Page 21 of The Storybook Hero
Octavia closedthe door of the drawing room and folded her hands primly behind her back.
Mrs. Renfrew looked up from her embroidery. “You seem to be handling the child without undue problems,” she said.
How the woman would have any notion of how things were progressing was beyond imagination, thought Octavia, since neither she nor her husband had laid eyes on their ward for the past two weeks. Why, Emma and her governess could have set out on a trek to Siberia for all the Renfrews might have noticed! Still, she kept a rein on her tongue and merely dipped her head in silent assent.
“We are well pleased with you, Miss Hadley,” continued the other woman. “I fear my nerves were quite tested by the child’s willfulness. I mean, one has to do one’s duty for family, but there is little thanks from the likes of her. I do hope you have no plans to … leave.”
“Not at all. I find the situation quite to my liking.”
Mrs. Renfrew seemed slightly perplexed by the answer. Her needle darted into the taut fabric, pulling the colored silk in a neat stitch. “My husband must travel to St. Petersburg for a conference with the minister there, and I plan to accompany him. We would like you to remain here with the child. I trust that presents no problems for you?”
“None at all, ma’am,” replied Octavia coolly, though she was sorely tempted to remind the woman that her relative’s name was Emma.
“Good.” There was a small sigh of relief. “Well, then, that settles matters.” The words were as good as a dismissal.
Octavia turned to leave.
“Oh, Miss Hadley, one more thing.” The needle made another pass. “Naturally, you are teaching the child the sorts of things she must know in order to make her way in Society? She is the daughter of a baronet, and must be able to make a decent match when the time comes.”
The new governess had been in the household for over a month and this was the first inquiry as to what was taking place in the schoolroom. Again, Octavia had to fight to remain civil. “Naturally,” she replied.
“Good—oh, dear!” Mrs. Renfrew’s brows drew together in dismay. “Goodness! I’ve put in the wrong color. I fear the design is ruined!”
It was the first sign of emotion Octavia had ever seen from the woman.
“Oh, dear,” repeated Mrs. Renfrew. She was so busy fretting over her spoiled handkerchief that she didn’t notice the look of contempt that came to her employee’s face. Octavia had to restrain the urge to go over and shake her until her teeth rattled. Instead, she took a deep breath and walked away.
Still fuming over the encounter, Octavia found herself muttering a number of unladylike words under her breath as she stalked down the hallway. It wasn’t until she was halfway up the stairs that she realized she had forgotten to ask about borrowing the atlas from Mr. Renfrew’s library. She paused, debating whether to return to the drawing room to make the request. Given her current mood, any further contact with her employer was not the wisest idea. Her patience, never great to begin with, was already stretched taut from the first meeting. It needing only the slightest tug to snap completely.
However, the door to the library had been left ajar, revealing that no one was there. It would only take a moment to fetch the volume.
The oversize book was easy to spot. Taking it under her arm, Octavia brushed past the large mahogany desk. In her haste to be gone, her sleeve caught one of the papers sitting on the blotter, knocking it to the carpet. She snatched it up, fully intending to place it back where it belonged, when her eyes fell on the first line of the elegant script.
The corners of her mouth tightened as she read on.Duty, indeed!Why, the Renfrews were being paid handsomely out of Emma’s trust to care for the child. Octavia did a bit of quick calculation. The young girl’s clothing was adequate but hardly extravagant. Even adding a more than a generous amount for food and shelter, as well as her own paltry salary, the couple was siphoning away a handsome profit for their so-called charity.
Quickly returning the letter to the top of the pile, she quit the room and made her way back to the stairs.Hypocrites, she raged, her heels beating an angry tattoo on the wooden treads. Dislike turned into loathing as she considered the callous indifference inflicted on young Emma by her guardians. Was there anything she could do, she wondered? Anyone to whom she could appeal? Would a letter to the solicitors administering the trust amount to anything? She paused. The word of an insignificant governess against that of a respectable government functionary? Not likely! Besides, it was not as if they were doing anything illegal, simply immoral.
It would take some thought, but she vowed she would find a way to make the girl’s situation less intolerable.
“You’ve seen this,I take it?” Thomas threw the newspaper down on the center of the table, a black look on his face.
William looked up from the chessboard. “Yes, I heard the news at White’s this afternoon. Unfortunately, it comes as no surprise that Boney has dealt the Russian army yet another resounding defeat. He appears to be moving ever closer to Moscow.”
“Is that all you can say?” exclaimed his brother. “Unfortunate? Unfortunate that Alex is alone in a strange country, facing not only cutthroat Russian relatives, but about to be engulfed in the general madness of war!”
Chittenden fingered one of the carved ivory pieces that had already been removed from the game. “It is unfair to ring a peal over William’s head,” he said. “If anyone is to be blamed, Thomas, it is me. I didn’t think Bonaparte would be able to advance so quickly against as canny a general as Kutusov.”
Thomas took a deep breath. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “I fear I’m feeling a bit overset at the moment.”
“And with good reason. We are all concerned for Alex. I’ve managed to send a letter along with the latest government dispatches to our St. Petersburg mission asking for whatever help they can provide in locating him?—”
Thomas let out an exasperated snort. “Oh, come, you know as well as I that they won’t be able to do a thing! Not with the whole damn French army advancing on Moscow.”
Chittenden sighed. “Nonetheless, it is the best we can do.”
His younger nephew stalked to the sideboard and poured himself a stiff brandy. “Perhaps not.”
William’s head snapped up. “What do you mean, Thomas?”
