Free Carola Dunn by The Improper Governess Page A

were vastly more healthful for growing lads than the grim, grimy streets of Lambeth.
    Lissa prayed Lady Orton would offer her the position. For her brothers’ sake, she was prepared to endure Lord Ashe’s attempts on her virtue--if any. This morning his demeanour was thoroughly gentlemanly and unexceptionable.
    Perhaps she had grown too thin and wan to attract him. The thought ought to have come as pure relief, but she could not deny a shade of chagrin.
    He ushered her into the house with the merest touch on her elbow. Her shiver was surely due to coming in out of the sun into the vestibule, floored with coldly gleaming green-veined marble, lit by a domed skylight far above. She pulled her shawl more closely about her as a haughty, black-clad butler approached from the nether regions.
    “Her ladyship is in the front parlour, my lord. Her ladyship desires your lordship’s presence while she interviews Miss Findlay.” With a stiffly regal nod he acknowledged Lissa’s presence.
    “Thank you, Halsey. Bring tea and biscuits to the parlour, if you please.”
    A flash of startlement crossed the butler’s broad, impassive face. Supplying refreshments to an applicant for a post in the household was obviously unheard of. “Very good, my lord,” he said woodenly.
    “I brought Miss Findlay away before her breakfast,” Lord Ashe condescended to explain, mendaciously, “and mine was much interrupted, you may recall.”
    “Indeed, my lord.”
    “The boys are in the schoolroom?”
    “So I believe, my lord.”
    “Excellent. Come, Miss Findlay.”
    Lissa was far too nervous to note the furnishings of the parlour, though she received an impression of elegance combined with comfort. She could not suppress a gasp of surprise as a very pretty girl turned from the window and came towards them. Capless, dressed in emerald green in the height of fashion, with the new, wider skirts and a profusion of bows and rouleaux, Lord Ashe’s sister looked scarcely twenty.
    “I thought...From what the boys said, I thought Lord Orton was near Peter’s age.”
    “He is. Daphne, may I present Miss Findlay? She finds it impossible to believe you are old enough to be Colin’s mama.”
    Lissa lowered her gaze and curtsied, flushing. A personal remark was impertinent, however flattering, and hardly likely to endear her to Lady Orton. Besides, a peek showed that her ladyship, close to, was clearly at least in her mid twenties, so she would take it as insincere flattery.
    But Lady Orton smiled complacently. “You are too kind, Miss Findlay,” she said in a soft, sweet voice. “I was certain worry over Colin must have given me a dozen grey hairs by now. But gracious! you do not look at all like an actress, such a poor little dab of a thing. Are you old enough to be a governess? Do you think Colin will mind you?”
    Sustaining with fortitude the blow to her already minimal vanity, Lissa told her, “I am nineteen, my lady. As for how Lord Orton and I shall deal together, I can but try.”
    “You will not be over strict with him? Colin’s health is not robust, I fear.”
    “I believe strictness should be tempered with kindness,” Lissa said with more emphasis than she had intended.
    “Oh yes, what Colin needs is kindness and attention.”
    “And companions his own age,” put in Lord Ashe firmly.
    “Yes, indeed. I have met your brothers, Miss Findlay. They seem amazingly well-bred.”
    Lissa felt her cheeks redden again. “You see us in reduced circumstances, ma’am. My brothers are of...respectable birth.”
    “And you also, I can tell.” Lady Orton seemed to have dismissed the unfortunate, not to say disgraceful, connection with the stage. “I trust you are able to start immediately? Poor Colin so hates waiting about in the shops, and I simply must go out to buy a bonnet to match this dress. I shall have to wear that old thing this morning.” She waved at a chair where reposed a charming Leghorn hat with three white ostrich