The Mistress of Trevelyan: Trevelyan Series - Book 1 - Couverture souple

Chapter 1

San Francisco

1873

The house on Trevelyan Hill had always beckoned to me. Its stone turrets, stained glass, and gray spires, often swirled with mists from the bay, rose like a dark manor in the clouds. Even today, an unusually bright San Franciscan day, the mysterious air hovering above the house intensified as I drew near.

Butterflies fluttered over my nerves, making me pause to stare at the house and dab at the perspiration upon my brow. As a child, in the rare moments when my mother and I escaped our laundering, I'd beg to go to Holloway Park. There, I'd sketch the manor's stark beauty and listen to my mother tell of her privileged life in England. She'd always drift off to sleep, dreaming of those days, and I'd make up stories about those who lived on Trevelyan Hill.

Such things as drawing and dreams were foreign to my practical nature, as was my penchant for books, but they were my only luxury. I held on to them as I grew from girl to woman -- the art, the books, and the dreams. They eased my soul, and were my only solace during the toiling days of scalding water, lye soap, and scorching irons.

My fantasies of the inhabitants of Trevelyan Hill never matched the rumors about their rich lives. In recent years, tragedy had befallen the Trevelyan family as persistently as the waves of the bay beat against the dark, jagged cliffs visible in the patchy fog behind the manor. The death of their patriarch, rumors of madness, and then the suicide of Benedict Trevelyan's young wife had marked them. Leastwise, suicide was the official ruling concerning Benedict's wife's fall from one of the manor's turreted towers last year. No one had proven Benedict Trevelyan guilty -- but there were whispers.

Gathering my courage, I forced myself up the manor's long drive to the perfectly polished mahogany doors. Desperation, or perhaps fate, spurred me. I had decided, and nothing would deter me, least of all rumors. My own life had made me immune to wagging tongues. Closer now, I saw with some surprise that the tall castle-like doors were carved with winged demons chasing after fair, dainty maidens. I'd expected something stately, like a royal emblem, or a proper design. My curiosity about the inhabitants of the manor grew.

My mother had named me Titania after Shakespeare's Queen of the Fairies. I think she'd expected I'd be as beautiful and tiny as she, and not the almost-six-foot plain woman I had become. Somewhere over the years -- at my insistence -- my name had been shortened to the more suitable form of Ann.

The heat of the afternoon sun must have had a strange effect on me. For as I straightened my dress to walk up the steps of the manor, I suddenly wished to be as attractive as a fairy queen. To be dainty and desirable, even if it meant having to run from demons.

Shaking my head, I put my mind back on my task and smoothed the stolen paper I held in my hand, suffering a twinge of guilt as I read it again. This was the first time I'd ever done anything so unseemly. The moment I'd seen the employment notice in the window of Mr. McGuire's Bookstore, I had snatched it down, unwilling for anyone else to read it and apply for the position before I could. Benedict Trevelyan was looking for a tutor for his small children, and those interested in the job were to apply in person at his residence.

I bolstered myself with a small prayer and a deep breath, feeling my hopes for a different life than that of a laundress lodge in my stomach as I lifted the gargoyle-like brass knocker.

A butler wearing a suit and black tie answered. At the sight of me, his polite smile immediately drooped and his nose inched higher. "May I help you?"

My attempts to hide the threadbare state of my gray serge dress with extra starch and ironing had apparently failed, and the heat of the day had wilted the crisply efficient air I had striven to achieve. Now that I was here, doubts about the wisdom of what I planned to do assailed me, but I pushed them aside, refusing to turn around and run.

"Yes?" the butler prompted. Though he stood on the step above me, he didn't quite reach my height. Instead of looking me in the eye, he focused at some point below my chin.

I forced my feet to stay planted and continued to hold my head high. "I am here to see Mr. Trevelyan, please."

"Your name?"

"Miss Ann Lovell."

"Regarding?"

"Employment."

The butler finally raised his gaze to mine. That he had to crick his neck a bit to do it clearly displeased him as much as my appearance. His disapproving frown deepened.

"All household cleaning positions have been filled." He stepped back and started to shut the door.

"Please." I held up the bookstore notice. "I am seeking a teaching position."

"I assure you, he is looking for an educated young man to fill that position."

"Then the position is still available?" My hopes rose to my throat, nearly choking off my speech.

The sound of heavy-booted feet striding closer preceded a deep, polished voice. "Is there a problem, Dobbs?"

The tone and verve of the unknown man's voice vibrated in the air and ruffled my already quaking insides. The sensation intensified when a towering man appeared at the door behind the butler.

I almost stepped back. The man appeared as tall and as broad as the massive doorway itself. His dark hair gleamed in the sunlight like the rich, deep hues of the polished wood behind him. A distinctive brow and Roman nose topped a freshly shaven jaw that could conquer an empire with its determination. He was dressed in dark trousers and a white shirt. His hair lay damp upon his brow as if he'd just bathed, and he smelled pleasantly of sandalwood. I breathed in, luxuriating in the scent before I could stop myself. The aroma proved most distracting.

Dobbs cleared his throat with a self-righteous flair. "I was just telling the woman that you were looking for a male tutor for Masters Robert and Justin, sir. Not a governess."

Blinking, I attempted to refocus my thoughts. I lifted my gaze. The man had to be Benedict Trevelyan; his gaze, black as a moonless night in its darkest hours, probed mine. This time I had to crane my neck back, an unusual movement for me. I could easily cast him as one of the winged demons carved on the door. His eyes were so dark a woman would never be able to see through to his soul, and I pitied the poor maiden he would chase. No mercy lurked in his measuring gaze.

"And?" Though he spoke to his servant, the enigmatic master of Trevelyan Hill didn't move his gaze from mine. He pushed the door wider and joined me on the step. I quickly crumpled the notice that I'd ripped from the bookstore's window and tucked my hand in the fold of my dress lest he think my hasty action too presumptuous.

"She found -- "r

"I found the answer unsatisfactory, Mr. Trevelyan." I spoke with enough force to clearly be heard over Dobbs's disdain. Then I held my breath, forcing myself to stand strong. There were times when the bounds of propriety had to be breached, and this was such a time.

For a brief second, I thought I saw the corners of Benedict Trevelyan's lips twitch, but his eyes remained so dark and unmoved that I told myself I'd imagined it.

"Interesting. Since he is only reiterating my wishes, I am to take it that it is my words you find unsatisfactory, Miss -- "

"Lovell," I supplied, offering my right hand in what I knew to be a manly manner. I felt I needed to stand my ground in the face of his challenge. His voice from inside the house had frayed at my confidence; now the pitch of his deep tones reached inside me, shaking unknown feelings to life that made me a bit queasy. I didn't like it.

Benedict Trevelyan hesitated, but only a moment, before he gripped and shook my hand. Though I'd been able to fashion a small hat from odds and ends of materials and netting left over from years past, I did not have the luxury of gloves; nor did he have any on at the moment. I'm not sure what he thought about this impropriety, but the shock of his bare hand upon mine struck me like a lightning bolt. Heat traveled through my veins to unmentionable places and coalesced to a burning in my cheeks.

I quickly promised myself I would buy a pair of gloves should I receive an employment offer. I instinctively knew it would be necessary for my peace of mind. The man was entirely too disturbing, and I had unprecedented trouble centering my thoughts on the conversation.

"Um, they are not necessarily unsatisfactory, Mr. Trevelyan. Unjust would be a more accurate word. A woman can teach as well as a man. What difference does gender make with -- "

He tightened his grip and bowed as if greeting the governor's wife. My hands were reddened from years of laundering, not a lady's hands. My voice clogged in my throat, and my thoughts evaporated as his lips, warm and soft, brushed the back of my hand. A fever washed over me, leaving my skin even damper than the humid air had made it.

I forcibly snatched back my hand, and this time there was no mistaking the lifting corners of his mouth, but no matching light reached his shadowed eyes.

"Unjust?" he said softly.

I suddenly realized Benedict Trevelyan knew exactly what he'd done to me. Considering our stations in life -- laundress to rich master of the manor -- he'd no social obligation to greet me in such a way. A man as practiced as he had to know the effects his charm had on women, and he'd smoothly manipulated me into the traditional womanly role I'd just tried to step away from. I had best tread more carefully with him, I thought.

Gathering my practicality and composure, I narrowed my brows, striving to admonish him. My future depended on it. "Completely unjust. Did you even once consider a woman for the position?"

"No," he said flatly, pulling out his pocket watch. "I have my reasons."

The finality of his tone pricked holes in my confidence, and my hands clenched as the mountain of laundry I saw in the back of my mind grew tenfold, trying to bury me completely. Too many injustices in the world went unaddressed, especially in regards to a woman's capabilities, and I had to speak up.

"Reasons to eliminate candidates without giving just consideration?" I asked softly.

dHe tensed as I studied him, his stillness similar to that of a predator catching sight of its prey. I made myself meet and hold the intensity of his gaze. I would not let myself feel shame that I hadn't excused myself when told a woman was not wanted.

"Dobbs, please escort Miss Lovell to my study," he finally said.

I managed to snap my mouth shut before Dobbs repaired the surprised crack in his formal mask. Neither of us had expected Benedict Trevelyan would spend another moment upon a closed issue. I had the distinct impression his decisions were always final.

"I will join you there shortly. You'll have exactly ten minutes to state your credentials and explain why you believe a woman would be a better teacher for my sons." He turned on his heel and disappeared into the manor.

Dobbs stood frozen in place, and for a moment, so did I. I had no official credentials beyond my thirst for knowledge, and my mouth went completely dry over the lie I was about to tell.

Regaining his composure, Dobbs stepped aside, motioning me in with an impatient gesture. The look he gave me condemned without a trial. I might as well have been stealing the family silver rather than searching for employment. Even if Benedict Trevelyan laughed in my face, I'd demanded an opportunity to apply for the position, and I had gotten it. Renewed confidence swelled inside me.

I honestly believed in my abilities to teach. Thanks to my mother's determination, I'd had many teachers over the years, and thus, personal experience with what methods of instruction worked well.

A bittersweet wash of memories splashed over my heart. My education had been as important to my mother as food to eat and air to breathe. It was as if she had known I would be alone as she had been.

As I crossed the threshold into the manor, I was surprised to feel small for the first time in my life. Most often I identified with Lewis Carroll's Alice when she grew too big for the room in which she stood. The ceilings, beam after beam of carved wood, arched to an ornate point above the foyer, like I had seen in drawings of European cathedrals. The marbled floor tiles stretched like a black-and-white sea. Heavy, dark wood chests -- massive in size -- sat between a series of champagne-silk-covered sofas dotted with jewel-like pillows. Gold leaf adorned the fancy wood of the furniture and accented the frames of a multitude of imposing portraits hung on the walls. The faces of the ancestors were stern, as if they judged all who entered and found them lacking. A ramrod suit of armor stood sentry with a sword in his hand, ready to carry out the ancestors' judgments. The room was the epitome of wealth tastefully displayed. Yet all of its richness paled in comparison to the stained glass windows on opposite ends of the hall.

As often as I had studied the house over the years, I'd never seen the window at the back of the hall. It was twice the size of the front and, in my opinion, the saving grace of Trevelyan Manor, countering its darkness. The combined beauty of the windows was indescribable. I stopped in the entryway, admiring the play of multicolored sunlight dancing over me. I could not help myself.

Either I had gotten lost in my astonishment or Dobbs had decided to abandon me in the hall, for the next thing I knew Benedict Trevelyan stood in front of me with a puzzled frown on his face.

"Miss Lovell, my time is limited. Do you wish to speak with me or not?"

"Yes, of course. Please forgive me, but I have never before seen anything so magnificent."

He spun in a circle, his gaze traveling the room. "I suppose the furnishings are impressive. It is not something to which I give much notice."

I shook my head. "No, not the room." I pointed to the stained glass. "The windows. They are like heaven itself." Each of the windows depicted a choir of angels singing to a Christ rising through the clouds. As I held out my hand, I realized little spots of color -- reds, blues, purples, and greens -- danced over my skin, masking its work-worn redness. "Look, they paint you with their beauty." My hand truly felt beautiful within the colored light.

"So they do." His voice dropped deeper, catching my attention.

I'd forgotten I still held his employment advertisement. He pulled the paper from my fingers. Unable to look him in the eye, I focused on his large hands as he smoothed out the creases. I found myself wondering what strength lay in such powerful hands.

He stood silent too long. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't let a stolen notice rob me of all that I had to offer. I had to say something on my behalf. "Do you not find the facets of light amazing?" I moved my hand through the colored beams filtering into the hall. "The hues hidden within its waves. Its warmth. Its refractivity. Its beauty. Why, one could spend a lifetime discovering more about its miracles. I have often wondered what it would have been like to be Newton or Huygens. To have made some of the discoveries they did in their scientific studies."

"I think you would have found them to be very lonely men, Miss Lovell. The world doesn't take kindly to new theories. Not until long after the discoverer is dead."

I met his gaze then and could not look away. He stared at me intently, his eyes unreadable and as dark as a starless night.

After an uncomfortable mo...

In 1873 San Francisco, Ann Lovell, a young woman desperate to change her future, dares to take on the position of governess to the sons of the mysterious and enigmatic Benedict Trevelyan. She refuses to believe in the dark rumors of a cursed family or that he had a hand in the death of his wife. After all, Ann was a practical woman and had no patience for nonsense. She also knew firsthand how cruel and untrue gossip could be, for it had ruined her mother’s life. But from the moment Ann enters the Trevelyan Manor, she is aware of a sinister force at work and as she becomes embroiled in the lives of those living within shadowed halls, she discovers dangerous secrets. Everyone is not who they appear to be and someone doesn’t want her there, especially when she starts asking questions about the death of Benedict’s wife. As Ann uncovers more and more about the past, she believes that the previous Mistress of Trevelyan was murdered. Yet, her heart succumbs not only to the small, motherless boys in her care, but also falls prey to the master of Trevelyan Manor and his passions. He introduces her to a new world of sensual pleasures that shake her loose from her practical foundations. Soon, the danger surrounding her grows deadly and the key to Ann’s destiny or destruction lies within Benedict’s arms, as she is forced to question if his attentions are meant to blind her to the truth, or if someone else wants her dead before she becomes the next...Mistress of Trevelyan.