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A knock came at the adjoining door and she dithered a moment with the flask in her hand.
“Miss Beaujeu? May I enter, please?”
Such manners she could not naysay from a new charge. “Of course.”
“I… Oh!” And Miss Cadogan dashed over. “That is beautiful.”
“Thank you. It belonged to my father and brings me comfort to have it near.”
Her forehead creased. “I have my papa’s gloves. Cousin Elen tried to throw them away, told me I was childish for keeping them. But I feel better when I see them. When I touch them, knowing his hands used to be snug within.”
“Then you must keep them.”
With a smile, Isabelle ambled over to inspect the drawers of the desk, found a key, placed her flask with reverence into the bottom drawer, locked it and returned her gaze to her charge.
Now washed and scrubbed, Miss Mari Cadogan was a most pretty young lady, and her moss-hued eyes aside, she favoured her dark-featured uncle. “Did your mother have those green eyes, ma petite?”
“No, my papa, who inherited them from Grandma. Do you know your accent has become more French?”
Zut.
When fatigued or emotional, all the years of mimicking precise English diction were for naught. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mari, as I am tired from my journey and quite sure that even the supposed wicked spectral scoundrel will not wake me tonight.”
To her disbelief, a rose-blush bloomed on Mari’s cheeks, her fingers fluttering. “Mrs Pugh means well.”
Frowning, Isabelle tidied away her carpet bag. “Your housekeeper is certainly…characterful. I hope to meet the rest of the servants in the next few days.”
“Most have been with the house for years…except Morgan. Our dear old butler retired, and Cousin Elen found this one.” Her nose scrunched. “Cousin Elen is in charge of everyone now.”
Isabelle merely smiled, having worked in households with Cousin Elen types before.
Keep one’s eyes demure, speak only when spoken to, look presentable at all times, and all would be well.
“Your uncle’s punishment, was it severe?”
Mari’s shoulders slumped.
The poor child.
“Awful. I…” She nibbled her lip. “I cannot begin to tell you the extreme pain and agony of it.”
“You can confide in me, ma petite. A smack? A ruler to the knuckles?”
“Worse.” She flopped into the delicate rosewood chair. “He’s forbidden me from riding for three days. That’s seventy-two whole hours. I’ll wither away in boredom. Probably lose the use of both my legs.”
Isabelle smothered a smile. Her charge was precocious, theatrical, disobedient and…vulnerable. She liked her very much and could not understand what all the fuss was about. The girl wasn’t odd or problematic, just grieving.
“Well, help me unpack my portmanteau of books and you can tell me where your last governess left off your studies?”
Mari smirked. “Chapter one, Miss Beaujeu.”
* * *
Isabelle broughtthe slim volume nearer the bedside candle. Truly, she ought to sleep, ready for her first day on the morrow.
But just one more verse…
Does my love dwell in her eyes?
