Читать книгу The Earl and the Governess - Sarah Barnwell Elliott - Страница 11

All of Isabelle’s possessions fit snugly into her three bags. Lord Lennox had made no provision to help her transport her things, probably overlooking the fact that unlike him she didn’t have her own carriage. For the time being she carried only one bag, containing just enough clothes for the next few days. If she hadn’t been sacked by the end of the week, she would come back to collect the rest.

She opened the front door, but hesitated before stepping outside. Portentous grey clouds filled the sky, and the smooth paving stones were already lightly specked with rain. She turned her head and glanced behind her. The other two bags were neatly stowed beneath Miss Standish’s dust-free hall table; her umbrella was at the bottom of one. Which one, she’d no idea, and she’d no time to look.

She stepped out and debated not going at all as a raindrop gently hit her cheek. What would happen if she simply didn’t show up? Will didn’t know where she lived, and he’d have no way to find her. She’d been awake half the night wondering if she’d made the right decision. Had she made a decision? As was her lot these days, she’d never really had a choice to begin with, and she was starting to think that Will had behaved rather highhandedly.

These were just cavils, though. He’d offered to help her, and she’d never been more sorely in need. She descended the steps, telling herself that it wasn’t raining very hard and that the light shower would soon pass. The bag tugged heavily on her arm as she walked down the street, but she tried not to think about it. If she didn’t get lost, she would reach his house in less than half an hour.

‘Miss Thomas.’

She started at the familiar voice, but she quickly regained her composure. What was he doing there?

‘Mr Cowes. Good heavens, you frightened me.’

Sebastian Cowes smiled slightly. He was attractive enough, with light brown hair and eyes, but Isabelle thought there was something unpleasant about his appearance, something calculating and cold in his overly starched, elaborately arranged cravat. ‘I apologise, Miss Thomas. I’ve been waiting for you.’

‘You might have knocked on the door, then. It’s more respectable than lurking in bushes.’ She spoke sharply, but she immediately wished she could revoke her words. Obviously the reason he hadn’t gone to the door was that he wanted to find her alone, with no one to protect her, and it wouldn’t be wise to provoke him. Although he was just a fraction of an inch shorter that her, she wasn’t going to fool herself—in any physical struggle he’d easily be the victor.

She started walking again. He fell in next to her. She glanced at him sideways, wondering if he planned to lead her down a deserted street and force her into a carriage.

‘How did you find me?’ she asked.

‘Were you hiding?’

‘No, of course not,’ she said irritably. ‘But I don’t recall telling you where I was or inviting you to visit. Have you had me followed?’

‘Your housekeeper told me where to find you. She must not have known it was a secret.’

‘It isn’t,’ Isabelle said, wishing again she hadn’t given Mrs Vincent the boarding house’s address.

‘Not any more, at least.’

She flushed with anger. She’d always been intimidated by him, by his wealth, and power and handsome face. But she felt less impressed now. Compared to Lord Lennox, Mr Cowes seemed completely second-rate.

‘Why are you here?’ she asked, gaining confidence.

He put his hands nonchalantly in his pockets. ‘I was worried when you disappeared so suddenly—visited your house one day and found it occupied by perfect strangers.’

‘Yes, I sold it to pay you. And I did pay you.’

‘Not in full. You do realise that if you fail to uphold your side of our agreement, then I’ll have to approach the authorities.’

‘I’d hardly call blackmail an agreement.’

‘You’ve paid me only half of what you owe me, and you seem dangerously close to breaking your word. Since you’ve nothing left to sell, I can’t fathom how you’ll acquire the other half.’

‘I’ll use my imagination,’ she said sarcastically.

‘Even your imagination can’t be that good,’ he said, pausing to look at her face. ‘But then, perhaps you do have something to sell?’

She was going to ignore that insinuating remark. He was too insignificant to fluster her. She could handle him.

She could.

She just wished her audible voice sounded as robust as the one in her head. Instead it quivered slightly. ‘I…I did not come to London to hide from you as you suggest, you know.’

He looked amused. ‘Oh?’

‘Yes. I knew I needed further funds, so I came to find employment.’ Feeling surer, she added, ‘And I have.’ As she spoke, she was eternally grateful that she’d accepted Will’s offer.

‘You’ll be that well paid, will you? And what is it you’re doing?’

‘It is none of your affair.’

‘I can think of only one position in which a woman could earn enough. Shall I tell you what it is?’ He leaned in closer as he spoke, grabbing her tightly by the arm. Her stomach listed dangerously, and she thought she might be sick. This was the bit where he pushed her in a waiting carriage. Why had she been so impertinent?

‘Do you not want to know?’ he asked.

She shook her head. Softly, she pleaded, ‘Let me go. I will be late.’

He released her. She was so surprised that for two seconds she just stood there, waiting for him to grab her again. But he didn’t.

She took two steps backwards without taking her eyes from his face before turning to run. She didn’t care if she drew attention to herself, and she didn’t stop until she reached the end of the road. At the corner she paused, to see if he had followed, but he still stood where she’d left him, watching her smugly. She kept running.

Even though Isabelle had been to Will’s house once before, she still managed to lose her way. It didn’t help that she’d gone down an unfamiliar road in order to distance herself from Sebastian Cowes. Only after winding down a series of unfamiliar streets had she regained her bearings.

Then it began to rain in earnest.

She was sponge-wet when she finally reached the house, her hair dripping at the ends and her shoes squelching with every step she took.

She was also almost an hour late.

She knocked, consoling herself with the fact that at least her day couldn’t get much worse. Rogers, the footman, opened the door, looking annoyed with her yet again. ‘We were expecting you at ten, Miss Thomas.’

Oh, what an awful way to begin. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Haven’t you an umbrella?’

It was a stupid question, with an answer so obvious she didn’t bother to reply. She stepped inside, trailing water behind her. She dropped her bag on the polished marble floor. ‘I accidentally went down the wrong road. I got lost.’

He harrumphed. ‘His lordship wished to see you when you arrived.’ He walked to the study door and knocked, looking over his shoulder at her as he did so. ‘Do not move, Miss Thomas. You are dripping.’

A few seconds later, Will emerged from the study. If it were possible, he looked even more handsome today. His attire possessed none of the fussiness of Mr Cowes’s ludicrous cravat—his own was simply tied, and his jacket and breeches were again a sober blue and buff. Normally, the austerity of his dress was tempered by the playful spark in his eyes, but today he seemed merely irritated.

That is, until he looked at her. Then he just seemed confused. ‘Good God, did you swim here?’

She glared at him. She knew she was late and that she’d annoyed him, but she didn’t want to be the butt of his sarcasm. ‘You may have noticed the rain.’

‘It didn’t rain that hard here.’He turned to Rogers. ‘Tell Mrs Wright to come.’ And, to Isabelle as the footman walked off, ‘I have rather a busy morning.’

He still sounded peeved, and an awful sense of dread settled around her shoulders. Would she ever learn to control her temper and hold her tongue? For all that she might have protested yesterday, she truly needed this position—particularly in light of what had just happened. At least she’d be safe in his house.

Some humility was in order. ‘I am sorry. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.’

He sighed and actually sounded a bit contrite. ‘No, no, I’m sorry. It’s obviously been something of an ordeal getting here this morning. Uh…perhaps you should…’ He held out his handkerchief.

She took it gratefully. A mirror hung on the wall a few paces away and she walked towards it, dabbing her face. But the reflection she saw…heavens, for the first time she realised just how dishevelled she looked. Positively amphibious. Her cheeks were flushed and most of her hair had slipped from her chignon to hang wetly around her shoulders. She immediately began smoothing it back, but then she noticed her dress. Thick, chaste cotton most of the time, but right now it clung to her in a positively…

‘Oh, dear.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Even though he’d apologised for his abruptness, his voice sounded gruff and irritable.

She raised her gaze from her suddenly conspicuous breasts and realised that he was watching her in the mirror. She turned around immediately, slouching her shoulders forwards in an attempt at modesty. ‘Nothing.’

His gaze lingered on her face for just a second longer than was proper, but before she had a chance to turn an even more intense red, a matronly, middle-aged woman walked purposefully into the hall.

He dragged his attention away from Isabelle and cleared his throat. ‘Ah, Mrs Wright. This is Miss Thomas.’

The woman—obviously his housekeeper—smiled warmly, her manners too good to reveal any surprise at her appearance.

He turned to Isabelle, assiduously keeping his gaze above her neck. ‘I thought Mrs Wright could show you around the house this morning. Perhaps you would prefer to…uh, go to your room directly to change?’

She nodded silently, and with a nod of his own, directed at both her and Mrs Wright, he returned to his study.

‘Well, then,’the housekeeper said cheerily, clapping her hands together, ‘shall we begin?’

Before setting off, Isabelle restored her modesty by fishing a shawl from her bag and wrapping it around her shoulders.

‘You poor duck. I’ll lead you straight to your room, although I think we can see most of the house on the way.’

Isabelle followed her up the staircase to the first floor, feeling rather awed by the woman’s efficiency. She talked practically non-stop as they walked, and Isabelle hoped she might be an ally. She’d obviously already offended the footman.

‘I’m afraid most of the rooms on this floor are formal and won’t pertain to your duties,’ Mrs Wright was saying. She opened one half of a pair of massive, mahogany doors. ‘Here is the ballroom. Rather nice, don’t you think?’

Nice? It was the largest room Isabelle had ever seen, not that she had much to compare it to. The parquet floors gleamed, uncluttered by furniture except for a long suite of damask-covered chairs that lined the walls and four carved mahogany side tables. Tall windows, framed by red velvet, tasselled curtains, filled the room with light, making it bright even on a cloudy day. And beyond the windows, gardens—gardens of a size she hadn’t realised existed in London. It was like a palace.

She couldn’t help smiling. ‘Yes. Rather nice.’

Mrs Wright had apparently grown jaded by this level of opulence and didn’t waste any time gawping. She walked briskly across the room, and Isabelle struggled to keep up. At the other side, she opened another door, leading them into a dim corridor.

‘This is a servants’ passage. It connects most of the principal rooms. This door here…’ she paused to rap on it gently ‘…leads to steps that will take you all the way downstairs to the kitchen. Mrs Graham is the cook. She doesn’t like anyone to take food from the kitchen between meals, and I’d advise you not to get in her way.’ She laughed, but Isabelle didn’t find the prospect of a truculent cook amusing. They kept walking.

Mrs Wright pointed out the door that led to the dining room as they passed, but she didn’t bother opening it. At the end of the passage, they came to a set of stairs. Standing beneath the staircase, Isabelle looked up, feeling dizzy. They appeared to spiral up for another two storeys.

‘These will take you to your bedroom. There’s another set of servants’ stairs on the north side of the house, and you should try to use them unless you’re accompanying Miss Weston-Burke—you’re not as low as a scullery maid, my dear, but still it’s best to keep out of sight. And you should use the servants’ entrance in the future, as well. I will give you a key.’ Isabelle blushed—she’d already used the front door twice. Had that been wrong? She wasn’t used to thinking like a servant.

Mrs Wright mounted the steps and Isabelle followed behind her, forcing herself not to look down or think too hard about how securely the stairs were attached to the wall. They stopped at the second floor, and Mrs Wright opened a door. It led into a small vestibule containing a walnut armchair and a tall, Chinese vase. A fat tabby cat slept peacefully on the chair. The tip of one of his ears appeared to have been torn, and his tail trailed down crookedly, as if it had been broken at some point.

‘I won’t bother showing you this floor since you’ll never need anything on it. His lordship’s rooms are at the far end, and all the other rooms are vacant bedrooms. And that fine creature,’ she added, motioning towards the cat, ‘is your other charge.’

The cat yawned and stretched.

Isabelle stared at it. ‘My other charge?’

‘Yes, and he’s very demanding. He’s called Tobias the Third, and you mustn’t be too kind to the scoundrel. He followed his lordship home one afternoon about two years ago, and his lordship made the mistake of feeding him and letting him inside. We’ve been trying to evict him ever since…he’s supposed to stay in the kitchen, but Mrs Graham’s terrified of cats and keeps letting him out. Silly woman always pretends it’s an accident.’

‘Why is he the third?’

‘Tobias the First died three years ago. The Second lives in his lordship’s country house in Norfolk. He’s a talent for taking in strays—an honourable quality, I suppose, but I told him I’d leave the minute Tobias the Fourth appeared nonetheless. Not one yet has been a good mouser, so they’re no use to me. Come along.’

They returned to the dark staircase and walked up one more flight. Mrs Wright was short of breath when they reached the top.

‘The rest of the servants reside in the north wing, but you’ll sleep on this floor, amongst the children’s bedrooms. Ceilings are still quite high.’ Isabelle followed her down the corridor. ‘The nursery is the fifth door on the right. This room is yours.’

Isabelle peeked inside. She was pleasantly surprised, as she had been by every aspect of the house. Being a governess, she could enjoy a position better than a servant’s, but still a long way from being a guest or a family member. Yet even though her room was not on one of the principal floors, its ceiling was embellished with a simple cornice and a central rosette. The walls were painted a buttery yellow, making the room warm, bright and cheerful—not grand like the rooms she’d already seen, but by any other standard quite impressive.

She couldn’t believe her luck. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you for showing me.’

Mrs Wright nodded. ‘T’isn’t any trouble. You may also use the small bedroom next door as a sitting room if you like, as no one else will if you don’t. The house is one of the largest in London, and it was never intended to be so empty. These rooms should be full of children, but his lordship is in no hurry to marry.’

Don’t look too interested. ‘No?’

‘No—women have thrown themselves at him since he was a lad, and I suppose he’s never seen the sense in limiting himself to one woman for the rest of his life. But he will marry some day soon, I’m sure. He understands his duty.’

Isabelle frowned slightly, but she didn’t know why exactly.

‘You’ll find Miss Weston-Burke in the nursery.’

‘Can you tell me anything about her?’ Isabelle asked as Mrs Wright turned to leave.

She paused in the doorway, frowning. ‘She’s been here for less than a fortnight, and she’s kept mostly to herself.’

‘What sort of things does she like to do?’

The housekeeper shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. Don’t know if she likes to do anything at all.’

That was a queer thing to say. ‘What do you mean?’

‘From what I’ve gathered, mischief and mayhem are her only pursuits. According to her school report, which I took the liberty of reading as his lordship left it open on his desk, she’s the most sullen and disobedient girl they’d known in a decade. They sent her away, you know. That’s why he hired you.’

‘Oh?’ Lord Lennox had failed to mention that.

‘Indeed,’ Mrs Wright said with a smile. A rather knowing smile, Isabelle thought, as the older woman sailed away, humming.