Page 2 of A Pearl Before Spies (Agents of the Convent #5)

C hapter T wo

“T he new governess has arrived, sir.”

Gilles Bichard lifted his head from his hand and looked at the plump figure of the housekeeper in the doorway to his study. “Pardon?”

Mrs. Corbin looked a trifle perturbed, but not entirely surprised. “I said the selection of fish was not as fresh at the market so Cook has had to settle for cod. The gardens are beginning to bloom already, so Mr. Mangum will be bringing his help in earlier than normal—”

Gilles brushed his hand in front of his face, cutting her off. “No, no, I heard all of that. What was it you said at the end?”

Her trim brows rose just a touch, and Gilles had employed her long enough to know that she did not believe he heard anything she had said, be it the first or second time.

She was correct, of course, but he would not admit it.

“The new governess has arrived,” Mrs. Corbin repeated in a too-clear tone, undoubtedly for his benefit. “Simms arrived with her from the port not long ago. She is getting settled in her rooms, and I will be meeting with her later. I just thought you would wish to know.”

Gilles blinked once, then again. Yes, he would wish to know, but not the day the new governess was arriving. He would have wished to know weeks prior to this. What had happened to their previous governess? Madeline and Marie-Claire were only just old enough for lessons, and there was some debate, in his mind, whether Marie-Claire was actually old enough, but she would not enjoy being left out of something that Madeline was doing.

There was just over a year between the girls, and where it had been a trial at first, it was delightful and convenient now.

“Sir?”

Gilles blinked an awkward third time as he was brought back to the present moment.

Right. Governess.

“Did I know we were getting a new governess?” Gilles asked the housekeeper in what he hoped was an imperious tone.

“I informed you of the need, sir, when it was apparent.”

Zut. Gilles forced his expression to remain blank. “And what became of our previous governess?”

Mrs. Corbin cleared her throat. “She ran off with the Pelley lad from St. Sampson. I have been seeking her replacement for three months.”

Three months?

Gilles knew he was a trifle distracted with other matters in his life, as the constant rambling in his mind could attest, but three months? That was excessive, even for him.

“Ah, yes,” he replied, very belatedly. “Now I recollect. If you don’t mind, I think I shall meet her tomorrow. It is late, and there is no need for her to change her attire just for me. She can meet the girls in the morning, of course, and there is no need to hasten the start of her lessons. I shall leave it to the pair of you to decide when is best. Les chéris do best when on friendly terms, as you know.”

“Yes, sir. I had anticipated tomorrow being something of an introduction for Miss Chorley, both to the house and to the girls. If the weather is fair, perhaps a walk. I shall let her ease into instruction as she sees fit.” Mrs. Corbin lowered her chin just a touch, giving him a surveying look that reminded him of his several childhood nannies. “Will you be taking supper in here, sir?”

Gilles was not entirely certain if he was being scolded for something, if she was disappointed in him, if he had irked her in some way, or if she was simply anxious to be out of his sight, which made determining the appropriate reaction difficult.

And Mrs. Corbin had a way that made him feel like an unruly child most of the time anyway.

“Yes, please, Mrs. Corbin,” he murmured in as respectful and subservient a tone as could be tolerated. “If it is not too much trouble.”

Her expression became almost entirely pitying. “No trouble at all, sir. I will have it brought to you shortly.”

Gilles nodded, smiling just a little. “Merci.”

The door to his study closed with a soft click, and he sat back in his chair roughly, exhaling through sputtering lips.

That could have gone better in at least a dozen ways.

His life had not always been complicated enough to leave him in a constant state of distraction, but it was his way of life now. His tasks were not something he could speak about to anyone, which meant he had to turn everything over in his mind three or four times before taking any action. His daughters were young and still attached to him, so what little unoccupied time he did have ought to be devoted to them.

Ought to be.

Finding available energy for his daughters was growing more and more difficult.

He just did not have enough to give to each of his necessary avenues.

Not without Heloise.

His throat constricted almost painfully, and he shook his head rather hard, willing the images of his late wife from his mind. Eighteen months without her, and still he was lost. Not in the same ways he had been lost in those early days, weeks, and months, but lost all the same. The agony had faded with time, as he had been assured it would, and he had settled into the feeling of life without the woman he loved.

He did not enjoy it, but it had become normal.

He was not good at it, but it had become normal.

He was still in pain all the time, but it had become normal.

Heloise had been so many things to him. His wife, his lover, his vision, his guide, his partner… She had excelled at all of them, which should not have been a surprise, as he had fallen for her within moments of meeting her. Why should she not have been as majestic in reality as she had been in his perception? But what he had not anticipated was how that love for her would grow.

Rapidly, as it happened. Recklessly. Helplessly.

Consumingly.

And with that love had come their daughters in rapid succession.

As had his present position as a double agent in a very dangerous game.

He hadn’t meant to be anything of the sort when he and his brother had joined the organization in France that wished to rid itself of the monarchy upon its return. The group that thought Napoleon had held a decent objective but had pursued it with reckless actions and had spent the last several years working to bring the more subtle maneuvering of such objectives about. They were both passionate Frenchmen, after all, and would do anything to see France rise to the heights it deserved.

Well, almost anything.

With every passing year, Gilles saw this devoted Faction to which he belonged sinking itself into deeper and darker depths than he was comfortable with. His brother knew nothing of his struggles, and still believed every word the Faction said, fully devoted to their cause. It had taken Gilles some time to admit his doubts, even to himself, and then when he did, he discovered that his wife, the woman he had fallen in love with, was actively working against the very Faction he had been so dedicated to.

The timing was fortunate, however. They’d had the most intimate and raw conversation of their entire relationship and come to the conclusion that they could do some extraordinary good in the world by working together, with Gilles remaining embedded in the Faction and Heloise strengthening her connections with England. Through those connections, Gilles had been able to develop a working friendship with an operative in England for himself, and he had been able to send crucial information to him from time to time via a mutual contact.

Then Heloise had taken ill and never recovered, leaving the weight of their entire subversive operation on his shoulders alone.

His mind was not as quick without her. He was even more certain than before that the Faction needed to be stopped, and if nothing else, he owed it to Heloise to see her vision fulfilled. But it had been something they had both worked towards for the years they’d had, and it felt far more intimidating a prospect by himself.

The only relief he had in any of this was that he lived on the island of Guernsey rather than in France itself. It would have been far more difficult to manage any of this if he had been in the heart of the Faction operations. He might have been a more informative asset for the British if he were, but the Faction found him particularly valuable living on British soil, so he was kept very well informed as it was.

Heloise had asked them to leave Brittany, where he grew up, and move to Guernsey for a quieter life, and he had been more than willing to do so. Now he was even more grateful for her foresight. Their daughters had a lovely and uncomplicated life in a country setting without being restricted in any way, and the beauty of an island upbringing was giving each of them a stronger sense of curiosity and appreciation for the world than they might have had otherwise.

But he would admit, Guernsey was too quiet for him with Heloise gone. His home was too quiet. His life was too quiet.

He was not a loud man, and Heloise had not been particularly boisterous either. Yet somehow, his life was drowning in silence and had been since her death.

Gilles had always wanted a quiet life. But not this quiet.

Rubbing at his brow, he pushed up from his desk and moved out of his study, finding nothing encouraging or stimulating in there. It seemed that, more and more, it was the room where his mind spun rather than any work got accomplished. Frustration upon frustration built upon him, and everything became frenetic and confusing.

If he did not find a way to live his complicated life with some orderliness soon, he would begin to fail in obvious ways rather than just private ones.

He made his way out of the house, knowing he would not have much time before Mrs. Corbin had that tray of supper brought to his study. But he was presently desperate for fresh air and that now-familiar feeling of Guernsey’s winds whipping at his hair and clothing. He wouldn’t go far; he rarely did anymore.

Hands clenching and unclenching, Gilles strode to the large, flat rock that served as a sort of cliff on this portion of the land, jutting out of the ground just as there was a mighty dip towards the beaches and actual cliffs. It was not a dangerous spot, but it served as an excellent point for appreciating a view, collecting one’s thoughts, or staring blankly in the direction of France.

Generally speaking, of course. He’d never actually tried to determine where France was from this point.

If he had more time, he’d have sat upon the rock and watched the sun dip below the horizon. As it was, he stood there, crossing his arms and trying to force some semblance of relaxation into his frame and mind.

Inhale… Exhale… Inhale… Exhale…

There was nothing of crucial importance that required his activity or direct attention at this very moment. He was in a waiting and watching period, and that would do very well for now. He was only to act as he saw fit, according to the pattern of previous intelligence correspondence, given he did not have a superior pointing him in one direction or the other.

Which meant he could focus his time at the present on his estate lands and farms, which his estate manager would be delighted about. Poor Adams had been acting on his own for far too long and simply keeping Gilles informed on his work and actions. He would love to not be the sole deciding influence for a time.

Gilles could also focus his attention on his daughters, which ought to bring him more joy than he presently felt. He adored his girls to distraction and spent every evening with them before they went to bed, but nothing ever felt like enough. He had to be their father as well as their mother, and he was wholly unequipped to fill the gap left by Heloise. She was the one to fill the girls’ minds with imagination, beauty, and joy. He was the one who checked for monsters beneath their beds and saved them from the insects that had found their way into the nursery.

He’d also been the one to lead the family walks along the shore and exploring the coves, but that was something they had not resumed as yet. He could have done. Probably should have done. But exploring the coast by their home and lands seemed a poor prospect without Heloise. And he did not want the girls to feel the loss of their mother more than they already did.

Marie-Claire still asked if Maman could tell her a story from heaven, for pity’s sake.

Madeline knew better, even only being one year older, and asked nothing of Maman.

Both of them were starting to ask less and less of Papa, and that broke his heart.

A new governess. How would she handle the life they led here? These sheltered girls whose father forgot a new governess was needed. Who had not yet had a steady feminine influence in the absence of their mother apart from the sweet yet temperamental housekeeper and attentive upstairs maids. Who mingled English and French in their language in a way that not even the natives of Guernsey could understand.

Zut. He was giving the poor governess a mess, indeed. There wasn’t anything for it at this point, but he felt it was worth admitting. Perhaps Gilles ought to consider meeting with her in the early days of her time here to explain the situation clearly—apart from his operative work—and apologize for the lapses she would undoubtedly see.

Or should he be the distant, superior, aloof master of the house and let her think whatever she would of him? He had been playing so many roles in the last eighteen months and barely managing any of them.

There weren’t that many servants or staff at Coutanche House; would it really matter who he was to the governess?

He felt his shoulders sag more and more with every breath, partially in defeat over his situation, but also, he could admit, with a touch of the relaxation he craved.

This was not worth a cascade of frantic thoughts. It was barely worth cohesive ones.

With a final exchanging of air—a deep inhale and slow exhale—Gilles turned back for the house and bobbed his head in a series of nods, his fingers once again curling and uncurling at his sides. He did not need to worry so much about what he said to the new governess or if he made any apologies. There was no making up for what had led them to this point, but he could do his best starting forward. Which was what the governess would be doing as well, so they were all in the same situation.

Theoretically, at any rate.

Gilles glanced up at the windows on this face of the house and slowed a step. Up in the top right corner, the curtains were open, and a woman stood in the window, looking out towards the sea. The light of the evening was still fairly bright, so he could make out her features and the like without any trouble.

She was not a beauty. Not in the classic sense, at any rate. Her figure was healthy enough, and she seemed to be of a good height. She had a pleasant face, even if it was plain, and the soft smile on her fairly average lips provoked a smile of his own for some reason. He couldn’t say with any certainty what color her eyes were, but her hair seemed to be a very dark blonde or a very light brown, and possessed a natural wave to it, if the half-down portion of it was any indication.

She was older than he had expected, but he immediately liked that. The previous governess—the one who had apparently run off with a Guernsey lad—had been young and pretty, so her elopement should not have been much of a surprise. This woman he was seeing was older and undoubtedly filled with more sense, if not wisdom. And she likely was better educated as well. More than that, he had the sense that she would be more maternal towards his girls.

That was what he wished for most of all.

Not a replacement mother for them, but someone who could help with the void Heloise had left that he simply could not manage. A strong, but soft, feminine influence in their lives.

Without meeting her, without hearing her voice, without even knowing her name, he knew this woman would be able to do that.

And with that knowledge, she immediately had all of his confidence, whoever she was.

There was that smile, too. What was she seeing that made her smile so? What was she thinking that allowed such a smile? It was no grin of delight, no polite smile for company, no smirk of cynicism or annoyance. This was a private smile, unobserved but for him, and as gentle as a breeze. Some private joy or contentment brought on such a smile, and she had it there in his house on her first day. On the isolated island of Guernsey.

Of course, she had yet to meet him or his daughters, but he did not anticipate changing her expression much by adding the three of them to the equation.

He was fascinated by this woman, and there was little point in denying it. He’d never spent much time with the previous governesses, but he might just have to make an effort with this one. If for no other reason than to satiate his curiosity and answer the questions he did not yet have words for.

Her eyes suddenly shifted from the distant sea to the ground, and then, as though drawn by force, to Gilles.

Instinct would normally have had him look away at once, but in this case, he held steady. Stared back at her without altering his expression a jot. Let her read what she would out of whatever his face was doing, whatever his posture might tell her, however he might look in this state. She would not know he was the master of this house and should have no discomfort in seeing him. He had no discomfort in seeing her, even knowing who she was.

To his surprise, she did not look away either. He could not even note if her eyes had widened, or her cheeks colored in any particular way. She surveyed him with an equally persistent gaze, everything about her calm and unmoved.

Unflappable.

He liked that.

Yet there was no sense in continuing to stare when they did not know each other, but soon would. Why set up a situation where the governess might be uncomfortable later?

So Gilles simply nodded and continued to walk, forcing himself not to look up at the window again. And he entered the house by a different entrance so it would not be immediately obvious where he was heading. That could either help or hinder the governess, depending on where her mind took her after their silent interaction, but surely she would get a better night of sleep if she did not know that the master of the house had been staring at her without shame.

If she could even tell he was the master.

He glanced down at himself and sighed. He’d gone out in his shirtsleeves, sans cravat, and with his weskit entirely unbuttoned. Running a hand over his hair, he could tell it was in complete disarray, which would make him look even more wild than his clothing would allude to. He gave off the impression of being a wastrel to those unfamiliar with the sight of him, and that was certainly not how he wished to be portrayed.

Perhaps, if he made a considerable effort, he could look so altered by the morning that she would not know that the man from the window was the same as the master of the house.

It was worth trying for, at any rate.

He’d never given any governess a second thought, but this one… this one, he already had.