On a dark and stormy night, between flashes of lightning and crashes of thunder, a beautiful young girl ran across the thick lawn, heedless of nature’s danger, her diaphanous nightgown’s billows soon deflated by a drenching downpour. Behind her, a grey stone mansion huddled on its hill, the dull yellow light in one of its windows silhouetting a tall figure that watched the girl’s flight across the well-manicured property and toward a small woodland near the edge of the estate. Both figures were obviously aware of each other, but for some reason, the one in the window did not move while the one pelting through the rain with occasional glances over her shoulder moved ever faster.

An unusually bright flash of lightning was followed almost instantly by an explosive sound as a tree burst into flame and the girl, who at that moment had come within mere feet of its base, crumpled to the ground. The shape in the window did move then, and a minute later, the front door opened. The figure that emerged was that of a man who didn’t seem inclined to rush to the girl’s side, yet it was plain that she was his goal. Closer and closer he came, pulling his hooded cloak more tightly about him as he walked, his boots making soft, wet sounds in the saturated grass.

When he was only a yard or so from the pale, fallen figure, the girl stirred, groaned, and tried to push herself back to her feet, only to freeze when she saw the man illuminated in a strobe-like flash of electricity. She screamed and tried to run again, but the effect of the lightning strike coupled with her terror proved too much, and she sank back onto the boggy grass, senseless once more.

The man had reached her by this time; he shook his head slowly as if in disbelief, crouched down, and came up holding the girl in his arms. Without looking at her or showing any emotion at all, he turned and went back to the house.

CHAPTER ONE

“Are you sure you want to do this?” The woman gave her charge a worried look as she fussed with items she was folding and placing into the girl’s traveling trunk.

“Oh, Belinda, you know I have no choice.” Giselle Moreaux, an incredibly beautiful girl of seventeen summers, gazed momentarily at the pink chemise she had been smoothing before placing it in a small valise.

“But a – a governess? Heavens, child, you’re barely out of the care of your own governess, and you think you can handle a widower’s four offspring all by yourself?”

Giselle shook her head. “No, I don’t, but as I said, I have no choice – and you know it. When mama and papa were killed in that horrific train wreck, I was apparently too devastated to be approached about the state of our family’s finances. But now, our solicitor having explained that I am penniless, I see no other way. I must work, Belinda.” She picked up another chemise, a blue one this time. “And I have no knowledge or talents except what I myself have been taught.” She shrugged, folding the garment and holding back an urge to weep.

Through a family acquaintance, Giselle had been contacted by a Mr. Lanford. His wife had died several months earlier of consumption, leaving him to cope with their four offspring – three boys and a girl – and he’d been actively seeking a governess to help in this regard. After an exchange of correspondence, Giselle and Belinda had met with him in the City for tea, an agreement was reached, and now she was preparing to embark on this new road to an unknown future. Ah, how quickly things could change!

Mr. Lanford was a man in his early thirties, tall, dark-haired, with icy grey eyes and features that would have been magnificently handsome were it not for a thin scar running from his left temple to just below his left eye. Not horribly disfiguring, it nonetheless gave him a rather sardonic and somewhat dangerous look, a look that most women would find intriguing, even exciting. Giselle found it to be neither, but it made her curious; how had he gotten such a scar? Perhaps he would tell her one day, but she honestly did not care right then.

The man and his children lived on an estate several miles south of Greenlea, a small nearby town, in a grey stone mansion aptly named Grey House. Giselle had yet to see it, having only shared tea with the man in that neutral shop in the City. Others she knew had, however, and told her that while the land around it was charmingly appointed, the house itself was somewhat intimidating. She would be there herself soon enough, Mr. Lanford having given her only one week to get moved out of her parents’ house and into his. Apparently the children were becoming quite difficult.

Before they had parted company at the door of the shop, Mr. Lanford had casually mentioned that he had a younger brother who would be living at the house temporarily, and at the time Giselle had thought little of it nor had Belinda said anything. But now, on her last day at home, near her friends and the servants who would soon be moving into their new positions at other houses, she began to feel the loneliness, the vulnerability of being completely on her own for the first time in her life. Surely this brother would be as civilized as his older sibling, but she was suddenly uncertain about sharing a house with this stranger. At least she’d met the elder Mr. Lanford and formed a positive opinion, but an odd tone in his voice when he spoke of the younger Lanford had set off a distant warning alarm in her head. Well, there was nothing for it – she would simply have to wait and hope the brother was a nice person.

The sound of her trunk being firmly shut and locked jolted her back to her surroundings, and giving herself a mental shake, she finished putting her lingerie into the valise.

“Oh, how I wish I could go with you,” said Belinda, her words sounding like a sob.

“So do I, dear Belinda. So do I.” Giselle gave her a rueful smile and latched the valise. “What time will the carriage be here?”

“Two o’clock, I believe. Mrs. Harrigan made the arrangements for it – shall I go ask her to be sure?”

“Thank you, yes. And perhaps you could send Ralph up to take that larger trunk. I can manage the valise and my jewelry box, I think.” She flashed the woman a smile and turned away to gather these things along with her cloak and hat. The pretty china clock on the mantel was showing the time to be nearly one thirty, and she did not wish to wait for the last minute to get downstairs. Besides, lingering in this room would only cause her to become maudlin and she had no wish to present her employer with a gloomy countenance. Allowing herself a final, melancholy glance about her bedroom, she sighed and went out.

“Afternoon, Miss,” said Ralph, passing her on the stairs.

“Good afternoon, Ralph. Thank you for your help.”

He gave her a big grin, his freckled face darkening with an uncontrollable blush. “My pleasure, Miss!” Then he dashed up the last few steps, taking them two at a time and causing Giselle to chuckle for the first time that day.

Her gentle mirth faded quickly once she entered the lower hall and headed to the main foyer. She’d lived in this house her whole life, and every item in it contained a memory. Soon, her memories would belong to others. The solicitor had arranged for an auction, which would take place in three days; for that reason if no other, she was glad Mr. Lanford had demanded her departure to Grey House be so immediate.

When the carriage drew up before the front door a short while later, Ralph and the driver hoisted Giselle’s trunk onto the roof of the vehicle. The servants had all come out to see her off, and she hugged each of them tearfully, saving Belinda until last. The woman had been a second mother to the girl and leaving her would be the hardest thing of all.

“Now, now. You know where I’ll be living, my love,” Belinda whispered. “If you are not treated right in any way, you just get a message to me, and I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

Giselle gave her a final, tight hug, sniffed, kissed the woman’s soft cheek, then almost ran to the open door of the carriage, getting in quickly and shutting it before anyone could see the flood of tears or hear her sobs. Her life was restarting, but this time her only guide would be herself. And that was a frightening thought.

CHAPTER TWO

Springtime was at its glorious height. By the time Giselle’s carriage reached the long, tree-lined drive beyond the gates of the Lanford Estate, she had recovered enough to appreciate nature’s offering and watched the lovely shades of silvery green, lavender, yellow and pink passing by the window in a lavish parade of bucolic magnificence. Had she arrived during any other season, Grey House would have presented a more forbidding aspect, but on this day its relentless lack of true color was broken and softened by the pink blossoms of small trees around its perimeter, and sprays of golden forsythia and lilac decorating the path to its front doors. Heartened somewhat by this sight, she pinched her cheeks to raise any of the natural blush that may have been drained by her sorrow, then smoothed the front of her frock, adjusted the folds of her cloak, and reached up to make certain her hat was straight.

When she lowered her hands, she saw someone had emerged from the house and was approaching the side of the carriage as it came to a halt on the crescent-shaped, grey-cobblestoned drive. He stopped several feet away as the driver jumped down from his seat and opened the door, lowering the fold-up steps and handing Giselle down safely.

The man, a very handsome individual dressed in pale blue, his ruffle-fronted shirt cream-colored and studded with a single diamond tack, gave Giselle a considering stare. She blushed slightly, somewhat affronted yet flustered; still, she refused to look away. His grey eyes…ah, this must be Mr. Lanford’s younger brother! She stood straighter and waited.

The coachman had already removed the girl’s trunk from the roof of the carriage by the time the man decided to step forward and execute a polite if brief bow. “Welcome to Grey House,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “I am Julian Lanford. I believe you’ve already met my big brother, Giles.”

Obviously, the girl thought, or I wouldn’t be here. Aloud she said, “I have. I am Giselle Moreaux.”

“Yes, the new governess.” His stare changed to one of more intimate interest and he gave her a somewhat crooked smile. “Now I begin to wish I were of a similar age to my nephews and niece that I, too, might benefit from your tutelage."

This time, she did look away, her blush deeper than before. “You are very flattering, sir.”

He laughed and offered her his arm. “Please – allow me to escort you into your new home.”

Amazed at how he had suddenly changed from annoying to completely charming, she murmured a tentative thank-you and gingerly laid a hand on his blue sleeve. They walked toward the front door at an easy pace, giving her time to give further consideration to both her surroundings and situation. “How lovely your home is!” She smiled and breathed in the heady fragrance of lilac while suppressing an urge to run back to the carriage; things were promising to become very confusing, and she had no idea how she was going to cope with this highly attractive young man. Naturally, nothing could ever happen between them. She was, after all, in the employ of his brother, and such behavior would at best be unacceptable.

As they reached the front door, a little girl came pelting out with what seemed the intention of running down the four steps. Upon seeing the two heading up toward her, she stopped, looking uncertain.

“Jocelyn Lanford, where on earth do you think you’re going?” demanded someone behind the child. A second later, a stern-faced woman emerged from inside, and the little girl spun around, brows drawn together with outrage.

“I – I don’t want a governess, Mrs. Trellain!” She crossed her arms, turning her back on her uncle and someone she clearly wished elsewhere.

Before the woman could respond, Giselle removed her hand from Julian’s arm, crossed her own, and said, “And I don’t want to be a governess.”

Jocelyn faced her once more, her frown deepening as she came off the top step to peer more closely at Giselle. “You don’t?”

“No, I do not. I was perfectly happy and living a very easy life, but my parents were killed, I was left with nothing, and now I must work as a governess in order to survive. I know how awful it is to lose a parent – both, in fact – so I can certainly understand why you don’t want me here.”

The little girl came down the second step. “Did you cry a lot when they died?”

“I did. I still do, sometimes. Few people understand how I feel, and that makes it worse somehow.”

Jocelyn nodded and sat down. “I lost mommy, and I still cry at night, even though some people tell me to stop being such a baby!” She turned her head to glare at the woman still standing at the top of the stairs.

“You’re not being a baby, you’re being human. It hurts when the people or person you love most and feel the safest with are taken away from you. But since I still cry about it myself, I guess that makes me a baby, too.” She walked up the intervening stair and sat beside the girl, sighing. “What should we do?”

The younger girl shrugged, looking morose but no longer belligerent.

“Look.” Giselle opened her valise, which she’d been carrying with her free hand, and took out a portrait miniature of her parents. It had been painted by the son of a family friend, a pleasant young man who was beginning to gain some small fame as an artist. “These are my parents.” She handed the miniature to Jocelyn, who peered closely at it for several minutes.

“They were very handsome people,” said Jocelyn at last, her expression solemn. She handed it back. “May I show you a portrait of mommy?”

“Of course – that would be very kind of you.”

Jocelyn suddenly smiled and her already sweet features lit up, making it clear she would one day grow into quite a beauty. She stood and extended a hand to Giselle, who got up at the same time, taking the proffered little hand in her slender, gloved one.

Returning the little girl’s smile, Giselle walked into the house, giving a quick nod of acknowledgement to the woman whose own expression displayed unabashed amazement. Behind them, Julian seemed to realize he’d been completely forgotten. With a shrug and a rueful grin for the housekeeper, he followed Giselle and Jocelyn in, Mrs. Trellain right behind him and speechless still.

Before Giselle’s eyes could adjust to the darker interior, she was already halfway up a massive, sweeping staircase that dominated a vast foyer. At the top, Jocelyn tugged her toward the right hallway leading off the stairs and brought her to a door that had been decorated with sprigs of pretty purple dried flowers.

“This is my room – come in.” She opened the door and pulled Giselle inside, then shut and locked it behind them. “Mrs. Trellain is so nosy,” she explained.

Giselle stared around the room. It was lavishly decorated in lavender, powder blue, cream and gold. A border of tiny red roses had been painstakingly painted at the top of the creamy white walls, against which had been arranged gilded and inlaid pieces of furniture in a slightly smaller than normal size – perfect for a little girl. The floor was covered with a rich carpet of Persian wool, the blues, lavenders and cream in its design echoing the accent pieces throughout the chamber. Jocelyn’s bed was a fairy-tale confection of fluffy white and gold netting atop and flowing down the sides of the canopy held in place by intricately turned posts. The coverlet and pillows were of shiny, floral satin, the pattern one of jonquils, violets and blue roses. A toy chest stood open under one of the tall windows, and Giselle suspected it most probably remained that way since the collection of toys it held overflowed the sides.

Jocelyn had gone to the bed, pulled a gold-and-white painted box from underneath, and was beckoning Giselle to join her. They sat on the bed – which Giselle discovered to be incredibly soft – and the little girl opened the lid with near-reverence. Inside were only a few things, which surprised the older girl, but then she remembered that those items she herself held dearest were also small in number.

“This is mommy.” Jocelyn took out a small, gilded frame that contained a small portrait of a woman.

“May I hold it?”

Jocelyn handed it to her without a word.

The woman smiling at her from the petite canvass was breathtakingly beautiful. Her rich, honey-golden hair was piled softly on her head, shiny tendrils framing her face. She had eyes of cornflower blue that were enhanced by the similar color of her gown. A delicate necklace of gold, diamond and sapphire sparkled at the base of her slender, graceful throat, and the hand she had raised to the oval, lace-bordered neckline held a small bouquet of violets.

“How beautiful she was!” Giselle exclaimed softly. “She had very kind eyes, as well.”

“Mommy was kind to everyone.” Jocelyn was staring stoically at the portrait, but after only a brief moment more, her chin began to tremble, and before Giselle could react, the little girl had thrown her arms around her and begun to sob.

Giselle gathered the girl in a tender embrace and held her close, murmuring comfort into the child’s honey-golden hair. She rocked Jocelyn slowly, content to wait until the emotional storm had subsided. So intent on comforting the girl was she, in fact, that she missed the tiny sound of a key being turned in the door’s lock, and never saw the cold, hard eyes staring in at her – eyes that softened a moment later as their owner smiled for the first time in months.

CHAPTER THREE

Jocelyn, exhausted by her release of grief, told her new governess – who she admitted she liked after all – that she wished to take a nap and requested Giselle help her remove her frock and tuck her in.

“Sleep tight,” the older girl whispered. “I’ll send in your maid when it’s time to dress for supper.”

Jocelyn smiled, nodded, and turned over, asleep before she stopped moving.

Mrs. Trellain was waiting outside in the hallway, a look of respect in her eyes. “How on earth did you do that, Miss Moreaux?”

Giselle wasn’t exactly sure what the woman meant. “I…I don’t understand - ?”

“Well, you seemed to know exactly what to say to win her confidence. Her father has gone through five governesses in only three months, and none of them could achieve such a thing!”

“Perhaps because I’m not that much older than she is,” Giselle suggested, wondering if any of the other governesses had given the little girl’s feelings so much as a moment’s thought. As for Mrs. Trellain herself…”I also have lost parents, which might have something to do with it as well.” She gave a small shrug.

“Yes, that must be it.” Mrs. Trellain stood a bit straighter. “Your things have been brought up to your room – here, next to Jocelyn’s. Her brothers’ rooms are a little further down the hall. You shall meet them at the evening meal, since right now they are out riding with family friends.”

“I see. What are their names? Mr. Lanford only told me that he had three sons and a daughter, but very little else.”

Mrs. Trellain began walking toward the door to Giselle’s room, pulling a key from her apron pocket as she answered. “Well, the oldest is Granville – he’s fourteen. Then there’s Alaric, who turned twelve last week. And finally, young Winchester, who is nine. Jocelyn is eight, which she probably told you.”

Giselle nodded, controlling her expression. How on earth could they expect her to manage a fourteen-year-old boy? Surely he must be full of mischief and energy, and not having had any brothers – her only sibling had been a sister who had died shortly after birth – she wouldn’t know where to begin with him.

“Well! Here you are, and I hope you find the room, and the house, comfortable and to your liking. You may give the children their lessons in the Nursery, which I will show you once you’ve had some time to settle in and get your things put away. Will that be satisfactory?”

“Wh- yes! Yes, it will. Thank you so very much, Mrs. Trellain. You are most kind.” She gave the woman a sincere smile. “I am sure everything will work out well, but I do hope I may defer to you should I find myself somewhat, er, at a loss on some matter or other.”

This seemed to please the woman and she offered a kind of smile in return. “Why, naturally, my girl! I would be only too happy to offer my advice and assistance.”

“Good!” Giselle was relieved and it showed in her expression. “Then I feel encouraged that my time here will be properly and well spent.”

“Before I forget, here is the key to this room. You may not feel a need to lock it, but if you have anything you wish left alone, I would suggest you do – the boys can be trying, you see.” She had lowered her voice on this last phrase, telling Giselle two things: that the woman had herself experienced this “trying” behavior, and that she now felt able to confide in the new governess

“I understand,” said the girl, vowing to keep the woman’s confidences locked away. “Thank you for the warning!”

With another smile, the otherwise stern-faced housekeeper took her leave. Giselle unlocked the bedroom door, went in and shut it, then stared at nothing for a moment, pushing back a sudden sense of isolation. She felt cold and not a little frightened. Here she stood in a strange house full of people she didn’t know yet who were counting on her to take over the duties of both a lost, beloved mother and a teacher; one of her charges was only three years younger than she; three of them were boys, a gender she had only recently begun to understand; and then there was Julian…

Giselle bit her lower lip, willing herself not to cry, and turned around to inspect her new room. Sooner than she’d have expected, she began to feel a bit better – its lack of familiarity was more than compensated by its lovely décor and the kind of coziness and warmth only a chamber in an older and very gracious home could provide. At one end was a fireplace covered by an intricately carved mantle, above that a magnificent painting of a sweeping field carpeted with wildflowers and ringed by towering, leafy trees. In the adjacent corner was a stately grandfather clock, a well-stocked writing desk sat beneath one of the tall, leaded- paned windows, and the wardrobe on the wall facing the hearth was an absolute work of hand-tooled art. Next to the wardrobe, the bed, canopied like Jocelyn’s but larger, was hung with pale blue velvet tied to the posts by light pink, satin ribbons. The bed hangings were echoed by the drapes at the windows, and on the dark golden oak floor was the most beautiful Persian carpet she’d ever seen. In addition to the wardrobe, there was a cedar chest at the foot of the bed where she could store things, giving her plenty of room and space for every need.

Her travel trunk had been set down near the wardrobe, so she busied herself removing her clothes, shaking them out and smoothing them carefully before hanging them up. She put her lingerie and personal items in the drawers beneath the wardrobe’s two main doors, and decided the cedar chest would be a good place for her books and the remaining miscellany of her former life. When she was done, she washed her hands and face at the lovely porcelain bowl and pitcher set in a mahogany stand on the wall across from the windows, then quickly changed out of her traveling clothes, choosing a simple green and pink evening frock, dark green slippers, and a light, cream-colored shawl of silky French lace. A quick glance in the small oval mirror above the washstand confirmed that her hair was still behaving itself and everything was in order.

Giselle, never having been fussed over by her parents about her looks, was very unassuming in that regard. The fact that her large, grey-green eyes were perfectly framed by thick, black lashes, or that her nose with its delicately-sculpted tip was exactly the right size, or that her naturally rosy lips were full and sensual in the extreme, was never mentioned and therefore of no consequence to her. In fact, she rarely gave her looks any thought at all, except to make sure she was presentable at all times. The only thing her mother had ever made a to-do about was her hair. It was dark, chestnut brown with glints of deep red and gold, thick, a bit curly, and when unbound, fell to just below her waist. Mrs. Moreaux had insisted that her daughter brush her hair at least three times a day to keep it glossy and healthy, and had made sure it was always clean. Giselle thought it rather amusing that while she herself was required to bathe only once every other day, her hair had to be washed daily.

Of course, none of these matters were in her mind at the moment, so she was oblivious to the effect her entrance into the dining room a while later had on the males sitting there, laughing and discussing what sounded to her like an adventure in hunting. The moment she came through the door, Giles Lanford, her new employer, got to his feet and cleared his throat. The others turned around and were struck silent – he didn’t even have to warn his sons to be on their best behavior. They were too busy gaping to act up, and while Giselle didn’t realize the significance of their silence, Mrs. Trellain apparently did and coughed delicately into a lacy handkerchief, excusing herself momentarily and nearly running out of the room.

“Good evening, Miss Moreaux.” Giles gave her a polite bow and a smile that somehow seemed much warmer and more welcoming than any like expression she’d witnessed at their first meeting. “I am so pleased you were able to move into Grey House this soon. Please – allow me to introduce my family.” He indicated the chair at the opposite end of the table, his own being at its head.

She stood behind its high laddered back and returned his smile, feeling unusually shy all of a sudden. The others stood now, too, and Giles waved first at Julian.

“My brother, I believe, you’ve already met.” Giselle nodded and he continued, turning to a dark blonde, slender teenager standing to his right. “This is my oldest son, Granville. He’s fourteen and as the oldest will be, I expect, able to help with the others.” He raised an eyebrow at the boy who barely noticed it, being far to busy falling in love with his new governess to pay attention to his father’s veiled admonition. “Er, Granville?” Giles gently smacked the boy on the arm.

“Wh- oh!” Granville blushed and gave Giselle an unnecessarily deep bow. “P-pleased to meet you…Miss, er…”

“Moreaux!” Giles supplied in a loud whisper, making it very difficult for Giselle not to burst out laughing.

Somehow, Granville’s face got even redder. “Miss Moreaux.”

Giles sighed and turned his attention to the boy standing next to Granville. “This is my next-oldest, Alaric.” The twelve-year-old had the same honey-golden hair as his little sister, angelic features, and was a bit on the heavy side. He, too, was plainly smitten by the lovely young lady standing at the foot of the table, but his reaction was not nearly as extreme as his older brother’s, and he managed a greeting devoid of stuttering. “This is Winchester, the youngest boy,” Giles continued, gesturing toward the boy opposite Alaric. He was frail-looking with dark brown hair and brilliant blue eyes, his features promising a sensuous attractiveness in later years. He had been giving Giselle a frank stare of appreciation and curiosity, and now greeted her in a polite, soft voice that was nonetheless self-confident rather than bashful.

At that moment, a middle-aged, balding man emerged from a side door and informed everyone that dinner was ready to be served.

“Of course. Thank you, Milo,” said Giles without turning to face the man. “If everyone would kindly be seated?”

Julian came swiftly to Giselle’s side and pulled out her chair. “Miss Moreaux?”

“Thank you, Mr. Lanford,” she murmured, sitting.

A small voice made an indignant harrumphing noise, causing Giles to pause in the middle of opening his napkin. “Ah! How awful of me!” he exclaimed, eyes crinkling at the corners as looked to the source of the sound. “Miss Moreaux, allow me to introduce my daughter, Jocelyn. Formally, at any rate, since I do believe you’ve already met, yes?”

“We have,” said Giselle, smiling the girl. “But I thank you for acknow- ledging her.”

A brief silence followed, but then Granville burst out, “Do you sing, Miss Moreaux?”

“I…well, I suppose to some extent, but why - ”

“It’s just that you have such a marvelous speaking voice, and I thought it only natural to assume you could sing, too.” The boy appeared to be gushing, unable to stop himself. He gave Giselle a horrifying grin. “I – I like to sing, you see, and…”

“Gran – let her answer,” Julian interrupted gently, then covered his mouth with his napkin to hide a very obvious grin of his own.

Giselle cleared her throat. “Yes. Well, I’ve never been trained as a singer, but of course I do enjoy it. I play the spinet a little, and sometimes sing while I play.”

His eyes bulging a bit, Granville replied, “Oh, I should love to hear you. We have a beautiful spinet in the music room – ha! Good place for it, what? Ha, ha!” It looked as if the poor boy was about to implode, but was rescued by the arrival of the servants carrying plates of food.

Giselle waited until everything had been served before responding. When she did, she made sure her expression was appropriately serious. “I would be delighted, Granville. In fact, if you would sing with me, I should feel much less self-conscious. Something tells me you might also have some talent in that area.”

The boy blushed again, eliciting a quiet snort from Alaric who had been watching his big brother’s wrestling match with this latest crush and obviously enjoying it immensely. Giselle didn’t miss this and added, “Alaric, perhaps you could harmonize if we chose the right song?”

The younger boy’s delight was momentarily jolted into oblivion – he had plainly not been expecting to be called out on his brotherly smugness. “Harm…harmonize? I’ve never, I mean, I don’t think – it’s…” He spluttered to a halt.

“I can teach you, if you like,” said Giselle kindly while somehow making it clear that very little was going to get past her.

Alaric, naturally, chose to ignore that aspect of her demeanor, latching instead upon her offer. That would mean more time with her himself –

“Well, I hope you don’t mind,” Winston chimed in, “but I have no ear for music, and would much rather learn more about writing and painting. And politics.” He seemed to have added this last subject for his father’s benefit, perhaps because the man was outright frowning at him.

“I believe we can do all of those things,” Giselle told him. “When do our lessons begin, Mr. Lanford?”

“Tomorrow morning, I should think. This only Wednesday, and assuming you’ve gotten yourself situated, I can see no reason to delay.” Giles shrugged and picked up his fork. “Well! The food is getting cold, so let us put off further discussion until after the meal, shall we?”

And thus began Giselle Moreaux’s new life, one that at the outset boded well if maybe tedious and not at all what she’d envisioned for herself. But she would soon learn that not even in her imagination could she have anticipated the reality that awaited her in Grey House.

CHAPTER FOUR

By that first Friday afternoon, the Lanford males had decided to a man – and boy – that Miss Giselle Moreaux was not only a godsend, but was possibly the most lovely, talented, amusing, clever, tender-hearted, wise, intellectual and generally perfect female any of them had ever encountered, with the exception, of course, of the dear, departed Mrs. Lanford. Their reasons for thinking of her this way were as varied as their own natures, not surprisingly.

As for Jocelyn, her adoration for her new governess was based almost entirely on emotion; by dint of some sort of magic, this young woman had made her feel important, very grown-up, and both loved and understood, all at the same time. She had already discovered that Miss Moreaux was not above playing dolls or sharing tea with stuffed animals, and thus had also proven herself to be a great friend.

Winston was highly elated that his new governess held no scorn whatsoever for his gentler nature (he doubted he could ever bring himself to hunt down and kill living creatures the way his father, uncle, and brothers did). In fact, this remarkable lady even encouraged his desire to learn more about the beauty of language, telling him he was also completely right to want to dedicate time to the study of art. Politics, she told him, were a different kind of art form, but because men needed a good knowledge of that subject, too, since they were the ones running things, she would try and make it as enjoyable a topic as she could. He really liked that she had used the word “men,” not qualifying the term by saying something condescending like, “and little boys, too.”

Alaric, for his part, had immediately decided that if it came down to it, he’d stop eating sweets and join his brother in the harder athletic pursuits in order to make himself more appealing. It never occurred to him that the age difference between him and Miss Moreaux might be more of an obstacle than his weight to his becoming a suitor.

Granville, of course, was fully confident that none of his brothers could possibly compete with him for Giselle’s attention (he had already begun working on the speech in which he’d ask her if he might call her by her first name).

Julian, well, Julian was a flirt, a bit of a rogue where women were concerned, and extraordinarily confident in his ability to capture the heart of any female he wanted – and if the glint in his eye whenever he saw Giselle was any indication, he wanted her very badly.

Giles, on the other hand, was a true gentleman in every sense of the word. He believed in honor, integrity, and his obligation to treat the weaker sex with great respect and kindness. This belief was extended to all women, but especially to those who, like Giselle Moreaux, had obviously been raised well in a good family, and whose sensibilities were in many ways akin to his own. But he was a widower of only several months, and to allow himself to feel anything toward this charming girl so soon would be, to say the very least, inappropriate. So he contented himself with being available to help whenever necessary, making certain she was always comfortable and treated properly, and in no way regarding her as one of the servants. No, her job of teaching his children and keeping the little hellions in line was a most important one, and already she seemed more than capable of carrying out her duties in a manner that was almost… motherly. Ah, but that was a thought he’d have to shake off, and quickly!

The most miraculous and unexpected result of Giselle’s presence in Grey House was the change in Mrs. Trellain’s demeanor. She seemed genuinely fond of the girl, and her disposition gradually became almost sunny. By the end of the first month, she was, in fact, as devoted to this young lady as she’d ever been to her employer and his family. Quite remarkable, really.

When the soft pastels of spring gave way to the richer, deeper greens of summer, Mrs. Trellain announced one evening that Giselle should accompany her into town on the coming Saturday to purchase material for some new clothes to suit the season. Giselle had been offered a maid of her own to help with various personal things, like preparing her bath, brushing her hair, dressing and such, but she had declined, feeling almost embarrassed that as an employee she should be offered such comforts. Mrs. Trellain, on the other hand, was having none of that, and made herself available instead to take care of the girl. Somewhat intimidated but missing Belinda and thus most appreciative of the woman’s kindness, Giselle hadn’t the fortitude to refuse, and one of the extremely enjoyable outcomes of this was evening tea.

After the meal when the men would go off and do whatever it was they did in the drawing room, the children would be seen to their rooms. Both of the older boys would have been horrified by an offer to be tucked in, something Gisellel sensed immediately, but neither Winston nor Jocelyn had a single objection to bedtime stories and getting kissed goodnight by their governess. Once these duties were happily executed, Giselle would return to her room, where she would soon be joined by Mrs. Trellain carrying a large tray of tea things and some lovely little savories not too heavy to be consumed before bed.

So it was during one of these highly pleasant, peaceful times together that Mrs. Trellain made her announcement, looking very pleased with herself and clearly expecting Giselle to be delighted with the idea. Nor was she disappointed. For while the girl owned a few summer frocks, she had wisely left the bulk of her wardrobe behind. The prospect of fresh, new outfits was therefore cause for brilliant smiles and exclamations of sincerest gratitude.

“Based on your coloring, I would say the new turquois shades would be most complimentary.” Mrs. Trellain picked up her cup and took a sip, certain in her assessment.

“I’m afraid I’ve been so occupied here that I haven’t even seen what’s currently in fashion. Thank goodness I have you!”

“Oh, now, don’t fuss.” The woman frowned, but it was patently clear she was pleased as could be by the girl’s response. “I’m just glad I can help, is all. More tea?”

The arrangement agreed upon between Giselle and Mr. Lanford was that in return for her services as governess, she would be housed and fed, and at the end of each year receive a stipend to be put away against the day Jocelyn would finally be too old to need a governess, and Giselle would once again be on her own. Nothing had been said about a clothing allowance, but now she discovered that this, too, had been provided for, and was quite pleased. Never having been spoiled, despite being an only child, her needs and desires were simple and few; she told Mrs. Trellain this small fact, and for some reason, it elicited a look that Giselle could only have described as relief.

The journey into town turned out to be wonderful. They strolled casually through the various small shops, discovering both to have similar tastes in everything from jewelry to household accessories. They stopped for lunch before getting to the more serious part of their shopping, sitting outside at a linen-covered café table to enjoy the fresh spring air and sunshine while they ate.

At the fabric shop, Mrs. Trellain had the shopkeeper bring out bolts of the most popular cloth, many of which were in shades of turquois – just as the older woman had predicted – some accented with shimmering gold thread, some with a light green pattern added, and all in every kind of material imaginable. Shiny satins, muted silks, delicate tissue, soft cottons, and sturdy muslins all vied for attention, each suggesting a different use.

No parties had been held since Mrs. Lanford’s untimely death, of course, but Mrs. Trellain had overheard some things that made her believe this would soon change. She therefore suggested that Giselle indulge in at least one formal dress, and having convinced the girl, both finally agreed on a turquois and gold tissue with matching voile for the lining, then picked out a pale green, light cotton for daily wear, a fawn muslin with tiny pale blue flowers for the evening, saffron for an underskirt to be worn with an overdress of chocolate brown moire for trips to visit family friends, and one length each of a magnificent, almost weightless burgundy silk, and a pure white, sheer cotton for a two-toned shift to wear outside on hot afternoons. The children loved croquet, Giselle was told, and thoroughly enjoyed playing that and other such games on the well-tended lawns surrounding the house.

Next, they took their purchases to the dressmaker, who brought out a book of patterns. Giselle’s tall, slender form was perfect for all the latest fashions, she said, and it took little persuasion to convince the girl to leave the pattern choices to this very efficient-sounding woman with straight-pins stuck in her waistband and a tape measure around her shoulders like a thin shawl. Apparently, Mrs. Trellain trusted her completely, so they left the material there and went off to speak with the shoemaker.

After this, a few minor but very necessary accessories were purchased, and by the time they reached Grey House in the early evening, both women were exhausted but quite content. Thanking Mrs. Trellain profusely for all her help and delightful company, Giselle went to her room for a brief nap, asking one of the upstairs maids on the way if she would be kind enough to wake her in an hour. Upon being roused by the girl’s polite tapping, Giselle called a pleasant thank-you, washed her hands and face to wake herself more fully, and changed into a plain white shift edged with delicate lace over which she pulled a short, ice-green shawl of lightly woven cotton. Slipping her feet into a pair of comfortable grey satin pumps, she went out, making her way to the library downtairs.

With the children and their father out for the day, she thought she might take the opportunity to do some research on the history of the nation’s politics; she had promised Winston to make this an interesting subject, but realized she’d need to understand more about it herself before trying to make it comprehensible to someone who plainly didn’t wish to study it at all. The library was a huge place, all four walls covered by shelving, a ladder on rollers against them to facilitate gaining access to the upper shelves.

Fortunately, the books themselves were very well organized, and it took her very little time to locate a section on her chosen subject. She began pulling books down, holding them to her chest until there were too many, at which point she grasped the precarious stack in both arms, intending to take them to one of the tables by the arched windows. Suddenly, the top two volumes began to slip and would have fallen to the floor, but someone caught them both. Giselle, halted in her progress by the person who was of necessity blocking her path as he grabbed the tumbling stack, gasped and looked up.

Standing very, very close, his mouth twisted in a self-satisfied grin, eyes twinking, was Julian.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Er, thanks.” Giselle offered a weak smile and sidled around him with the remaining books clutched almost prudishly to her chest. He’d been far too close to her, she felt, making her way to the nearest table and scooting behind it to drop her burden.

He put the other two volumes on the table, standing opposite her. “May I ask why such a beautiful young lady is sequestering herself in a musty old library on a glorious Saturday afternoon?”

Nothing he’d said had been offensive or even suggestive – none of his words, at any rate. But for all her innocence, Giselle was no fool and hadn’t missed the very suggestive nuances in his tone of voice. “As it happens,” she replied, her own tone prim, “it’s almost evening, and I’m here to study. I take my job here very seriously, you know.”

“Have you any idea how much I’d like to take you in my arms and kiss you until you faint?” His eyes were what could only be described as “smoldering” as he said this.

“Mr. Lanford! How dare you!”

“Oh, come, now, Miss Moreaux. You’ve known all along that I’m attracted to you – who wouldn’t be? But unlike your overheated charges who have a very typical, schoolboy crush, I base my feelings as much upon who you are as on how you look, perhaps more so.”

Liar, she thought. “And who, exactly, do you believe I am?”

He sighed and crossed his arms. “Ah, lovely lady…you are a sweet-natured, intelligent, generous, selfless human being with the face of a young goddess, hair like angel-silk, eyes that took their beauty from the sea itself…you miss very little, yet know so little about life. You’re innocent yet wise, a caring, loving person who will one day make some extremely fortunate man happy beyond his wildest dreams.” He raised an eyebrow, his smile welcoming now, all mischief gone.

Giselle swallowed, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe. No man had ever spoken to her thus, nor had she ever expected Julian to sound so honestly sincere about his feelings. She blushed and looked down, not sure what to make of all this. “Well, thank you. That – that was very kind of you to say…”

Whether or not he would have taken her momentary hesitation and vulnerability as an opportunity to try and kiss her would never be known, for at that moment, the library door opened and three exhuberant boys whooshed in, smelling of fresh air and horse.

Giselle refrained from looking too relieved at the interruption as she greeted the boys cheerfully.

“Miss Moreaux!” exclaimed Alaric before his brothers could answer her. “We were wondering if you would care to join us tomorrow morning for our Sunday ride! Have you ever been on a horse?”

“I have, indeed. But are you certain? You normally spend that time with your father and uncle, and I would hardly wish to intrude on – ”

“Actually, it was father’s idea, and we all agreed it would be grand to have you along!” This from Granville before his brother could usurp the governess’ attention once more.

“Yes, Miss Moreaux, do join us,” said Julian with a glimmer in his eyes only she understood.

“Oh. My goodness. Well, why not?”

A small chorus of cheers followed her acquiescence, and they headed out of the room, calling to their uncle to join them for a game of cards before the evening meal.

“Of course,” he agreed, but looked rueful as he cast a parting glance at Giselle.

When the door closed and she was alone once more, she sat limply in the nearest chair behind the table. She felt she’d just been spared an impossible ordeal, yet had to admit to a certain curiosity. What would it have been like to be kissed by someone like Julian Lanford? She’d been politely kissed by other, temporary suitors, but never experienced the kind of passion she could see burning in Julian’s eyes. She shivered, not unpleasantly, but then decided to put aside all such thoughts and concentrate on her reason for being in the library in the first place. He certainly had a way with words, though…

She took a deep breath, gave herself a determined mental shake, and opened the top book. As thrilling as Julian’s attentions had been – albeit in a forbidden sort of way – they would have to be abandoned. For now, anyway.

~*~*~*~

Every Sunday morning ride thereafter included Giselle, who loved riding and was thrilled that she could enjoy the fresh air, sun, and exhiliaration of speeding along the wooded pathways atop the beautiful dapple grey mare they’d loaned her. At first, the younger Lanfords had vied for the position on either side of her. To her credit, she never scorned their attention, nor let herself laugh at these antics. But then first Julian and eventually Giles had commandeered those positions, and by the middle of the summer, they were actively competing for her attention as they rode, the younger boys following sullen-faced, their jealousy ill-disguised. Sometimes, to assuage their wounded young sensibilities, she would purposely fall back in order to find herself once again surrounded by her adoring students. The men seemed to understand this and didn’t insist on her catching back up with them.

Since her encounter with Julian in the library, Giselle had been very careful to avoid ever being alone where he might find her. She had, in fact, confided in Mrs. Trellain about the incident and sought the woman’s advice. The older woman was quite clearly touched by the girl’s candor and trust; she therefore gave Giselle the best advice she could, which was to remain polite to Mr. Julian at all times, but never allow him to catch her by herself again. She also advised that nothing be said to the elder Mr. Lanford, unless, of course, his younger brother tried to take things too far in an attempt to win her. She agreed, and in fact became so busy avoiding Julian’s longing gazes, that she missed those of another.

Then something she deemed quite strange occurred one wintery afternoon. The summer had played out pleasantly enough, and autumn had presented many opportunities for Giselle and her charges to explore science in the crisp forest air as she pointed out to them the different kinds of trees, their Latin names, and the difference between edible mushrooms and poisonous toadstools. By the time the first snowflake had introduced itself to the crystalline air of early winter, the children were transformed. Well-behaved now, taking their studies seriously and making wonderful progress in all subjects, their new demeanor encouranged Giselle to feel she may have actually done a good job after all.

Julian had been successfully kept at bay, although it was clear he was unhappy about it, and it looked to the girl as if everything would be well. Until that afternoon, when Giles called her into his study, his expression closed, more serious than she’d ever seen it.

“Have I done something wrong?” she asked after closing the door behind her and facing him. He had said nothing for several long moments, prompting her question.

“No, Miss Moreaux. No, you have not.” He looked away, tapping the fingers of one hand on the surface of the desk behind which he’d taken a seat. He shook his head, his lips a firm line.

She waited patiently – surely he hadn’t called her in here to see how long she could stay on her feet.

At last he stopped tapping and looked up at her. “I have a confession, my dear.”

She raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

“I’m worried about Julian. I see the way he looks at you, and I am certain you are not unaware of his desires.”

Now she stayed quiet because she had no idea what to say to this observation.

“He…he isn’t…stable. That is to say, he’s not completely unbalanced or any such thing, but he does have, er, too much interest in the fairer sex. I do not wish to speak ill of my own brother, but he has managed to…oh, dear.”

Giselle frowned. “Are you worried that I might return his affections?”

“Somewhat, although you strike me as far too sensible to allow his charms to sway you into doing something, er, regrettable.” He sat straighter. “I must ask you this, and beg you not to be offended. Have – have you allowed him to, to – to touch you?”

“Touch me? In what way, Mr. Lanford?”

He waved one hand in a vague sort of gesture. “Oh, inappropriately, I suppose.”

After working out what, exactly, he meant by that, she blushed, deeply embarrassed. “Oh! Well, of course not!”

“I see. Has he ever tried

to, um, do that? Or to kiss you?”

She thought about that afternoon in the library – it had certainly seemed as if that had been Julian’s intention, but she wasn’t sure enough about it to say it was. “N-no. But…”

“Please, Miss Moreaux. I must know the truth.”

She took a deep breath, gave Mrs. Trellain a silent apology, and said, “He did say he…he wanted me. That, er, that he was attracted to me or some such words.”

“I see. Tell me – are you attracted to my brother?”

She narrowed her eyes, thinking. This was a topic she’d avoided giving any consideration since that somewhat distant Saturday, but it occurred to her that this very kind man deserved complete honesty. Was she, in fact, attracted to Julian Lanford? And if so, why? Because of his flowery confession of desire for her? Very flattering, those words had been, but had they been enough to encourage any genuine desire in herself toward him? She surefly felt no affection, which was a very different thing, indeed. What did

she feel toward Julian, then?

“Miss Moreaux?”

“Am I attracted? I am fascinated by his behavior toward me, Mr. Lanford, but he frightens me, too. I rather think such feelings could hardly be described as ‘attracted’. He certainly is handsome and charming, but, no. I have no wish to be with him in any way whatsoever.”

An inexplicable look of joy joined the relief Giles was plainly experien- cing as a result of her words, and he sat back, nodding. “Good. You’ll be safe, then.”

“Safe, sir?”

“We shall speak no more about it, except that I insist you tell me if Julian’s behavior becomes too forward, or if he says or does anything to make you uncomfortable. May I count on you to do this?”

“Of course, sir. I would never lie to you.”

He nodded again, pleased, thanked her for taking the time to speak with him, and dismissed her with a smile.

CHAPTER SIX

Winter passed with no further incident, and the subject of Julian was never again broached by his brother. The boys were getting restless, something Mrs. Trellain explained was normal for them after so much time spent of necessity indoors during the colder weather. She tried to amuse them in a number of ways, but even her imagination had its limits. By the time the skies seemed ready to desist sending their icy deposits to the earth below, everyone’s patience had begun to wear thin. To avoid any unnecessary flaring of tempers, Giles decided to let the boys take a break from their studies in order to go visit an uncle whose estate was a good distance south of Grey House. There, they could perhaps do some early hunting, and at the very least, get outside for a ride once in a while. They were to stay until the Spring, at which time their studies would resume upon their arrival back home.

This seemed to please everyone, and Mrs. Trellain commented to Giselle that she would finally be able to air the house out a bit and get some early Spring cleaning started. Being somewhat at loose ends without her charges – Jocelyn had been bundled off to the City to stay with cousins – she volunteered to help with the housework. Unknown to any of them, all of these arrangements provided the perfect setting for what would happen next, something that would change all of their lives forever.

The situation began to unfold the very evening after Giles and the boys had gone off in the carriage to start their holiday. Mr. Lanford would be returning alone the following week, and in the meantime, one of the maids bundled Jocelyn into another carriage and headed north to the City. Julian, everyone believed, was off on one of his many jaunts, and no one knew when he’d be back.

So it was with some surprise that he arrived in the front hall at about seven o’clock, accompanied by a young lady whose background was questionable, to say the least. She was loud, her hair was an unnatural-looking blonde, and she wore entirely too much makeup and too few clothes. She was also unmistakably with child.

“Ah, Mrs. Trellain!” Julian exclaimed when the woman came downstairs to see what the commotion was about. “Allow me to introduce to you my beloved fiancee, Serenade duBois.” He made a bow toward the badly-coiffed young lady, holding one hand and kissing it. “She is to be the mother of my children.”

“Mr. Julian, I do believe you are drunk!” Mrs. Trellain had stopped on the bottom step and was refusing to come any further.

“Drunk, you say? Ha, very likely! You see, my devoted brother has made sure over the years that I was tightly reined in, that I could never have anything as nice as he did. So I found myself something nicer! Beautiful, isn’t she?” He gestured toward the bulging girl again.

“Really! Well, this is your brother’s house and he has allowed you to live in it, so I fail to see why you would even bother to tell me…anything about this.”

“Allowed me, yes. How kind. Serenade, my dear, would you like to see my room - our room?”

Giselle, having also heard the young woman’s vociferous, strident tones, was standing at the top of the stairs during this exchange, totally shocked by what she was hearing. Julian may have been forward and perhaps too bold, but he’d never displayed such a horrifying lack of decorum before. She’d also never witnessed him in a state of drunkenness. Why was he being like this? She couldn’t see this Serenade duBois from where she stood listening, but curiosity finally won out and she took a few tentative steps down and peered over the bannister.

Julian, who may have heard her movements, chose that moment to look up. His expression changed to one of deep anger, but it wasn’t clear if this emotion was aimed at Giselle or his situation. “Ah, and here is the lovely Giselle Moreaux, our charming Governess and love of my life!”

Serenade bashed him on the arm with her reticule after favoring Giselle with a furious glare. “I though I was the love of your life, Julian!” she whined. “I mean, I’m carrying your child, after all.”

“So you are, my dear, so you are. But look at her. Is Miss Moreaux not the most magnificent specimen of womanhood you’ve ever seen? God, I would love to get her in your condition!” He winked stupidly at Serenade and patted her tummy lightly.

That was simply too much. Giselle gave a small cry of mortification and disgust, and quickly went back up the steps and down the hallway to her room. How dare he say such horrid things! Such…inappropriate things! Just before shutting her door, she heard Mrs. Trellain telling Julian he’d gone too far this time.

Was this what Giles had been trying to warn her about? She decided she’d stay in her room until either he returned from dropping off the boys, or Julian and his consort had gone. She was devastated and had no wish to ever see Julian again. That realization caused her to acknowledge that she had been entertaining the thought of being with him after all. That she had, despite all her denials, found him not only attractive, but someone with whom she could easily fall in love.

She sat at the desk in front of the window, looking out but seeing nothing, her heart aching with a feeling she hadn’t allowed herself to accept until now. How could she have been so foolish? Maybe the best thing to do would be to leave. After all, the children would be away for at least two or three weeks, which would give Giles plenty of times to find another governess. And that way, she wouldn’t have to see them….no, the fact was, she absolutely adored those children, loved them almost as if they were her own – except for Granville, who felt more like a little brother than a child. To simply leave was out of the question; that was the coward’s way, and those four deserved better than that from her.

A knock jolted her and she spun around in her chair. “Who is it?”

“Only me,” said Mrs. Trellain. “May I come in, dear?”

Giselle rushed to the door and pulled it open. “Oh, please do,” she cried, stepping back. “I’m afraid this incident has left me in quite a state.”

“You poor dear! I am so sorry you had to witness that display of – of – ”

“Please – it’s all right now. Let’s sit and perhaps you’ll tell me all the things no one would say until now about Julian.” She gestured toward the two comfortable chairs by the small hearth at the other end of the room. “After this, I don’t believe it matters any more.”

Thus Giselle learned of Julian Lanford’s wastrel existence, his devil-may- care attitude toward life, responsibility, family, and everything in between. Apparently, he’d always been a rather flamboyant youngster, but when he learned that his older brother was to be the sole recipient of the family estate, he’d become despondent at first, then rebellious, finally embarking upon a lifestyle that appeared to be blatantly self-destructive.

By the end of the narrative, Giselle found herself feeling terrible for Julian, wondering if perhaps his father had been too dismissive of the younger Lanford. Was it possible that had Julian been more acceptable in his sire’s eyes, he might have become closer in temperament to his older brother? Ah, but no one would ever know, and her heart went out to him.

Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, Giselle was wakened by the sound of voices. Her sleep had been disturbed before by quiet arguing downstairs, but she’d always ignored it, figuring it to be none of her business, and certainly not her place to eavesdrop. But the tone of this argument was different somehow, and after sitting up in bed and straining to hear for several minutes, she realized Giles must have come home, for she recognized one of the voices as his.

Not knowing why she did so, Giselle threw back the covers, pulled on her night shawl, tucked her feet into her bed slippers, and went out into the hall. The voices were slightly louder here, but still unintelligible. As if drawn by an invisible force, she eased down the steps and went silently to the door of the study, leaning close to the door to hear better.

“…leave her alone! She’s nothing like that floozy you claim to be carrying your child and I will not allow you to destroy her innocence!”

“Oh, you would say that, you horrible cretin! You know I could have her any time I want her. She’d be clay in my hands, by God! Problem is, big brother, you want her for yourself!”

Silence followed this outburst, but then Gile’s voice, an intense, hoarse whisper, responded, “How dare you! I have nothing but respect for her and –"

“Respect? Is that what you call it? I see how you look at her, how your eyes follow every little movement! My God, man, Christiana is barely cold in her grave and you go and hire…Put that gun down, Giles. You look stupid. You know you could never shoot me.”

Giselle backed away from the door, horrified.

“You? Why, you self-centered young thug! This is for me, Julian! If I have to live with the thought of you violating that beautiful girl, I’ll go mad! And do not ever, ever mention my deceased wife’s name again!”

Julian began to chuckle, the sound penetrating the thick door with its deep resonance. “Oh, how rich! My beloved brother’s sense of honor won’t let him touch the lovely little orphan, but he’ll try and make me too guilty to do anything with her, either. Is that what you’re playing at, Giles? Well know this – if I can’t have her, neither will you!”

“And what kind of threat is that, little brother? No, I think you have it backwards. You’re the one who will never have her; I can see to that, believe me! Now gather your things, including that pile of trash you claim to be the mother of your child, and get out of my house! Tonight! I want you gone before dawn!”

Giselle heard movement on the other side of the door that indicated someone would soon be coming out, and she dashed up the stairs, her heart pounding crazily. This was absolutely the worst night of her life, and she had no idea what to do. Should she waken Mrs. Trellain? Or perhaps run down to the stables and ride into town to fetch a constable! No, no…

The study door slammed, and a moment later she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. She flew down the hall to her door, went in, and eased it shut right as someone – Julian, she was sure – stomped furiously past her room. He and Serenade were sharing a bedroom in the adjacent hallway, and she could hear him go in, slamming that door behind him.

Somewhat dazed, she went to the window and sat on the wide, cushioned sill, leaning her head against the cool glass. So both Lanford brothers “wanted” her. What, exactly, did that mean? Was it pure desire or was there something more? This had never been an issue in her life and she abolutely did not know what to think or how to deal with it. It was flattering, to be sure, but was any of it right?

Ah, Julian. How infuriating he could be, but he was so charming, too. With a little coaxing and a lot of love, he might become something better. But no, that certainly wasn’t her job in life, was it? Besides, he had that woman – Serenade duBois, of all the names! Yet he had clearly professed his desire, not for that “loose” woman, but for her, Giselle. Unless there was someone else, of course, but she knew that was a silly notion. They had quite plainly been referring to her.

But that meant Giles also had an interest in her. She’d never thought of him as a possible suitor, although now, in light of what she’d been hearing, she began remembering his glances, the way he’d watch her with – with that? Tenderness? Appreciation? Most assuredly not love! Oh, no, never that! She told herself stoutly. Still, what if it was? Could she ever love him back?

To her complete shock, no denial of the possibility was forthcoming. Shaken, she got up, paced a bit, then went back to bed. She was frankly exhausted, and decided to stop trying to figure it all out in one night. Perhaps she could ask Mrs. Trellain about it over tea tomorrow. Or perhaps it was time for her to start making her own decisions and drawing her own conclusions. Perhaps.

~*~*~*~

The crack of a whip and cry of a coachman, followed by the noisy departure of a carriage down the cobbled drive was what finally woke Giselle. She’d been so exhausted, even the sunlight streaming through the tall windows hadn’t disturbed her slumber. She sat up slowly, the filmy shrouds of sleep melting less rapidly than usual; only after several moments of growing awareness did she remember what had occurred the night before. Her heavy lids snapped open then, and she threw back the covers. Had the carriage been Julian and Miss duBois leaving Grey House as ordered?

She went to the window but the vehicle was no longer within range of sight. What she could see was that the sun was much higher than it should be – how late had she slept? The grandfather clock in the corner with its peaceful, implacable tick-tock, tick-tock, gently informed her that she had, in fact, slept a good two hours longer than was her habit. Why had no one come in to wake her?

She went to the wash basin and splashed cold water on her face, then quickly dressed, leaving her hair for last – normally, Mrs. Trellain would come in and without a word, pick up Giselle’s comb and brush; the girl would sit obediently as the woman did her hair, pinning it up neatly at the last. Today, however, Mrs. Trellain was oddly absent, so she took care of it herself. It was only as she was preparing to leave the room that she noticed the tray that had been placed on the trunk at the foot of her bed. On it were some covered plates, a small teapot, a cup, silver service, an embroidered napkin, a silver creamer and bowl of sugar cubes. She lifted one of the covers and found two lovely blueberry scones. The other plate held thin slices of cold goose and several pats of fresh butter.

How long ago had this been brought, she wondered, putting a hand on the teapot. It was still warm, but far from hot, indicating the things had been sitting there for a while. Hungry, she picked up a scone and nibbled on it, poured out the tepid tea and took a sip, then covered everything again and went out.

The house was unusually quiet. The children were away, but that didn’t explain the lack of servants, cold hearths in all the rooms she checked, and the very conspicuous absence of both Mrs. Trellain and the butler. She wouldn’t have wondered at Giles Lanford being gone, since he wasn’t supposed to be back until the following week, had she not heard him in the study the night before.

Giselle frowned and went into the library – also unoccupied – where she sat down behind the reading table to think. Had she dreamed everything? The argument between Julian and Giles, the carriage rumbling away down the drive? And what day was this? She put a hand to her head, feeling somewhat faint. What on earth was going on?

“Are you well, Miss Moreaux?”

Giselle gasped, terribly startled, and stared up at Giles whose entrance had been completely silent. “I – I – no, yes. Yes! I’m fine, Mr. Lanford. I do apologize for jumping like that! It’s just that I didn’t sleep well last night and seemed to have over-slept this morning. But…the house is so quiet. Where is everyone? And – when did you get back? I thought you’d be away for at least a week, sir.”

He pulled out the chair opposite and sat. “I, um, had some business to attend to here. A bit of an unexpected situation, I suppose you could say. It’s been resolved, however, and I may return to my brother William’s home before the end of the day. You met him last month, I believe, yes?”

“Briefly, sir, with Mrs. Trellain when we were in town. He’s younger than Julian, is he?”

“By one year, yes. But unlike Julian, he’d made something useful of himself.” Giles looked away, his expression unpleasant. A moment later, he pulled himself away from the upsetting thoughts and faced Giselle once more, this time with a smile. “So! Mrs. Trellain has hauled the servants off to town with her to purchase new cleaning supplies or some such thing. They’ll all be back by this afternoon, beating the carpets and scrubbing the walls, I expect.”

“I shall help them, then.”

“Why? You aren’t one of the servants, Miss Moreaux. I rather think you should be served, rather than…” He stopped, a surprising blush rising in his handsome face. He stood abruptly. “So sorry – I was speaking out of turn.” Not waiting for a reply, he went swiftly out.

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed softly. “Whatever was that about?” Well, at least she now knew why no one was around, and everything Mr. Lanford had said confirmed that she hadn’t dreamed the argument. His final behavior before leaving the room had also left little doubt that she hadn’t misunderstood the implications of his feelings for her. And that made her blush, too.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity. Despite Giles’ admonitions, Giselle threw herself into the tasks Mrs. Trellain had assigned to get the house in order for the coming spring and summer seasons. While this was a regular, annual event, this time she insisted on a bit more care in dealing with the smaller details, such as the polishing of wall sconces, knick-knacks, the gilded picture and mirror frames, with special attention paid to the cleaning of every curtain and drape in the house. The ones in the Grand Parlour, which was where the Lanfords generally held their occasional parties, were replaced altogether with georgous moire satin drapes of dark saffron, held back by pale grey silk chords to display delicately-wrought lace of the palest green. The walls, too, were given a fresh coat of light lemon-yellow paint, the mouldings painted the same silvery hue as the tie-backs on the drapes. The old brass wall-sconces were replaced with brightly-polished silver ones, and the magnificent crystal chandelier taken down, disassembled, every crystal cleaned to a sparkle, then put back together and re-hung. The dark Persian carpet was carefully beaten clean and rolled up for storage, the wood floors beneath scrubbed and given several new layers of varnish and polished to a lovely, warm glow. Once this was done, the room itself was closed off and locked, not to be used or in any way disturbed until Mr. Lanford opened it for guests.

All this arduous work had effectively taken Giselle’s mind off the turmoil in her heart, at least during the day. But sometimes, when she wasn’t so exhausted that she would fall immediately to sleep, she would acknowledge the ache, the sorrow regarding both Julian and Giles, not really knowing which one was responsible for the most pain. Something within her was breaking, but for the sake of the children, she pushed away the angst. They would be home again all too soon, and didn’t need to see her languishing.

Giles had returned the next week as promised, but even though he would wander through the house to express appreciation here and there for the work being done, he never stayed indoors for very long. His greetings to Giselle were not exactly cold, but certainly less encouraging than they’d been in the past. She wondered sometimes if he even had the slightest inkling how much this treatment was hurting her.

Then, about four day before the boys were to be brought home by their uncle, and two before Jocelyn was due to return, Giselle’s world was once again torn apart. She had been gathering flowers in one of the side gardens, planning on distributing them in the bedrooms, and as she straightened from plucking some early hyacinths, felt a hand on her back. She gasped and turned.

It was Julian. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked absolutely terrible. But before she could express her concern, he took her by the shoulders and planted a firm, deep kiss on her mouth. Her immediately instinct was to pull away, but he held her too tightly for her struggles to have any effect, and suddenly she found herself melting into him. She’d never been kissed like this before and didn’t know what to do, but she couldn’t deny the strange and wonderful sensations sparking and sizzling throughout her body. She could barely breathe, but didn’t care; she realized she was kissing him back, and didn’t care about that either.

But then he stopped, swallowed hard, his eyes smoldering into hers. “My God, I’ve wanted to do that since the moment you first stepped out of your carriage! I – oh, come away with me, Giselle! I promise to make you the happiest woman on earth, to shower you with everything you could possibly need or want!”

Still trying to catch her breath, she searched his eyes, shocked by what had occurred, but thrilled by the lingering sensations. A moment later, common sense returned and she shook her head. “How, Julian? How can you do those things?” As soon as she said it, she realized she’d called him by his first name and blushed.

His tender smile became a grin as he seemed to realize it, too. “Does it matter? There is always a way. I may not have my brother’s wealth, but I do have…abilities with which to acquire my own. But all that does matter, my dear, sweet Giselle, is that I need you. I want you. Please don’t deny me!”

How tempting! How almost irresistible, she admitted. But she’d listened to his words carefully, waiting for the one that would immediately tip the scales in his favor, and it hadn’t been spoken. “You need me, Julian?”

“Yes, yes! More than anything or anyone else I’ve ever known!”

“You say you want me, too. What does that mean?”

Now his smile became something she didn’t quite understand. “It means you would be totally mine. Mine to enjoy, mine to teach the meaning of pleasure to while having my deepest desires fulfilled. Mine to have whenever I want, yet make sure that desire is equal from you.”

His words were suddenly making her very uncomfortable in a pleasantly forbidden way. More temptation, yes? But that one word…“How do you feel toward me, Julian?” she whispered.

He shrugged. “I feel – happy? Elated. Yes, elated! Every time I see you, I feel as if life is worthwhile because you’re here, and because you’re here, so is the possibility of all those things I just mentioned.”

“I see.” Now she wanted to weep. Instead, she took a step back, her action so unexpected that he didn’t have a chance to stop her. “Ah, Julian. I am not a toy. I am not a thing to be possessed, for you to play with, nor am I your savior. I was not put on this earth to solve your woes or satisfy your physical longings. And while being with you might be more exciting than anything I’ve yet experienced, in the end I’d be miserable, and so would you.”

“Why do you say that?” He frowned, looking genuinely confused.

“Because the most important part of all this is – and would forever be – missing. Love, Julian. Love. You never said you love me, and quite honestly, that’s all I really want. Please go now.” She bent down and picked up the flowers that had fallen from her hands, placing them in the basket.

Above her, she could hear Julian’s breathing grow more ragged; she hesitated to look up, not wanting to see the emotion that was causing this. Finally, she saw his feet move backward as he prepared to leave. “You will regret this, Miss Moreaux,” he said with intensity. “You’ve made the wrong decision.”

And then he was gone. Giselle stood in time to see him disappear around one of the large rhododendron bushes, and released a long, deep breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She was certain she’d done the right thing, even though it didn’t feel that way at the moment. He’d offered her a whole new life, and yet…

No, her decision had been correct. He was wrong about that, and Giselle was determined not to regret it for even a moment. She reminded herself of the questionable Miss duBois, and wondered if at the beginning he had professed the same words to her. If so, the outcome was even more tragic, since it was obvious the woman still cared about him while he – no, she’d made the right decision.

As she headed back to the house, she noticed that the day was darkening, the brilliant sunshine fading into shades of grey. A storm was blowing up, she realized, and if the color of clouds in the distance was any indication, it promised to be a bad one. Forcing thoughts of Julian from her mind, she hurried now, entering through the back just ahead of a harsh gust of wind that slammed the door behind her.

This entrance led directly into the kitchen; the noise startled the cook’s assistant, who had been peeling turnips at the large work table near one of the windows, and she looked up. “Oh! Seems we’re in for quite a storm, Miss Moreaux!”

“Apparently so. Should we have someone close the shutters, do you think?” The windows of Grey House, even here, were quite large. A pleasant feature when sunlight and warmth were needed, they became somewhat of a liability in difficult weather.

“I’ll fetch Joss, Miss.” Abandoning her turnips, the girl jumped up and went swiftly out of the kitchen.

Giselle glanced down at her basket of flowers, a rueful smile curling her lips. “I’m afraid your relatives are going to get blown to bits,” she told them. “And I’m talking to flowers…” She gave herself a shake and went into the hallway leading to the back stairs. Sharp blasts of wind had begun to pummel the house, and she was suddenly glad it was made of that dark, forbidding stone.

Around her, activity had sprung up as servant began rushing about to secure windows and draw drapes. Outside her own window she saw a ladder had been raised, and a moment later one of the servant’s head and arms appeared as he reached up and pulled the shutters closed, plunging the room into darkness. Giselle had been putting the last of the flowers in a vase, having saved her room for last, and now took matches from her apron pocket to light the small lamp on her desk.

The storm had come much closer by now, and its roar increased as the clouds opened over the house, pelting the slate roof with a thick downpour.

“Are you all right, my dear?” asked Miss Trellain from the doorway. She’d had to raise her voice to be heard over nature’s din.

“Yes, Mrs. Trellain. Thank you. Is everything well?”

“The shutters have all been closed, the windows secured, fires and lamps lit. So yes, I think we’ll be fine.” She smiled warmly at the girl. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I shall – thank you! Oh, I put some flowers in your room. Perhaps that will make all this gloom less depressing.”

“What a dear girl!” With that, the older woman left and went downstairs, her footsteps barely audible over the pounding of rain and wind.

A moment later, things actually got more violent – a blinding flash of light visible even through the closed shutters was followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder so loud, it sounded as if the house had been split in two. Instinctively, Giselle crouched down beside the bed, hands over her head. She stayed that way as wave after wave of ferocious, celestial collisions continued, lasting for what felt to her like hours. In fact, it had remained directly overhead for only about five minutes before starting to move off to the south.

Slowly, carefully, Giselle stood, relieved to note the frightening sounds were growing a bit fainter. She opened her door and would have gone to Mrs. Trellain’s room to see how the woman had fared, but exactly like the night before, she became aware of raised voices downstairs. The same two voices that had wakened her. Was Julian still here, then? Giles must have also returned from wherever it was he’d gone that day, and now they were shouting at each other.

Unable to resist, Giselle went down to the foyer where she realized the voices were not coming from the study this time. They were in Giles’ private office, a comfortable, wood-paneled room that had a door leading outside to where the stables were located. Perhaps he’d found Julian about to leave and they had been forced inside by the storm. All she knew was that they sounded angrier than they had the last time. As she approached the office, their voices became clearer.

“…to say goodbye, you bastard!” This from Julian. “I’m their uncle, damn it, and should be allowed - ”

“They aren’t here, Julian, and you know that! So what were you really up to? Trying to see Giselle?”

“Giselle! Ha! You’ve managed to poison her against me very effectively, big brother!” Julian spat. “What did you tell her about me?”

“Why you self-centered…we never spoke of you at all! She did admit at one point that you’d shown an interest in her, but that was a while ago, and we haven’t spoken about you since!”

“Ah, so her refusal was entirely of her own devising, was it?”

“Refusal? Refusal of what?”

“I offered to take her away – away from you, from all this drudgery, and give her a life filled with excitement and enjoyment! But all she wanted to talk about was love!” He said this last word with such contempt that Giselle was now glad she’d turned him away.

“You, sir, are a scoundrel!” Giles apparently went to the outer door upon saying this, because she could hear it being flung open. “You disgust me, Julian! All you can ever offer that girl is a despicable reputation, get her with child, then abandon her like you did that – that prostitute you claim is your fiancee!”

“I - ”

“Get out, Julian, now, before I do something we’ll both regret!”

“Oh, don’t worry, brother. We’re beyond that, and the regret will be there – all of you will suffer! All of you!”

She heard sounds of scuffling, muffled exclamations of some kind of struggle, and a moment later, in the midst of a distant clap of thunder, a shot rang out. Something fell heavily to the floor, and then silence except for the continuing swish of rain.

Horrified, Giselle opened the door and peered into the dimly-lit room. In an unexpected flash of lightning, she saw someone crouching over a body…she took a step closer, hand over her mouth, scarcely breathing.

She must have made a sound, because the man leaning over the body straightened. It was Giles.

“M- Miss Moreaux! What are…you must leave! Go! This is none of your business!” In his hand was a pistol which he waved toward the door behind her.

“You – you killed Julian! My God! Why?”

A terrible look crossed his features, the scar on his temple turning livid. “You know nothing! You’re an ignorant fool – get out!” He got to his feet and came toward her, the pistol still in his hand.

“Don’t kill me, too!” she pleaded, backing away. “Oh, poor Julian!” Tears sprang to her eyes but she continued to look directly at Giles, her own expression becoming one of revulsion. “You’re horrible! He was confused about things, but he didn’t deserve to die! He was right about you, Mr. Lanford – all you care about is your wealth!” Actually, Julian had said nothing of the kind, but only implied it when speaking of his own lack of means. At the moment, however, she wasn’t even trying to be logical or precise in her accusation. All she knew was that a man was dead, and the man she’d thought to be good and decent had murdered him.

Jaw clenched, Giles came to within a few inches of Giselle’s trembling form and hissed, “Get out of my sight, or by God, I will – ”

Paralysis instantly turned into action and Giselle turned, ran out of the room and up the stairs to her own. She locked the door and pulled her trunk from the bottom of the wardrobe.

“I can’t stay,” she muttered. “I have to get out – Giles is insane! Oh, Lord, what am I to do?” Overwhelmed with emotion, her heart broken into shards, she abandoned the trunk and threw herself onto the bed where she sobbed without respite, deep, wracking sobs of defeat, emotional agony, terror. When her personal storm began to subside, she found herself too exhausted to move and before she realized it, had fallen into a profound slumber.

Unaware of what had occurred downstairs, Mrs. Trellain came to Giselle’s room a short while later, using her master key to enter. She wondered why the door was locked, but assumed Giselle had somehow thought this was added protection against the storm. When she saw the girl sleeping soundly but still dressed, she gave her a tender smile and removed her clothes, putting her into one of her lovely, soft night gowns, then tucking her under the covers before blowing out the lamp and leaving.

The rain continued through the night with no signs of stopping. In fact, spates of heavier rain interrupted the softer downpour from time to time, promising a dreary day to follow. At some point, Giselle stirred and woke up, unaware at first of why she was in bed, all memory of the terrible incident that had brought her so precipitously to her room in the first place temporarily lost. She got out of bed and went to the window. The shutters had been re-opened, which made her wonder what brave soul had climbed the slippery rungs to reach the upper windows. This led her to the recollection of the storm’s original violence, and a moment later her eyes widened.

“Julian!” she whispered, remembering everything.

“What about him?”

She whirled about and found Giles standing in her doorway, a lamp in his hand – a hand still covered with blood.

“You!” she breathed. “What do you want?”

“I apologize if I frightened you, but I simply must secure your silence – ”

“You mean to kill me, too? You awful, awful man!”

He took a step further into the room, but what would have happened after that Giselle didn’t wait to discover. As swiftly as she could, she managed somehow to get past him and out into the hall. From there, she ran down the staircase, flung open the front door, and ran out into the rain. As bad as the weather was, she didn’t feel it posed any greater threat than the murderous individual in her room. As she fled down the drive, she looked back briefly and saw his powerful form silhouetted in the tall window of her room. That was all she needed and determined not to look back again.

The torrential rains quickly soaked into her nightgown, causing its billowy material to become plastered against her body, nearly tripping her as she ran. She’d left the driveway and headed across the spacious lawns, her goal the small woodland at the edge of the property. She struggled against the material clinging viciously to her legs, but her flight was fueled by the effective combination of almost mindless trepidation and the resolve to survive. Her long, thick hair whipped across her face; she was running blind, now, but refused to slow down, much less stop.

Some of the saturated strands parted and she saw that at last she was mere feet from the nearest tree. Her elation was cut short, however, as an unexpected bolt of lightning struck the tree, its impact stunning her, knocking her senseless to the ground.

The figure in the window of Grey House moved then, and a moment later the front door opened.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Giles Lanford stood numbly at the window of Giselle’s bedroom and watched as she ran from the house, nothing in his expression betraying what he felt. He saw her turn her face upward briefly, the abject fear and loathing in her eyes plain even from the second floor. Then he watched her flight across the rain-soaked lawns of Grey House, her pale form growing smaller and smaller as she approached the little woodland that defined the boundaries of his property. He could barely see her at that point, but when the lightning struck, he could make out enough through the rain and distance to see her fall. Still expressionless, he left the window, went down to the foyer where he retrieved his heavy cloak, and opened the door that the wind had shut behind Giselle after she’d left. In no apparent rush, he trudged through the rain, following the girl’s bare footsteps, the set of his shoulders somehow indicating defeat.

To anyone observing his progress, it would have seemed that he didn’t think he’d find the girl alive, so why rush? But when he was almost at her side, she stirred and sat up. He was briefly illuminated by a less deadly shaft of lightning, and she screamed, tried to rise, but lost the battle and slumped back to the ground, unconscious once more.

Giles went to one knee beside her, scooped her up as if she were weightless, stood, and still appearing impassive, carried her back to the house, the rain in his face the perfect camouflage for his tears.

~*~*~*~

A great deal of noise accompanied the darkness and pain that invaded her mind as Giselle fought to return to awareness. A deep sense of cold wracked her shivering body, and something else – fear. She was terribly, profoundly afraid of something; when her senses began to return, this fear kept her eyes shut tight. Until she knew what it was, she simply could not bring herself to come fully awake.

She heard herself moan, and a moment later felt something warm being wrapped around her, rocking her gently back and forth, holding her carefully close. She began to grow calmer, less terrified, and soon her reluctant lids parted, and she found herself blearily staring at a fire. It took a few moments, but she finally realized she was in her room, in bed, the hearth on the far wall blazing merrily, shades of early evening turning shadows in the corners deep blue. She’d been injured – the ache washing through her told her that, but she didn’t remember how.

Putting her head back against whatever was holding her upright, she saw a familiar face, one that was blurry at first, but quickly resolved into –

“Giles?”

He looked down at her and smiled. “Thank God. I thought we’d lost you.”

“What – what happened?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but it was obvious he was very upset, his eyebrows drawn together with some unspoken sorrow. At last he began to reply, but in that exact moment, Giselle remembered…

Julian. The sound of the gun. Blood. Giles crouching over his brother’s lifeless body. Then her flight through the rain toward the woods – she cried out and tried to pull away.

“Please, no!” Giles held her closer, his strength irresistible. “Oh, Lord, please Giselle! Let me explain what really happened!”

She began to shake, the earlier terror returning in force. “You – you killed Julian!”

“No, no I didn’t. He isn’t dead – hell, he isn’t even injured!”

“I don’t – I don’t believe….I don’t understand…”

“Look, you’re hurt. Lightning struck a tree only a few feet from you, and the doctor said you experienced a bad electrical shock. That was two nights ago; you’ve been unconscious ever since, and I’ve been beside myself with worry. Please give me a chance to tell you what really happened, I beg you!”

The pragmatic part of Giselle’s mind pointed out that this large, powerful man was holding her and showing no signs of letting go. What would be the point in refusing? She knew she couldn’t escape him, and besides, something about his demeanor was telling her that he wasn’t the monster she’d assumed he was. So she resolved that if his version of things made sense, if she could somehow determine he was telling the truth, she wouldn’t try to escape. Besides, she told herself, he was obviously bent on telling her whatever it was, even if she didn’t want to hear it, so why not let him talk?

She took a careful, deep breath and nodded. “Very well.” She almost added, “and I am still ‘Miss Moreaux’ to you,” but decided that was just silly since he was already sitting in bed with her and she wasn’t complaining about that.

“My poor brother,” he began, settling back against the fluffly pillows, pulling her with him. “Julian was always a bit wild. He wouldn’t obey our parents most of the time, got into constant trouble, but I loved the little devil. In fact, more than once I took the blame for some act of sheer stupidity he’d perpetrated so he wouldn’t find himself punished yet again. Perhaps that was my first and biggest mistake. He’s smart, and it didn’t take long for him to figure out that I wanted to protect him at all costs. Like a fool, I allowed him to use me, and as we got older, the problems became worse, as did the consequences. Eventually, I had to put a stop to it all. I told him that he plainly didn’t care as much about me – or anyone else – as he did about himself, or as much as we cared about him. His response was to laugh in my face, call me a convenient idiot, and promise to do whatever he felt like, knowing I’d always help him out of the worst of it.” He shook his head, his gaze becoming distant. “How wrong he was. Everyone has a breaking point, and when he chose to gamble away every penny of his monthly allowance I'd been giving him, then murder the usurer from whom he’d borrowed more so he could continue his debauched lifestyle, I reached the end of my tolerance. Yes, I got him out of it, but promised it was the last thing I’d do for him.”

Gizelle raised a startled glance to Gile’s face, scarcely believing what she was hearing. “He – he killed someone?”

“Yes, and got away with it, too. The only reason the issue was never pursued was because his victim had been widely despised and no one was in the least upset that he was dead. But it was then that I admitted my brother was lacking a conscience, and my own forbade me helping him further. At about that time, my father became seriously ill. While he’d never said much about it, he was aware of Julian’s activities, as well as my efforts to save him. He called me to his bedside about a week before he died and told me that I was to inherit everything. He advised me to help William as much as I could, since he was a kind-hearted lad who wasn’t afraid to work to make his fortune, but who he didn’t think had the mind to handle estate matters. Julian, he said, was to get nothing. He made me promise to honor his final wishes, which of course I did, and the next day the solicitor came and drew up is Last Will and Testament.” He fell silent for a moment, as if searching for the best way to continue.

“After father died,” he said after a few moments, “the Will was read, and Julian, naturally, was furious. He demanded that I share the wealth with him and William equally. When I asked him what he’d done to deserve any consideration whatsoever, he stormed out, shouting that he’d never speak to me again.” He uttered a soft, rueful chuckle. “I knew better, of course. And sure enough, within the month he was back, looking for a place to stay, full of lies and crazy stories about how he’d been wronged by others who had taken away his earnings.”

“What work did he do to earn money?”

“They weren’t really earnings, my dear girl. Winnings. He was talking about the funds he’d won at the gambling table. That seems to be all he knows how to do. And sometimes he wins a lot, but always – without fail – he soon loses it all again, even going into debt.”

He fell silent once more, the ticking of the clock and the gentle sounds from the hearth melting into a peaceful symphony that nearly put the girl to sleep again. But then she shook herself, not at all satisfied nor even agreeable about her situation.

“What of that woman he brought here, and how did he end up in your office, or the gun going off, or - ”

“Ssshh, patience!” Giles laughed softly. “I’m getting there. I suppose this would have come to a head eventually, but it seems your arrival here is what made it all happen as soon as it did. You were the catalyst, you see.”

“You blame me?” Despite her discomfort, she was outraged and tried – unsuccessfully – to wrench herself from his arms.

“No, no, no! Please stop struggling. You have to hear me out, and then, should you decide it’s unbelievable or simply too much to handle, you will be free to leave Grey House forever. I’ll provide well for you, and won’t bother you ever again.”

His voice almost broke with those last words, and she looked up at him once more, this time with puzzlement. “I – very well. I’ll listen.” She dared not allow herself to admit what was so clearly bothering him, so leaned back against his warmth once more, forcing herself to relax.

“Thank you. This will be difficult enough to say, but say it I must, even if it drives you away more quickly than you might otherwise go.” He took a deep breath and then continued. “The day we met for tea, I found you to be a pleasant young lady with a lively intelligence despite your obvious naivete. You seemed perfect for the job of governess, so despite feeling terribly attracted to you, I – yes, I admit that – I determined to maintain a purely professional attitude where you were concerned for the sake of my children. But then you entered the diningroom that first night, and every one of us fell instantly in love with you.”

“Did you!”

“We did. Granville’s behavior should have tipped you off, but you’re such an innocent. Anyway, I thought it all rather amusing, mainly because I was so adamant about remaining aloof from any feelings I had toward you, but I wasn’t certain about Julian. In fact, that first time we met I began to have misgivings about his presence here. He had moved in a short while before, claiming he was worried about my state of mind after Christiana died – my wife – and said he would live here to help me with the children. We had gone through a string of governesses, all of whom had been driven away by the atrocious behavior of my children who were still mourning their mother, and overall I suppose I was still too distraught at the time of his offer to give it much consideration. I knew Julian couldn't possibly teach them, so I decided to try and hire one more governess, but upon seeing how beautiful you are, I starting having serious doubts about his being here.”

He shifted slightly, but didn’t ease his embrace. “I still didn’t trust him, you see, but despite my continued refusal to help him in other ways, I couldn’t see turning him away. But I watched him constantly from the moment you took up residence here, waiting for him to make any kind of inappropriate move toward you. This is why I was so upset when you told me about how he had approached you in the library. Nothing further occurred that I was aware of, but I was still wary of his intentions.

“After travelling to William’s home two weeks ago to get the boys settled in, I received a message from my valet that Julian had come to the house, drunk, and accompanied by a pregnant woman. I rushed back, and that night confronted him in the study. We had…words. He expressed his resentment of me and the fact that I alone had inherited the Lanford wealth. He said some other things that I found deeply disturbing, and I demanded that he leave Grey House and not return. If for no other reason, I didn’t want my children exposed to his so-called fiancee or risk them seeing their uncle in a state of drunkenness.”

“Did you really think he’d stay away?”

“No, which is why, upon returning again, I was out every day checking the perimeters of the property to make sure he wasn’t here somewhere. Apparently he eluded my search, since, as I later learned, he was able to approach you in the garden. You see, he had been planning to take everything from me, and as is typical of his luck, had chosen the day of the storm to implement his plans. Which were flawed, you know. He really isn’t very bright, just diabolical. This plan, I now know, was to try and steal you away from here, but because you’re a person of principal, you refused his advances. Being of such poor character himself he naturally blamed me, never thinking it possible that a woman could refuse him of her own volition. So when that part of his plot didn’t work, he tried the next step. Using a gun with blanks and placing a small bag filled with sheep’s blood under his shirt, he confronted me at the stables. The storm became too fierce, so we resorted to my office. His brilliant idea was to force me into a struggle, draw his gun, and make certain it was turned toward him when it went off. Our little battle gave him the chance to release the opening of the bag so all that blood would gush out and soak his shirt just as the weapon was fired, making it look as if I’d shot him. He had a friend hiding behind the stables who was to come in when he heard the gunshot and make sure I couldn’t examine Julian’s wound too closely. But the noise of the storm prevented him from hearing anything, and I quickly discovered the ruse. Julian later confessed to the subterfuge, admitting that he was going to accuse me of attempted murder, get me imprisoned, and take control of the estate. Before I had a chance to confront him, however, you chose to burst in, and forgive me, sweet Giselle, but I was so overwrought, so horrified, and so completely unable to handle explaining anything while at the same time preventing my brother from escaping, that I’m afraid I spoke harshly to you.”

She gazed up at him now in wonder. Everything he’d told her made sense; his description fit the situation perfectly, and his voice and eyes told her the rest. What made her wonder was that he felt the need to feel bad about being gruff with her. She was ready to fully accept his words, but had one more question. “You said you wanted to secure my silence – how?”

“How else? By explaining everything the way I have only now been able to. Unfortunately, my dear, you never gave me the chance, and nearly got yourself killed in the process.”

She said nothing for a few minutes, torn between feeling foolish and wanting very badly to make room for a new kind of hope that had begun to blossom within her heart. “Are – are you angry with me?” she finally asked, knowing no other way to start down this new path.

“Angry?” He released her long enough to take her by the shoulders and turn her around to face him. “My God, no! Don’t you – have you heard what I’ve been telling you? I love you, Giselle! I’ve loved you from the day you came to Grey House, and may God and my poor, deceased wife forgive me, but I think I will love you long after eternity has claimed us both. When you said you…you despised me and, and called me a murderer, and gave me that look of total hatred, I thought I would die right there of sorrow. My life has become something wondrous with you in it, even as a mere governess, but - ” He looked away. “I don’t expect you to feel the same. You’re much younger than I, and probably wish to find yourself someone more suitable, closer to your own age, someone who – ”

“You may release me now. I won’t run away.”

He dropped his hands, his shoulders slumping in defeat and despair. “Of course.”

“Besides, it’s very difficult to do this if you’re grabbing my shoulders, you silly man.” Before he could ask what she meant, she leaned closer, took his face in her hands, and kissed him gently on the mouth.

When the kiss ended, he looked deeply into her eyes. “Does this mean you – that you – ”

“I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but it was always there, wasn’t it,” she replied, more to herself than to him. “Giles, forgive me for being so blind.” She smiled up at him and took one of his hands between hers. “I love you, too. I can imagine no one else magnificent enough to take your place. Somewhere in all this madness, my heart became yours. I love you, Giles. I love you!”

He uttered a joyful laugh and once more wrapped her in his arms but this time, he was the captive.

Impressum

Texte: The content herein is the exclusive property of the author, subject to all national and international copyright laws. No part of this work, nor its entirety, may be copied, quoted, or otherwise used without the express, written permission of the author of record.
Bildmaterialien: Cover by Laszlo Kugler
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 12.03.2012

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