Page 21 of His One and Only Lady

Only two sconces burned in the shadowy corridor this time of night. Dozens of children’s portraits—some a century old—hung from ruby cords above the wainscotting.

All was quiet in the way old houses were on their upper stories.

Two floors below, revelers yet enjoyed themselves with cards, games, spirits, and flirtations. A few of the more daring had secreted off for illicit rendezvous, which seemed inevitable at even the most virtuous of hosts’ gatherings.

Last year, Aunt Melvelia had interrupted a couple frolicking on the rug before the fireplace in her private salon. She’d chased them half-clothed from the room, replaced the carpet, and scratched their names from her guest list.

“I cannot pretend ignorance of an offense I witness with my own eyes,” she’d confided to Theran. “Not only were they copulating in broad daylight—can you imagine such blasphemy?—but both were married. And not to each other, mind you.”

Aunt Melvelia had led a distinctly sheltered life, or perhaps her piety had protected her from the less savory aspects of society.

Theran wasn’t convinced either was beneficial for women.

As he ascended the last riser, he permitted his mind to replay the unpleasant scene with Athena in Aunt Melvelia’s salon. He’d had no doubt Miss Mayfield spoke the truth but had wanted to give Athena a chance to defend herself. It seemed fair, though what excuse she might conjure to justify her behavior, he couldn’t fathom.

However, her stunt about his aunt’s parlor being unoccupied not only established her deceptiveness, but it had also confirmed that it was grossly unwise to permit her any further care of Bernadine.

Still, he hadn’t anticipated Athena throwing herself at him and declaring her unrequited love. How she’d waited in the shadows for years for him to notice her.

Uncomfortable didn’t begin to describe his reaction to her protestations of devotion. He’d never thought of her other than as a sister—a cosseted, self-centered sister.

Athena had begged him to take her right there and then in his aunt’s private salon. Her wrath when Theran had not returned her avowals but instead had firmly told her to depart Mottford Hall made him cringe inwardly again.

God’s blood.

To think he’d entrusted his beloved daughter to the likes of Athena. Her conduct hinted at a mental imbalance. Once more, he kicked himself into next summer for being so blind.

When Theran had informed his aunt that he’d sent Athena on her way, Aunt Melvelia assured him plenty of extra maids had been retained for the party. He needn’t fret about his daughter’s care. Between the maids, his cousins who doted on Bernadine, and himself, they ought to manage for the duration of the house party.

Not an ideal arrangement, but it would suffice.

To Theran’s knowledge, there’d been no issues thus far. His aunt had kept him so engaged with activities he’d had little chance to see Bernadine except for first thing in the morning and when he bid her goodnight.

Meanwhile, he would need to pen a letter to his man of affairs and set about finding a qualified governess, post-haste.

At once, an image of Miss Mayfield popped to mind.

No. Not a lovely young governess with marine-green eyes and satiny skin. He’d had his fill of young, pretty nursemaids with agendas, thank you very much.

A plump, matronly woman with frown lines and spectacles would suit. Maybe even a wiry hair or three upon her chin for good measure. One who didn’t mind traveling because Theran was not leaving Bernadine again.

Where he went, his daughter went.

Yes, yes, such a person would do nicely indeed.

Decision made and feeling somewhat as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, he trod down the carpeted passageway until he reached the nursery. The door stood slightly ajar, and he toed it open.

Coals from a stoked fire sizzled in the hearth, and a turned-down oil lamp glowed atop the white and black marble mantel. Theran counted no less than eleven children fast asleep. A credit to their nursemaids and governesses, that.

Two more had arrived today, then.

An open door led to another chamber on the far wall where the nurses for the youngest children and the additional maids hired for the house party slept.

His aunt had informed him of those arrangements when he’d told her of his decision to dismiss Athena. Although, dismiss mightn’t be the correct term. Theran had never exactly hired her.

She’d simply shown up on the Atherley Hall’s doorstep one day, a carriage laden with trunks and luggage parked in the circular drive behind her. In typical Athena fashion, she’d announced she was there to act as Bernadine’s nurse and governess. He still didn’t know how she’d learned the prior nurse had married.

With Mottford Hall bursting to overflowing by week’s end, governesses and ladies’ companions shared the bedchambers lining the other side of the passageway—often four to a chamber.