France, add a hundred days, and voila, we have the Battle of Waterloo."
"No, Carolly."
"I'll make all the arrangements. With Mrs. Potherby's excellent guidance, of course. Cook will be thrilled, I'm sure. She'll get to show off her culinary arts. Maybe we could even get Mags—"
"No."
"Just think of it, James."
Suddenly he stood, his injured leg rigid as he grabbed her shoulders. "I do not dance, Carolly. I do not need to meet any more women. Believe me, those already in my life are more than enough."
He glared directly at her. She made a face back at him.
"And I will not allow a rout or an endless parade of husband-hungry women through my parlor."
"But—"
"End of discussion!"
Carolly could see she was beaten. James's eyes blazed gray lightning. If she pushed any more, she risked being tossed out on her ear. At last, she sighed in defeat. "All right, James."
"Good. Now I suggest you go to your room and rest for a while. You have had an extremely taxing morning."
"You mean you've had an extremely taxing morning," she said airily. "I've just gotten started."
He groaned. It was a sound made of frustration and dread. She loved it. Finally, she was breaking through his cold reserve. Perhaps this morning hadn't been a total loss after all.
"I believe I shall go sit in the garden," he ground out.
"Good idea," she agreed, flashing one of her best smiles. "And I'll look at the fashion pages for ball gowns." She winked outrageously at him. "Just in case you change your mind."
He stared at her in open-mouthed shock. Then with a curse, he stomped out of the room. She didn't stop laughing until after she heard the front door slam behind him.
***
"Mags, tell me about your uncle." Carolly lowered her butterfly net and sidled closer to the young girl. "Does he have any lady friends? Maybe some woman that he talks to a lot?"
The girl didn't look up, but her snide voice carried easily. "He will not many you. You are not proper enough."
Carolly winced as the words hit home; then she quickly covered her pain with a false laugh.
"Oh, how sweet of you to think of me," she said gaily. "But no, I'm talking about another lady he might get interested in." Why did the words taste like dust in her mouth?
"He sometimes goes to London." Margaret glanced up, her large eyes serious as she awaited Carolly's reaction. "Mrs. Hornswallow says all men have needs. Uncle James goes there to take care of them."
Carolly wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. Sounds like he's going to get his tooth pulled or something."
"No, he goes to have carnal relations with a woman."
"Uhh . . ." Carolly let her voice trail away. What could she say to that?
"Miss Hornswallow says we have to be practical about understanding men's baser instincts."
"Everyone has baser instincts," Carolly returned. "Men just don't bother to hide them." She let Margaret chew on that while she turned her attention to Mrs. Hornswigger, who was sitting rigidly correct under a nearby tree just up the hill. The woman seemed happily occupied with James, discussing Greek poets as if the subject truly intrigued her.
Carolly sighed. She hated to admit it, but Mrs. Hornsipper was rising in her esteem. The woman seemed quite intelligent and apparently spoke bluntly to her charge about every possible subject, including sex. Carolly couldn't help but admire such honesty. She knew how rare that was, especially in the 1900s. Unfortunately, from what Margaret had been saying, the woman's views tended to be somewhat bitter. Her attitude on men's baser instincts seemed typical of the governess's general outlook.
Carolly shook her head. Any woman who could speak so bluntly was either a realist or had been badly hurt. Glancing over at the thin governess, currently conversing with regal formality with James, Carolly judged it a little of both. The genteel poor suffered a miserable lot. Mrs. Hornswoffer was lucky to find so fair a boss as James. Yet, fair or not, her existence certainly couldn't be one
"No, Carolly."
"I'll make all the arrangements. With Mrs. Potherby's excellent guidance, of course. Cook will be thrilled, I'm sure. She'll get to show off her culinary arts. Maybe we could even get Mags—"
"No."
"Just think of it, James."
Suddenly he stood, his injured leg rigid as he grabbed her shoulders. "I do not dance, Carolly. I do not need to meet any more women. Believe me, those already in my life are more than enough."
He glared directly at her. She made a face back at him.
"And I will not allow a rout or an endless parade of husband-hungry women through my parlor."
"But—"
"End of discussion!"
Carolly could see she was beaten. James's eyes blazed gray lightning. If she pushed any more, she risked being tossed out on her ear. At last, she sighed in defeat. "All right, James."
"Good. Now I suggest you go to your room and rest for a while. You have had an extremely taxing morning."
"You mean you've had an extremely taxing morning," she said airily. "I've just gotten started."
He groaned. It was a sound made of frustration and dread. She loved it. Finally, she was breaking through his cold reserve. Perhaps this morning hadn't been a total loss after all.
"I believe I shall go sit in the garden," he ground out.
"Good idea," she agreed, flashing one of her best smiles. "And I'll look at the fashion pages for ball gowns." She winked outrageously at him. "Just in case you change your mind."
He stared at her in open-mouthed shock. Then with a curse, he stomped out of the room. She didn't stop laughing until after she heard the front door slam behind him.
***
"Mags, tell me about your uncle." Carolly lowered her butterfly net and sidled closer to the young girl. "Does he have any lady friends? Maybe some woman that he talks to a lot?"
The girl didn't look up, but her snide voice carried easily. "He will not many you. You are not proper enough."
Carolly winced as the words hit home; then she quickly covered her pain with a false laugh.
"Oh, how sweet of you to think of me," she said gaily. "But no, I'm talking about another lady he might get interested in." Why did the words taste like dust in her mouth?
"He sometimes goes to London." Margaret glanced up, her large eyes serious as she awaited Carolly's reaction. "Mrs. Hornswallow says all men have needs. Uncle James goes there to take care of them."
Carolly wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. Sounds like he's going to get his tooth pulled or something."
"No, he goes to have carnal relations with a woman."
"Uhh . . ." Carolly let her voice trail away. What could she say to that?
"Miss Hornswallow says we have to be practical about understanding men's baser instincts."
"Everyone has baser instincts," Carolly returned. "Men just don't bother to hide them." She let Margaret chew on that while she turned her attention to Mrs. Hornswigger, who was sitting rigidly correct under a nearby tree just up the hill. The woman seemed happily occupied with James, discussing Greek poets as if the subject truly intrigued her.
Carolly sighed. She hated to admit it, but Mrs. Hornsipper was rising in her esteem. The woman seemed quite intelligent and apparently spoke bluntly to her charge about every possible subject, including sex. Carolly couldn't help but admire such honesty. She knew how rare that was, especially in the 1900s. Unfortunately, from what Margaret had been saying, the woman's views tended to be somewhat bitter. Her attitude on men's baser instincts seemed typical of the governess's general outlook.
Carolly shook her head. Any woman who could speak so bluntly was either a realist or had been badly hurt. Glancing over at the thin governess, currently conversing with regal formality with James, Carolly judged it a little of both. The genteel poor suffered a miserable lot. Mrs. Hornswoffer was lucky to find so fair a boss as James. Yet, fair or not, her existence certainly couldn't be one
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