Читать книгу Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa - Joanna Fulford, Joanna Fulford - Страница 12

Having tucked Lucy into bed that night Claire took herself off to the library to find a new novel. It was her favourite room, a warm, comfortable place with wonderful old chairs in which it was possible to curl up and lose oneself in a good book. She was perusing the shelves when a footman entered with the intelligence that His Lordship desired her presence in the study.

Wondering what it could possibly be about, Claire made her way there. The Viscount was seated behind a large desk. He had apparently been reading some papers, but looked up as she entered and smiled faintly. After inviting her to sit, he opened a drawer in the desk and took out a small box.

‘It occurs to me that if Lucy is to learn to ride she will require a riding habit and some boots. I would like you to attend to it.’ Opening the box, he took out a pouch of coins and laid it on the desk. ‘That should cover the expense.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘It also occurs to me that you might require an advance on your salary.’ He laid another pouch beside the first. ‘Shall we say ten pounds, to cover immediate expenses?’

Claire felt warmth rise to her face. Ten pounds! It was more money than she could ever recall seeing at one time in her whole life.

‘I should have thought of it earlier,’ he continued, ‘but there have been many matters requiring my attention. I apologise for the oversight.’

‘I…not at all.’ She sought for the right words, feeling oddly tongue-tied. ‘Thank you.’

‘I have some business in Harrogate tomorrow. I thought perhaps you and Lucy might like to come along. I understand from Mrs Hughes that there are some good drapers in the town and an excellent seamstress. You can get Lucy’s riding habit made up there. Order one for yourself at the same time. There is enough there to cover the cost.’

Claire felt her face grow very warm and the hazel eyes that met his were bright with indignation. Somehow she controlled her voice.

‘I thank you, sir, but I cannot accept such a gift. It would be most improper to do so.’

He raised one eyebrow. ‘Miss Davenport, when my ward has learned to ride it will be necessary for you to accompany her when I cannot. That being so, you will require the appropriate costume to do it in. It is a vital part of the equipment you require to do your job—like the horse and the saddle.’ He paused. ‘I take it there will be no difficulty attached to my providing those?’

Hearing the ironic tone, she lifted her chin. ‘It is not at all the same thing.’

‘I beg to differ. I can see very little difference.’

‘Perhaps not, but I assure you, sir, that I can.’

‘Your opinion in this matter is of no moment, Miss Davenport, since it is my wish as your employer that you should ride with my ward. And as your employer I expect my wishes to be obeyed.’

The tone, though perfectly level, was implacable. She knew it would be fruitless to argue, but only suppressed the desire with great difficulty. Had it been Mark Eden she would have yielded to the impulse—with Marcus Edenbridge she could not. It was infuriating, like the suave expression on that handsome face. How arrogant he could be at times and how determined to get his own way.

Though he guessed quite accurately at the thoughts behind the hazel eyes, he remained undeterred. Following up his advantage, he continued, ‘Should you see anything else that Lucy might need, you should feel free to make the purchase.’

‘As you wish, sir.’

‘Quite so, Miss Davenport.’

Her hands clenched in her lap as she wrestled with a strong desire to hit him. She mastered it and tried to focus on what he was saying.

‘The carriage will leave at nine o’clock.’

‘We will be ready, sir.’

‘Until tomorrow, then.’

It was clearly dismissal. Claire retrieved the purses from the desk and rose from her chair. She was halfway to the door when he recalled something else.

‘Incidentally, I have asked Dr and Miss Greystoke to honour me with their company for dinner next Thursday. I would be pleased if you would join us.’

Taken unawares, she heard him with surprise and then with pleasure. It would be wonderful to see her friends again. Gathering her wits, she nodded.

‘I should be delighted.’

‘Good.’ He favoured her with a charming smile. ‘That’s settled, then.’

After she had left him Claire returned to her room. Laying the two purses on the table, she regarded them thoughtfully. With that one casual gesture he had rescued her from financial embarrassment. Moreover, he didn’t have to do it. She could not have asked him for money, particularly since she was essentially here on a trial basis. It was within his rights to withhold any payment until that period was over. Yet he had given it anyway. It was an act of kindness and one she had not looked for. But then there was the matter of the riding habit. He must have guessed what her response would be and had met it most adroitly, leaving no possibility of refusal. The knowledge of her defeat still rankled. For a moment his face returned to her mind.

‘Impossible man!’ she said aloud.

Attempting to dismiss that provoking image, she turned her thoughts to the morrow. With a trip to town in the offing, she would be able to rectify some of the deficiencies in her wardrobe. It occurred to her that, having seen every gown she possessed, he must have realised how the matter stood. The thought that he had assessed her wardrobe and found it wanting was mortifying. Worse, he was right. It was inadequate and unsuited to her present role. It had been foolish of her to think otherwise. By suggesting this trip he had saved her from some potentially embarrassing situations, damn him!

As she had anticipated Lucy was eager for the forthcoming treat and both of them were ready at the appointed time. The carriage stood waiting, a liveried footman by the open door. The Viscount was already in the hallway. Looking at that tall elegant figure, Claire knew a moment’s misgiving. However, nothing of their earlier encounter was apparent in his manner. On the contrary he glanced at the clock and smiled.

‘You are punctual, Miss Davenport.’

Unable to think of a reply, she merely inclined her head.

He gestured toward the door. ‘Shall we?’

Having lifted Lucy into the vehicle, he held out a hand to Claire. For a few brief seconds she could feel the firm clasp of his fingers. His touch seemed to burn through her glove. Then, having spoken to the coachman, he climbed in after her and seated himself opposite as the carriage moved forwards. Aware of his presence to the last fibre of her being, she arranged her skirts and hoped that nothing of her feeling showed in her face.

Fortunately Lucy diverted his attention with a question. He answered her with his customary patience and showed no sign of irritation when it was followed by two more. Now that the barriers were starting to come down, he clearly wanted to encourage the child to talk to him. As she watched the scene it occurred to Claire that he would be a good father as well as an indulgent uncle for there could be no doubt he would have children of his own one day. The thought was pleasing and unwelcome together. Before she could ask herself why, Lucy broke in.

‘Uncle Marcus used to live in India, Miss Davenport.’

‘So I believe,’ replied Claire.

‘When we were travelling from Essex he told me stories about it.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, all about hunting tigers and riding on elephants.’

‘How exciting!’ Then, recalling her defeat the previous evening, she smiled. ‘Perhaps he’ll tell you another story now. I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes, I would, if you please, Uncle Marcus.’

Torn between disbelief and amusement the Viscount threw Claire a most eloquent look. It was met with an innocent expression that did not deceive him for a moment and he was strongly tempted to deliver a severe set down. Then he saw Lucy’s eager face and knew he could not. After making a mental note to deal with Miss Davenport later, he favoured them with a tale about crossing a river on an elephant which had chosen to take a cooling shower while its passengers, of whom he was one, were still aboard. Lucy laughed in delight.

‘Was anyone watching, Uncle Marcus?’

‘Roughly half the population of the local village, as I recall.’

‘What did you do?’

‘The only thing I could do. I adopted a stiff upper lip and pretended to be quite unconcerned.’

Lucy giggled and, unable to help herself, Claire laughed, too. He regarded his audience with a pained expression.

‘This really is most unkind of you both.’

That had the effect of sending Lucy into fresh peals of laughter, as he had known it would. Claire was both impressed and touched by the way he engaged with the child, and by his ability to take a joke; his expression now was far removed from the haughty individual she had spoken to the previous evening.

Sensing her regard, he looked up and for a moment met her gaze. Then the light of humour faded a little and was replaced by a different kind of warmth altogether. Conscious of that look, Claire felt her heart miss a beat and she quickly looked away.

Seeing her unease, Marcus was annoyed with himself. He had been caught off guard when he should have been prepared, for he had already felt the effect that her laughter could have. Once again it lit her face and made her look beautiful. She laughed sincerely, from the heart, without any trace of affectation. He realised too that it pleased him to see her laugh like that. Hitherto her demeanour, though pleasant and courteous, had always seemed a little reserved, but in unguarded moments she had revealed another side to her personality, one that was fun-loving and light-hearted. It suited her. More, he found it intriguing. Almost at once he brought himself up short. As Lucy’s governess and a member of his staff she was strictly off limits. He had appointed her to the post because it suited him; it was convenient and she was eligible and he wanted to help. Now he realised, somewhat belatedly, that he had not been completely impervious to her charms either.

Claire, sensitive to the atmosphere, felt the change in his manner and upbraided herself for being too forward. It must not happen again. She had not failed to recognise the expression in his eyes when he looked at her and was appalled. Her security depended on keeping this post and she would only do that if her behaviour was above reproach. There could be no familiarity between them. Besides, their social positions made it quite impossible that he would consider her as anything more than a diversion. That kind of liaison could have only one end. It was a lowering thought. Worse was the knowledge that she would forfeit all respect if she was ever to be so foolish as to encourage such attentions. Besides, as she knew full well, there was already a woman in his heart.

In many ways it was a relief when the carriage reached its destination and drew up in the main thoroughfare. The Viscount turned to Claire.

‘I shall leave you here for the time being,’ he said. ‘Wakely will accompany you and carry your packages. I shall return in two hours’ time.’

‘Very well, sir.’

‘In the meantime I trust that you will have a productive shopping expedition.’

‘I am sure we shall, sir.’

The footman opened the door and, having let down the steps, handed Claire and Lucy out onto the street. The Viscount nodded farewell and the vehicle moved on. For a moment or two Claire watched it depart and then took Lucy by the hand.

‘Come. Let us see what this place has to offer.’

In fact, their investigation of the town’s shops was enjoyable and rewarding. Moreover, she and Lucy were the objects of almost fawning attention by the traders they met for the mode of their arrival had been noted. Such a handsome equipage could only belong to a wealthy man and the crest on the door left people in no doubt as to his identity. Two elegantly dressed females attended by a footman were certain of the warmest welcome everywhere they went. Claire was torn between amusement and alarm. It had not occurred to her that they would attract such notice. On the other hand, it was a novelty to be afforded the undivided attention of every shopkeeper they encountered. The latter almost fell over themselves to offer help and advice.

The first stop was the draper’s shop recommended by Mrs Hughes, where bolt after bolt of fine cloth was displayed for her inspection. Eventually she settled on two lengths of figured muslin, in blue and jonquil respectively. They were totally unexceptionable, perfect for her newfound role. Along with them she chose a soft lilac mull. It was simple and plain, but it would make an elegant dress for the forthcoming dinner party with the Greystokes. The fabrics were relatively inexpensive, too, which meant that she could save the remainder of her money in case of need.

When it came to the matter of riding habits Lucy had decided ideas of her own. Rejecting the draper’s suggestion of a dependable brown serge, she chose a deep blue velvet instead. Claire didn’t argue. It was a pretty colour and it enhanced the child’s blue eyes. She chose the brown fabric for herself.

Having purchased the cloth, they went next to the seamstress where they were ushered into an immaculate parlour and served tea while dress patterns were discussed at length. Delighted to have the custom of such exalted clients, the seamstress went into raptures over their chosen materials and assured them both of her ability to contrive the most stylish and elegant gowns imaginable. The conversation about styles and trimmings and measurements went on at such length that eventually Lucy grew bored and plumped herself down in a chair to play with her doll.

At last all the arrangements were complete and they escaped from that establishment to move on to the milliner and thence to the bootmaker. After two hours they had spent what seemed to Claire to be a truly prodigal sum of money. At the same time she had to acknowledge that it was very pleasant to have the means to do it and to be free to choose what she liked rather than what her aunt considered suitable for a young lady. That thought produced others less welcome and, as they walked along the street, she prayed that her uncle would never think to look for her in Yorkshire. In a momentary fit of panic she wished she were safely at Netherclough again, concealed from the public gaze. Then she took a deep breath and told herself not to be so foolish. It couldn’t possibly hurt to enjoy one simple shopping trip.

While Claire and Lucy were thus engaged, Marcus had gone to call upon Sir Alan Weatherby, the local magistrate. He had sent a letter some days earlier, announcing his intention. The missive aroused both curiosity and surprise in the recipient, but he received the visitor with considerable pleasure. The news of Marcus Edenbridge’s return from India had aroused considerable interest in the town, and, with his assumption of the Destermere title, made him a personage of some importance in the neighbourhood. However, in this case the matter was more personal: Weatherby had been a friend of the late Lord Richard Destermere, and had stood as godfather to his sons.

‘Welcome back, Marcus,’ he said, taking the other’s hand in a hearty grip.

‘Thank you, sir. It’s good to be back.’

For a moment the two men were silent, regarding each other in mutual appraisal. Then Weatherby smiled.

‘I see that India agreed with you, my boy.’ He clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come, let us go into the study and celebrate your return with a glass of wine.’

Once the niceties had been observed, the older man set down his glass and regarded the other with a shrewd gaze.

‘I sense there is more to this than just a social call.’

‘Yes, good though it is to see you.’ Marcus paused. ‘It is about my brother I would speak.’

‘A sad business, Marcus. A bad business in every way.’

‘You saw Greville before he died.’

‘Yes, he paid me an unofficial visit in the guise of David Gifford. He told me about his mission here—as a magistrate it was my job to lend him whatever assistance I could. I was glad to do it, too. The Luddite crew have stopped at nothing in the pursuit of their evil ends.’ Weatherby paused. ‘Your brother paid a heavy price for trying to stop them.’

‘Yes, he did, but I intend to bring his killers to justice.’

‘You can count on my full support.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Someone found out what he was doing and silenced him. The killing had all the hallmarks of an execution.’

‘You saw his body?’

‘Yes.’ Weatherby’s hand clenched on the arm of his chair. ‘As soon as I heard the name David Gifford I knew who it was. Later I visited the scene of the crime—a deserted barn on the edge of the moor. My guess is he was somehow lured to the spot and then killed.’

‘Have you any idea whom he might have met that evening?’

‘No, but he must have thought it important to be there.’

‘Was he following a lead, perhaps?’

‘Who knows? At any rate he must have been getting close if someone felt the need to silence him.’

‘Who else knew about his mission here?’

‘Only Sir James Wraxall. He’s also a magistrate and he owns several mills.’

‘So he would also have an interest in helping to catch the wreckers.’

‘Absolutely. He was most keen to help. It was he who provided Greville’s cover by hiring him as a wagon driver at the Gartside mill.’

‘Did he know David Gifford’s real identity?’

‘No, only that his task was to find and destroy the Luddite group.’

‘I see.’ Marcus drank the rest of his wine and set down the glass. ‘Well, this has been a most helpful conversation, sir.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know yet. First I need to find out who my brother’s associates were, and who he was due to meet the night he died.’

‘I’ll make some discreet inquiries. If I find out anything at all, I’ll send word.’

‘I’d appreciate it.’

‘In the meantime I trust you’re settling back to life in England.’

‘Yes, though I little thought I’d ever return.’ Marcus smiled. ‘It has been good to see Netherclough again. And it’s not just my home now—my niece lives there, too.’

‘Ah, yes, Greville’s child. I have not seen her since she was a baby.’

‘Lucy is six now.’

‘Good Lord! Is she really? At all events, it’s too young to be cast adrift in the world. Lucky for her she has you, my boy.’

‘I’ll try to live up to expectation.’

‘I’m sure you will.’ The older man eyed him keenly. ‘Meanwhile, you need to think about the future. As Viscount Destermere it is incumbent on you to marry and get heirs to carry on the family name. Find a good woman, my boy. I did and I’ve never regretted it.’

Marcus grinned. ‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

Having taken his leave, he returned to town to collect Claire and Lucy. Both looked to be in good spirits so he assumed the shopping expedition had been a success. On enquiry he was proved right.

‘It was most satisfactory, sir,’ replied Claire. ‘I hope your business was concluded equally well.’

‘Indeed it was, Miss Davenport.’

His expression was enigmatic and not for the first time she found herself wondering at the thoughts behind those cool grey eyes. However, he seemed disinclined to talk after that and, as Lucy was busy with her doll, Claire occupied herself agreeably by admiring the view from the window. Thus the rest of the return journey passed in companionable silence.

In the days following, Claire’s time was spent in the schoolroom or in the grounds where she and Lucy walked when the weather was fine. The estate was beautiful, for some of the trees were changing colour and the rolling green acres of park and woodland were tinted with gold and russet hues. Sometimes they walked along the banks of the river and looked for a kingfisher or watched the brown trout finning against the current. At others they walked in the woods and collected handfuls of burnished conkers from the horse chestnut trees, and listened to the songs of the wild birds.

When it rained and they were compelled to remain indoors, Claire used the long gallery for exercise, thinking up games to play. It was during one of these that Lucy’s gaze came to rest on one of the portraits.

‘Papa,’ she said then.

Claire came to stand beside her. ‘Your papa?’

‘Yes. Aunt Margaret said he’s with the angels now, like Mama.’

‘I’m sure she’s right.’

‘She said he wasn’t coming back.’

‘Do you miss him, Lucy?’

‘I suppose so. Only I never saw him much. He was always very busy, you see.’

Claire did see, all too well. She put her arm round the child’s shoulders and drew her closer.

‘You have your Uncle Marcus, though, and you have me.’

Lucy nodded. ‘I like Uncle Marcus. He makes me laugh.’ She paused. ‘I like you too, much better than Great-Aunt Margaret. She was old and cross.’

‘Was she?’

‘Yes. I was glad when Uncle Marcus came for me.’

Although the words were said matter-of-factly, Claire felt her heart go out to the little girl who had never known what it meant to be part of a loving family.

‘Are you happy here, Lucy?’

The child looked up at her with solemn eyes that were somehow much older than their six years. Then she nodded. Claire breathed a sigh of relief. It was often hard to know whether children were happy, but at last Lucy seemed to be adjusting to her new environment and to the people in it. She pointed toward the next picture. It was of two young men in sporting costume. Both carried guns under their arms and were accompanied by several dogs. A brace of pheasant lay at their feet.

‘See, there’s your papa with Uncle Marcus.’

‘How old were they?’

‘About seventeen, I’d say.’

‘That’s quite old, isn’t it?’

Claire supposed it was when you were six. She smiled. ‘Yes, quite old.’

Pleased to have the thought confirmed, Lucy turned back to the portraits.

‘Who is that lady there?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘That is your mother,’ said a voice behind them.

They turned in surprise to see Marcus there. Neither of them had heard him approach. Claire wondered how long he had been there and how much of the conversation he might have overheard. He came to join them in front of the painting.

‘She’s very pretty,’ said Lucy.

‘Yes, she is,’ he replied. ‘You look like her.’

‘Do I?’

‘I think so.’

Lucy surveyed the portrait with wistful eyes. ‘I wish she was here.’

‘If she were, I think she would be very proud of you.’

That drew a faint smile. Claire, looking over the child’s head, met his eye and smiled, too. Then she turned back to the pictures and by tacit consent they strolled on a little way, eventually coming to a halt before another canvas. This time a haughty nobleman stared down at them out of the frame.

‘My father,’ said Marcus, by way of explanation.

Looking at the cold, aloof expression on that face, Claire remembered what the housekeeper had told her earlier.

‘I can see the family likeness,’ she observed.

‘There is a physical likeness,’ he acknowledged. ‘Otherwise we were chalk and cheese, and it wasn’t a case of opposites attracting.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it.’

‘He did have a lot to put up with admittedly. Greville and I were no saints. We sowed some wild oats between us. The old man was glad to see the back of me in the end.’

‘Was that why you went to India?’

‘I was sent to India in consequence of a scandal,’ he replied. ‘At the time I fancied myself in love with a most ineligible young lady. We planned an elopement to Gretna Green, but my father found out and scotched the scheme just in time.’

‘Just in time?’

‘Yes. He was right in that instance. The marriage would have been an unmitigated disaster. Of course, I only realised that with the wisdom of hindsight.’

‘And so you found solace with the East India Company.’

‘Very much so. The place suited me very well and the Company offered the possibility of an exciting and varied career.’

‘And you never looked back?’

‘At first, but less and less as time went on. Eventually I came to see that what I’d believed to be love was merely boyish infatuation.’

‘I see.’

‘Do you think me fickle?’

She shook her head. ‘No, just young—and perhaps a little foolish.’

‘I was certainly young, and very foolish. However, India changed that. You might say I grew up there.’

‘It must have been exciting.’

‘It was, some of the time.’

‘I should like to hear about it.’

‘Some time perhaps,’ he replied.

The tone was courteous enough and the words accompanied with a smile, yet she knew that there had been an indefinable shift, as if an invisible barrier had come down between them. Clearly there were things about those years in India that he did not wish to discuss, and she had no right to trespass there. Was the mysterious Lakshmi among them? What had happened? Clearly he had been very deeply in love with her. In that case, why had he returned to England without her? Surely a man like Marcus Edenbridge wouldn’t give a snap of his fingers for social convention. In his position he didn’t need to. Perhaps the boot was on the other foot and the lady had not cared enough for him. Perhaps she had loved someone else and jilted him.

Before further contemplation was possible a maidservant arrived to inform them that some parcels had arrived. Marcus excused himself and she and Lucy took themselves off to investigate. The parcels in question proved to be from the seamstress. The next hour was spent trying on the finished garments. Claire could not but admire the workmanship. It was very fine indeed and far better than she could have done herself. The new muslin dresses were neat and functional, but the lilac evening gown was a more elegant creation, fitting close at the bust and then falling in graceful folds to her feet. The bodice, though modest, revealed her figure to advantage. In comparison to London fashion she supposed it to be unremarkable, but it was, nevertheless, a more fashionable gown than any she had owned before and she knew full well she would enjoy wearing it. The riding habit was neat and elegant, the severe lines of the military-style jacket relieved by gold frog fastenings. It fitted like a glove to the waist before falling away into the full skirt. A jaunty little hat trimmed with ostrich feathers completed the ensemble. The shade and style were well suited to her figure and colouring, and at a stroke transformed her from girl to woman of fashion. The thought was both welcome and disturbing. It occurred to her to wonder what her employer would think of the transformation. Then she told herself not to be foolish. He probably wouldn’t even notice. Uncle Hector never seemed to notice such things. At the very most a new gown had called forth a grunt from that quarter. Fortunately no one else was likely to see it, so it would not attract undue attention.

Meanwhile, Lucy had been parading up and down in front of the mirror, admiring her new riding habit from every possible angle. The colour was a perfect foil for her brown curls and blue eyes. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she stuck out a toe to see the effect of the fabric against the polished leather of a new boot. Then she smiled as her gaze met Claire’s in the glass.

‘Now Uncle Marcus can teach me to ride,’ she announced.