Page 12 of The Governess and the Rogue

“Every young lady has need of them,” Bea returned. “And every wife and mother too. When you have a household of your own, it will be left to you to oversee the accounts and to balance the ledgers. How do you propose to do that without a thorough education in addition, subtraction, and multiplication? You were on fours, I believe.”

Lilith’s lower lip crept out in a final show of rebellion, even as she resumed her recitation. “Four times two is eight,” she said. “Four times three is twelve. Four times…”

Bea listened, offering assistance as needed, as she and the children passed from the ship’s bow to its stern. Sea air billowed over the deck in gusts, whipping at their clothes and hair.

When Lilith had finished, it was Albermarle’s turn, and then Brent’s and Damian’s, the older children offering help (if somewhat uncharitably) whenever the younger ones faltered.

It wasn’t book learning, imparted in a stuffy classroom with desks, slates, and primers. But Bea had been taught that a governess should never instruct from a book alone. To engage the rational mind of a child, a governess must excite their imagination too.

“Well done,” Bea said. “What about those chairs? How many of them are there, Brent?”

The little boy took a painstaking accounting. “Twelve,” he answered at last.

“And what happens if the steward were to take five of them away?” Bea asked. “How many chairs would remain? Albermarle Junior?”

“Seven, of course,” Albermarle Junior replied pettishly.

“And if another steward added back ten? Lilith?”

The little girl turned to examine the water, refusing to reply.

A seagull squawked from one of the masts overhead. Another answered. The high-pitched cries were coupled with the roar of the sea and the swell of conversation around them.

Bea had to raise her voice over the din. “Do you require my help in working it out?” she asked.

Lilith jerked her head back with a scowl. The ribbons on her leghorn bonnet danced in the wind. “It’s seventeen, obviously,” she pronounced with dripping disdain.

“Excellent,” Bea said.

“Tedious,” Lilith retorted. “I prefer to practice my French.”

No doubt she did. It was Bea’s weakest subject. “And we shall,” Bea said. “Later.”

Lilith came to an abrupt halt. A crowd of ladies stood nearby, conversing beneath the protection of the ship’s awning. Among them were Mrs. Rawson, Mrs. Farraday, and Mrs. Farraday’s raven-haired daughter, Rowena. The latter wore a fashionable, braid-trimmed skirt and jacket, looking far more beautiful than any female had a right to look during a long voyage at sea.

“Naturally, he was the handsomest gentleman in Cairo,” Mrs. Farraday was saying. She was dark-haired like her daughter, with equally dark eyes and a sharp blade of an aquiline nose. “That’s never been disputed. But then, his father is famous for his handsomeness. And his brothers too. They are, on the whole, an exceptionally good-looking family.”

Mrs. Rawson chuckled. A heavyset elderly woman, she was distinguished by the copious jewels that adorned her person, and by the overfed Maltese dog she carried tucked under one arm. “A rich one too. Your daughter would have been very well looked after had she managed to secure an offer from him in Cairo last year.”

“All is not lost,” Mrs. Farraday said. “My Rowena’s beauty will yet win the day.”

Lilith shot the ladies a calculating glance from beneath her parasol.

Bea’s stomach sank. She knew that look. And it wasn’t inspired by the ladies’ conversation. It was inspired by the mere fact of their presence. Taken altogether, they provided the exact thing that Lilith Dimsdale was seeking. An audience.

“Not later!” Lilith raised her voice, punctuating her words with a stamp of her booted foot. “Now!”

“Lilith,” Bea began. “This is neither the time nor the⁠—”

“I will not be addressed with impudence!” Lilith interrupted in a fair imitation of her mother. “You weren’t brought with us to teach us math. You’re a governess! Governesses teach French. Don’t you know French, Miss Layton? Parlez-vous français?”

The group of ladies abandoned their conversation to turn and stare.

Bea stifled a surge of mortification. “Young lady,” she said quietly. “You’re causing a scene. If you don’t cease this instant, I shall⁠—”

“Tu comprends?” Lilith continued. “Imbécile!”

The ladies tittered with amusement. All except for Miss Farraday. She only smiled. Detaching herself from the others, she glided toward them.