Page 1 of A Brush With Love at Brookview Hall (Noble Hearts)
One
JULIA
J ulia Lyddon watched in horror as the slimy green object sailed through the air towards her.
Too shocked at first to react, she shifted out of the way just in time to avoid the poor frog landing on her face.
Instead, it struck the hand she had thrust out to shield herself from the unexpected amphibious projectile, sending a spray of mud in all directions.
Then, with a sickening thud, the creature fell onto the blanket in a slick brown puddle.
Julia let out a cry of dismay.
“So sorry, Miss Lyddon. Terribly sorry!” Miss Kingstone, the family’s nanny, called out as she bustled up from the pond where the children were playing with… or torturing… frogs.
Julia shimmied back on the blanket as the frog, surprisingly still alive, began to kick and wriggle. Bits of mud flicked off the creature’s legs and landed on her skirts, and another fragment of… something… spattered her cheek.
“Can you please remove this poor thing?” Julia commanded. The children were young, but this was not acceptable. The frog seemed little happier about the situation. “They cannot be allowed to throw frogs about.”
In a moment, the kicking frog was gathered up in the nanny’s wet hands and returned to the pond, where her two youngest charges were subjected to a tongue-lashing, or the closest thing Miss Kingstone could manage. She was far, far too soft on the children, and it showed in their behaviour.
Julia looked down at her stained skirt and hand, covered in muddy slime from where the frog had struck it.
She had hoped to conduct the children’s lessons outside today, to take advantage of the warm late summer sunshine, but she could hardly carry out her plans as she was, covered with mire and the blanket now a mess.
She struggled to her feet, trying to reduce the spread of the muck on her clothing and face, and called to Miss Kingstone.
“I must wash and change. I shall see you in the schoolroom in half an hour. Boys,” she addressed six-year-old Charlie and eight-year-old Roger, who was now lying in the mud laughing, “this will not do. Not at all. I expect a full apology when we are all inside, and perfect behaviour at our lessons, otherwise luncheon will be nothing but plain bread and water. Am I understood?”
When she spoke in her governess voice like this, the children knew to listen. They had suffered plain bread and water before.
Two little blond heads nodded. She saw Charlie gulp.
“I was not naughty, Miss Lyddon,” a voice came from her side.
Eleven-year-old Annie was trying very hard to be a young lady, but sometimes found herself too caught up in her younger brothers’ games.
Right now, the streak of dirt on her nose and the wet tips to her long plaits suggested she had not been quite as ladylike as she might wish.
Only Selina, nearly grown at fifteen-and-three-quarters, was perfectly innocent at the moment, sitting as she was on another blanket, further back from the pond, sketching on a pad of paper with some charcoal as her friend, Harriet Rowse, looked on.
Of all the Derriscott children, only one was away from home, this being Hugh, who at the advanced age of thirteen, was off at school. The others, as well as Selina’s friend, were all Julia’s to educate and instruct in the manners expected of them.
“Sorry, Miss Lyddon,” little Charlie muttered. “I did not mean to hit you. I meant to throw it at Roger, but he moved.”
Roger giggled from his bed of mud.
Julia straightened to her full height, which was less intimidating than her voice. “We shall discuss this later. Listen to Miss Kingstone now. I expect perfect behaviour when I see you next.”
She spun around, posture impeccable and shoulders back, and strode purposefully towards the house, maintaining the image of a strict governess for as long as possible, until, upon turning into the courtyard, she finally allowed herself to burst out in the laughter she had been suppressing.
Those imps! She really ought to be furious, but Charlie’s big blue eyes and white-blond hair gave him such an angelic air, she could hardly remain angry for long.
And they were, after all, still children.
Despite the strict persona she adopted when giving her lessons, she adored the children and let kindness and understanding guide her.
She pushed open the back door near the kitchens and began making her way towards the servants’ stairs that would lead to her rooms up by the nursery.
She nodded silent greetings to the servants she passed; being on good terms with the staff was always a smart idea for one positioned as she was—not quite a servant, yet definitely not one of the family.
A friendly smile and a cheerful word paid off in hot water when she needed it and warm food when she was not invited to dine with the children.
Ah, the children. The little rascals. Once again, Julia cast a rueful glance to her soiled skirts.
Yes, children they might be, but these particular children were the offspring of Mr and Mrs Derriscott of Brookview Hall, and greater things were expected of them.
Mr Derriscott had the misfortune of being the younger son of a baronet rather than the older, and therefore only had the Cornish estate his mother brought into the marriage for his independence.
Still, far distant though it may be from the centre of society that was London, Brookview was remarkably productive and brought in sufficient income to keep Mr Derriscott from expressing any regret as to its location.
Mrs Derriscott herself was from a prominent family and was known to refer several times in an evening to her cousin who was married to the son of an earl, as well as to her youth, spent in the drawing rooms of the first circles in Town.
With such a refined lineage, and with Mr Derriscott’s hopes for Parliament one day, great things were expected of their children, no matter their rustic life so far from the refinements of London.
That the lady herself spent more time visiting friends than at home with her family was a matter little remarked upon.
She had done her duty and produced three sons and two daughters. What more could be asked of her?
Still, the Derriscott family was eminently respectable, and at twenty-three, Julia was fortunate indeed to have been taken on as governess. She reminded herself of this as a droplet of mud slid down the side of her face.
Julia had brushed past a young maid on the stairs, ignoring the girl’s glance at her soiled gown and mud-splattered cheeks, and turned the corner to take the final flight of stairs up to her own chambers to wash when she heard her name.
“Miss Lyddon.” It was the housekeeper. “Mr Derriscott wishes to speak to you at once. He is in his study. He asked me to look out for you.”
Julia sighed. Someone must have told Mrs Sanders that she had returned. One of the kitchen maids, she presumed.
“Please tell Mr Derriscott that I shall be but a few minutes. My gown…” She gestured to the mud-spattered skirts. She did not wish to think what her face must be like. But rather than a sympathetic nod and smile, Mrs Sanders shook her head.
“No, Miss Lyddon. Right away. He was quite insistent.”
Oh heavens. Julia did not cherish having to explain her current state of disrepair, and the more so because it could not be done without accusing the children of mischief. Well, better have it done and over with.
Julia bobbed her head and turned her feet to follow the housekeeper towards the study where her employer waited.
“Ah, Miss Lyddon.” Mr Derriscott was seated, as usual, behind his massive oak desk.
The draperies behind him were open and daylight streamed in through the window, rendering the man almost a silhouette against the brightness.
The effect was quite intimidating, something Julia suspected was not unknown to the man, and arranged for this exact purpose.
He peered at her, an expression of distaste forming on his plain features. One had no need to be handsome when one commanded Mr Derriscott’s wealth.
“What in the world have you been doing? You are quite a mess. Do you care to explain your state of… disarray?”
Your children caused it, Julia wanted to reply, but she held her tongue. She desperately needed this position and strove not to give Mr Derriscott any cause to dismiss her.
“We were at the pond, at our natural history lessons, and there was… a mishap. I was on my way to clean myself when Mrs Sanders informed me you wished to see me. Sir.” She remembered to bob her head as well. One must seem suitably subservient.
Derriscott glared at her for another moment, before his posture eased and he sat back into his large wingbacked chair.
“Be sure to clean yourself at once.” Was this not precisely what Julia had just informed him she was about to do?
But she held her tongue and waited for him to come to his point, which he did with no further delay.
“I wished to inform you that I have taken on a painting master for the children. You and he will confer about a schedule. I expect that no time will be lost from the children’s regular lessons. ”
Julia felt her eyebrows rise on her forehead and fought to keep her expression neutral.
“A painting master. For Miss Selina, I assume? She is gifted, indeed, and her pencil drawings are remarkable. She can render faces that are quite true to their models, and her attempts at landscapes are admirable. I am certain that she will become quite extraordinary once she benefits from the expertise of a master. Does she know of this scheme, sir?”
“The master is for Selina, indeed, but not only for her,” the children’s father replied. “For all the children. He will assess them and instruct them all, according to their abilities.”
All of them? How unusual.
“But the little ones have expressed no particular interest in drawing. They are full young, still.”