‘I…er…I don’t think I will yet,’ said Octavia. ‘Not before I see your uncle.’
The door opened and Pip burst in. ‘Here she is, Edward!’ she cried. ‘Please say she’s suitable!’
A tall, broad-shouldered man followed her into the room. Though he was younger than she had imagined, he looked…dangerous, with an uncompromising chin and a hard mouth. He was quite handsome, though his nose looked as if it might have been broken in a fight. Black hair, clear grey eyes, and a tanned complexion. A small scar lifted the outer corner of one eyebrow and gave him a faintly devilish look. His expression was not welcoming. Oh, yes! thought Octavia. If this was a fairy tale, then here was the ogre!
Mr Barraclough stopped and gazed at her for a moment, coolly assessing her. Octavia became conscious that her person was slight, and not very tall, that her dress was unimpressive, that one or two of her honey-gold curls had escaped from her bonnet and were now tumbling over her shoulders. She flushed angrily under his gaze and wished she had taken time to tidy herself. As he came towards her his stride was arrogantly athletic, his air one of impatience.
‘Edward Barraclough,’ he said curtly. ‘May I have your name?’
‘Certainly, sir. I am Octavia Petrie.’
‘Well, Miss Petrie, I don’t know how you heard so quickly about the post of governess here, but I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. You’re not at all what I’m looking for.’
‘You are quite wrong—’
‘Am I? Whatever you may have said to charm my niece, give me one good reason why I should employ a woman who arrives on my doorstep—’
‘I don’t wish—’
Mr Barraclough swept on. ‘Arrives on my doorstep without warning, hoping to be engaged on the spot.’
Octavia forgot her embarrassment. ‘I should have thought that was exactly what you required, sir,’ she said tartly. ‘From what your nieces say, you need someone rather urgently. Or am I mistaken?’
Mr Barraclough stopped. He looked at her again, this time speculatively. ‘No, it’s true that we need someone…’ After a pause he said slowly, ‘Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you’re not the pretty featherhead you look. You sound mighty sure of yourself.’
‘Featherhead!’ Octavia took a deep breath. ‘Really, sir! I assure you I am far from being a featherhead. Nor, unlike others I have met, am I a blockhead! Permit me to tell you—’
Mr Barraclough interrupted her yet again, but to Octavia’s astonishment, instead of taking offence at her words, he laughed and nodded in approval as he said, ‘That tone was fierce enough…And you’re quick. There might be more to you than I thought.’
Octavia replied, ‘I can be much fiercer than that, I assure you, sir! Not that I wish—’
‘Edward, do say she may stay! Please!’ called Pip from her perch on the window-sill. ‘She doesn’t believe in lists. She wouldn’t need to be fierce with us. I’m sure I could behave well if she was my governess.’
‘It is only for two months, Edward.’
Lisette’s intervention seemed to give Mr Barraclough pause. He looked at Lisette sharply. ‘You’d like her to stay, too? It isn’t just because you’re sorry for her?’
Lisette shook her head and said emphatically, ‘I think she would be absolutely right for us.’
Octavia could see that Mr Barraclough was impressed by Lisette’s words, and decided that it was high time she said something. ‘I’m sorry, but I must tell y—’
‘What are your qualifications?’ he asked. ‘I suppose you have some?’
Octavia was once more annoyed by his tone. He could do with a lesson or two in good manners himself, she thought. ‘I think I may say that I am qualified to teach the necessary skills,’ she said coldly, remembering all the expensive tutors and governesses insisted on by her mother, her sojourn at a highly exclusive Seminary for Young Ladies. ‘But that’s not the point—’
‘I suppose I’d be satisfied as long as you can keep them safe and happy, and under control. Can you do that? You wouldn’t have to teach them very much. Lisette is to come out next year, but I expect her aunt will see that she knows how to behave in Society.’
‘I do know something of that, too, but—’
‘This would be the very highest society, Miss Petrie. I wouldn’t expect or ask you to cope with that. I don’t suppose Mrs Barraclough would want you to teach Lisette the manners of some Dame’s School or other. She would want better.’
While Octavia was choking at hearing a Seminary that had been patronised by the cream of the English aristocracy described as ‘some Dame’s School,’ he went on, ‘Well, I suppose we could try you. If you’ll come into the library I’ll give you the terms and so on. You’ll find the salary generous, but the appointment is only for a short time—eight or nine weeks at the most. You do know that, do you?’
‘Your niece did say something of the kind. But I didn’t come—’
‘Good! Then it’s settled. Come through to the library.’
Am I never to be allowed to finish a sentence? Octavia asked herself. This Mr Barraclough absolutely deserves to be deceived! She looked at the two Barraclough girls, Pip nodding her head and almost falling off her perch with excitement, Lisette smiling for the first time since they had met, her wonderful eyes glowing with pleasure. Gipsy-black eyes hovered at the back of her mind…sparkling window-panes…To her astonishment she found herself saying, ‘Very well, sir,’ and meekly followed ‘the ogre’ into the library.
Chapter Four
At the end of her interview with Mr Barraclough Octavia fervently hoped that Lady Dorney had been sincere in what she had said. She wasn’t sure whether she had succumbed to the force of Mr Barraclough’s powerful personality, or to the equally powerful force of this strange house. But to her bewilderment she found she had agreed to come back in four days’ time, complete with suitable references, to take up duties as a governess companion to the Barraclough girls. The ‘ogre’ had proved to be more accommodating than she would have imagined—or perhaps more desperate. After she had explained that she would like to keep an eye on an elderly relative who lived some distance away, she was promised two days a month, together with the use of the gig.
However, Mr Barraclough had made it all too clear that he was still not convinced that she could manage. This poor opinion of her abilities so annoyed Octavia that, as she took her leave of the Barracloughs, she swore to herself that she would prove him wrong if it was the last thing she did!
She refused the girls’ offers to accompany her down the drive, and set off in good time to be at the gate when Will Gifford came to pick her up. Having committed herself to a totally mad impersonation, she wanted to make sure it was carried through without any hitches, and Will and the gig were a potential giveaway. Most chance-met governesses did not leave in a well-cared-for gig with a groom who treated them with the deferential familiarity of an old servant!
Perhaps ‘impersonation’ was not the word—escapade was more like it. After all, she was not impersonating anyone else, and she had given Mr Barraclough her real name, if not her proper title. And though she had never sought employment of any kind, she was fully competent to look after two girls for two months, whatever their uncle thought. She would earn the very generous salary he had promised her…
But she still couldn’t understand why on earth she had agreed to do it! The house must have bewitched her. She stopped, turned and looked at it again. Wychford was once again sparkling and smiling in the sunlight. Perhaps there was more to the stories about the house than she had realised? Perhaps