His scrutiny ignited a blistering blush in Marian’s cheeks. For an instant, the children and all the other servants seemed to melt away, leaving her all alone with Captain Radcliffe.
Perhaps the captain felt it, too, for he gave his head a brisk shake, collecting himself from a moment of abstraction. “Very well. Report to the bridge at eight bells of the last dog watch. That is…the Chinese drawing room at eight o’clock.”
“Yes, sir.” Marian dropped a curtsy, wondering if he expected her to salute. “Now I will take the children back indoors before they catch a chill…with your permission, of course.”
“By all means, attend to your duties.” The captain looked as if he could hardly wait for Cissy and Dolly to be out of his sight.
Marian was only too eager to obey his curt order.
“Come along, girls.” She shepherded them into the house, resisting the perverse urge to glance back at him.
Neither of the children spoke until they were halfway up the broad spiral staircase.
“The captain doesn’t look much like Papa.” Dolly sounded disappointed.
“He isn’t anything like Papa!” Cissy muttered fiercely.
“I don’t think he likes us very much.” Dolly sighed.
“I’m certain the captain doesn’t dislike you, dear.” Marian strove to convince herself as much as the children. “He was…surprised to find you here, that’s all.”
As they slipped back into the comforting familiarity of the nursery, Dolly’s grip tightened with such sudden force that it made Marian wince. “The captain won’t send us away, will he?”
“Of course not!” Marian stooped to gather her beloved young pupils into a comforting embrace.
They had been through so much in the two short years since she’d come to be their governess—first losing their mother and infant brother, then their father. She had done all she could to make them feel secure and loved, to protect them from the kind of harsh childhood she’d endured.
To herself she vowed, That man won’t send you away if there is anything I can do to prevent it!
As he waited for the mantel clock to chime eight, Gideon Radcliffe paced the rounded bay end of the Chinese drawing room, peering out each of its tall, slender windows in turn.
Even in the misty dusk, they afforded a fine view down a gently sloping knoll to the lake, which wrapped around a small, green island. Gideon had pleasant memories of boating on that lake from long-ago visits to Knightley Park when his grandfather was master. At the time, he’d enjoyed an even better view from the room directly above this one—the nursery.
That thought reminded him of his cousin’s children. He would rather have been ambushed by the combined French and Spanish fleets than by those two small girls. They could not have been more alien to his experience if they’d been a pair of mermaids. He had no idea what they might need, except to sense that he was entirely unequipped to provide it.
More than ever he felt the urgent necessity to restore his reputation, regain his command and get back to sea. He was confident he possessed the skill, experience and temperament to serve his country well in that capacity. After all these years of service, it was the only life he knew. Losing it would be worse than losing a limb—it would be like losing his very identity.
“I beg your pardon, sir.” The soft lilt of a woman’s voice intruded upon Gideon’s most private thoughts. “You told me to report here at eight. Did you not hear me knock?”
“I…didn’t.” Gideon withdrew into himself, like a sea creature retreating into the shelter of its tough, rigid shell. “But do come in. I wanted to talk to you about the…children.”
“As did I, sir.” She approached with deliberate steps, halting some distance away, behind an ornate armchair.
During their first meeting, Gideon had been so taken aback by the sight of his young cousins that he’d paid little heed to their governess, beyond her hostile glare. No doubt she had read all the scurrilous gossip about him in the papers and judged him guilty of the false accusations against him. So much for his hope of finding a sanctuary at Knightley Park to escape public condemnation!
Now he forced himself to take stock of his potential adversary. Marian Murray was small and slender, her dark brown hair pinned back with strict severity. Only a single wisp had escaped to curl in a softening tendril over her left temple. With high cheekbones and a fresh complexion, her face might have been quite pleasant to look at if she ventured to smile occasionally. At the moment, her brown eyes were narrowed and her full lips compressed in an expression of barely concealed hostility, if not outright contempt.
Though Gideon told himself her opinion was not of the slightest consequence, he could not deny the sting. “Yes. Well…about the children. I hope the entail of the estate did not leave them unprovided for.”
If that were the case, he would take responsibility for their maintenance. It might ease the unreasonable guilt he felt for displacing them from their home.
“No, sir.” The governess seemed surprised by his question, as if she had not expected him to care. “The girls each have a comfortable little fortune from their mother.”
“I am relieved to hear it.” Gideon nodded his approval. “Pray who is their guardian and why have they been left alone here?”
Surely he would have been informed if Cousin Daniel had named him in that capacity. And surely Daniel would have known better than to entrust his young daughters to the care of a distant relation who was apt to be away at sea for years on end.
“The girls have not been alone,” Miss Murray corrected him. “They have had an entire household to care for them. Their mother’s younger sister, Lady Villiers, is their godmother. She is to be their guardian.”
“Capital!” Tension released its grip on his clenched muscles so swiftly Gideon feared he might crumple to the floor. “I mean to say…how fortunate…for the children. Will Lady Villiers be coming to fetch them soon or should they be sent to her?”
The look on Miss Murray’s face grew even grimmer. A passing thought pricked Gideon’s conscience. Was she too strict a person to have charge of two sensitive children? Perhaps he should suggest Lady Villiers hire a more amiable governess for his young cousins.
Captain Radcliffe didn’t like her. That much was evident to Marian. Not that she minded—quite the contrary. Besides, it set them even.
She resented his obvious eagerness to palm off responsibility for Cissy and Dolly on someone else, without asking or caring whether that person might be the least bit suitable. In Marian’s opinion, Lady Villiers was not.
“Her ladyship has been abroad since before Mr. Radcliffe’s death. The family’s solicitor has not been able to contact her. She was in Florence the last we heard, but she may have gone on to Paris.”
“It does seem to be a fashionable destination since Napoleon’s defeat.” Captain Radcliffe sounded disappointed that Lady Villiers would not be taking the girls off his hands immediately. “I know someone in France who might be able to get a message to her.”
