Page 24 of A Stranger’s Promise

Chapter Seven

Charlotte groaned, wanting to melt right through the floor. She’d hoped it was just a dream. But after seeing the amusement in those emerald eyes, she knew it hadn’t been a dream at all. She had, indeed, asked Lord Cassilis if she could call him by name and she’d told him he was handsome. She quickened her pace toward the nursery, her cheeks burning. She would never drink highland whisky again. She would have to hide from him, at least a month or more—maybe forever. Devil take it, and more besides. What had come over her?

What of the way he’d looked at her in the library? Her breath caught at the recollection of that ravenously sensual expression. If he ever unleashed the full force of that charm, she would fall in the blink of an eye. Her heart thudded. Heavens, why did such a possibility excite her? Where was her shame?

Shaking off her thoughts, she opened the nursery door. Meg’s rocking chair stood empty before the fire, but she could hear the muffled sounds of her voice, along with Jane’s giggles, coming from behind the little girl’s bedroom door. Oliver was nowhere to be seen. She hurried to his bedroom door, paused, then peered through the crack. The boy stood by the window, hugging the Latin grammar to his thin chest. He looked so lost, so sad, that the reprimand died on her lips.

Charlotte eased the door open. “Oliver?”

He jerked and his eyes shuttered at once. Jutting out his chin, he met her gaze and the all-too-familiar stubbornness ran rampant over his face.

So, he still wanted to hide his pain behind anger. She pointed over her shoulder at the table in the nursery. “You’ve a chapter to copy, do you not, young master? You’d best hurry.”

“I don’t know any letters,” he half snarled, even as he clutched the book tighter.

“I didn’t think you did,” she replied in a matter-of-fact way. She clapped her hands and pointed to the table again. “But that doesn’t stop you from making your best effort. I will find quill and paper, and you will spend the day copy what you can. You must show something to your father before supper, do you not agree?”

He hesitated, then nodded. Once.

Charlotte turned away, unable to halt a grin. So, the little devil wanted to impress his father. It was a great start. If she managed to make him sit for an hour and scratch out three letters, she would consider the day a success.

He emerged from the bedroom and went to the table as she rummaged in the nearby cupboard for writing supplies. The first shelf revealed several books, including one titled The Fine Art of Deportment. She flipped through the pages, then set it aside to read later. In short order, she located a small glass bottle of ink, a quill, and several sheets of paper. After Charlotte set the boy to work, she stepped back to dust her hands. A sudden sharp knock on the door startled them both.

“Eyes down, Oliver,” she ordered, then answered the door.

A young maid with reddish-brown curls peeked out from under her mob-cap fidgeted on the threshold. “Lady Cassilis wishes to see you, Miss.” She winced with a commiserating smile. “I am to take you there, at once.”

A shiver of dread danced down Charlotte’s spine. Clearing her throat, she replied, “Let me tell Meg.”

The maid nodded, then whispered, “Best hurry, Miss. Lady Cassilis’s not one to cross.”

From the little she’d seen of the woman, Charlotte agreed. She quickly informed Meg, then followed the maid through the castle, up and down stairs and across floors until she’d lost her sense of direction. All too soon, they entered Lady Cassilis’s room.

The room was large and finely furnished with a magnificent pink floral carpet, plush armchairs, and an elegantly inlaid Baroque-styled secretary desk. Sweeping, gold-velvet curtains covered the windows. Lady Cassilis’s sour expression appeared at odds with the cheerful fire before which she sat.

“My lady.” Charlotte curtsied.

The woman subjected her to a drawn-out inspection. Finally, she snapped her fan open and spoke. “It seems you must be taught your proper place in this house. You are a domestic, a servant, and nothing more. As such, you cannot indulge in unsuitable familiarity with your employer. Lord Cassilis is a man of rank. On my word, I’ve never seen such scandalous behavior in a governess. Never, in all my days.”

Charlotte’s heart began to pound. “Please, my lady, how have I offended?” She struggled to speak through suddenly numb lips.

“The impudence,” Lady Cassilis pressed on. “Do you think Lord Cassilis to be your personal footman? To carry you to your bed whenever you’re drunk out of your wits?”

Charlotte froze. He’d carried her to her bed? She had no recollection of that. She barely recalled snippets of their conversation in the library before awakening in her bed with a raging headache.

“Do you understand the importance of a room such as the Blue Drawing Room?” Lady Cassilis rapped her fan on the arm of her chair to capture Charlotte’s attention.

Charlotte jerked. The Blue Drawing Room? Alistair had taken Oliver there to show him his roots and the value of hard work, but she knew Lady Cassilis meant nothing of the sort. Quickly, she shook her head.

“It is a measure of society,” the woman said. “It is the line. It separates those who are born to sit in it and those who are born to clean it. Are you confused as to which side of that line you stand?”

Her remarks stung like a slap on the face. Charlotte swallowed. “Nae, my lady.”

“Then I will see you act in accordance with your rank.” Rising to her feet, she huffed. “We have guests arriving this very moment. I expect you to stand with the other domestics to greet them. Make yourself presentable and go at once.”

Charlotte fled.

The sympathetic mob-capped maid caught her arm at the door. “Quickly, Miss.” She dragged Charlotte to a nearby mirror. “They’ve already started the line downstairs. Here, I’ll help.”