Читать книгу The Cinderella Governess - Georgie Lee - Страница 11
ОглавлениеJoanna had never been to a ball before. The Pensum Manor ballroom was decorated with autumn leaves, straw bales, scarecrows and bunches of wheat tied with orange-and-yellow ribbons. The same musicians who played in the church on Sundays now performed on an equally festive stage at the far end. In front of them, young ladies and gentlemen danced in time to the lively music. Everyone in attendance seemed happy and carefree, except Joanna, and, it appeared, Major Preston.
Joanna glanced at the guest of honour again, admiring the dignified arch of his brows, the subtle wave in his dark brown hair where it curled over both ears before touching the smooth skin above his collar. It wasn’t only his commanding stature which drew her to him, but the discontent deepening the rich coffee colour of his eyes. He stood beside his brother, Lord Pensum, near the door, nodding tersely at each passing guest while his brother greeted them with a gracious smile and a few words. More than once Joanna saw Major Preston’s sturdy chest rise and fall with a weary sigh and she sympathised with him. Like her, he was clearly ill at ease in the midst of all this merriment.
‘Watch where you’re going,’ Frances snapped as she stopped to examine the dancers, forcing Joanna to come up short to keep from bumping into her tiring charge. Then Frances set off again on another circle of the room, no doubt searching for Lieutenant Foreman. Thankfully, they hadn’t seen him, but it didn’t stop Frances from looking. The girl was stubborn in her desire to ruin herself.
Joanna followed wearily behind her, tugging at the pale-blue secondhand dress Frances had tossed at her last night after Lady Huntford had announced Joanna would attend as Frances’s chaperon. It spared the mother the bother of hovering around her headstrong daughter. Joanna played with the small bit of lace along the thankfully modest bodice. It fit her in length, since she and Frances were nearly matched in height, but Joanna had been forced to stay up late to take in the chest. The lack of sleep, combined with Lady Huntford having instructed Joanna to try and manoeuvre Frances to Major Preston, added to her disquiet. The young lady was as co-operative as a donkey. With Frances relentlessly circling the room and refusing to dance, Joanna had been denied the company of the other governesses sitting along the wall and chatting together. She needed some hopefully polite conversation with someone, anyone. She rarely received it at Huntford Place.
To Joanna’s luck, Frances’s hurried steps brought them closer to Major Preston and Joanna hazarded another glance at him. This time, his eyes met hers and the entire ballroom faded away until only the two of them and the soft melody of the violin remained. There were no wayward charges, laughing country squires or gallant young men to concern her. His gaze slid along the length of her, pausing at her chest which increased with her drawn-in breath.
Instead of stopping him with a chiding glance, she stood up straighter, offering him a better view of her in the prettiest dress she’d ever worn. His silent appraisal of her continued down to her feet and then up again. It kindled the strange fire burning near her centre which spread out to engulf her skin. She touched the curls at the back of her head, returning his attention to her face. With a slow, refined movement she lowered her hand, linking it with the other in front of her, each fingertip aching to trace the angle of his jaw to where it met his stiff cravat. She envied the linen encasing his throat and whatever woman he chose here tonight for his bride. She would experience the thrill of his body against hers, the heat of his wide hands upon her bare skin, the luxury of his height draping her like a heavy coat on a windy day.
‘Stop gawking at everything,’ Frances hissed, snapping Joanna out of her licentious daydream. ‘You’re embarrassing me.’
Considering the lady’s encounter with Lieutenant Foreman, Frances possessed a strange idea of what might embarrass her. Joanna held her tongue, eager to avoid cultivating any more of Frances’s ire.
‘Might we not go speak with Major Preston?’ Joanna slid a sideways glance at Major Preston. He continued to watch her with an allure which almost made her rush to him, but she didn’t move. Instead, she tugged at the back of the dress, wondering what had come over her. She was here to chaperon Frances, not lose her head over a man so far above her the only relationship they could enjoy would risk her livelihood and go against everything Madame Dubois and Miss Fanworth had invested in her. They’d trained her to teach young ladies, not to become a kept tart.
‘Why would I want to talk to him?’ Frances shifted back and forth on her toes to look over the guests’ heads.
‘To save your slippers for the delight of dancing,’ Joanna joked. Her attempt at humour withered as Frances narrowed her eyes at Joanna. ‘And because I’ve noticed him admiring you.’
It was a lie, but an effective one.
‘He has?’ Frances’s attention whipped around to Major Preston so fast, the blonde curls at the back of her head flew out before they settled back against her neck. Frances thrust out her ample chest and cast Major Preston a none-too-subtle smile.
Frances’s interest in him ended his interest in them. He offered Frances a polite nod, then turned to speak to a gentleman Joanna vaguely recognised as someone of local importance. On the dance floor, one dance ended and couples began to form up for the next. Mr Winborn, the son of another local baronet who Catherine, Frances’s younger sister, had teased Frances about during their last visit to the village approached them.
‘Miss Huntford, may I have this dance?’ The lithe gentleman with a head of wild red hair held out his freckled hand to Frances.
‘Yes, I suppose I must be seen dancing with someone or people will talk.’ Frances placed her hand limply in his.
‘We can’t have that, now, can we?’ Mr Winborn concurred, not offended by her blunt acceptance and just as blasé about taking her to the dance floor as his partner.
Joanna sagged a little in relief. Frances couldn’t get into trouble while she danced. Joanna turned, excited to at last be able to join the other chaperons when a mountain of a man stepped between her and them. A badge of a bugle horn hung by a tin ribbon met her before she peered up to the peak to find Major Preston standing over her.
The scent of cedar surrounding him enveloped her and she pressed her heels into the floor to keep from wavering under the pressure of it. His dark coat ran tight along the horizontal plane of his shoulders. Brass buttons with crossed sabres held the wool closed at his navel and emphasised his narrow waist. The dark material stood in stark contrast to the white breeches covering his legs. She didn’t dare check to see what kind of buttons held those closed.
‘May I have this dance?’ He held out his hand to her. His palm was wide, with a faint scar starting at the first finger and crossing down to his wrist. Light red circles of old blisters further marred the plane of it. Here was no soft London gentleman, but one who knew something of hard work and danger. His nearness didn’t overwhelm her like the ones of the other titled men and women filling the room. Instead, she admired his confidence and wanted to emulate it.
She raised her hand to accept his, then jerked it back to her side, remembering herself. ‘When it comes to reels, I appear more like a horse trotting around a millstone than a lady of poise. It’s best for me to avoid them.’
He grinned at her, amused instead of insulted by her refusal. ‘Dancing doesn’t bring out my natural agility either. Despite lessons, I never developed the talent for it. I mastered riding instead.’
‘If only you could do both the way they do with the horses from Vienna I once read about.’ She froze, waiting for him to chastise her as Frances had for speaking out of turn. Instead, he rewarded her with a smile as captivating as his height. He was a good head taller than her.
‘Not my horse. He’s more mule than Lipizzaner and would throw me if I tried to make a dancer out of him.’
‘But you’d both be majestic for the moment you stayed in the saddle.’
‘It would be a very brief moment.’ He smothered a laugh behind his hand, the delight it brought to his eyes as captivating as the pensiveness which had called to her from across the room. ‘Do you ride?’
‘As poorly as I dance.’ Horsemanship was wasted on a governess.
‘I imagine you’d be quite elegant in the saddle if you tried.’
‘I’m sure I would be, for the brief moment before I was tossed out of it.’
He leaned in, the intensity of his woodsy scent strengthening with his closeness. She noticed a slight scar running along the hairline of his temple, the skin a touch whiter than that of his face. ‘I would catch you.’
Joanna stiffened, panic as much as excitement making her heart race. As a governess, she shouldn’t be speaking with him. She should draw this conversation to a close, remember his place and hers, but she couldn’t. She hadn’t been this at ease since the last time she’d been with her friends. She offered him an impish look from beneath her dark lashes, emboldened by his relaxed manner. ‘I’d do the same for you.’
He straightened, his laugh uncontained this time. Thankfully, the music reached a high crescendo, keeping all but those closest to them from hearing him.
‘Your catching me would make me a spectacle, more so than I already am.’ His laughter died away and his shoulders rose and fell with another weary sigh. ‘What I wouldn’t give to be riding instead of here.’
‘What I wouldn’t give to be in a quiet corner reading instead of here.’
‘Yet here we are.’ He opened his hands to the room as Frances whirled by with her red-headed partner. Mr Winborn said something to her and she rewarded him with a rare and genuine laugh. ‘It must be difficult being in Miss Huntford’s shadow. You’re by far the prettier of the two.’
Joanna studied the square head of a nail in the floor beneath her feet, as stunned as she was flattered by his compliment. Miss Fanworth’s warning about young gentlemen came to her and she pinned him with her best disciplining governess look. It worked about as well with him as it did with Frances, which was to say it didn’t. ‘Thank you, but you really shouldn’t.’
‘I can’t help it. I’ve been among plain-speaking men for so long it’s difficult to not be open and honest with everyone. Imagine if we were all like this with one another.’
‘Society would crumble once everyone realised what people really thought of them.’
‘They already know but pretend they don’t.’
‘What about you? Do you pretend?’ It was none of her business, but she couldn’t help herself.
‘Every day.’ Sorrow darkened his eyes like clouds over water on a stormy day. ‘I pretend to be happy I came home, I pretend to be glad I gave up my Army career for this.’
* * *
Luke pressed back his shoulders and clasped his hands behind him, waiting for her to brush away his complaints as his brother Edward, his father and every other young lady he’d spoken with tonight had done. They all expected him to forget his time in the Army, to dismiss it as one might a past Season in London. He couldn’t any more than he could forget the faces of all the men he’d lost or the intuition for danger which still kept his senses sharp whenever he rode alone in the woods. All the instincts which had kept him alive in Spain refused to be dulled, but they were useless to him here.
‘It can be difficult after so long in one situation to leave it, especially when it means saying goodbye to friends.’ She studied him with eyes blue enough to make the Mediterranean jealous, their colour as stunning as her response. They captivated him as much now as when he’d followed her progress around the room as she’d trailed after Miss Huntford. Seeing the sisters together had reminded him of following Edward at school until he’d railed at him for embarrassing him. Luke had caught similar exchanges between the two sisters tonight. The last time he’d seen the Huntford girls had been at a picnic nearly fifteen years ago and they’d proved as vapid as their mother. Whichever Huntford sister this was, and he could only assume she was the second eldest, she’d matured into a beautiful, wise and witty young lady.
‘Eventually, you’ll settle in again,’ she assured him, the light auburn hair framing her round face emphasising her subtle beauty.
‘Settling is exactly what I’m worried about. As the second son, there isn’t much else for me to do. The estate isn’t mine and it may never be.’ From an early age, the house, their legacy and their duty to it had been drilled into Luke and his older brother. It had meant something to Edward, the heir. To Luke, it had been nothing but a heavy reminder of his lesser status, the one his family hadn’t failed to reinforce. After reluctantly paying to educate Luke alongside Edward, Luke’s father had spent as few pounds as possible to purchase Luke’s paltry lieutenant’s commission. It had been left to Luke to claw his way up the ranks, borrowing from friends to purchase every next higher rank until the day he’d won for himself, through his own daring, the rank of major. Only now, when Luke had become useful to the line, had his father decided to waste an unnecessary fortune to trot Luke out to look over the local eligible ladies. It irritated him as much as having left so much hard work behind in the dirt of Spain. ‘I have no desire to inherit, or become lord of the manor.’
Her shock at his honest declaration was obvious in the horrified surprise which widened her stunning eyes as she stared out across the ballroom. The dance had ended and the couples were bowing to one another and making their way back to their chaperons. She seemed to watch them closely, shifting on her feet as if she couldn’t wait to flee from him and the heresy of not coveting an earldom. ‘It can’t be.’
‘I assure you, it is.’
‘Please excuse me, Major Preston, but I must, uh, see to something, uh, Miss Hartford, very important, at once.’ She bolted from him like a horse whose rider had been shot off its back.
His spirits, buoyed by their conversation, sank like a rock. He’d thought her different from the many other ladies he’d met tonight, deeper and more understanding. He was wrong. She was as shallow and covetous as the rest of her family.
‘You look as though you need this more than Edward.’ Alma, his sister-in-law, offered him one of the two glasses of champagne she carried. She was tall for a woman but willowy with dark hair, light brown eyes and a playful smile Luke hadn’t seen much of since coming home.
Luke took the drink and downed a sobering gulp. ‘It seems my worth is once again based on the luck of birth and death.’
‘I sympathise with you. Providing an heir is the one thing expected of a woman of my rank and I’ve failed at it.’ She focused on the bubbles rising in a steady stream off the bottom of her champagne flute.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to add to your distress. I’m being as thoughtless as Edward.’
‘Don’t be so hard on him. He’s struggling to accept our failure and, like you, the changes it means to the family and the line.’
All of their roles and places in life which had once been so secure were being thrown off kilter like a wagon caught in a rut.
‘I’ve seen miracles on the field of battle, men narrowly missed by cannonballs, or those who walked away from explosions with only minor scratches. It isn’t too much to hope for another. Don’t despair, Alma. I haven’t.’ He tapped his glass against hers, making the crystal ring. ‘You may become a mother yet.’
‘We’ll see.’ Disbelief hung heavy in her response.
He raised his glass to finish it, then paused. Across the room, a man who shouldn’t be here slipped out of the opposite door and into the adjoining hallway. ‘What the devil is he doing here?’
‘Who?’ Alma asked, following the line of his look.
‘Lieutenant Foreman.’ He’d last seen the scoundrel eight years ago riding north from their training grounds in Monmouthshire with his tail between his legs, transferred to another unit at Luke’s insistence for compromising a local vicar’s daughter.
‘There weren’t any officers on the guest list.’ Alma tipped her flute at the blue-eyed beauty weaving through the guests. ‘I believe your conversation partner is following him.’
The young lady paused at the door, taking advantage of Lady Huntford’s lack of interest in her to slip into the hallway where Lieutenant Foreman had just disappeared. Apparently, she favoured lower-ranking men more than Luke had realised.
Luke handed his glass to Alma. ‘I won’t have a misguided woman ruining herself under our roof, especially not with a man like him. Tell no one about this.’
‘I won’t say a word.’ Thankfully, she understood the need for discretion in this matter.
Luke followed them out of the ballroom, as curious as he was determined to protect his wayward guest.
She travelled the length of the ever-darkening hallway with the agitation of a spy down an alley. Whatever she was doing was wrong and she knew it. Still, she continued on in search of Lieutenant Foreman. Luke was careful not to follow too close. He wanted to make sure he caught them together, but not too much together. Then he’d see to it Lieutenant Foreman never set foot in this part of Hertfordshire again. He detested the man and his lack of honour. He should have done right by the vicar’s daughter. At least he hadn’t got the young lady with child. Luke would’ve marched him up the church aisle at bayonet point if he had. He hoped he didn’t have to perform the same service for Miss Huntford.
The young lady slipped down another hall, this one poorly lit to disguise the threadbare rug and tired furnishings. The best of the furniture had been moved to the front of the house and the ballroom to keep up the appearance of wealth. No guests were supposed to be in this far-flung and cold wing of the classical-style house.
He stopped at the turn to the hallway and peered around the corner, doing his best to remain undetected. The young lady paused at the door near the far end and took hold of the knob. She turned to survey the emptiness around her. Luke jerked back out of sight and prayed he hadn’t been seen. The squeak of the brass and the protest of the old hinges as the door opened told him she hadn’t noticed him.
He marched down the hall after her, determined to make his interruption as stunning as possible in order to teach the lady a lesson. He grabbed the knob and threw open the door. ‘What are you doing in here?’
He jerked to a halt to keep from colliding with the young lady. She scooted aside as, across the room, Lieutenant Foreman let go of the elder Miss Huntford so fast, she almost fell to the floor.
‘Enjoying the pleasures of the country, as you can see,’ Lieutenant Foreman sneered, his pointed chin framed by the red coat of his uniform ‘And there’s nothing you can do about it, Mr Preston.’
Luke rushed up on him so fast, he shuffled back into the bookcase behind him. ‘I may not have my commission, but I still have my connections, especially with Lieutenant Colonel Lord Beckwith. I won’t hesitate to appeal to him to have you drummed out of the ranks for this.’
‘No, you can’t,’ Miss Huntford protested.
He fixed her with a hard look. ‘You’d do well to remember your reputation is in grave danger of being compromised.’
Miss Huntford shrunk back, biting her lip like a reprimanded child.
Luke turned to his former comrade, wanting to thrash him for being a scoundrel, but he kept control. His family couldn’t afford any broken furniture. ‘As for you, Lieutenant Foreman, you’d better think long and hard on your future in the Army because if I ever see you two together again, unmarried, or hear one whiff of scandal regarding you and Miss Huntford, I’ll see to it you’re shipped to a remote and disease-ridden post. Do I make myself clear?’
Lieutenant Foreman’s beady eyes widened. ‘Yes.’
‘Sir.’
‘Yes, sir.’ He raised a shaking hand to his forehead in salute.
‘Now, get out.’
Lieutenant Foreman slid out from between Luke and the wall, offering not one word of goodbye to his lover as he rushed from the room.
Miss Huntford’s embarrassment didn’t last long past the exit of her paramour. She fixed hard eyes on her sister, reprimanding her as if Luke wasn’t there.
‘You brought Major Preston here,’ she screeched. ‘You’re trying to ruin me on purpose. How dare you. I’ll see you pay for this.’
She advanced on the poor young lady, who shrank into the corner as if doing her best to become one with the panelling. Luke stepped between the sisters, shielding the lady from Miss Huntford’s wrath.
‘Your sister didn’t bring me here. I followed her. Unlike you, I’m concerned about her reputation and yours.’
‘Sister,’ Miss Huntford snorted, ‘she isn’t my sister. She’s the governess.’
Luke stepped out from between the ladies and glanced back and forth at them. So much about their previous conversation suddenly became clear, especially her refusal to dance, her insight and her desire to get away. The governess lowered her stunning blue eyes to the carpet, her head bowed like an inferior. It made his blood boil to see her humbled by Miss Huntford, as it did when he used to see unqualified commanders berate junior officers for daring to display initiative.
Luke turned back to Miss Huntford. With her deep-red dress pressing her generous breasts up against the top of the bodice, she was as well done up as a courtesan searching for a client at the theatre. Her mother shouldn’t have allowed her daughter to wear so questionable a dress. Then again, if her mother had shown much interest in her, she might not have been here with Lieutenant Foreman. ‘Your governess has more sense than you do.’
Miss Huntford let out a startled squeak at being disciplined for what Luke imagined might be the first time in her life.
‘If I hear any word of Miss—what’s your name?’ he asked the governess.
‘Radcliff.’ She twisted her hands together in front of her. The vibrant, humorous woman he’d enjoyed in the ballroom was gone, driven away by her spoiled hoyden of a charge.
‘If I learn Miss Radcliff has been reprimanded or dismissed for her attempt to aid you, Miss Huntford, I’ll ask for an interview with your father and tell him not only what I witnessed, but something of Lieutenant Foreman’s background. He won’t like it and neither will you. Do I have your word you won’t seek revenge against Miss Radcliff?’
Miss Huntford screwed up her full lips in a pout to make a two-year-old proud. He recognised the delay. It was the same reaction he used to receive from soldiers not wanting to answer a direct question. They would hem and shuffle, working to come up with some false reason to justify their poor behaviour. Like his soldiers, Miss Huntford could think of nothing. Her pout eased into a frown and the red drained out of her face. She was beaten and she knew it. ‘Yes, you have my word.’
‘Good. I’ll escort you back to the ballroom and we’ll say nothing of this to anyone.’ He offered her his elbow.
She wrinkled her nose at it, stubborn as before, but, seeing no choice except to comply, she slapped her hand down over his coat. She flicked Miss Radcliff a fierce look as they all walked into the hallway.
Miss Radcliff followed a few steps behind them as they made for the ballroom. It was she he was worried about, not the lady on his arm. He might have threatened Miss Huntford, but he doubted her ability to honour her word. If she struck at Miss Radcliff, there was nothing he could do to help or protect the poor governess. He couldn’t correspond with Miss Radcliff, or visit her at Huntford Place. Despite the pleasure of her presence and conversation, she was one of the few ladies in attendance not available as a potential bride.
The realisation ground on him like a pebble stuck in a boot. The woman behind him possessed more dignity, poise and sense of duty than the daughter of a baronet marching beside him, yet he was forced to overlook her because she wasn’t of his class. The indignity of it distracted him so much, he failed to stop on the threshold to the ballroom and allow the ladies to continue in without him. The moment he and Miss Huntford entered the ballroom, all eyes fell upon them and then on her hand on his arm. A few people noted Miss Radcliff behind them, her presence as a chaperon restraining the whispers, but it was clear the pretty baronet’s daughter and the potential earl had been outside the room together.
The attention didn’t escape Miss Huntford, who snatched her hand off his arm and made for her mother. Miss Radcliff stepped out from behind him to follow her charge.
‘Miss Radcliff,’ he called to her, not sure why. There was nothing more for them to say. He hoped she’d be all right and wished there was some way he could ensure it, but there wasn’t. Meeting his hesitation, she spoke first, aware of those around them watching this strange conversation.
‘Thank you for your assistance, Major Preston.’ She dipped a proper curtsy, then set off after Miss Huntford, proving she was level-headed in a difficult situation.
It was another reason to admire her and he regretted letting her go, unable to stop watching her until she passed by Alma. His sister-in-law cocked her head in curiosity at Luke, having guessed which lady truly interested him.
He jerked his attention away from them both and strode to a nearby circle of gentlemen discussing pheasant hunting. The topic failed to take his mind off Miss Radcliff’s enchanting eyes, or the peace and delight he’d experienced in her presence. She, more than anyone, had understood his frustration at being here and she was the one young lady he was unable to court.
‘I bet you’re glad to be away from all the nasty business in Spain?’ Lord Chilton joked in an attempt to engage Luke. He was one of the many men here with an eligible daughter and money.
‘Not when my men are still there dying so we can enjoy balls without Napoleon’s boot on our throats.’ Luke didn’t feel like being pleasant. He hated being forced to parade before all the tittering country women while his men suffered in Spain.
‘Yes, bad business, most grateful for their service,’ Lord Chilton muttered.
The other gentlemen added a few agreeing harrumphs.
‘What will you do with yourself now you’re home?’ Lord Selton asked. ‘I can’t imagine country life can hold much charm for a man of your experience.’
No, it didn’t. He’d found meaning for his life in the Army, a sense of accomplishment and merit which he’d never had before and now it was gone. ‘It does lack excitement, but at least no one is shooting at me.’
It was almost the only benefit to being here.
‘I suppose there is that,’ Lord Selton agreed before Sir Peter Bell turned their attention back to hunting.
Luke slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his coat and traced the curving line of the bugle-horn badge. He glanced to where Lady Huntford stood beneath the chandelier with her daughter. Miss Radcliff stood behind them, as forgotten as the numerous other chaperons scattered around the edges of the room. Feeling him watching her, she offered him a small, encouraging smile. Then, some sharp remark from Lady Huntford pulled her attention away.
He let go of the badge. There had to be something of merit for him to achieve here besides growing fat while he waited for some inheritance which might never come. He must find it and soon. He wouldn’t allow himself to be made to feel as useless as he had as a child. He would find purpose, new things to achieve and accomplish, a reason beyond his ability to sire a child to make himself and his family proud.
