help buy you time until you have established credibility on your own. Which”—he cocked his head and examined her from head to toe—“you will do. You have the air of someone who succeeds at whatever she sets her hand at.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Would that that had always been true. “I will inform you of my progress soon.”

  “By next Tuesday,” he said. That gave her a week. “I’ll expect a governess to present herself on my doorstep.”

  She nodded. He strode out the door. Pamela had faded into the shadows of the entry to avoid meeting him, and as he left he looked neither left nor right.

  Hannah stood behind the desk, and Pamela stood behind the stairway until Cusheon had closed the front door on Lord Kerrich.

  Then they paced forward, meeting in the entry like armed adversaries.

  “What do you mean by telling him you made no promises?” Pamela asked. “I’ll do it!”

  “Your love of money will get you in trouble yet, Pam! You can’t mean to go through with his scheme. Lord Kerrich proposes a despicable plot to convince Her Majesty of his decency when he obviously has none.”

  “In my youth…I had occasion to make Her Majesty’s acquaintance.”

  Hannah gaped. Hannah knew Pamela’s parents had been wealthy and well connected, but never, never had Pamela revealed how far she had fallen when the tragedy had overtaken her.

  Pamela continued softly, “Her Majesty was then and I’m sure is now a person of much good judgment—obviously, if she is threatening Lord Kerrich in some manner. And she is surrounded by every wise adviser—Lord Melbourne and now Prince Albert. I think we can trust she will be protected from his machinations.”

  Hannah couldn’t believe Pamela had kept so much of her background hidden, or that she clearly meant to stop now, after revealing such a tantalizing hint of former glory. “Do you know Lord Kerrich, then?”

  Pamela had a gray cast to her skin that dulled her normally bright blue eyes, and her brief laugh contained a tinge of hysteria. “Long ago we met briefly. He won’t remember.”

  “But—”

  “He is far too important to recognize me.” Pamela lowered her head as if the weight of her memories were too much to carry. “I had a different name then.”

  Pamela chose to go by her mother’s family name, rather than her father’s. Hannah didn’t blame her, but she was expecting too much if she thought Hannah wouldn’t be curious. “Please, tell me—”

  “Don’t press me.”

  Hannah heard the note of finality, and subdued the innumerable questions that clamored to be asked. “As you wish. But even if you are safe from identification, surely you also must think of the child. He will be hurt, no matter what Lord I’m-so-handsome says.”

  “I’ll protect the child.”

  “You love children!”

  Pamela turned on her in a fury. “I said, I’ll protect the child!”

  Hannah stepped back in astonishment.

  Pamela’s fury faded quickly, leaving her shivering in great convulsions. “We need t
he money.”

  “Come to the fire, dear.” But Pamela didn’t move, and Hannah insisted, “We are not so desperate as that!”

  “Yes, we are,” Pamela said in gritty perturbation.

  Taking her shoulders, Hannah asked, “What’s wrong?”

  Pamela jerked herself free and trudged into the study, discarding her drooping bonnet onto the floor.

  Hannah followed, picking up the hat, shocked that her normally tidy friend could be so careless. “Pamela?”

  Pamela ran her hands through her hair, pulling off the white net and quite a few pins in the process.

  Hannah winced. That must have hurt, but Pamela didn’t seem to notice. She just stood before the fire and held her hands to it even though she still wore her soaked kid gloves. Something had happened. Something hideous. But Pamela seldom told her troubles.

  Asking would get Hannah nowhere, so she tried guile. “How can you pass as a plain older woman?”

  Pamela raised her gaze from her now-steaming gloves. “When Lady Temperly expired and willed you this house, she left her clothing, did she not? I will wear it.”

  “Lady Temperly was tall! She topped you by two inches, and she had a pronounced dowager’s hump.”

  “Yes. That will do.” Pamela stripped off the gloves and tossed them on the settle. “I’ll wear some pale powder and glaring rouge, just as the older women do. I’ll pass. I have to.”

  “And what about those families who have previously employed you? What will they say when they see you so disguised?”

  “I’m a governess, not a social butterfly. As always, I’ll remain in the background, and in any case, I’ve always worked outside of London. The chance of seeing someone who will recognize me is slim.”

  “Pamela, what’s wrong?”

  Pamela rubbed the place between her eyes as if in pain. “Do you remember when Charlotte, you and I were all desperate for employment, and we decided to try and make a go of the Distinguished Academy of Governesses? How we hoped we could help others find appropriate places of employment and make our fortune at the same time?”

  “Yes, of course I do.” Desperation had led Hannah to propose the plan. Desperation and ambition, for if the three friends didn’t discover some way to make a living not dependent on the whims of the ton, they would never have control over their fates.

  Pamela, even more than the other two, wanted the Distinguished Academy of Governesses to be a success, and she had worked like a madwoman to obtain temporary positions so Hannah could find suitable candidates and begin the teaching process.

  “This school is my only chance to end my life in some kind of prosperity,” Pamela said. “I won’t give up on my dream now. Our dream.”

  Hannah realized what the problem must be. “It’s been too much for you, hasn’t it? You’ve been working too hard, going from house to house teaching those dreadful children. You’ll take anything to avoid doing it any longer, but I told you, Pamela, I would be glad to—”

  “No!” Pamela took a deep breath, then grasped Hannah’s hand. Taking her fingers, Pamela carried them to a place on the left side of her back. “Here.”

  Hannah found a tear in the soggy woolen gown. A tear that went deep, past Pamela’s corset. “What…?” Pulling her fingers away, she stared at the spot of crimson that stained one finger. “Pamela?”

  “It happened on the way home.”

  “Cusheon!” Hannah shouted, then took Pamela’s arm. “You must sit down. You’re hurt.”

  “I’m not, really. It’s just a pinprick.” But Pamela allowed Hannah to lead her to the chair. “I gave in as soon as the point touched my flesh.”

  Cusheon arrived at a run. “Madams?” Seeing Pamela’s pale face, he shouted for the housekeeper.

  Mrs. Knatchbull bustled in with the two older trainees in her wake.

  “We need bandages,” Cusheon commanded. “And hot water. At once.”

  “I was robbed. I lost all the money for the last month.” Pamela’s firm chin quavered. “Unless I take this position, we are ruined.”

  Chapter 3

  His butler announced her with an air of gravity befitting a woman of her age and situation. “Lord Kerrich, Miss Pamela Lockhart from the Distinguished Academy of Governesses is here.”

  Kerrich looked up from the accounts spread before him to stare critically at the lady making her way into his large, book-lined study. A fire burned in the grate, candles flickered in candelabras placed throughout the room, the heavy velvet curtains were open over the tall windows to let in whatever light there was, but the gray and cloudy day made it difficult to observe all the particulars of her appearance. Yet the scent of lavender preceded her as she walked briskly toward him. Then the candlelit circle of light around his heavily carved mahogany desk embraced her, and for the first time in a fortnight his heart lifted. There was no mistaking it—Miss Setterington had indeed produced a governess who fit his needs. Dour, unattractive, yet not so old she would scare the child.

  And Miss Setterington had produced this miracle one day earlier than his deadline. He never doubted the power of money.

  Rising, he bowed. “Miss Lockhart.”

  She curtsied, then examined him quite as if he were a recalcitrant pupil and she his instructor.

  Lifting his monocle, he returned the favor. She bore a worn, hideous, flowered carpetbag of mammoth proportions, large enough that the handle dangled off her wrist and the bottom bumped at her knee. She carried a black umbrella with a primitively carved wooden handle. Her ill-fitting purple dowager gown hung about her shoulders and showed damp spots from the monotonous rain, yet she sported a generous bosom and neat waist.

  Ah, but he was well acquainted with the corset tricks women used to conceal figure defects and enhance deficiencies. Undoubtedly, Miss Lockhart was acquainted with them, too.

  She wore tinted spectacles, he noted, a sign of weak eyes and excessive learning. Her complexion was bloodless and her lips pale. Her brown hair was pulled back so tightly from her face that any sagging around the chin and neck had been reduced—another feminine trick, and one that would scarcely fool a connoisseur such as himself. A tangled, spidery thin net of gray lace covered her hair, and she sported an absurd decoration that looked like nothing so much as two knitting needles stuck in right angles through the knot at the base of her neck.

  He dropped his monocle and seated himself. “Perhaps you’ll do,” he said.

  She nodded and without waiting for an invitation, seated herself in the old-fashioned Hepplewhite chair before his desk. The style fit her. “I was going to say the same for you.”

  He scarcely refrained from laughing out loud. She reminded him of his grandfather, a gentleman who had been unwilling, by God, to take insolence from one so undeserving as a mere thirty-year-old grandson.

  His amusement evaporated. Because of his grandfather he was doing this. Because of his grandfather and the bank and the family name, which must not suffer for his cousin’s weakness and…and which did not deserve to be made a laughingstock. His fists clenched at the thought of that laughter. “You have brought references.”

  “Of course.” Plunging her hand into the capacious carpetbag, she brought forth three closely written sheets and handed them across the organized piles of paper on his desktop. “I have nine years’ experience with children, and as you see, I’ve worked for quite exemplary families in various counties around London. Lady Byers, especially, was pleased with the results of my instruction. Her daughter was quite wild when I came into the household, and when I left she was desolated.”

  He looked the letters over cursorily. They were from good, solid country families, mostly in the southern counties. All claimed that Miss Lockhart taught children with extraordinary skill. He didn’t care. He only cared that she fulfilled his requirements. “I assume Miss Setterington has conveyed my needs.”

  “Yes.” Miss Lockhart placed the carpetbag at her feet. “I am to buy you an orphan and train it as your companion.”
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br />   Hm. Put like that, it didn’t sound so dreadful.

  “So you may win some”—she looked around his lavishly appointed library—“wager, or some such, which will bring you yet more lucre.”

  That sounded dreadful. Fiercely resentful of the implied rebuke, he rose to his feet.

  But she held up her hand. “Save your facile indignation, my lord. Unlike other women of my acquaintance, I understand that handsome young aristocrats, as well as hoary old merchants, can develop a taste for the acquisition of possessions. Indeed, I would call such an attribute part of the honored English way of life.” She smiled in a kind of pale imitation of humor. “Even ladies desire their share of the fortunes. For that same reason, indeed, am I here.”

  Still he stood and stared at this annoying woman. That damned Miss Setterington had managed, in her disapproval, to make his mission sound more palpable than this old maid in her approbation.

  “I can assure you, I will shield the child from any hurt,” Miss Lockhart said.

  “The child?” Why was she babbling about the child?

  “Yes. I assumed your momentary hesitation had to do with worry for the orphan. In fact, you look rather dyspeptic over the fate of the little dear.” Miss Lockhart blinked at him from behind her tinted glasses.

  Blinked at him, or winked at him?

  Her actions recalled him to his purpose. Lifting the candelabra from his desk, he strolled around the desk and shed its light full in her face.

  She looked down, her thin nostrils pinched in disdain—or perhaps in dismay. For Miss Lockhart was not as old as he’d first assumed—not that he could depend on age to protect him from unwelcome advances. His initial impression of Miss Lockhart’s governess-sternness faded, leaving him to think her merely an unattractive female, firmly on the shelf and, perhaps, desperate to jump off and into any available masculine arms.

  More specifically, into his arms.

  A simple test would prove him wrong…or reluctantly right. Coldly he moved to secure his own peace of mind. Looming over her, he displayed the kind of virile confidence women seemed to find utterly appealing, and waited for her to look up.