No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(12)

First, her cook; now, her teacher. Julia was aware she should run downstairs, stomp outside, and end the nonsense below with all possible haste. But it wasn’t even noon, and she had no more energy. Perhaps if she rested her forehead on the cool glass for a moment and gathered her strength…

She hadn’t realized Mr. Wraxall had come to stand behind her until she felt the warmth of his body. She almost turned, but then his arm brushed against hers as he further parted the curtains she held. Her skin tingled beneath the silk of her gown, and she had the wanton impulse to rub against him again. She refrained, but she was not so angelic as to move to put some distance between them. She wanted him to touch her again. More than that, it was lovely to imagine, just for a moment, that she was not alone in all of this. His form felt solid and steady, and he smelled lightly of baked bread and coffee—smells, she imagined, that lingered from his earlier quest to find the boys food. She wanted to turn her head into his waistcoat and breathe him in.

Julia couldn’t imagine where the idea had come from. Then her belly rumbled and she remembered she had not eaten at all today. That was it. She must have been half-mad from hunger.

She lifted her head, and her hand inadvertently slid down to where his rested on the edge of the curtain. At the feel of his bare skin against hers, she pulled away quickly, but not as quickly as he did.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she sputtered.

“It was my fault.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, presumably to keep them from ever touching her again. Clearly, she was the only one imagining his arms around her. And how could she blame him? She looked a fright and had acted like a shrew. Their gazes met, and his jerked quickly to the window. He couldn’t even look at her.

“The woman is your teacher?”

“Yes. I had better go and save her.” She was eager to be away. She didn’t need to see him flinch away from her a second time. “And accept her resignation.”

“You can’t allow her to resign.”

She raised her brows. “I don’t see how I can prevent her.”

“But the cook already resigned today.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me. I’d quite forgotten what a wretched day this has been.”

He seemed to ignore the barb. “And we can’t find your manservant anywhere.”

Her brows lowered to a glower. “Yes, and my lock does not work, and the kitchen is a catastrophe, and I haven’t eaten anything since supper at the ball last night. Make note of all of it in your little book and be sure to tell my father, will you?” It seemed the logical end to this horrendous day.

She started away, and he matched her stride. “I have no intention of telling your father.”

She thought she heard a silent yet at the end of that sentence, and she didn’t allow herself to feel relief.

“Then what do you intend?”

He seemed to falter, as though not quite certain himself, but then he was by her side again as she descended the stairway in the same careful way she had ascended it. “We divide and conquer,” he said.

She saluted him. “Yes, sir.”

“Mock me if you want, but rule and order would not go amiss with those boys right now. I’ll take them and clean up your kitchen while you—”

She halted. “The boys will clean the kitchen?” she said, her tone disbelieving.

“Under my supervision, yes.”

She barked out a laugh. “I have tried to make them sweep and mop before, and they made more of a mess than we started with.”

He muttered something under his breath. They stood at the bottom of the steps, his face in shadow in the dark vestibule. Just beyond the front door, she could hear the boys’ voices and knew their game continued.

“What was that you said?”

“Planned incompetence,” he answered, articulating every syllable.

“What does that mean?”

“It means the boys made a mess of the chores you assigned them so you wouldn’t ask them to do them again.”

She inhaled sharply. “They wouldn’t.” But she knew they would. Of course they would. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? “And what does one do about planned incompetence?” she asked.

“Oh, a night in the stocks usually takes care of it,” he replied.

She stepped back. “Mr. Wraxall! These are children we’re speaking of and—”

He held up a hand. “Save your ranting. I won’t put anyone in stocks.”

Was it her imagination or did he mutter this time after those words?

“Having me act as supervisor will be sufficient.”

“And you know how to use a mop and broom?” she asked dubiously.

“I was a soldier. I know how to launder my own clothing and sew on a button too, Lady Juliana. You take the teacher and speak with her in the parlor. I’ll take the boys and clean up the kitchen. While we’re at it, they might as well straighten the dormitories.”

“Good luck with that.”

“I wish you the same in your endeavor to convince the school teacher to remain. Now that we both know our assignments…” He reached for the door. “Ready and”—he opened it—“charge!”

He strode out first and began bellowing orders. Julia held back for just an instant. Her life had become a whirlwind, but she couldn’t allow herself to trust Mr. Wraxall to do any more than pull her free momentarily. He might help her now, but he’d soon lose interest. She wouldn’t make the mistake Harriett had and put her faith in him or any man.