Читать книгу A Family For The Widowed Governess - Ann Lethbridge - Страница 11

Jack had indeed been rude to Lady Marguerite Saxby. Marguerite. What a pretty name. Every time he spotted daisies in his lawn or on the roadside, which was all the time, he was reminded that he owed her an apology. Which was why, two days after she had brought his girls home, he was here in Westram village, wondering how to visit her in a way that would not get tongues wagging. It would be ideal if he came across her shopping in the village, or even picking flowers in her garden. A chance meeting would allow him to offer his gratitude and move on.

The post office seemed the best place to start his search. Once he’d had a chance to think about things clearly, he’d recalled who she was. He’d come across her name when he’d been called upon to help sort out the local vicar’s wife. For some reason, she had taken to stealing from the villagers and blaming it on a band of gypsies camped nearby. While he had not met Lord Westram’s widowed sisters during the course of his investigation, he’d certainly heard about them.

All three of them had been widowed on the same day. Their husbands had died on the Iberian Peninsula, having gone off together to join the army because of some sort of wager. It had been quite the on dit among the ton. So much so, the story had made its way to his little corner of Kent.

No doubt Lady Marguerite would have learned about his wife’s murder two years before. There had even been some who thought he might have done it, despite he had witnesses to account for his whereabouts. Perhaps that accounted for her hostility towards him.

‘Good day, Lord Compton,’ Mr Barker said. ‘We don’t often see you here in Westram.’ His beady eyes were alight with curiosity. Devil take the man.

‘I was passing through and recalled I was in need of...’ his gaze fell on a stone jar behind the counter ‘...snuff.’

Barker looked shocked. ‘My lord, I do not think that what I have is in any way up to your refined taste.’

In other words, why on earth would a man of his stature want to buy cheap snuff? ‘Oh, ’tis not for me, but for my children’s nanny.’

Barker instantly cheered. He took down the jar and began weighing. ‘An ounce is enough, my lord?’

‘Perfect,’ Jack said. The noticeboard caught his eyes, or rather a very artfully drawn poster. Drawing teacher willing to provide lessons, it proclaimed.

‘Notice went up yesterday,’ Barker said. ‘Lady Marguerite, looking for students.’ He shook his head in a ‘what is the world coming to’ sort of way.

How very...fortuitous. ‘I see.’ He tipped his head as if considering the matter. ‘My daughters could benefit from some drawing lessons. The older one has some talent, I think.’

‘Lady Marguerite would be the right sort of person for your daughters, my lord. Very nice in her taste, she is. You’ll find her at Westram Cottage, should you wish to enquire.’

He could not have found a better excuse to visit the widowed Lady Marguerite. He nodded. ‘Thank you, Barker. How much do I owe you for the snuff?’ He paid with the coin he had in his pocket and left the shop with a more purposeful step than when he had entered.

* * *

Westram Cottage lay at the far end of the village. A pretty little place, with yellow roses growing in the garden and over a trellis around the front door.

Did he really want to give in to this unusual impulse to hire a drawing teacher?

What he really needed was a governess for his daughters. She would teach them drawing. So, was this about his daughters, or about his interest in the lady? Because he could not seem to get her out of his head.

Nonsense. Nanny was right. He owed her an apology. The fact that she was looking for paid employment was also a puzzle. A widow living alone was usually of independent means. Now, puzzles interested him. He liked solving mysteries. Therefore, it was not the lady herself that had him intrigued, but her circumstances. For example, what had she been doing tramping around the countryside by herself? And looking delightfully dishevelled to boot?

He pushed that thought away. Nanny James was right, he really did owe her a thank-you.

He knocked on the door. Silence. No footsteps coming to the door. No sounds of occupation coming from inside. He stepped back and looked up. No smoke coming from any of the chimneys either. Clearly the lady was not home. Nor were any of her servants.

He pulled his card from his pocket, intending to write a promise to call on her the next day, when he heard a scraping sound from the rear of the house. Likely a groom working in the stables. Someone he could ask about the lady’s whereabouts and expected hour of return. He followed the path around the side of the house to a small stable at the end of a well-cared-for garden.

He entered the stable and gaped at the sight of Lady Marguerite, mucking out in a pair of men’s breeches and boots. He should leave.

Too late! As if sensing his presence, the woman looked up, pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and gaped back at him. ‘Lord Compton,’ she said. She glanced down at herself and winced.

She straightened, holding her shovel before her like a shield. It did nothing to hide her lovely figure. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

Devil take it. The woman must be one of those freethinking sorts. No wonder she had seemed so odd the day before. Was she really the sort of person he wanted teaching his girls?

‘I...er...’ He still held his calling card in his hand. He held it out.

She made no move to take it.

He cast around wildly for something to say and decided, as usual, that the truth was best. ‘I apologise for my interruption. Having received no answer at the front door and hearing sounds of activity, I came to enquire when you might be expected home.’

She frowned. ‘I see.’

‘I came to apologise for my rudeness. I should have thanked you for bringing my daughters safely home. My concern overrode my good manners, I am sorry to say. So...thank you.’

She leaned her shovel against the stable wall and folded her arms. ‘Apology accepted.’

He did not feel as if it was accepted. It seemed to be more a question of it being tolerated as being due, but not particularly welcome.

‘I saw your notice in the post office,’ he said.

‘Oh?’ Again, she swept back that unruly curl. The rest of her hair was severely restrained beneath her plain widow’s cap. ‘Were you interested in drawing lessons for your daughters?’

Hah. Finally, he had caught her interest. Why he might have wanted to see the sharpening of her gaze, and the curiosity in her expression, he could not imagine. And now what was he to say? No? ‘I was interested in discussing the matter, certainly.’

‘I see.’

Good lord, the woman was positively enigmatic with her answers. In his experience, most women were garrulous in the extreme and said little of import. This one seemed to put a world of meaning into every syllable.

‘When might you be available to discuss the matter?’ he said firmly, determined to take charge of this one-sided conversation. ‘Shall I call on you tomorrow?’ When he returned he would tell her he had changed his mind. She was not the sort of influence he wanted for his children.

She waved an arm. ‘Now is as good a time as any.’

Blast.

She upturned a bucket and perched on it. He leaned against one of the posts supporting the rails of the nearest stall. There was only one equine occupant. A small grey mare with a dark circle around one eye. The animal looked well fed and well cared for.

‘Where is your groom?’ he asked, unable to contain his question any longer.

She started. ‘Um... He is not here at the moment. He has gone to visit his sick mother.’

Jack narrowed his eyes on her face. Her gaze did not meet his. He knew a lie when he heard one. He’d become an expert, both at home and with his work for the Parish. ‘It would have saved us both embarrassment if someone had answered the front door,’ he said, sounding more irritated that he intended.

She raised her chin. ‘The servants have the day off.’

Another lie. He hated lies and deceit, and this lady was not very good at either. He was sincerely doubting the wisdom of this visit. He was going to have to extricate himself from the situation as best he could.

‘Are your daughters interested in learning to draw?’ Lady Marguerite asked, clearly anxious to change the topic from the issue of her servants. For some reason, despite he didn’t trust her to speak the truth, her worry troubled him.

With the exercise of a good deal of self-control, he avoided staring at the shapely legs encased in buckskin and neatly crossed at the ankle. ‘I honestly do not know,’ he said. ‘I saw your advertisement quite by chance. I have not given it proper consideration.’

She sighed. There was something resigned about that sigh. It only added to his disquiet. Nevertheless, she straightened her spine and now looked him in the eye. ‘My fee is one guinea per hour for both girls. I would suggest two hours of lessons two afternoons a week. At least, until they have mastered the rudiments. I require payment by the week in advance.’

Well, that was frank speaking. He narrowed his eyes. ‘May I enquire as to your qualification for such instruction?’

She looked startled, then blushed, a beautiful wash of colour that rose from her neck to her forehead. He relaxed. The woman was nowhere near as controlled and detached as she made out.

* * *

Marguerite felt herself go hot all over and knew that her face would now be scarlet. She hated the way she blushed at the slightest thing. And it wasn’t just because he was handsome and looking at her with an intensity that for some reason made her stomach flutter. This time it was justified. Blast it, she had been so taken with her idea about giving lessons, she hadn’t given a thought to qualifications.

Or at least... ‘I can show you some of my work,’ she said. ‘But I must be honest. While I took lessons as a girl in the schoolroom, I have never taught anyone.’

He pursed his lips. Such a stern, serious man. A tall man with broad shoulders. In the old days, when her brothers ran riot on their estate, they might have described him as a bruiser of a man. But he was more than that. He was a nobleman and he was a gentleman in his prime. A very attractive gentleman, for all that he seemed to view the world with suspicion.

He clearly hadn’t liked apologising to her, or expressing his gratitude. And why on earth had he come around to the back of her house? Any rational gentleman would have simply written a note on his card, stuck it beneath the knocker and left. On the other hand, he was the local magistrate. Perhaps he made a habit of prowling around other people’s property.

In the dim light of the stable, the way he stood looming over her, he looked almost menacing. As if he would arrest her and lock her up in a heartbeat, given the opportunity.

Dash it all. She had had enough of being intimidated by a man. She glared back.

And besides, now she had admitted she had no qualifications to teach his children, he would politely refuse to employ her and go, leaving her to her embarrassment at being found mucking out the stables in a pair of old buskin breeches she had found while she was looking in the attic for rags with which to clean the windows.

The next job on her list.

Dash it, she should be drawing, not undertaking menial tasks. But until she could pay for the return of her sketch, she could not afford to hire anyone to help with the chores.

‘Very well,’ he said.

She looked at him blankly.

‘I will look at your work.’

Relief filled her. ‘If you would give me a moment, I will bring some out.’

He gave her a considering look. ‘Why don’t we go inside? I will make us a cup of tea while you fetch down your portfolio.’

‘Make tea?’ she said, scarcely believing her ears.

‘I used to do so all the time when I was at university. I am sure I have not forgotten the way of it.’ He tipped his head on one side. ‘By the time the kettle boils you will have had a chance to...er...freshen up.’

Her mouth dried. He meant her to change her clothes. Heat scorched her face. The man probably thought her completely harum-scarum. Not at all the right sort of teacher for his children. But if she could convince him to hire her, it would make her life so much easier.

‘I will meet you in the kitchen in ten minutes,’ she said. She left the barn, back straight and head held high, and tried not to imagine him watching her as she marched into the house.

* * *

She was almost finished dressing when she heard the kitchen door open and close. Was he leaving? Had she taken too long? The sound of china rattling set her mind to rest. He must have lingered in the stable to give her time to prepare herself. She had not expected such courtesy from such a dour man.

She glanced in the mirror and pinned a stray lock under her cap. There. That would have to do. She ran down the stairs and into the kitchen.

His Lordship was nowhere to be seen.

‘Lord Compton?’

He emerged from the pantry. ‘I found some biscuits,’ he said and grinned. He looked so startlingly handsome, she stared at him open-mouthed. She’d been saving those biscuits for the next time the vicar came to call. The new vicar was a very pleasant young man. And single. Not that Marguerite had any interest in single gentlemen. But he always looked as if he needed a good meal and always wolfed down her biscuits.

His smile faded. ‘I am sorry, I should not have gone poking around in your pantry.’

She let go a breath. ‘No. It is perfectly all right. I am glad you found them. I like biscuits. They are shortbread, I believe. My favourite.’ Stop. He’d think her a fool for gabbling on like this. Indeed, there was a very odd look on his face. Disapproval, she thought.

She gestured to the table, where cups and saucers and the steaming teapot awaited. ‘Won’t you sit down?’ She set her portfolio away from the teacups and took her seat. He took a chair opposite. She poured the tea and they sipped at it and nibbled on shortbread. This batch had turned out even better than the last, but if she didn’t make some money soon, she would not be able to afford the butter to make more.

‘Let me see your drawings,’ he said after a few moments. She appreciated his getting down to business right away. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable about inviting a gentleman to take tea in her kitchen. It felt far too intimate to be alone with such a very handsome gentleman. One whom she found more attractive that she would have believed possible. As a rule, she preferred to give handsome, charming gentlemen a wide berth. She certainly didn’t want to start tongues wagging in the village. Fortunately, the kitchen was at the back of the house, so passing neighbours were unlikely to know of his presence. Except...

‘Oh, my goodness. What did you do with your carriage?’ Was it parked outside in the lane?

‘I left my horse at the inn,’ he said.

She let go a sigh of relief.

His mouth tightened. ‘The pictures?’

She pulled the portfolio closer, undid the worn blue ribbon and spread out samples of her still-life drawings before him.

After a moment of perusal, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. ‘These are excellent,’ he said.

Not a connoisseur, then. ‘They are accurate depictions of the countryside hereabouts.’

He looked puzzled.

‘I am a technician, my lord. I replicate what I see. I do not bring any great flair to the work.’

He shook his head. ‘If either of my daughters could be taught to draw nearly as well, I would be satisfied indeed.’

Relief flooded through her. ‘I believe I have the skill to pass my knowledge along. I have not forgotten my own lessons.’

‘I have to warn you that my daughters are not the easiest children to teach. They have driven off two governesses in the past year alone.’

She hesitated and saw disappointment enter his gaze. She steeled her spine. ‘I will do the best I can, my lord.’

‘That is all I can ask. I agree to your terms. I will expect you on Wednesday afternoon, if that is convenient, and again on Friday.’

‘That is convenient, my lord.’ Heat travelled through her body. ‘My fee is payable in advance, you will recall.’

‘When you arrive on Wednesday, your fee will await you.’

She would have liked some of it today, but beggars could not be choosers. She nodded her acceptance.

He picked up his hat and left.

Two governesses driven off. What had she let herself in for?

* * *

The following Wednesday, Jack paced his study. At any moment Lady Marguerite was supposed to arrive.

Why the hell had he hired the woman? She had lied to him. A few discreet enquiries and he had the truth of the matter. Initially, there had been three widows living at the cottage. Two of them had wed, leaving Lady Marguerite alone. There were no servants. The maid and manservant who had been employed at the cottage had married and gone elsewhere. The lady had not hired anyone to take their places.

So why lie?

Because he would have disapproved of her lack of servants? Why would she care what he thought?

Because she needed the money from the drawing lessons. What lady would advertise for employment if she wasn’t desperate? Clearly, Lord Westram should take better care of his sister.

Hah. The wry amusement that thought engendered gave him pause. Of course she wouldn’t go to her brother, since the woman obviously valued her independence. Not the sort of influence he wanted for his daughters. But there was no going back since he had already offered her the position, or at least he had offered to give her the opportunity to prove she could do the job. He had also sent over one of his stable lads to take care of her horse and keep an eye on her. It wasn’t right that a lady should live completely alone, mucking out her own stables and carrying her own coal.

If indeed she had any coal.

There had been a good pile of logs at the back door, though. Hopefully, his lad would have the sense to split them when he ran out of work in the stables. Jack went to his desk, looked at the pile of paperwork and then went to the window. It was nearly two in the afternoon. She should be here at any moment. Unless she intended to be fashionably late.

But no. He smiled at the sight of the trap advancing up his drive at a steady clip. He went outside to greet her.

A groom ran out from the stables to take her horse and held it steady while he helped her down. She was dressed in the same dun-brown coat she had worn the day she brought his daughters home. And as on that occasion, her hair was neatly pinned beneath a plain cap and covered by a serviceable bonnet with the sprig of daisies on the brim a startling little nod to femininity.

‘Good afternoon, Lord Compton,’ she said coolly.

‘Good afternoon, Lady Marguerite.’

She gave him a tight little smile. ‘Where might I find my charges?’

‘In the nursery. Come. I will show you the way.’

He had spent his own childhood in this nursery with his own nanny. She’d been a little livelier than Nanny James was now. Certainly spryer. But there was no one else he would trust as much as he trusted her to care for his children.

Sounds of excited talking and giggling grew louder as they walked along the corridor. He made his step extra heavy, the sound echoing off the walls. The sounds ceased. He threw open the door and the three children were lined up in a row opposite, just as he had requested the previous evening. As was her wont, Nanny James was sitting beside the hearth, rocking back and forth and smiling at the little row of children. He smiled at them. His children were a credit to him.

‘Good afternoon, daughters,’ he said.

‘Good afternoon, Papa,’ the older two chorused, showing off their best curtsies. Netty removed her thumb from her mouth with a little pop and wobbled when she bent her knees. He really should try to have Nanny break her of the habit of thumb-sucking. He just didn’t have the heart. She was still barely more than a baby. And besides, as Nanny always said when he discussed the matter with her, how many adults did he know who walked around sucking their thumbs?

‘Ladies, this is Lady Marguerite, whom you know already. She has kindly agreed to give you drawing lessons. You will behave and do exactly as she says.’

‘Yes, Papa,’ they said in unison.

He handed Lady Marguerite the paper he had prepared that morning. ‘This is a list of rules with regard to the children’s activities. Please ensure they are followed.’

Lady Marguerite took the list with raised eyebrows. ‘I will let you know if I think they are suitable.’

He gritted his teeth. ‘They are my rules.’

‘I see.’ She glanced around the nursery. ‘We cannot work in here, I am afraid. The girls need tables, easels and drawing implements.’

He’d thought of that. ‘Let me show you the schoolroom. I am sure you will find it meets your needs.’

He led her to the very end of the hallway and opened the door. ‘Will this do?’

It was a large airy space that he and his wife had prepared for the large brood they had expected. They had incorporated it into this wing of the house with a good deal of joyful anticipation. Now it only made him feel sad.

Lady Marguerite nodded. ‘This will do very well, my lord.’

‘The cupboard contains supplies I obtained on the instructions of the last two governesses. I recall they included things like pens and ink and charcoal.’

She crossed to the cupboard and scanned its contents. He could not help but admire the way she strode across the room with a purposeful step. She was ladylike, but also confident as his wife had never been. Which was why he still did not understand why on earth she would have gone out when night was drawing in on foot and alone. A lie. To himself. He knew why. She had gone alone and without talking to him because she knew he would not approve.

‘This looks like a very good start,’ Lady Marguerite said and turned to face him.

‘Excellent. Let me know if anything else is required.’

She glanced around. ‘If we could have this table moved closer to the window, it would be better.’

‘I’ll send a man up to do it.’

She nodded and looked down at his note. She ran her eye down the list and frowned. ‘This is very restrictive, my lord.’

‘As you have seen already, the girls are not easy to manage. I believe these rules will ensure their safety.’

She took a little breath and he had the feeling she intended to argue with him about his instructions. Instead, she gave a little shake of her head. ‘And my fee?’

He handed over four guineas. ‘For this week. We will discuss the future on Friday.’

She slipped the money into her reticule. ‘About the groom you sent to my house—’

‘No need to thank me. I am simply ensuring you arrive on time to give your lessons.’

‘But—’

‘No buts. I do not want the smell of horses in my daughters’ schoolroom.’

She glared at him and muttered something under her breath. It sounded a bit like ‘Men. Impossible.’

He pretended not to hear. ‘Shall we fetch Elizabeth and Janey?’

She pressed her lips in a straight line and for one long moment he thought she was going to refuse to teach them. Then her shoulders drooped a fraction and she nodded.

Damnation. He should be pleased, not feeling like a bully. He was right about needing to establish proper rules and regulations. He was the girls’ papa. He could not risk anything happening to them. This was the best way to keep them safe.