my nerve.”
“I’m not suggesting you keep Forester on. I’m suggesting you consider the terms on which you let him go.”
“He bullies my son,” she said, stalking back across the carpet, “and worse, I’ve let it go on. I told myself Alexander had to adjust, that all boys mourn the loss of a dear governess when a proper tutor takes over. I did not want to offend Alexander by intimating that he wasn’t smart enough to work with a tutor. I’ve handled this all wrong.”
And that was an old, familiar feeling, of being inadequate, the wrong person for the job, wanting. Vera had felt that way as Dirk’s wife and as the only daughter in a family of boisterous and unruly brothers. The same sense of being inadequate plagued her as Oak’s lover.
He’d sought an intimate friendship, and here she was, in a welter of heartache over a man bound for London.
“Forester is not the right tutor for Alexander,” Oak said, “though you do yourself no favors if you make it plain the fault lies with Forester.”
“But it clearly does. Alexander is six years old. He’s not incorrigible or dull-witted. He simply lacks confidence.”
“Forester lacks skill,” Oak said, “though if you turn him off without a character, he will trot back to Town, pouting and smarting. He will intimate to Longacre and to all and sundry that you were an impossible employer and Alexander a spoiled brat.”
Vera sank into the chair before her desk. “I don’t want that. I want Forester gone, and Miss Diggory with him. Longacre meant well, but he chose poorly.”
“I will inquire of my family regarding replacements,” Oak said. “The countess in particular and my sister Jacaranda know everybody. By Michaelmas at the latest, you can have a new governess and tutor at Merlin Hall.”
“I want those two gone now, Oak.” Before Oak abandoned her for London, which was cowardly of her.
“Then you tell them that you’re planning a holiday for the children, perhaps a trip to the Lakes, and that both Tamsin and Jeremy are free to take holidays of their own. When they have left the household and some time has passed, you send them additional severance. You suggest to Jeremy that Alexander is benefiting from more time to mature before he resumes his studies, and you cannot in good conscience keep Jeremy from seeking another post. Wish him best of luck and enclose a character of sorts.”
“And Tamsin?”
Oak again propped a hip against a corner of the desk. “The same basic approach. Turn her loose, then follow up with a letter indicating that Catherine has benefited from a pause in her studies. You are researching finishing schools, and Miss Diggory must consider herself free to pursue other opportunities. Send along enough severance, and they will both recall you fondly.”
“And how can I write characters for a pair who honestly aren’t well suited to instructing children?”
“Damn with faint praise. Forester performed his duties conscientiously, which means with a complete lack of imagination. Miss Diggory was patient with an adolescent’s temperament, which means little education occurred. Give it some thought, and the words will come. I have faith in you.”
He leaned down, kissed her cheek, and headed for the door.
“Oak?”
“Mrs. Channing?”
“Thank you.”
He ran a paint-stained hand through his hair. “It’s the least I can do.”
Then he left Vera alone with Longacre’s letter and much to think about.
Chapter Eleven
The bedamned traveling coach arrived, not from Dorset, but from London. When the matched grays trotted up the Merlin Hall drive, who should descend but both Ash and Sycamore.
Oak was so glad to see his brothers, he didn’t even pummel them for spying on him. Sycamore had become an elegant man-about-town—the transformation was obvious before he’d set his booted foot over Merlin’s Hall’s threshold—while Ash was still Ash: quiet, faintly amused, hard to read. Both brothers set about charming Vera, and that was…
That was what Vera deserved. To be flirted with and flattered, entertained and appreciated. The decision was made that Ash and Cam would bide at Merlin Hall for two days, giving the coachy, grooms, and horses a chance to rest. Then Oak would depart with his brothers for Town.
Finally. At last.
“So why,” Cam asked, when the ladies had left the supper table for a pot of tea in the parlor, “don’t you look ebullient to be storming the great citadel of art and culture?”
“London is not a citadel,” Oak retorted, glad that Forester had pleaded fatigue rather than join the Dorning brothers for a round of port.
“The