A Lady's Dream Come True - Grace Burrowes Page 0,71
face censure her entire life because her parents weren’t married,” Vera said. “I cannot protect her from such mean-spiritedness much longer, and you are right: If she grows bored here, she’ll get up to mischief. Tom-Treeble-mischief, possibly.”
Miss Diggory wrapped a pair of tea cakes in a table napkin and slipped them into her pocket. “Perhaps Tom Treeble—in a few years—will be more of a solution than a problem. Find her a lad with some acres, and she’ll be happy enough.”
“Miss Diggory, I hope you aren’t pilfering tea cakes when Catherine is on hand.”
Tamsin looked up, her expression not that of a governess found in a slight misstep, but of a naughty schoolgirl who’d broken a rule and resented being caught. The mulishness was fleeting and out of character, but Vera trusted the evidence of her eyes.
Now—after waking up in Oak Dorning’s arms, after hearing him describe her hair as a blend of mahogany, garnet, ironwood, night, and gold—she could not discount what she’d seen. Oak claimed to sketch what he saw. Vera lacked that skill, but she could do a better job of seeing what was before her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Miss Diggory replied. “I thought Catherine might appreciate a treat. She and Mr. Dorning ramble all over the property looking for subjects, though if you ask me, he ought to be sitting her down before a proper easel and helping her refine her skill with watercolors.”
Catherine’s first set of watercolor brushes had been put in her chubby little hands at the age of three, according to Dirk. Oak claimed she was ready for oils.
“Because Mr. Dorning’s skill as an artist eclipses that of the rest of the household put together, I will trust his judgment regarding Catherine’s instruction with paints. Please don’t mention a finishing school to Catherine. It’s not a plan I’d act on anytime soon, but it’s one I’d like you to keep in mind.”
Miss Diggory took another tea cake onto her saucer. “If you think she needs a challenge, perhaps Mr. Forester could supervise her education in mathematics. It’s not as if instructing one six-year-old boy fills his day, and Catherine has a natural aptitude for the subject matter.”
“You don’t enjoy maths?”
She shuddered. “A lot of squiggling and scribbling, numbers everywhere. If a girl has enough math to not be cheated in the shops, she has enough math.”
You sound like my step-mother. That insight popped into Vera’s head, the solution to a riddle. Tamsin Diggory was pleasant, soft-spoken, good-humored, and she came well-recommended. Catherine got on well enough with her.
Vera had been slow to warm to Miss Diggory, attributing that reticence to the fact that the household hadn’t had a proper governess before. Old Mrs. Tansbury had been a glorified nursery maid who’d loved books and children. The truth was, Tamsin and Jeremy shared a faint streak of insolence, and that was not a quality Vera wanted her children emulating.
“I’ll have the kitchen send a tray up for Catherine when she returns from her art lesson,” Vera said. “And as always, I thank you for your efforts to educate her. I do believe she’ll need a professional drawing master, though.”
“And is the handsome Mr. Dorning applying for that post? He’s pleasant company at the card table, and I think Mr. Forester enjoys having another fellow at supper.”
“Mr. Dorning will soon be leaving for London. His assessment of Catherine’s abilities is both informed and disinterested.” Not quite true. Oak clearly liked Catherine and enjoyed teaching her. He was equally well disposed toward Alexander, which did not seem to characterize Jeremy’s attitude toward his sole charge.
“Will you be sorry to see Mr. Dorning go?” Miss Diggory watched Vera over the rim of her tea cup as she posed the question.
Vera’s first reaction to that query was horror, for Miss Diggory’s tone implied that she knew exactly who had been in Vera’s bed for most of the night. Except nobody knew. Oak had been discreet, as he would always be when a woman’s reputation was at stake. He’d not come to Vera until the footmen were all abed, and he’d left for his own quarters before the maids had stirred.
So Tamsin Diggory was speculating, or insinuating, or trying to start mischief. The conclusion was disappointing, suggesting that one of the mean girls at Tamsin’s finishing school had been Tamsin herself.
And this was the person with whom Catherine spent most of her waking hours? Perhaps Richard Longacre wasn’t as good a judge of people as Vera had hoped.