Читать книгу Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa - Joanna Fulford, Joanna Fulford - Страница 10

Lying in bed later that night, Claire found herself unable to sleep for her mind was racing, turning over all she had learnt. It turned too on her situation. This interlude with the Greystokes had been a welcome respite from trouble but, having been here nearly a month, she did not deceive herself that it could continue. They had been more than kind, but she could not impose on them much longer. Besides which, the uneasy thought persisted that her aunt might have kept Ellen’s letters and might remember them now. Her uncle had been made to look a fool, a situation that would not long endure if he so much as suspected there was a remedy. She must find a secure position and soon, a place her uncle would never think of looking.

And then the germ of an idea occurred to her. An idea that was both wild and wonderful together. Could it work? Would she dare suggest it? And if she did, what would be the response? Almost she could see the Viscount’s expression, the cold reserve returning to those grey eyes. He could be an intimidating figure when he chose. Would he consider it the greatest piece of presumption? Would he even listen? Claire bit her lip. There was only one way to find out: she must seek an opportunity to speak with him alone and then ask him.

The first part of her plan proved quite easy; the following morning Dr Greystoke went out on his rounds at ten and Ellen left to call on someone in the town. Their noble guest was ensconced in the parlour, perusing the newspaper. Hearing the door open, he glanced up and, perceiving Claire, rose from his chair and made her an elegant bow.

‘Miss Davenport.’ His gaze swept her from head to toe. ‘No need to ask if you are well.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Not knowing what else to say, she sat down on the edge of the couch and watched him resume his seat. She swallowed hard. It had all seemed so easy when she was lying in bed last night, but now that the moment had come it was a different matter. There was a knot in her stomach and her mouth felt dry. For all his polished manners he seemed so commanding a presence, so remote from her in every way. How could she have presumed to think he would agree to her request? And yet… She closed her eyes a moment and saw her uncle’s face. Could she risk his finding her because she had lacked the resolution even to try to put her plan into action? Claire lifted her chin.

‘May I speak to you, sir?’

He laid aside the paper. ‘Of course.’

She had his attention. It was now or never. She took a deep breath.

‘I would like a position in your household…as governess to your ward.’ Before he could say a word she hurried on. ‘My education is good. I can speak French and Italian and write a fine hand. I know about arithmetic and the use of the globes. I can play the pianoforte and sing and sew and draw. Miss Greystoke can attest to my family background and character. And I like children. I used to teach my younger cousins.’

It was out. She had said it. With thumping heart Claire waited. For a moment he did not move or speak though the grey gaze never left her face, and under their cool, appraising stare she felt her cheeks grow warm.

‘I confess I am surprised, Miss Davenport,’ he said then. ‘Not by the quality of your education, but by your desire to become a governess.’

‘As I told you, my parents are dead and I must earn my living, sir.’

‘And what of your other relations? The ones with whom you live.’

‘They cannot provide for me indefinitely. I always knew that I should have to find a suitable position one day.’

‘And why do you think this suitable?’

‘Your ward is of excellent family, she is motherless and she needs someone who will look after her.’

‘Do you think that I will not look after her?’

‘No, of course not. I never meant to imply any such thing.’ She paused. ‘But a young girl also needs a woman’s presence.’

‘True. How old are you, Miss Davenport?’

Her colour deepened but she met his eye. ‘I am almost one and twenty.’

‘Are you not a little young for the role?’

‘By no means. I know how it feels to lose one’s parents and how important it is for a child to feel secure, to know that there will always be a sympathetic female presence she can turn to for guidance, someone who will always have her best interests at heart, someone who will really care.’

It came out with quiet passion. In fact, it was not just the tone but the words that took him aback for he could not doubt the sincerity of either. He knew she was speaking from experience. Had her own life been unhappy after the death of her parents? Had that anything to do with the relatives she spoke of? His curiosity mounted and with it the feeling that there was something he wasn’t being told.

‘My estate at Netherclough is remote. Apart from the local village there is no society for miles around. How would you bear the solitariness of the place?’

‘I should bear it very well, sir. I was born in the country and spent the first thirteen years of my life there. Thirteen happy years.’

He heard the wistful note and was unexpectedly touched by it. Even so he felt the need to probe a bit further.

‘And when your parents died you went to live with your father’s relations.’

‘Yes.’ Her heart began to beat a little faster.

‘And your uncle resides in…?’

‘Northamptonshire.’

‘You are a long way from home, aren’t you?’

Not far enough, she thought. Aloud she replied, ‘Oh, not so far. Stage coach travel is improving all the time, is it not?’

‘Is it?’

Claire could have kicked herself. Of course, a man like this would never use stage coaches. Why would he, with a stable of fine horses and numerous carriages at his beck and call?

‘Surely your uncle would be most alarmed by your failure to return home,’ he continued.

‘Not at all, sir, since I should write and inform him of the altered circumstances.’ It was a blatant lie but it couldn’t be helped. She went on, ‘Besides, he would be the last person to stand in my way. He told me so himself.’ That part was true at any rate.

‘I see. And what sort of salary would you require?’

This was something she had not considered and for a moment was thrown. What did governesses earn? Knowing a response was required of her she plucked a figure out of thin air.

‘Thirty pounds per annum.’

‘You set a high price on your skills, Miss Davenport.’

Her cheeks went scarlet. However, if he expected her to retract he was mistaken. Instead her chin lifted.

‘My services are worth the money, sir.’

‘That has yet to be determined.’

‘Then you will employ me?’

If she had hoped not to betray too much eagerness she was wide of the mark. He could see it in her face. Moreover, it was underlain by something akin to desperation. She really wanted this job. Thinking carefully, he weighed up the possibility. His ward was certainly going to need a governess and that was a serious responsibility since whoever filled the role must fit the child to take her place in society one day. Such a person must be intellectually capable and of unimpeachable reputation. Miss Davenport, though young, was well educated and evidently of good family. George and his sister spoke well of her. Though he sensed a mystery somewhere, what did he actually know against her? Nothing, he decided. In spite of the somewhat unusual manner of her arrival in Yorkshire, he believed her reputation to be good. She was courageous; she had come to his aid when he needed it. It was clear that she needed the situation and he was in a position to help.

He remembered all too clearly how it felt when one could do nothing. For a second Lakshmi’s face swam into his mind. Could he abandon another young woman to her fate? The world was a hard place when one did not have the protection of wealth. Claire Davenport was not asking for money; she was asking for the means to earn it and he respected that. Did she not deserve a chance? He threw her a cool, appraising look and made up his mind.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Consider yourself hired—for a probationary period of three months. If we are both satisfied with the situation at the end of that time, the post will become permanent.’

For a second she wasn’t sure that she had heard him correctly. Then it sank in and fierce joy swept through her.

‘Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it, I promise you.’

‘See to it that I don’t, Miss Davenport.’ The grey eyes locked with hers. ‘I give you fair warning that I expect the highest standards in every respect. If they are not met the arrangement will be terminated immediately. Is that clear?’

‘Very clear, sir.’

‘As long as we understand each other.’

Claire left him shortly afterwards and, unable to contain her elation, went into the garden. Once there she let out a whoop of joy. Three months! Three months to prove herself. And she would prove herself! She would try by every means in her power to make a success of this. Her uncle would never think of looking for her at Netherclough, and by the time her probation was complete she would have reached her majority. She would be free.

Alone in the parlour the Viscount stood awhile, gazing down into the fire. He was committed now. Time would tell whether the decision was the right one. Yet there was something about Claire Davenport that he found hard to dismiss: beneath that outward show of spirit was an underlying vulnerability. Moreover, he acknowledged that she was a very pretty girl. No doubt his ward would prefer someone young and attractive as a governess. What really mattered, of course, was competence. That would become evident soon enough. Three months would demonstrate whether his decision had been the right one or not.

Two days later he prepared to leave for London, having first taken his leave of his hosts and of Claire.

‘We shall meet again very soon, Miss Davenport. In the meantime is there anything I can bring you from the capital?’

It had never occurred to her that he would even ask and the question threw her.

‘I thank you, no, sir.’

‘You must be the first woman ever to say so,’ he replied, regarding her with the familiar cool appraisal that caused a fluttering sensation in her stomach. ‘I half expected a lengthy shopping list.’

‘Then you have been spared it.’

‘So it would seem. I suppose I should be grateful.’

Thinking of the little money remaining to her, she knew there was no possibility of indulging herself, even if she had thought of it.

‘I expect to be gone for two weeks or so,’ he went on. ‘I shall inform the housekeeper at Netherclough when to expect me. At that time I shall arrange for a carriage to collect you.’

It was an attention she had not expected.

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘It is my wish that you should be there when I return so that you can become acquainted with my ward from the outset. I think we should start as we mean to go on.’

‘As you wish, sir.’

‘Until then, Miss Davenport.’

He favoured her with a bow and then was gone. Watching his departing figure, she was conscious of a strange sense of loss.

The feeling stayed with her in the days that followed. He was such a charismatic figure that when he was absent the house felt different, not less friendly or less welcoming exactly and yet still lacking. Although she made every attempt to keep busy, Claire found herself counting the days until she should be able to take up her new position. It represented a first step into a larger world, one that only a few short weeks ago she could never have thought of entering.

Eventually the day came, a fortnight later, when a carriage arrived to transport her to Netherclough Hall. With very real regret she said farewell to Ellen and George Greystoke and thanked them for their kindness. Like his sister, George seemed genuinely affected to see her go.

‘I wish you all good fortune in your new life, Miss Davenport,’ he said as they stood together by the gate.

Ellen smiled. ‘I hope you will be very happy, my dear.’

‘I’m sure I shall be,’ Claire replied. ‘I’ll write as soon as I can and tell you how I go on.’

‘I shall look forward to that.’ She took Claire’s hand for a moment and gazed very earnestly into her face. ‘You know that you can always come to me if you need to, my dear.’

‘Thank you.’

Claire gave her friend a last hug and climbed into the carriage. A liveried footman put up the steps and closed the door. As the vehicle pulled away she leaned from the window to wave. Only when her friends were out of sight did she settle back into her seat and look around her. The carriage was larger and more opulent than anything she had ever seen. Furthermore it was so well sprung that even the worst bumps in the road went almost unnoticed. The four bays that pulled it were spirited and swift, as different as could be from her uncle’s carriage horses. He could never have afforded any as fine as these. Never would she have expected to ride in such style or comfort.

Glancing at the valise beside her, she was forcefully reminded that it contained all her worldly possessions. If the footman had been surprised by the lack of baggage, he was too well trained to betray it. Perhaps he had assumed her trunks would be following later. She smiled ruefully. A governess had no need of fine gowns. As long as her appearance was clean and neat it would suffice. A new chapter of her life was beginning and for the first time she had a measure of control over how it would unfold.

For a while she was so wrapped in thought that she paid no heed to the country through which they were passing, but eventually it impinged on her consciousness again and she found herself curious to see Netherclough Hall. By repute it was a very grand old house and set in a large attractive park. That at least would afford long walks in the fresh air and some pleasant scenes to sketch. For all the Viscount’s doubts she had no fear of solitude and had never minded her own company.

The thought brought her employer to mind again. It seemed strange to think of him in those terms but she knew she must accustom herself to it. Mark Eden was gone. She was entering the service of Viscount Destermere. There could be no hint of earlier familiarity. That had belonged to a set of extraordinary circumstances—circumstances that must never be alluded to in any way. It was not to be supposed that she would see very much of her employer anyway. Probably their paths would cross but rarely. The knowledge gave her a strange pang.

She was drawn from her thoughts when, at length, the carriage turned in through large wrought-iron gates that gave onto a long driveway between mature chestnut trees. Beyond it, rolling green parkland stretched away to wooded hillsides. With excitement and trepidation Claire craned eagerly for a view of the house. When it came into view round a bend in the drive she drew in a sharp breath. Netherclough Hall was an imposing residence built of grey stone, nestled in a fold of the hills. From its numerous chimneys and crenellated walls to the stone mullions and ancient porch it was in every way a nobleman’s residence. Beneath its sloping grounds a river ran through trees among the water meadows.

The Viscount had not lied when he said his estate was remote, but far from feeling concerned Claire knew only a sense of satisfaction at the location. It was definitely the last place her uncle would ever think of looking for her.

Presently the carriage drew up outside the stone porch beyond which was a great iron-clamped door. Another footman admitted her to a flagged hallway hung with racks of antlers and ancient weapons. A great carved-oak staircase led to the upper floors. Claire looked round, trying to take it in, but just then footsteps announced the arrival of the housekeeper, a plump middle-aged woman in a neat grey gown and lace cap who introduced herself as Mrs Hughes. When the courtesies had been observed she offered to show Claire to her room.

This proved to be a light and pleasant chamber at the rear of the house, overlooking the gardens and the park. Comfortably furnished, it appeared to have been newly decorated. Elegant blue-and-gold hangings and thick rugs added a feeling of cosiness and luxury. A cheerful fire burned in the grate.

‘I hope everything is satisfactory,’ said Mrs Hughes.

‘It’s beautiful.’

The housekeeper smiled, clearly pleased by the reaction. ‘I hope you will be happy here, Miss Davenport.’

‘I’m sure I shall. Thank you.’

‘Is the rest of your luggage to follow, miss?’

Claire knew a moment of acute embarrassment. ‘No. Everything is here.’

The only indication of the older woman’s surprise was a brief silence. Then she smiled again.

‘Well, then, perhaps you would care to take some refreshment after your journey?’

‘That would be most kind.’

Having removed her bonnet and spencer, Claire followed the housekeeper to a small parlour. A footman appeared a short time later with a tray. Mrs Hughes poured the tea and offered her guest a slice of seed cake. Thus fortified, Claire began to relax.

‘This is a beautiful house,’ she observed. ‘Have you been here long, Mrs Hughes?’

‘Thirty-five years. I took up my post in Lord Destermere’s time. The older Viscount Destermere, I mean.’

‘I see.’

‘His sons were mere children then, of course. Who could have foreseen what tragedy would follow?’ She shook her head. ‘It will be good to have this house inhabited again.’

‘I imagine it will.’

‘The estate needs attention too, after all these months. Lord Destermere will find himself busy enough, I have no doubt.’

‘Yes, I’m sure he will.’

‘Not that anyone expected to see him again after he was packed off to India.’

‘Packed off?’

‘There was some scandal involving a young woman, I believe. Someone his father considered unsuitable. I never really knew the details.’ She leaned forward confidentially. ‘Master Marcus and his brother were rather wild in their youth. I put it down to them losing their mother when they were boys. Their father took her death hard and became very withdrawn. Just between ourselves, Miss Davenport, he didn’t take the interest in his sons that he might have.’

Claire listened with close attention for the words stripped away some of the mystery surrounding her new employer. The story saddened her, too. Children were so vulnerable, as she had good cause to know. It could be no wonder that two bewildered little boys should look to their father for support and guidance. When their parent failed to provide it or show any interest they must have sought to get his attention in the only way they knew how.

‘They got up to enough mischief as boys, but that was nothing compared to what happened once they came down from Cambridge and went to London. They got in with a very fast set indeed. Gaming, drinking, horse racing, opera dancers. You name it.’

‘That must have grieved their father.’

‘There were some terrible rows, believe me,’ replied Mrs Hughes. ‘However, Master Greville calmed down a great deal when he married. In fact, it was the making of him.’

‘Was his wife very beautiful?’

‘Oh, yes, and so accomplished. The toast of London. He was very much in love with her.’

‘How sad that she should have died so young.’

‘Yes, indeed. He was almost distracted by her loss. For some time he couldn’t even bear to look at his infant daughter.’

Hearing those words, Claire felt a sudden chill. Had history repeated itself? Her heart went out to Lucy, and for the first time the burden of her new responsibility was brought home to her.

‘I really thought all would be well again after he inherited the title, but first there was the business of his wife’s untimely demise and then the dreadful news of his own death.’

‘But now Lord Destermere is returned. Perhaps all may yet be well,’ replied Claire.

‘I truly hope so.’ Mrs Hughes set down her cup and saucer. ‘And now perhaps you would like me to show you around the house?’

‘Indeed I should, if it is no trouble.’

‘No trouble at all, miss. Besides, it’s such a rambling old place that it’s easy to get lost.’

And so there followed a guided tour. The reception rooms were beautiful, and there was a library, which Claire made a mental note to revisit as soon as possible, as well as the private apartments and a long gallery lined with family portraits. The last room they visited was the schoolroom. It was spacious and light and it too had been recently redecorated. Moreover, it was supplied with rugs, table and chairs, two small desks and a blackboard and easel. A shelf held a selection of old books and toys and an ancient rocking horse stood in one corner. There was also a fireplace with logs ready laid. Claire saw it with some relief, recalling the chilly room where she and her cousins had taken their lessons under Miss Hardcastle’s exacting eye. This was cosy in comparison, though a glance at the books revealed they were too advanced, and thus unsuitable for a young child.

‘We expect His Lordship tomorrow,’ said Mrs Hughes.

Claire’s heart gave a peculiar lurch. Tomorrow. She regarded the prospect with mingled excitement and trepidation. When she had told the Viscount that she liked children it had been the truth, but her experience of them was limited. Could she do the job? Could she give an orphaned child the care needed? Then she thought back to her own childhood and the benevolent influence of Ellen Greystoke. Surely those precepts would be good ones to follow, comprised as they were of firmness and kindness, always backed by sincere interest. Please God, she thought, let me get it right.