Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa

‘Come then, let us go in.’

He escorted them in and sent Lucy to change before escorting Claire to the door of her room.

‘I will have Mrs Hughes send up some water,’ he said. ‘You must have a hot tub at once. If not you’ll be as stiff as a board tomorrow.’

Claire’s cheeks turned a deep shade of pink. Gentlemen did not commonly refer to such things in front of ladies, yet he seemed quite unembarrassed. He was also right. A hot bath would help enormously. Lowering her gaze from his, she nodded.

‘Thank you.’

‘After that you must lie down for a while until you feel better.’

‘But Lucy…’

‘I will see to Lucy. You just concern yourself with getting well again.’

With that he left her. Claire slipped thankfully into her room and closed the door, leaning upon it in relief.

In fact, Marcus was right. A hot tub and a lie down did much to restore her. She was right though about incurring some bruises, but Mrs Hughes had come to the rescue with tincture of arnica so the discomfort was considerably lessened. It was from the housekeeper that she learned about the Viscount’s plans to host a soirée.

‘It is to be a fairly small gathering,’ said Mrs Hughes, ‘but it will be so pleasant to see company at Netherclough again.’

Claire felt the first stirrings of apprehension. Company posed a possible threat to her anonymity here. However, she forced a smile. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

‘His Lordship wishes to establish his return in the neighbourhood,’ the housekeeper continued, ‘and that can only be to the good, can’t it?’

‘Oh, yes. When is the event to be?’

‘On Tuesday next. There’s a deal of work to do before we can pass muster, of course, but I doubt not we’ll pull it off.’

‘I’m sure you will.’

‘Perhaps he’ll ask you and Miss Lucy to come down for a while.’

Claire’s stomach lurched. The possibility had not occurred to her and now occasioned real alarm. She had no desire for anyone to see her here. It wasn’t that she thought they’d find a governess of any interest at all, but gossip spread and a careless word in the wrong place might mean her uncle somehow got to hear of it. Then she would be lost. When she had asked for this job it was in part because Netherclough was remote. It had not occurred to her that her employer would entertain. Too late she realised it had been a foolish oversight on her part.

In the days that followed this conversation she waited in trepidation lest the Viscount should approach her to solicit Lucy’s presence in the drawing room. If he did she would be obliged to accompany her charge. She could not risk arousing suspicion by refusing or making difficulties. As he hadn’t mentioned the occasion to her at all, perhaps it was because he had no intention of having either of them there.

But on his next visit to the nursery, he explained, ‘I would have asked you to bring Lucy down tomorrow evening,’ he said, ‘but the affair is not due to start until eight, which is really too late for her.’

Claire seized her chance. ‘Yes, sir, you are quite right.’

‘It’s a pity but, on this occasion, it can’t be helped.’

‘She is also shy and might feel daunted at the prospect of so many strange faces.’

He looked thoughtful. ‘I had not thought of that.’

Claire felt flooding relief. He seemed to have accepted what she said. She was off the hook and, perhaps, when she and Lucy did eventually appear in company, all need for circumspection would have passed.

On the evening of the soirée he came to say goodnight to his ward. He had got into the habit now and Lucy clearly derived pleasure from seeing him.

‘You look very nice, Uncle Marcus,’ she said, surveying the tall figure clad in impeccable evening dress.

Claire silently agreed with the assessment. He wore a dark coat with cream-coloured breeches and waistcoat and immaculate linen. It was simple, almost severe, but it enhanced every line of that lean, athletic form. She thought it would be hard to find a more elegant figure, or a more striking one. He was, she acknowledged, a very handsome man.

He smiled down at the child. ‘I hope the rest of the ladies will be so easily pleased.’

Hearing the words, Claire experienced an unexpected pang. Of course there would be ladies present. Moreover, they would be ladies of his social class. Some, no doubt, would be single and on the lookout for a husband. He was, she knew, a most eligible bachelor. Annoyed with herself for thinking such thoughts, she tried to dismiss them. A man like Marcus Edenbridge could set his sights as high as he liked. Not only would he never look her way, but, once married, the secluded rural idyll she had enjoyed would be shattered for good.

They bade goodnight to Lucy and then withdrew to the passage outside the door. Marcus paused a moment, surveying Claire keenly.

‘Are you all right, Miss Davenport? You look a little pale.’

‘I am quite well, thank you, sir. Just a little tired, that’s all.’

‘Perhaps an early night, then?’ he suggested.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘That was my intention.’

He bade her a goodnight, favoured her with a polite bow, and then was gone. Claire waited until he reached the end of the passage and headed down the stairs. Then very quietly she followed, stopping in the shadows on the landing, watching him descend to the hallway. The sound of horses’ hooves and wheels on gravel announced the arrival of the first guests. She saw them enter, heard him greet them, speaking and smiling with the polished assurance that so characterised him.

Looking at the beautiful clothes of the arriving guests, Claire became painfully conscious of her plain muslin frock. It soon became clear too that several of the ladies were young and very attractive. From their smiles it seemed that their host was making quite an impression. But then he was the kind of man that women did notice. She sighed. When she had come to Netherclough she had wanted to preserve her anonymity. Now she had got her wish. Marcus wouldn’t give her another thought. Why should he? He had plenty of other distractions now. She was merely the governess and could be nothing more. For just one moment she wished she could be down there too, wished she could be one of that elegant gathering. Then he might glance across the room and, seeing her there, might smile and come across and solicit her hand for a dance. How would it be to dance with him? She would never know. Sadly she turned away and went to seek solace in the library.

It was gone eleven before the last of the guests departed and Marcus had waved them off. The evening had been a success in that it had fulfilled its aim of reacquainting him with the wealthy and aristocratic neighbours he had not seen for over ten years. On the other hand, having re-established the connection, he was reminded why he hadn’t missed them. With a wry smile he acknowledged that he had been scrutinised and weighed and measured, mostly by the matrons with unmarried daughters. Their fawning attentions left him in no doubt they considered him a good catch. Yet for all their undoubted accomplishments the young women present were lacking somehow. They were either too diffident or too conscious of their own social consequence. At some point he knew he would have to marry and get heirs to continue the family name, but he had seen nothing tonight that remotely tempted him. The thought of a London Season held little appeal either.

Unlike Greville, he suspected he would not find his soul mate among the society beauties. The woman he loved was lost to him for ever and he had never found her like again. He wondered now if he ever would. The past ten years had not been without female companionship, of course, but now he found it hard to remember their faces. They had given their bodies willingly and he had satisfied a need with them, but his heart had remained untouched. Having experienced the grand passion, he found it hard to settle for less.

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