The Orchid Affair by Lauren Willig Page A

have respected those instructions.”
    So much for the show of meekness.
    André held her gaze. Her eyes were a particularly dark brown, so dark they were nearly black, fringed by lashes as thick and dark as her hair, lashes a courtesan would envy. “Consider them instructed,” he said.
    Pierre-André wriggled under his arm. “We bought books, Papa!”
    The governess inclined her head in assent, but there was something too regal about the motion to be called obeisance. “I will be sure to check with you before I arrange any other outings in the future.”
    “See that you do,” said André, but the words felt rather like an afterthought. He had already been dismissed. Quite impressive, all around. It was enough to make one believe her claim that she had been keeping small children in check for sixteen years.
    Pierre-André yanked on his waistcoat so hard that André saw stars. “Look at my books, Papa!”
    Wincing slightly, André yielded to the pressure. He, after all, had not had sixteen years’ experience with children. “Your books?” he repeated, with an attempt at interest. He felt suddenly very, very tired and more than a little bit dim, all the fear and anger leaching away into fatigue. “Oh. Books.”
    Right. The papery things for which the governess had dragged his children out around Paris. He really should have thought of books. It had never occurred to him. Père Beniet’s library had been like the magic cave in a fairy story; one needed only to wish on it for the right book to appear. The books had been boxed; the house in Nantes sold. It seemed impossible that it no longer existed.
    “Look, look, look!” urged Pierre-André.
    Blinking, Jaouen braced his hands on his son’s shoulders and looked down at the book he was holding out to him. The book was so large that Pierre-André staggered with the effort of holding it open. André took the book from him, stooping to hold it at his level.
    “Those look like flowers,” André said.
    “Natural history is part of the education of a gentleman,” said the governess primly.
    “Which I would know if I were one?”
    The governess froze. “I would never presume—that is …”
    André decided to put her out of her misery. “I studied natural philosophy too, as a boy,” he said, directing his words to his son. He glanced up at the governess. “Including botany.”
    “I will be starting them on Latin as soon as an appropriate text arrives,” said the governess quickly.
    “Primarily, I ask that you keep them safe.” Feeling that he had made his point, André put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. Gabrielle looked solemnly back at him, all big eyes and snub nose, like a puppy waiting to be petted. “I’ll be up to see the rest of your books by and by,” he promised.
    Pierre-André pouted. He had heard “by and by” before. Gabrielle didn’t say anything, but her face closed up, like clouds drawing together.
    “Come along, children,” said the governess. “Jeannette will get you out of your outdoor things and then you can have a story.”
    In a shot, Pierre-André was away, scrambling up the stairs. “Jeannette! Jeannette!”
    “Gently!” the governess called after him, and, for a wonder, Pierre-André actually checked his vociferous progress. For about two seconds.
    Gabrielle looked to her new governess. Without a word, the governess took a book off the pile in her arms and handed it to her. Quietly, Gabrielle followed her brother up the stairs.
    “Sir,” the governess said, and dipped a curtsy as she turned to go.
    The obeisance didn’t suit her. The pretence of humility sat uncomfortably with her, like a garland of flowers draped across steel. There was something akin to armor about the stern gray of her dress. It fit snugly against her back, emphasizing the resolute line of her spine.
    It bothered him that she felt the need to curtsy. It needled him deep in his republican entrails.
    “If you would, Mademoiselle—” What was her