If anything further had been needed to drive home the necessity of standing alone, that had been it.
‘Miss Daventry?’
Horrified, she realised that his lordship was speaking to her and that she had been staring into space.
The bright eyes were focused on her, faintly frowning.
‘I beg your pardon, my lord. I was woolgathering.’
Heat pricked behind her eyes, but she kept her voice steady. He was still watching her, with eyes that peeled away too many defences.
‘I fancy Miss Daventry is very tired, Julian,’ said Lady Braybrook. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. Your room will be prepared by the time you have finished your supper and you may go to bed. We need not arrange anything tonight. Do have some chicken soup. And, Lissy, please pass the rolls to Miss Daventry.’
As she helped herself to the soup and accepted a roll, Christy wondered what sort of establishment she had landed in. A greater contrast with her previous live-in situation could not be imagined. A sense of dislocation niggled at her. Rather than treating the governess-companion as a lesser being, Lady Braybrook treated her as if she were a favoured guest. If she were not on her guard, she would forget her place. Never before had that been a problem. Never before had she imagined herself belonging. Not caught forever on the half- landing. She must remember that, all kindness aside, Lady Braybrook was her mistress.
And Lord Braybrook her master?
She gritted her teeth. She was a dependant. Not their equal. If she could not remember that, how could she convince Harry?
Christy spent the next morning unpacking, or rather she spent twenty minutes unpacking, and the rest considering how best to fit into the household. Lady Braybrook, she discovered, did not usually leave her bedchamber until late morning, when a footman carried her down to the drawing room. This was explained by Grigson, an unsmiling female whose fashionable clothes proclaimed her Lady Braybrook’s dresser, when she came to tell Christy that her ladyship awaited her in the drawing room.
Lady Braybrook was seated by a sunny window, the tabby cat enthroned on her lap. ‘Thank you, Grigson. That will be all. Good morning, Miss Daventry. You slept well? You look much better this morning. Braybrook mentioned that you were uncomfortable in the carriage.’
Christy curtsied. ‘Thank you, ma’am. I slept very well. His lordship should not have concerned himself.’
‘Hmm. Well, I am glad you are feeling better. Do come and sit down and we can discuss your duties. You really only have Davy and Emma. Matthew is home from school, so you need not worry about him. Lissy has her French and Italian conversation and her music to practise. And she should do some sketching. You are able to help her with those?’
‘Of course, ma’am.’
‘Excellent.’ Lady Braybrook beamed. ‘With Matt on holiday, Emma and Davy need not have many lessons. Emma must practise her music and Davy must continue his reading, French and a little arithmetic, but until Matthew goes back, there is little point in more. Davy would play you up dreadfully, I dare say!’
‘I assure you, he would not get away with it,’ said Christy. And mentally kicked herself. Adoring mamas did not commonly like to know their high-spirited darlings needed discipline.
‘Excellent,’ said Lady Braybrook. ‘From the way you gave Braybrook his own last night, I didn’t imagine you would have any difficulty with Davy.’
Christy blinked.
The cat rose, stretching, all elegant muscle and sinew. Lady Braybrook made no effort to hold it, and it leapt down, stalking towards Christy.
She eyed it sideways, wondering if her pet’s desertion would offend Lady Braybrook. Unblinking emerald eyes stared back.
‘Ma’am, if you do not dislike it, I have given some thought to my role here—’ She broke off as the cat sprang into her lap. Oh, drat! She could hardly tip the creature off and it had been so long since she had been able to have a cat.
Lady Braybrook smiled over her embroidery, as the needle continued to flash. ‘My dear Miss Daventry, why should I dislike it?’ A faint twinkle appeared in her eyes. ‘After all, you have had more time to become used to the idea than I!’
Christy blushed, and petted the cat, who had settled down purring.
Lady Braybrook laughed. ‘Oh, don’t feel embarrassed. Believe me, I know how autocratic Braybrook can be when he is arranging everything for one’s good. Maddening, is he not? Now, tell me: what were you thinking?’
‘Well,’ said Christy, ‘I noticed this morning that you did not come down until quite late and—’
She broke off at Lady Braybrook’s wry smile.
‘These silly legs,’ she explained. ‘I take my bath in the morning, and of course it does take a little time. Such a nuisance…’
‘Ma’am, I did not mean—’
Lady Braybrook chuckled. ‘Of course not. Tell me what you have in mind.’
‘I wondered if I taught the younger children in the morning, before you came down, if that would work?’
‘An excellent idea,’ said Lady Braybrook. ‘Then I shall steal you for the rest of the day. Although after lunch you might accompany Lissy and Emma for their walk.’
‘Naturally I would be happy to do so,’ said Christy, ‘but if I am to be your companion—’ The amused look on Lady Braybrook’s face stopped her.
‘You have other duties, Miss Daventry,’ pointed out Lady Braybrook.
Christy flushed. ‘Lord Braybrook explained, then?’
‘Braybrook,’ said her ladyship, not mincing words, ‘is the most devious and annoying man imaginable. I haven’t decided if he is disguising your true purpose from Lissy, by pretending that you are my companion, or disguising your true purpose from me, by pretending you are here to help open Lissy’s eyes!’
Christy found herself smiling. ‘He used both arguments with me. Perhaps I am merely a convenient stone to be hurled at two birds.’
Lady Braybrook’s lips twitched. ‘He’s not completely blind, Miss Daventry. I doubt he believes you to be made of stone.’
To this cryptic remark, Christy said nothing. There was something unsettling about the amusement in Lady Braybrook’s voice. The cat rolled in her lap, offering his belly, eyes closed to blissful slits as she obliged and kneaded.
‘Another thing, my dear. That striped creature is Tybalt—Tyb. He has an absolute genius for making up to people like Braybrook who loathe cats. If you dislike him, or he makes you sneeze, for heaven’s sake, tip him off.’
Again the sense of dislocation swept her. She felt not at all like a dependant. Lady Braybrook was doing everything in her power to make an outsider feel at home. She had even given her one of the best bedchambers.
‘Thank you, ma’am, but I love cats.’
Lady Braybrook
