Читать книгу Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa - Joanna Fulford, Joanna Fulford - Страница 11

It was therefore with mixed feelings that Claire awaited the Viscount’s return the following day. In the event, it was late afternoon when a large and handsome carriage drew up before the house. From the resulting bustle among the servants it was clear who had arrived. Hastily smoothing her skirts she hurried to the hallway where Mrs Hughes was already waiting. Uncertain of what to expect and unwilling to push herself forward Claire remained in the background. And then he was there, a tall elegant figure in a travelling cape and high-crowned beaver hat. At the sight of him her heart began to beat a little faster. His presence seemed to fill the room somehow as though the house had been waiting only for his arrival to seem complete. In that moment she knew how much she had missed him. The realisation was disturbing, the sentiment inappropriate. Forcing her expression into what she hoped was a becoming calm she drew in a deep breath. Marcus, looking round the hallway, perceived her at once, the grey eyes missing no detail of her appearance from the dark curls to the simple sprigged muslin gown. She looked as neat as wax, he thought, favouring her with a bow.

‘Well met, Miss Davenport. May I introduce your new charge?’ He glanced down at the small figure at his side. ‘This is my ward, the Honourable Lucy Eden-bridge. Lucy, this is Miss Davenport who is to be your new governess.’

The child dropped a polite curtsy and stared at Claire with big blue eyes. She was clad in a blue cloak, and a straw bonnet partially concealed light brown curls. In one small hand she was clutching a toy. She looked lost somehow, and a little timid.

Claire smiled at her. ‘Hello, Lucy. What a lovely doll.’

The child made no reply and lowered her eyes. Marcus glanced down and surveyed her keenly.

‘You should answer, child, when you are spoken to.’

Lucy’s cheeks reddened, but still she remained silent. Marcus raised an eyebrow. Fearing that the scene would escalate, Claire cut in.

‘It’s all right. This has been a big change and it will take her a while to find her feet and grow accustomed to all the new faces around her.’

‘You may be right,’ he replied.

Claire bent down so that she was on Lucy’s level. ‘What do you call your doll?’

There followed another silence. Then, very quietly, ‘Susan.’

‘That’s a good name. It suits her very well. Shall we take Susan upstairs and show her where her room is? She must be feeling tired after such a long journey.’

After a moment the child nodded. Claire held out her hand.

‘Come, then.’

Lucy looked up at her uncle and he nodded.

‘That’s right. You go along with Miss Davenport.’

A small hand stole tentatively into Claire’s. The Viscount caught her eye.

‘I will speak with you later, Miss Davenport. There are various points we need to discuss.’ He paused. ‘In the meantime, Mrs Hughes will send up a tray for Lucy. It has indeed been a long journey and she is tired. An early night is in order, I think.’

‘Yes, sir.’

As Claire led the child away she was conscious of the penetrating gaze that followed them to the stairs.

In fact, he had been quite right. By the time Lucy was ensconced in her room and had eaten some supper she was pale with fatigue so Claire undressed her and put her to bed. As she tucked the sheet in she was aware that the child watched her with solemn, sleepy eyes.

Claire smiled. ‘Would you like to have Susan with you?’

This elicited a nod. Retrieving the doll from a nearby chair, Claire handed it over and watched as it was tucked carefully under the covers. Then she gently brushed the child’s face with her hand.

‘Goodnight, dear. Sleep well.’

Within a very short time Lucy was asleep, clearly worn out by the journey and perhaps too by the anxiety of altered circumstances. As she looked at the forlorn little figure in the big bed her heart went out to Lucy. How lonely and frightened the child must be. She knew how it felt to be alone in the world and cast on the mercy of others, and that was at thirteen, not six years of age.

She remained in the room until she was quite certain that Lucy was fast asleep, and instructed the maid to leave a night light burning. If by some chance the child did wake up, at least she wouldn’t be on her own in a strange place in the dark.

Having seen to her charge’s immediate needs, Claire made her way to the drawing room, mindful that her employer had asked to speak to her. When she entered he was standing by the hearth. He had been leaning on the mantel, staring down into the flames, but hearing her come in he glanced up and then straightened.

‘Ah, Miss Davenport. How is my ward?’

‘Asleep, sir. As you suspected, she really was very tired.’

‘Yes, I imagine she was. It was a long journey and there has been all the upheaval attendant on her removal. What she needs now is some stability.’ He regarded her keenly. ‘I take it that you have seen the nursery.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He smiled faintly. ‘It has been some years since I was there, and is no doubt lacking in some essentials. You may have whatever you need for the discharge of your duties. Money is no object. Just tell me what you want and I’ll see that you get it.’

Somewhat taken aback, she thanked him. ‘There are a few things missing,’ she admitted, ‘chiefly books suitable for a child of Lucy’s age.’

‘That will be rectified as soon as possible. In the interim she needs some time to grow accustomed to her new surroundings. It will all be very strange and frightening. Let her have plenty of fresh air and exercise, Miss Davenport. Then introduce her lessons gradually.’

‘As you wish, sir.’

‘This is her home now and I want her to feel at ease here.’

For the second time Claire was taken aback for there could be no mistaking the sincerity with which he spoke. There was, besides, real compassion in the orders he had given and she was touched.

‘I will do my best to see that she does, sir.’

‘I am sure you will.’ He paused, surveying her keenly. ‘And what of you, Miss Davenport? Does your room meet with your approval?’

‘Oh, yes. It is beautiful.’

Again she found herself caught unawares. She knew enough of life to realise that employers usually gave little thought to the comfort of their servants.

‘Good. If you find you need anything else, tell Mrs Hughes and she will arrange it.’

‘Thank you. That is most kind.’

For a moment there was silence and she felt acutely aware of that disconcerting grey gaze. Then he smiled.

‘Then if there is nothing else I will not detain you.’

She dropped a graceful curtsy and retraced her steps to the door, pausing briefly to look over her shoulder. However, he had turned back towards the fire and seemed to have dismissed her from his mind. Claire opened the door quietly and slipped away. On returning to her room she sat down and began to write the promised letter to Ellen.

In the days that followed she heeded her instructions. The early autumn weather was pleasant, so it was no hardship to take her young charge out of doors. Besides which it gave Claire a chance to talk to her and find out more about her. Although she was shy and her education had been somewhat disrupted due to circumstances, Lucy was not unintelligent and had an enquiring mind. She was quick to learn the names of the flowers and trees and living creatures they encountered on these walks. When told a story she was an avid listener. Little by little Claire added to their activities, always taking care to vary them and to try to make them interesting.

She had not expected to see much of her employer at all, but he occasionally came to the nursery. One day, when teaching Lucy her letters, she looked up to see the tall figure in the doorway. Realising who it was, she felt her heartbeat quicken. Following her gaze, Lucy saw him too and paused in her task, regarding him uncertainly.

He smiled down at her. ‘How are you today, Lucy?’

She reddened and lowered her eyes. ‘Very well, thank you, Uncle Marcus.’

‘What have you been doing?’

Lucy moved her hand so that he could see the copybook in which she had been working. He surveyed it closely and the letters written in large childish script.

‘Well done,’ he said then. ‘You’re making good progress, I see.’

Lucy’s blush deepened. Over her head he exchanged glances with Claire.

‘Well done, Miss Davenport.’

She had half expected to hear irony in the tone, but there was none and her own face grew a little warmer.

‘She is quick to learn,’ she replied.

‘I’m pleased to hear it. I should not like my niece to be an ignoramus.’

‘I can assure you, sir, she is far from being anything of the sort.’

‘Good.’ Marcus looked down at his niece. ‘Now, Lucy, copy out all those letters again. I wish to speak to Miss Davenport.’

Obediently the child returned to her task. Seeing her once again employed, he drew Claire aside.

‘The books and materials you asked for have been ordered,’ he said. ‘They should be here within the week. Is there anything else you require?’

‘Not at present, thank you.’

‘If you think of anything later, be sure to let me know.’ He paused. ‘Has the child’s appetite returned? Is she sleeping properly?’

‘Yes, sir, on both counts.’

‘Does she seem to be settling down?’

‘I think she is beginning to, yes, but it is likely to take a while before she really feels at home.’

‘Yes, I suppose it will.’ For a moment he surveyed her in silence. ‘Well, then, I won’t detain you further.’ Throwing another glance towards his niece, he took his leave of them.

She watched the departing figure a moment and then went back to see what Lucy was doing. The child looked up, regarding her quizzically.

‘What’s a nigneraymus, Miss Davenport?’

Claire bit back a smile. ‘A very stupid person. Not like you at all.’

‘Oh.’ Lucy digested the information thoughtfully. ‘If I learn all my letters, will Uncle Marcus like me better?’

‘He likes you now.’

‘Does he?’

‘Of course. Did he not bring you here to live with him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, then.’

‘It’s just that I don’t see him very much.’

‘Your uncle is very busy,’ Claire replied. ‘Nether-clough is a big estate and it takes up a lot of his time.’

Lucy nodded slowly. ‘Papa was always busy, too.’

‘Gentlemen often are, but it doesn’t mean they don’t care for you.’ She put a reassuring hand on the child’s shoulder and smiled, hoping that what she said was true.

As she and Lucy went for their afternoon walk Claire pondered the matter. She knew that after months without a master, Netherclough really did need Marcus’s close attention. Very often she would see him ride out with Mr Fisk, the land agent, or else he would be closeted in the study with piles of paperwork. So far as the physical welfare of his niece was concerned he had shown a great deal of consideration and compliance. She lacked for nothing. The same was true of her education: the list of books and schoolroom materials Claire had submitted had not been questioned. It seemed he trusted her judgement and was prepared to back it financially. Of course, as he had intimated, money was no object. If Mrs Hughes was to be believed, the Edenbridge family was among the wealthiest in the country. However, when it came to the child’s emotional needs the case was rather different. Marcus spent very little time with her, most of it comprising short visits to the nursery, as today. Although his manner showed interest, he seemed to hold himself aloof somehow as though, having seen to all the material aspects of his guardianship, he was absolved from deeper involvement. She hoped that, as time went on and matters fell into a routine, he might be able to spend more time with Lucy.

She had been so absorbed in thought that she hadn’t paid much attention to the direction of their steps that afternoon, but realised now that once again Lucy had brought them to the paddock where several horses were grazing. It was clear at a glance that they were hunters, huge, powerful beasts all sixteen hands or more at the shoulder. Unperturbed by its size, Lucy was feeding one of them through the fence with handfuls of grass. It was clear that the child knew to hold her hand out flat and that she had no fear of the great teeth or the long tongue that whisked the grass away. As the horse munched she stroked its nose gently.

‘You like the horses, don’t you?’ said Claire then.

Lucy nodded.

‘Shall we find the head groom and ask if we can have a look around the stables?’

Lucy turned round, her expression animated. ‘Oh, yes, please, Miss Davenport.’

And so they spent a delightful hour walking along the row of stalls and loose boxes and admiring the beautiful animals they encountered there. It was immediately clear to Claire that the Viscount and his late brother had a good eye for horseflesh. The head groom was Mr Trubshaw, a stocky, grey-haired individual with a weathered face and a thick Yorkshire accent, and he possessed a fund of knowledge about his charges. He told Lucy the name of each horse and a little of its history. She listened avidly, committing all the details to memory, and asked questions in her turn. Seeing her interest was genuine, he warmed to her very quickly and soon the two were chatting like old friends. Claire watched thoughtfully. Trubshaw had accomplished more in an hour with the child than Marcus had managed in weeks. Lucy was in seventh heaven here and that knowledge gave her an idea.

Later that evening, when Lucy was in bed, Claire inquired of Mather where His Lordship was to be found. The butler directed her to the small salon. It was the same room he had interviewed her in before, when they had spoken about books and teaching equipment.

Marcus was seated in a chair by the fire, but he rose as she entered. Claire caught her breath. He was dressed in cream-coloured breeches and a coat of claret velvet over immaculate linen. A single fob hung from his waistcoat. His hands were innocent of adornment save for one gold signet ring. It was a simple costume, but she thought it would have been hard to find one more elegant or better suited to such a powerful physique.

‘Good evening, Miss Davenport.’

She replied to the greeting and took the offered chair.

‘How may I help you?’

‘I wish to speak to you about Lucy.’

The dark brows twitched together. ‘Is something wrong? Is she ill? Has she been misbehaving?’

‘No, nothing like that. I wanted to ask if there is a pony in your stables that she might ride.’

‘A pony?’

‘Yes, the horses are all too big, you see.’

Undeceived by the innocent tone, he threw her an eloquent look. ‘Is the child keen to ride?’

‘Yes. I believe she has a real affinity with horses.’

She told him about the visit to the stables. He heard her in silence, thinking carefully as he did so. It was not an outlandish request. Horsemanship was one of the accomplishments expected of a young lady of Lucy’s station, and it was healthy exercise besides.

‘There is nothing in the stable that is suitable at present,’ he replied, ‘but I am sure that a pony could be found.’

‘I know that Lucy would be delighted.’

‘I’ll speak to Trubshaw in the morning. He knows every horse within a twenty-mile radius of Netherclough.’

‘He is most knowledgeable,’ she replied.

‘Yes, he is. It was he who taught me and Greville to ride. He’ll be an ideal teacher for Lucy, too.’

‘I have no doubt he will.’ Claire took a deep breath. ‘However, I was hoping that perhaps you might go out with her sometimes, sir.’

The grey gaze came to rest on her face while his own assumed an expression of hauteur. Feeling her cheeks grow warmer, Claire hurried on before her courage failed her.

‘I know you have been very busy since your return, but this would provide a good opportunity for you to spend some time with the child.’

‘What are you implying, Miss Davenport?’

‘Nothing. It’s just…’

‘Just what?’

‘It’s just that I thought it might bring you together more.’

‘Did you indeed?’

‘I do not mean to criticise,’ she said, ‘but it is true that you have seen very little of the child so far and, well, she notices, sir.’

The grey eyes grew as cool as his tone. ‘You think I neglect her?’

‘No, of course not. Well, not deliberately anyway.’

‘So you do think so.’

She swallowed hard. ‘The only reason I said anything is because Lucy asked me if you liked her.’

‘And what did you say, may I ask?’

‘That I was sure you did.’

‘How very reassuring to have your support,’ he replied. ‘However, it is not your place to discuss me with my niece.’

‘She asked the question, sir, and I answered it. I intended no disrespect in doing so.’

For a moment he was silent. Almost she could feel the anger radiating off him and her heart sank. She had spoken too frankly and antagonised him. Perhaps now she had made the situation worse.

‘If I have caused offence, I beg your pardon, sir.’

‘As well you should. In future you will confine yourself to your duties, Miss Davenport, instead of interfering in matters that do not concern you.’ He got to his feet. ‘That will be all.’

Uncomfortably aware of having made a false step, she rose from her chair and dropped a curtsy before beating a retreat, aware as she did so of the fierce hawk-like gaze that followed her every step of the way. Only when she was safely in the hall did she let out the breath she had been holding. Her cheeks burned. How angry he had been. Yet in spite of that she could not regret having said it, even if he did ignore the words.

After she left him Marcus poured himself a glass of brandy and took a deep swig. Claire’s assessment had been quite correct: he was angry. Angry with her for presuming to tell him his duty and angry with himself because he knew the words were merited. It was true he had been very busy since his return; Greville’s death had left a vacuum and there were numerous matters requiring his attention. However, he realised now that in part they had been an excuse for avoiding his young niece. Having spent the last ten years soldiering, he was unused to children and unfamiliar with their needs. The journey from Essex had been more difficult than he had anticipated, for the child was withdrawn and shy of him. Though he spoke to her with the utmost gentleness he had hardly been able to get half a dozen words out of her. He had tried telling her stories about the animals in India that he thought she might enjoy but, though she heard him quietly, she had offered no response. Moreover, she ate very little and slept badly. Clearly the disruption of recent months was taking its toll on her. More than once he had been overwhelmed with a sense of inadequacy.

Claire had known what to say, he recalled. From the first she had instinctively known how to get past the barrier that Lucy had been protecting herself with. He sighed. He had spoken more harshly than he should have done, but her words had touched a nerve. At the same time, he acknowledged, she was offering him an opportunity. Could it work?

After the unfortunate interview in the salon, Claire had seen Marcus only twice in the following week, and that was when he had come to the schoolroom. As usual he had stayed only a short time, just long enough to see what his niece was doing and to ask about her progress. When he had spoken to the child it was always in a tone of quiet encouragement, but this had never elicited more than a few shy words from Lucy. Seeing it, Claire had been saddened. Were the two of them destined to remain polite strangers?

She had said nothing at all to Lucy about the matter of a pony. Marcus had promised to speak to Trubshaw, but would he remember? He was very busy. She wouldn’t raise the child’s hopes only to see them dashed. Nor would she raise the subject again with Marcus himself. It was too loaded a topic now. He had made no reference to their conversation and his manner to her was one of polite aloofness. It seemed that she and Lucy were both to be relegated to the periphery of his affairs.

It came as a surprise, therefore, when a footman came to the nursery to say that His Lordship desired Miss Davenport and Miss Lucy to attend him in the stable yard after luncheon. Hearing the summons, Claire felt the first faint stirrings of hope. Had he kept his promise?

‘Why does Uncle Marcus want us to go to the stables, Miss Davenport?’

‘I don’t know, dear. We must go and find out.’

When they arrived, the Viscount was already there, talking to Trubshaw. Seeing their approach, he greeted them both and then nodded to the groom. The man promptly disappeared into the stable and emerged a few minutes later leading a grey pony. Understanding the implication, Claire felt her heart soar even as her critical eye took in the details of the new arrival. A sturdy, shaggy little creature, the pony stood approximately twelve hands high. He had a bushy mane and tail and gentle brown eyes. A perfect choice, she thought, and her face lit with a smile for she could not but remember when she had been given her first pony. The memory was bittersweet.

Beside her Lucy’s eyes widened.

‘He’s wonderful, isn’t he, Miss Davenport?’

‘Yes, he is.’

‘May I ride him one day, do you think?’

‘You had better ask your uncle,’ she replied.

For a moment her gaze met his. Then Marcus looked down at the child and smiled. ‘Of course you can ride him. He’s yours.’

‘Mine? To keep? Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

Too overcome for speech just then, she flung her arms round him and hugged him. Taken totally by surprise, Marcus felt himself redden and then somehow, rather awkwardly, his arms were round the child and he was hugging her back. Then together they walked over to the pony.

‘His name’s Misty,’ he said.

Lucy looked up at him. ‘I like his name. It suits him.’

‘Yes, I think it does.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Er…’ Marcus looked at Trubshaw for help.

‘Ten, my lord,’ replied the other.

‘He’s older than me,’ said Lucy.

‘That’s so he can teach you how to ride, miss,’ replied the groom.

She nodded thoughtfully, then looked at her uncle. ‘Can I ride him now?’

‘Why not?’ He lifted her up and sat her on the pony’s back. ‘Hold on to his mane. That’s it.’ He looked at the groom. ‘Take her for a walk around the yard so she can get used to him.’

As they set off he watched for a moment or two and then glanced back at Claire only to see that she was already looking at him, her face lit with a dazzling smile. His heart missed a beat and for the second time that afternoon he was taken totally by surprise. She was more than a pretty girl, he realised then. Furthermore, the expression in those glorious eyes was joyful and tender and its warmth was directed at him. The effect was to take his breath away.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

Marcus collected himself quickly. ‘He’s hardly bloodstock,’ he replied, ‘but he’s quiet and steady enough for the child to learn on.’

She nodded. ‘Lucy adores him already.’

He followed her gaze back to the child and the pony, and then he smiled, too. ‘I believe she does.’

‘It will be hard to keep her away from him now, but he will be so good for her, I know it. He’ll build her confidence like nothing else could.’

‘Yes, I think he will, and for that I owe you my thanks. If you had not mentioned the idea, it might not have occurred to me.’

‘I’m very glad I did.’

‘So am I.’

The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, and the grey eyes looking into her face held an expression she had never seen there before. It disturbed and excited in equal measure, like the memory of his lips on her neck and throat. The recollection sent a shiver along her skin and she was more than ever glad he had known nothing of it. Besides, she reflected, in his fevered dream he had been kissing someone else.

Just then Lucy returned, bright-eyed and smiling, from her short excursion. Marcus lifted her down.

‘Can I ride him again tomorrow?’ she begged.

‘Yes, I don’t see why not,’ he replied. ‘If Miss Davenport doesn’t mind.’

He looked over the child’s head and met Claire’s eye. Lucy looked up anxiously.

Claire laughed. ‘No, I don’t mind.’

‘Will you teach me how to ride properly, Uncle Marcus?’

‘If you wish.’

‘Oh, yes, please.’

‘Very well, but I warn you now. I shall expect you to try hard.’

‘I will try hard, I promise.’

She tucked her small hand into his and gave the other to Claire. Then they walked back to the house together.

‘Will Miss Davenport come riding with us too, Uncle Marcus?’

‘If she wishes to,’ he replied.

The grey eyes rested on Claire. Her heart leapt. It would be wonderful to ride again. She had always loved it, but the opportunities had been few and far between in recent years for it was a pursuit that found little favour with her aunt. Equally quickly she knew it would not be possible to take up the invitation. She had no riding clothes and no means of getting any either with the few meagre shillings remaining to her.

‘I’m afraid I cannot,’ she replied.

‘Why not?’

‘I regret that I have no suitable costume.’

‘I see.’

Much to her relief he didn’t pursue it. In any case, she realised, he must have understood how the case was. He had seen every gown she possessed many times. Her salary would be paid quarterly and wasn’t due for weeks yet. Besides, if he went out alone with Lucy it would strengthen the relationship between the two of them and that could only be to the good.