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

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.

Chapter Five

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.