Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(9)

“PaPa!” A tall girl with gangly limbs and a mass of wild red hair flew into the room.

Luke frowned as he saw his daughter rounding the corner in pursuit of a large dog. Not quite fullgrown, the dog was a mixed breed with a liberal dose of wolfhound. A few months ago Emma had bought him from a peddler in the village. No one at Southgate Hall, even those with a professed love of animals, shared her appreciation for the mutt. His coat was shaggy and coarse, a mixture of brown and gray. He had small eyes, a huge muzzle, and ridiculously long, flapping ears that had inspired Emma to name him Samson. His huge appetite was equaled only by his resistance to any kind of training.

Catching sight of Luke, Samson rushed forward with happy, deep-throated barks. But as he noticed the presence of a stranger, he bared his teeth and began to snarl. Drops of saliva splattered the floor. Emma clutched his collar and commanded him to be quiet, while he lunged to break free. “Stop it, Samson, you blasted beast! Behave yourself—”

Luke's deep voice undercut the din. “Emma, I told you not to bring him in the house.” As he spoke, he automatically pulled Miss Billings's frail form behind him. The dog seemed intent on tearing her to bits.

“He won't hurt anyone,” Emma shouted, struggling to keep hold of the dog. “He just makes a lot of noise!”

Luke was about to drag the dog away when he realized Miss Billings had slipped around him. Staring at the snarling animal with narrowed eyes, she began to speak in Russian. Her voice was soft and guttural, crackling like flame. Luke didn't understand a word of it, but the hair on the back of his neck stood straight. Her voice had a similar effect on Samson, who quieted and stared at the newcomer with wide eyes.

Suddenly the dog dropped to his stomach and crawled toward her. A whimpering appeal came from his throat, while his tail swept across the floor with violent wags. Miss Billings bent and patted his rough head gently. Rolling onto his back, Samson wriggled in ecstasy. Even after Miss Billings stood up, the slobbering giant remained at her feet.

Responding to a curt order from Luke, a footman rushed to take the dog outside. Samson lumbered away with great reluctance, his head held so low that his tongue and ears nearly dragged the ground.

Emma was the first to speak. “What did you say to him?”

Miss Billings's blue-gray eyes swept over the girl, and she smiled faintly. “I reminded him of his manners.”

Warily Emma addressed the next question to her father. “Who is she?”

“Your governess.”

Emma's jaw dropped. “My what? But Papa, you didn't tell me—”

“I didn't know myself,” he said dryly.

Tasia's gaze swept over Stokehurst's daughter. Emma was a skinny, awkward girl just crossing the threshold of adolescence. Her curly hair was a carroty-red that would draw attention wherever she went. Tasia guessed that Emma was the victim of merciless teasing from other children. The hair would have been temptation enough, but she was also very tall—it was possible she would eventually reach six feet. Her shoulders slumped forward in an effort to conceal her height. The skirts of her frock were too short, and her nails were dirty. She had her father's beautiful sapphire eyes, but her lashes were auburn instead of black, and her face was spattered with golden freckles.

A tall, gray-haired woman approached them, her angular face wearing a no-nonsense expression. There was a huge ring of keys at her belt, the symbol of authority worn by every housekeeper.

“Mrs. Knaggs,” Stokehurst said, “this is the new governess, Miss Billings.”

The housekeeper's brows pinched together in a frown. “Indeed. A room must be prepared. I suppose the same as before?” Her tone implied that this latest governess would probably last no longer than the previous one.

“Whatever you think best, Mrs. Knaggs.” Stokehurst strode to his daughter and kissed the top of her head. “I have work to do,” he murmured. “We'll talk at supper.”

Emma nodded, her gaze fastened on Tasia while Stokehurst left them without another word.

“Miss Billings,” the housekeeper said briskly, “I shall direct someone to prepare a room for you. In the meantime you might like to sit with a cup of tea.”

A cup of tea had never sounded so inviting. It had been a long day, and Tasia hadn't yet recovered her strength since leaving Russia. She was exhausted. But she shook her head. At the moment it was more important to give her attention to Emma. “Actually I would rather tour the house. Would you take me around, Emma?”

“Yes, Miss Billings,” the girl said dutifully. “What would you like to see? There are forty bedrooms, and nearly as many sitting rooms. There are galleries, courtyards, the chapel…It would take a full day to show you everything.”

“For now, just show me what you think is important.”

“Yes, Miss Billings.”

As they wandered through the ground floor of the mansion, Tasia admired the beauty of the place. It was very different from the Ashbournes” fashionably cluttered Victiorian home with its heavy furniture. Southgate Hall was filled with clean white plasterwork and pale marble. Large glass windows and high ceilings made the rooms airy and bright. Most of the furniture was French, similar to what Tasia had been accustomed to in St. Petersburg.

At first Emma said very little, stealing frequent glances at Tasia. However, after they toured the music room and strolled through a long gallery filled with artwork, Emma's curiosity asserted itself. “How did Papa find you?” she asked. “He said nothing about bringing a governess for me today.”