The Education of Mrs. Brimley Read online

  And I will lie thee in a bed of roses

  And paint thee in a thousand poses

  Each will proclaim thy beauty and grace

  After each, we shall love and not in haste.

  Share with me a world of art and oil

  Loving you shall be no toil

  For love and learning will ensue

  And perchance a babe or two.

  I love you Emma with all my heart

  I should have mentioned this from the start.

  If my promises to you delight,

  Come live with me and be my wife.

  “Yes,” she said softly to the empty room, letting joy awaken every nerve ending. “Yes,” she called louder, but received no response. She dropped the poem, then pulled a blanket from the bed, wrapping it over her shoulders.

  No one waited for her outside the door. She crept down the stairs of the slumbering inn. No one occupied the lobby, but a light from the public room caught her eye. She crept to the doorway and saw Nicholas bent over a piece of paper illuminated by the light of an oil lamp.

  “Yes,” she said.

  He glanced up, hope lighting his eyes. “Emma?”

  Her heart flipped over. The poor man looked absolutely exhausted. She walked straight into his arms and kissed him till he could have no doubt as to the depth of her desire. His arms locked around her back and pulled her tight to his chest, molding her body into his. Never had she felt more safe and more loved.

  “What are you doing down here?” she asked, too content to pull away.

  “I wanted to make certain we had no unwanted visitors.” Nicholas pulled back enough to kiss her neck. Delicious shivers tingled down her back.

  “I wrote you a poem,” he said before slipping the blanket off her shoulder. “Did you see it?”

  She nodded, stretching her neck to offer him more skin to sample. His lips blazed a path down her neck and across her shoulder. Her terse nipples strained at the flimsy material of Daisy’s blouse. She arched back slightly, hoping to direct his attentions to their need.

  “It was the most beautiful poem I’ve ever read,” she said, breathless.

  “That’s because you haven’t read my most recent attempt, ‘Ode to a Pink Corset.’ ” He pushed both the blanket and the short sleeves of Daisy’s accommodating blouse down to the crook of her elbows. His lips and tongue paid homage to her breasts. Sensation arced straight to her feminine core. Her head fell back, her knees threatened to buckle. She felt a moment’s hesitation that someone could walk in on them at any second, but then, she didn’t care. As long as she was in Nicholas’s arms, the world, the school, her reputation, none of it mattered a fig.

  “If you want me,” she rasped, “I will be yours, no matter the circumstances. But I must know why.”

  She steeled her heart in anticipation of his answer. Although she had read his verse, she was all too aware that false sentiments could be used to make a rhyme or fill a meter. She needed to hear the words and know his true intent. If he wanted a lifetime model or a convenient mistress, she would do it, but at least her eyes would be wide open. There would be no delusions of love or happy endings. She would share his life as much as he would allow and that would be enough.

  His lips stilled. He glanced up at her, then straightened.

  Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t asked. Her heart might not survive his answer. Biting her lip for her own stupidity, she turned her head away.

  “I love you, Emma.” His fingers guided her chin back to him. “I never realized how much I loved you, until I had almost lost you.” He kissed her gently. “I had planned on living my life alone with only my canvas and paint for company, but you’ve made that impossible. I can’t lose you again. I don’t think I could survive it.”

  Had he truly said he loved her? Her heart expanded, squeezing out all the breath in her rib cage. She wanted to hold him so tight, their flesh would meld and they could never be separated. Her lips sought his in a kiss that would return all the love and passion he had given.

  “I want you,” Nicholas said, “as my wife.”

  Her head giddy with joy, she thrilled at his smile and the desire burning in his eyes. “I love you, Nicholas. I have since that first night in the carriage.”

  She wanted to shout and wake up all the patrons in the inn. Instead she leaned close to his ear and whispered, “And you shall have me, corset and all.”

  Epilogue

  CECILIA CLAPPED HER HANDS TO BRING THE ROOM to attention. “Girls, girls, settle down. As you are aware, we at the Pettibone School for Young Ladies pride ourselves on preparing our girls for all the eventualities that you may encounter as a new bride. To that end, we are delighted to have Lady Nicholas Chambers conduct a series of classes on this very subject.

  “As you can see by her developing form, she is very knowledgeable about the successful procreation of heirs. Now I want you to pay close attention. Previous graduates of Mrs. Brimley’s . . . Lady Nicholas Chambers’s classes have reported that this information has served them well in securing a husband as well as maintaining a satisfying relationship for all involved.

  “After this class, Lord Nicholas Chambers will be conducting a session in oil painting out in the garden. A well-mannered lady must have a talent, be it music or painting, to make her stand out in the crowd. I advise you all to take advantage of the knowledge of this talented artist. His work hangs in the Royal Academy, you know.” Some of the girls found this to be an invitation to giggle. Cecilia clapped her hands for order.

  “One final note: a picnic will be held tomorrow afternoon at nearby Black Oak, hosted by Miss Alice Darlington. It promises to be a beautiful day and I encourage you all to be on your very best behavior.

  “With that I shall turn the class over to Mrs. Brim . . . er, Chambers. The girls are yours.”

  Emma confidently moved forward from her position in the back of the library, her protruding belly leading the way. She was no longer a weed among flowers; her pale blue and golden yellow ensemble rivaled any of the girls in the room. A hush of expectancy settled over their eager faces. Emma smiled. How very like the faces of last year’s class. This year, however, she had ready answers and more.

  “Let us begin with your list of questions.”

  Turn the page for a preview

  of the next historical romance

  by Donna MacMeans

  THE TROUBLE

  WITH MOONLIGHT

  Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!

  London, 1876

  IF HIS LIFE, ALONG WITH THOSE OF SO MANY faithful agents of the Crown, didn’t hang in the balance, James Locke knew he would turn and escape Lord Pembroke’s study as silently as he had entered. The mission, however, demanded his legendary skill at cracking safes, a skill now more myth than reality.

  The narrow, stuffy room opened before him and was seeped in darkness, much like a tomb. He shuddered, reminding himself he wasn’t in a hellhole prison cell, not this time. Ignoring the clamminess of his palms, he looked for a window, knowing he couldn’t risk opening it but needing to know one existed all the same.

  Yes, thick curtains hung on the wall to his right. He parted the heavy velvet, letting bright moonlight flood the room to reveal a Milner holdfast safe near the desk. By his calculations, he had little more than one hour before the servants would be roused to welcome their employer back from the gambling hells.

  Kneeling before the hinged black door, he slipped a skeleton key and a holding lever into the narrow slot, letting the delicate tips of his fingers signal the lift of a tumbler. Twice the slight tremor in his hand caused the lever to slip, forcing him to start the process from the beginning. He cursed silently but knew he couldn’t abandon the mission; not with so much at stake.

  Finally, the lock clicked and he allowed himself the luxury of a deep breath of relief before turning the latch and swinging open the heavy iron door. Inside a series of small compartments held the valuable treasures Lord Pembroke believed secure. James ch
ecked each, methodically moving from the top down, searching for the list of British operatives that had presumably fallen into the wrong hands. Just as he had examined the last drawer, the sound of light footsteps in the hall caught his ear. Damn! He carefully closed the safe door, but did not turn the latch as the sound of resetting tumblers might signal his presence. He slipped behind the velvet draperies hoping the footsteps would pass by, but no. They stopped. Holding his breath, James peeked through the gap in the heavy panels.

  The door to the study opened, then closed. Footsteps softly padded across the thick Persian carpet in the direction of the safe. James squinted through the narrow opening but saw . . . no one. Mystified, he carefully pushed a small measure of the dusty velvet aside to give him better visibility. Knowing his opponents could be as valuable as locating the elusive list. But no one appeared to be in the room. How could that be?

  The heavy safe door slowly swung back. One by one, the compartment drawers slid open, then pulled back. Stunned, James watched a jewelry case from one of the drawers levitate and hover in midair. Logically, he knew there had to be some explanation for the unbelievable event transpiring before him. But his eyes provided none, and no flute-playing Indian fakir had suddenly taken residence in the study.

  The jewelry case opened and a necklace of finely cut rubies escaped from its housing, flashing bloodred in the moonlight. The empty case returned to the drawer, the drawer slid into the safe, the heavy safe door swung back on its hinges, and the latch turned all without benefit of a human hand. Had he not been cold sober, James would have thought he was deep in his cups. Were his eyes playing tricks, or was some fiendish jest afoot? His nose pushed further into the drapery, unsettling the accumulated dust. James fought the tickle deep in his nostrils. His eyes burned and watered yet he followed the necklace’s silent flight across the room. As it passed the desk, the corners of the papers scattered there lifted briefly as if in silent salute. An unusual scent, foreign to that of the study’s wood polish and book leather, floated on a stirred current. What the devil?

  He couldn’t restrain the sneeze any longer. He tried to swallow the sound but a strangled harrumph escaped beyond his best efforts. The necklace swung momentarily in his direction. He heard a swift intake of air, almost feminine in nature, then rapid footfalls to the door. The study door flew open. The necklace darted through.

  “Wait!” James called in a hissing whisper. Fool. As if a necklace had ears to listen. He dashed from his hiding place in pursuit, of what he wasn’t sure, but he was determined to find out. He followed both the sound of running footfalls down the hall and the lingering trail of a sweet floral scent. No time to think about that now. The heavy jewels bounced and swayed in their flight toward the kitchen then flew in a high arc around a corner. James followed, his hasty exit generating far more noise than his earlier entrance; his heart pounding as if he were the fox and not the hound.

  The kitchen doorknob turned, allowing the wooden door to open. The necklace flew into the night. A gasp to his right warned him that he was not alone. He glanced at a wide-eyed scullery maid whose open mouth and frigid paralysis suggested he wasn’t the only one witnessing a flying necklace fleeing the household. Even with her validation, he still wasn’t sure he believed what his own eyes told him to be true.

  The necklace proved more elusive in the dark. Only the chance spark of moonlight reflecting on the jewels allowed him to follow in shadow. He had spooked the necklace once, he didn’t intend to do so again. Dashing from hedge to tree to bush, he silently followed the necklace through the back garden to a waiting brougham. It was an older model, but obviously serviceable. The door opened, and the carriage body sagged as if a passenger had boarded, but naught but the jewelry entered.

  The driver clicked the horses forward. Without hesitation, James raced for the back of the brougham, even though his own hack waited around the corner. He caught a handhold on the edge of the moving conveyance and braced his feet on the fenders above the spinning wheel axels so that he was tenuously attached to the back of the vehicle like an overgrown street urchin.

  After several minutes and near fatal turns, the carriage slowed and Locke dropped off. He dashed across the street to a park to avoid detection and allow the blood to flow back into his whitened fingers. Although he attempted to appear unobtrusive, his gaze was clearly focused on the brougham. The driver hopped down and rushed to open the carriage door.

  Although he half expected to see a necklace fly from the carriage and up the townhouse steps, a widow emerged from the depths of the brougham. A young widow at that, judging from her pleasing waist and saucy bustle. A jet-black reticule with a bulging bottom swung from her wrist. Locke smiled in spite of himself, imagining a fat ruby necklace nestled inside. He strained to see beneath the black-lace veil that contoured a narrow face with distinctive cheek planes, but she was either too distant or the lace too dense. How did she do it? He never saw a woman anywhere near Pembroke’s study. One had to admire such talent, even if it was used for common thievery.

  She mounted the steps toward a town house door framed with blooming white flowers. Odd to see flowers blooming at this hour, he mused before dismissing the thought. The widow paused then turned to look straight at him, as if she knew he’d be there. He should turn away. Play the role of a drunken sot stumbling down the pavement, but instead he remained rooted to the spot. He raised his arm as if to tip his hat, but then he remembered that he’d left it in the waiting carriage at Pembroke’s residence.

  She quickly turned and entered the house. What to do now? He was tempted to storm the house and demand to know how she had palmed the necklace. However, storming a widow’s home at such a disrespectful hour might raise a bit of unwanted attention. Better to observe the mysterious widow, make a few inquiries, and discover which way her allegiances lay before making any rash moves.

  A welcome breeze surrounded him with the strange floral fragrance he’d noted earlier. He took a deep breath, reliving the fascinating memory of all he didn’t see in the study. The widow’s techniques would certainly make her a formidable spy. That gave him pause. He glanced back up at the residence, noting the address. It shouldn’t be difficult to gather a bit of information about her tomorrow once the working world was about. He noted a shift at the draperies then turned to retrace the path to Lord Pembroke’s house, where his own carriage waited.

  “HOW DID IT GO, DEAR?” AUNT EUGENIA ASKED.

  Lucinda Havershaw hurried to the front window to peek out between the drapes. The lacy veil obscured her vision but she didn’t dare move it until she was certain . . .

  “Someone saw me tonight.”

  “Oh dear!” Her aunt, a thickened, older version of Lucinda herself, hurried to the window to add her scrutiny to the street. “Were you followed?”

  “I’m not certain.” Lucinda began to pull off her black gloves. “I had thought I had lost him once I reached the outside of the house, but there was a strange man on the pavement just now. I think he was watching me.”

  She pulled off her hat and veil and tossed them to the well-worn settee. The grandfather clock in the corner tapped out two bells. Aunt Eugenia readjusted the draperies before turning toward her niece. She gasped. “Dear Heavens, I don’t suppose I’ll ever become accustomed to seeing you like that.”

  Lucinda smiled, although she knew no one could see it. She had peeked at a mirror once when she was in full-phase. Viewing the headless dress reflected there had shocked even herself. She had avoided mirrors while in phase ever since.

  She opened her reticule and retrieved the beautiful ruby necklace she had liberated from Pembroke’s safe. “Mrs. Farthington will be very happy to see we reclaimed her necklace. I hope she can keep it out of the hands of her foolish husband this time.”

  “I hope she doesn’t.” Aunt Eugenia took the necklace from Lucinda’s invisible hand to store in their parlor safe hidden beneath a chintz table cloth. She lifted the flowery fabric and inserted an ornately carved
key into the exposed keyhole. “We make more money if he gambles it away. A woman on her own can never have enough money, dear, especially with four mouths to feed and a household to run.”

  “Lucy?”

  Lucinda turned quickly to see her youngest sister, Rhea, in the hallway. The sight of the three-year-old clutching a bedraggled velveteen kitten tugged at her heart.

  “I’m here, my sweet.”

  “But I can’t see you,” the little one said with a yawn.

  The child’s lament pulled at Lucinda’s heart. It was bad enough Rhea would never know her own mother, and then to add a sometimes invisible sister to the situation must certainly lead to insecurities. Lucinda swooped the sleepy-eyed toddler into her arms while her aunt hastily closed the family safe. “You can feel me all around you.” Lucinda nuzzled the top of her sister’s little blonde head. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

  She cast a disapproving glance to her aunt, but of course, her aunt was oblivious to her expression.

  “I had a bad dream.” The child reached up and touched her face. “I thought you were gone.”

  “The moon is still full and the stars are awake.” She kissed Rhea’s fingers. “Go back to bed, sweet angel, and tomorrow morning you’ll see me just fine.”

  “Come on, little miss. I’ll see you back to bed.” Aunt Eugenia patted the child on the back.

  The little girl puckered her lips in a kiss, while Lucinda moved her cheek to meet them. “Good night, Lucy.” Rhea clenched the ear of her bedraggled kitten, then proceeded to climb the stairs using hands and feet.

  “Your blessed mother would be proud of the way you’ve taken care of the girls,” Eugenia said as she passed by Lucinda, “as I am.”

  “Thank you, Auntie.” Eugenia’s appreciation of her efforts warmed her like a welcome cup of tea. She stooped to kiss her Aunt’s cheek as well, but as the older woman couldn’t see her, Eugenia continued by without pausing to receive the kiss. Lucinda’s pursed lips met only air.