John was good at this charade. Ellis hadn’t noticed he’d only drunk a half a glass of ale the entire night.
“Come along, sir,” Collins said. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“No,” John threw out his arm. “I will sleep here. Right here, on the chaise.”
“But Lord Mitchell.”
“Get me a blanket and take off my boots.” If he stayed sprawled in the parlor, it would make more of an impact when his father came down for breakfast. His father would hate these actions.
John sat to allow Collins to pull his boots free. Collins then placed them against the hearth and covered him with a blanket.
“Goodnight, sir.” Collins said as he blew out the lamp and headed back to bed.
John stared into the orange flickering flames of the fire in the hearth. He tried to stretch out, but his long body extended past the length of the small chaise. Making sure Collins was nowhere to be seen, he gathered the blanket and stood. He had to think for a minute to walk straight after he spent the evening falling all over himself. John strode to the oversized leather settee that would suit his tall frame slightly better. He sniffed at his clothes. Before the ride home, Ellis dunked his head in the town’s fountain to wash off some of the stink of the pub. For that, he was actually grateful.
He stretched out, wiggled his toes, and put his forearm over his eyes. Pretending to be pissed drunk was much easier than his expected duties as Lord Mitchell’s son. His father pushed him daily to partake in the running of the family’s paper mill and the estate. How could he run a factory or grounds when he could barely read? Why couldn’t his father continue to do it all as he had in the past?
He was embarrassed to be around his nephew, Graeme. The boy was only six years of age but could understand more written words than he. It was terrible his brother and his wife had expired in a boating accident, but why on earth would they leave their child in his care? John spent every waking moment trying to think of ways to avoid his father; he did not have time for a rambunctious child in the mix.
John tried to reason with his father that he was no good for the boy, but his father only said, ‘you are his family now.’ Maybe this orphan would grow into the man his father wished he was, and the old man would leave him be. John knew he was ‘stupid and slow’ as his father put it. This drunken episode tonight might push his father to send him away to France… or Spain. Hopefully, somewhere not as rainy as England. He needed to make a change soon or he would have no teeth. He rubbed his chin where he’d taken the blow.
Between the mill and acquiring the guardianship of the boy, John was at the end of his rope. This was much more responsibility than a dunce like him could handle.
He needed a cold steak for the swelling in his jaw and a guardian angel to give him the answers to his problems.
Preferably in that order.
Chapter Two
“So,” Lord Mitchell said, his voice booming across the small room. “Now that the arrangements have been agreed upon, you will start your governess position tomorrow.”
Vivienne Ravenhill smiled as relief filled her veins. She hadn’t had any fortune finding a governess placement in the past three months. She desperately needed a secure house and position to raise her son, Charles. Nothing was stable since she’d received the notice of her husband’s death, Lucas, in the Crimean War, but this was a beginning. “Yes Lord Mitchell, but I will need a few days to travel to Nottingham to retrieve the remainder of our belongings.”
He tutted and waved a hand. “Your belongings have already been sent for and a room is put aside for your residence in the east wing with the house staff.”
“Thank you.” Since she hadn’t given her answer to the position until that moment, Vivienne hid her surprise at the Lord’s assumption. But she knew better than to bring up the point. There were a thousand ways to accidently overstep one’s boundaries in society. She carried no placement in society but Lord Mitchell did, and she needed to be careful with her words. She and Charlie were fortunate with this opportunity and a roof over their heads.
“I have complete confidence in your skills. My grandson, Graeme, stands as the only hope for this family. I am in charge of this house, but for some unknown reason my younger son, God rest his soul, did not name me as the boy’s guardian. I know Thomas and John were close, but why he would choose…” Lord Mitchell stopped in mid-sentence. “I don’t have much patience for children. I feel the boy needed guidance and a governess rather than the house staff will help. I need to make it clear that any decisions past the hiring of you today are to be run through my son… John,” he said the name as if he just bit into a rotten apple and found half a worm.