the shelf and turned back toward the schoolroom.
By Iris’s fireplace lay book bindings with their pages torn out. Blackened fragments of the printed pages littered the grate. Velvet’s breath caught. Destroying books went against everything she held dear.
Kneeling, she tried to pull out one of the fragments, but it crumbled to dust. Picking up the remnants of the books, she found a spelling primer, a book on mathematics, and one on geography. But even the lettering had been scraped and scribbled over.
Why would Iris have destroyed her schoolbooks?
Her heart heavy, Velvet gathered the bindings and took them back to the schoolroom. Hard chairs and school tables were haphazardly arranged. A dusty globe with a pin skewered in Cornwall occupied a dark corner.
Nothing was inviting about the room.
Setting her load on the scratched desk, she checked the drawers. A bit of yellowed paper and a stopperless ink bottle were in the first drawer; a broken ruler, a cracked slate, and stubs of chalk in the next; and in the bottom drawer, several empty gin bottles clattered.
Removing the bottles, Velvet transferred them to the dustbin. The room needed a thorough cleaning and something bright to tempt Iris inside. Her first order of business would be to scrub it.
After she dressed.
She turned back toward her room.
The knob spun in her hand, clearly not triggering the mechanism to release the latch. She rattled the knob. No matter what she did the door wouldn’t budge. It was stuck.
She pushed and pulled, slowly turning the knob, then jerking it, all to no avail.
Panting, she rested her head against the panels. She would have to go for help, in her bare feet and wearing only her nightgown. She cast a glance toward Iris’s room, but it wasn’t the child’s fault that Velvet had propped a chair under the hallway door.
Surely she could slip down to the kitchen and find Mrs. Bigsby, who could summon her husband or locate a tool to remove the door handle.
Lucian left his room wearing the Turkish robe over his striped wool bathing suit. He swam for an hour most mornings, the biting cold of the ocean making him forget his life for a while. White flashed at the foot of the stairs and then disappeared up the narrow stairwell.
Surely, Iris wasn’t already up and about. Usually she slept until Nellie woke her around half eight.
He frowned. It was too early for any of the day staff to have arrived.
Perhaps meeting her new governess made Iris sleep badly. Iris hated schoolwork. Hated it enough to resort to pranks to drive away her governesses. If this one didn’t work out, he would send the truculent girl to a school in Bath. But he’d be damned if he let her start her tricks again.
His rubber shoes silent on the carpet runner, he strode down the hall toward the foot of the staircase. “Iris?”
A stiff intake of breath and a slapping of bare feet on wooden treads of the stairs let him know it wasn’t her.
Reaching the foot of the stairs, he swallowed hard. On level with his eyes was the new governess’s bottom. Her long braid swished across the curve.
“Miss Campbell,” he said.
She slowly turned and folded her arms across her chest. Her cheeks were bright with spots of pink. Her nearly threadbare nightgown was plain, buttoned to the neck, and her pink toes curled around the edge of the stair as she shrunk back against the wall.
For a rumored seductress, she looked innocent and cornered. The hint of flesh below the material reminded him of carnal desires he tried to ignore, but his blood stirred anyway.
For a long second they just stared at each other. He shook his head, glad of the thick robe hiding the surge in his groin. Damn, he didn’t need this. “What are you doing?” Impatience sharpened his tone.
She gave a slight shake to her head and raised her chin. “I’ve managed to lock myself out of my room. The door to the schoolroom has latched, but the knob . . . seems to be broken.” She shrugged. “I hoped
By Iris’s fireplace lay book bindings with their pages torn out. Blackened fragments of the printed pages littered the grate. Velvet’s breath caught. Destroying books went against everything she held dear.
Kneeling, she tried to pull out one of the fragments, but it crumbled to dust. Picking up the remnants of the books, she found a spelling primer, a book on mathematics, and one on geography. But even the lettering had been scraped and scribbled over.
Why would Iris have destroyed her schoolbooks?
Her heart heavy, Velvet gathered the bindings and took them back to the schoolroom. Hard chairs and school tables were haphazardly arranged. A dusty globe with a pin skewered in Cornwall occupied a dark corner.
Nothing was inviting about the room.
Setting her load on the scratched desk, she checked the drawers. A bit of yellowed paper and a stopperless ink bottle were in the first drawer; a broken ruler, a cracked slate, and stubs of chalk in the next; and in the bottom drawer, several empty gin bottles clattered.
Removing the bottles, Velvet transferred them to the dustbin. The room needed a thorough cleaning and something bright to tempt Iris inside. Her first order of business would be to scrub it.
After she dressed.
She turned back toward her room.
The knob spun in her hand, clearly not triggering the mechanism to release the latch. She rattled the knob. No matter what she did the door wouldn’t budge. It was stuck.
She pushed and pulled, slowly turning the knob, then jerking it, all to no avail.
Panting, she rested her head against the panels. She would have to go for help, in her bare feet and wearing only her nightgown. She cast a glance toward Iris’s room, but it wasn’t the child’s fault that Velvet had propped a chair under the hallway door.
Surely she could slip down to the kitchen and find Mrs. Bigsby, who could summon her husband or locate a tool to remove the door handle.
Lucian left his room wearing the Turkish robe over his striped wool bathing suit. He swam for an hour most mornings, the biting cold of the ocean making him forget his life for a while. White flashed at the foot of the stairs and then disappeared up the narrow stairwell.
Surely, Iris wasn’t already up and about. Usually she slept until Nellie woke her around half eight.
He frowned. It was too early for any of the day staff to have arrived.
Perhaps meeting her new governess made Iris sleep badly. Iris hated schoolwork. Hated it enough to resort to pranks to drive away her governesses. If this one didn’t work out, he would send the truculent girl to a school in Bath. But he’d be damned if he let her start her tricks again.
His rubber shoes silent on the carpet runner, he strode down the hall toward the foot of the staircase. “Iris?”
A stiff intake of breath and a slapping of bare feet on wooden treads of the stairs let him know it wasn’t her.
Reaching the foot of the stairs, he swallowed hard. On level with his eyes was the new governess’s bottom. Her long braid swished across the curve.
“Miss Campbell,” he said.
She slowly turned and folded her arms across her chest. Her cheeks were bright with spots of pink. Her nearly threadbare nightgown was plain, buttoned to the neck, and her pink toes curled around the edge of the stair as she shrunk back against the wall.
For a rumored seductress, she looked innocent and cornered. The hint of flesh below the material reminded him of carnal desires he tried to ignore, but his blood stirred anyway.
For a long second they just stared at each other. He shook his head, glad of the thick robe hiding the surge in his groin. Damn, he didn’t need this. “What are you doing?” Impatience sharpened his tone.
She gave a slight shake to her head and raised her chin. “I’ve managed to lock myself out of my room. The door to the schoolroom has latched, but the knob . . . seems to be broken.” She shrugged. “I hoped
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