Extraordinary Tales of Regency Love: A Clean & Sweet Regency Historical Romance Collection

by Fanny Finch

  It was as though nobody was monitoring the housework being performed, or keeping a record of which tasks were to be done. The birds were plump, the hedges were trimmed, and yet some of the most essential, everyday tasks such as sweeping, mopping, and dusting were being entirely neglected. Agnes grimaced as she realized there were actual clumps of soil on the steps, dried into the limestone where it had been worn down from years of walking and too little maintenance.

  She followed the coachman into the vestibule, feeling suddenly plunged into darkness as no sunlight came in through the heavy curtains on each window. As though correcting some oversight, a maid swiftly drew all the curtains, a small shower of dust dancing in the rays of sunlight that broke through the streaky glass.

  Inside was more of the same story. The decoration was clearly put together by someone with excellent taste, expansive culture, and a very deep wallet. Oriental vases, elaborately bejeweled sculptures, some magnificent tapestries from England's medieval past, all on pedestals, in carefully crafted awnings, and in vast display cabinets. The stairway was cut in Italian marble, the bannister was a gleaming bronze, and up across the ceiling were beautifully intricate frescos, illuminated by a single stained-glass skylight which cast jewel-toned light patterns onto the floor.

  Agnes knew that even when her father was at his most prosperous he would have considered this to be an excessive display of wealth.

  And yet, taking away from how expensive and beautiful each item was, the entire room looked as if it had not been cleaned in a very long time. The priorities were all wrong, leaving stagnant water and decaying house plants, but polished banisters. Not dusting the jeweled ornaments, but ensuring the floor was mopped beneath the stained-glass window. Agnes could smell the dust and mildew from where she was standing.

  How was anyone supposed to enjoy living in this house? How were they supposed to delight in the sweet musk of the flowers or the birdsong when the garden was full of weeds and stagnant water? How were they supposed to enjoy ornaments buried under inches of dust, illuminated by grimy windows? How were they supposed to relax and feel at home when they were cold, in the dark, overwhelmed by the smell of damp?

  Agnes did not want to jump to conclusions, but something was wrong in this house. Something was seriously out of place. It was as though whoever managed the building had no ability to see the place as a whole. Rather, they interpreted it as a series of tasks that needed to be completed, and from there they just asked for one task or another to be done, with no consideration for a schedule, or the well-being of the rest of the home.

  The housekeeper, or perhaps the butler, had some explaining to do, that much was clear. If there even was a housekeeper and a butler. From the looks of things, Agnes was shocked to even see a maid.

  Escorted to her room, Agnes did not know what to expect. At least her quarters would be her own, unlike at the Duchess of Dorset's school. And yet she dared not hope for anywhere pleasant, comfortable, and suited to a woman of her breeding. Not only because the house was so poorly kept, but because she was no longer a woman of the class to deserve proper treatment. She would not spend hours in her room, nor entertain friends there. It would simply be a place to sleep and keep her belongings. As a governess, she knew she ought to be content with only a bed, a basin to wash her face in, and a window to get some much-needed sunlight.

  She felt almost anxious as she walked in.

  But it was beautiful. She had not seen a room so wonderfully put together since she had left home, and a tear came to her eye. The bed was large, made of sturdy wood, and laden down with many thick, velvety, brand new blankets. The curtains were gleaming white and dust-free and billowed slightly by the open windows as gusts of air scented by the exotic gardens filled the room.

  A dressing table was set with mirrors, a counter for any lotions and powders she may desire to use, and a vase full of bright daisies as big as half her palm. A tall wardrobe stood, doors open, ready for her clothes to be hung or folded away. A chest of drawers was ready for anything she did not need to hang and keep crease-free.

  She could not remember the last time she had been treated so kindly, so respectfully, so much like a genuine guest, rather than a nobody. She felt transported back to her childhood - no, to her late teens. When one of her dear friends would ask her to stay the night and she would sleep in their guest room, on fresh, clean, starched sheets, barely able to sleep, eager for morning to come so she could have breakfast with her loved ones.

  Left alone to unpack her bags, reality crashed around her once more. She was not here with a friend. She was not here with family, nor as a guest. She was here as an employee, to work raising a young girl no older than four years. However nicely her room was presented, she could not take it for granted, nor could she assume that the remainder of her stay would be so pleasant.

  The few belongings she still had were quickly put aside in the chest of drawers, leaving her wondering what to do until the duke called for her. The maid had already left, she had not been introduced to anybody else, and, looking out the window and peering towards the corner of the building, it seemed the Duchess of Dorset's coach was long gone, probably already back at the school again.

  Time passed slowly, and she felt almost transported back to the school, with its rigid times and long, empty afternoons, where her thoughts would drown her sanity. She wondered whether to bring out a book or if it would make her seem to be too lackadaisical and unladylike if she were found to be seated on the bed reading when the time came for her to meet her new household.

  Waiting, waiting, waiting... Agnes watched the birds out the window, attempting to remain seated upright, knees together, hands on her thighs. At least now she understood why they had been asked to sit like this for hours on end during poise classes. A governess could not be seen to slouch, no matter how bored or tired she became. Hopefully, all her other lessons would prove just as useful.

  She was grateful for the school, of course. More than any words could ever express. But she was also furious that it was needed. She had been on her way to being married to a noble gentleman, to inheriting an earldom, and to living out her life in blissful ignorance of her mother's nature and her family's hatred of her.

  And then, all of a sudden, she realized that the world despised her and she had nothing anymore. Had the Duchess asked for the usual annual fee to attend her school, Agnes would not have even been able to afford it. The offer had been her one final opportunity to save herself from becoming destitute.

  The daughter of an earl, relying on charity to become a useful member of society. She would accept her role with grace in public. That was her duty, not only as a lady of excellent breeding and even better education, but as a governess, as a young woman, and as a representation of all that made England an excellent country. She would forever live by her father's rules of acting in a dignified manner and never letting the outside world see her troubled heart.

  But inside she felt said heart burning with rage. Rage at the world that would allow this to happen. Rage at a God that would take her father from her. Rage at a family that would turn their backs on her so swiftly and inconsiderately.

  And in private, at times like this, she felt a couple of stray tears rolling down her cheeks, smoothly gliding across her face and crashing into the table below, like two single raindrops. No more would follow. No more could.

  Agnes could not recall the last time she cried in earnest, the last time her heart and mind were so overwhelmed that she wept like a naive little child and shivered with each painful sob. She had lost the ability a long time ago. She had gained control of her emotions and learned to always be the perfect little doll that she was expected to be. She was glad of this. It was all that held her mind together some days.

  Chapter 3

  Just as Agnes finished washing her face and applying a cool decorative stone to each eye, to reduce the puffiness of unshed tears, there was a knock at the door. She asked the knocker to enter and was relieved to
see it was only a maid. She tied her hair back once again.

  "His Grace the Duke of Portsmouth wishes to see you now," she said, her voice slow like someone who was bored and tired all at once, exhausted from not doing anything. "Please, follow me."

  Agnes was surprised to receive no curtsy, but then remembered her new place. She smiled. "Thank you. What is your name?"

  "Marjorie," the maid replied with a slight brightness returning to her eyes. "And you are the new governess, Miss Hubbard."

  Agnes nodded. "Please, call me Agnes."

  Standing and following Marjorie, Agnes felt slight trepidation.

  The duke. She knew he would be an older man. Possibly a recent widower. That would explain the dust. It would also explain why he needed a governess for his child so urgently. Women seemed to be of two mindsets. There were those who would rather have someone professional caring for their children. And there were those who wished to devote their entire lives to their children. It was entirely possible that the duchess had been one of the latter, and some recent change in circumstances meant they required a governess with rare urgency.

  Marjorie led her into the drawing room and offered her a seat. "Please, wait for His Grace here. And do stand and curtsy when he enters."

  Agnes reminded herself that the girl probably thought they were peers, and simply smiled and nodded. It was simpler than attempting to place herself above others. That was not where she belonged anymore. She sat down on the seat offered, feeling uncomfortable about how plain she must look. But at least she was clean and neat. The opposite of the house, really. Which worried her. After all, if her clothes were the opposite of their home, perhaps she would be the opposite of the inhabitants? Perhaps she would be most unwelcome in their household, a stranger on their lands?

  Her heart was in her throat as she heard the door creak open. But nobody was announced. She looked up to see someone walking in. He was very well dressed, too much so to be a servant of any kind. But was this the duke?

  He was not an old man. He couldn't have been a day over twenty-six. He smiled at her warmly. He must be some sort of friend of the household or a brother to the girl. Yes, the girl. Agnes looked to his feet where a small face peered out nervously, taking in the stranger who was sitting on their chair. Remembering herself, Agnes stood up and curtsied deeply.

  "It is lovely to meet you. I am Miss Hubbard and I shall be the new governess," she said.

  "Nice to meet you also, Miss Hubbard," he said nonchalantly. "I hope the house is to your liking?"

  Agnes nodded. He was definitely a brother. "I find it beautiful. And you are-"

  "I would like you to meet Georgia," the man said, interrupting Agnes and bowing down to pick up the child, who seemed happy to see around better. "She is the girl you shall be caring for. She has suffered a lot lately and has not had a governess in her entire life. I took you on under the recommendation of Lady Dorset. She may be shy around you - the child, that is - but she will soon warm up to your company."

  "How old is she?" Agnes asked, making eye contact with the lovely little toddler.

  "She is only four, but she really needs a maternal influence around her. She cannot learn to be a good young lady without it," he said.

  "Has she no mother?" Agnes asked.

  "Were you not briefed on the situation?" the man asked right back, looking a little alarmed.

  Agnes shook her head. "Alas, but if you would be so kind as to explain to-"

  "Not a problem," the man said with a vague shrug. "All that you need to know is that this little girl has lost a mother and she needs a new one."

  "I see," Agnes remarked. "And please, I must know who you are."

  "Did I not say?" he asked in the tone of voice of someone who had forgotten to tell her the time. "I am the Duke of Portsmouth."

  "I beg your pardon, sir, but... you are the duke?" she asked, feeling her world turning upside down all of a sudden.

  And yet he seemed oblivious to her shock and was making babbling sounds back at the little girl, who had relaxed and all but forgotten the strange woman's presence.

  Agnes dropped into a deep curtsy. "I humbly ask for forgiveness, sir, I did not know that sir was the duke himself!"

  "Why not?" he asked with a slight chuckle.

  Agnes was not sure if she could stand yet. "I suppose because Your Grace was not announced."

  "You should have asked. Stand up," he said. His tone of voice suggested he was not serious, but Agnes, always adherent to etiquette, obeyed.

  "I am so sorry, Your Grace," she apologized nervously, curtsying deeply and bowing her head in deference and shame. "It is simply that you look so young to be wed."

  "I do not think that I am," he replied, furrowing his brow. "Do you think I am too young to marry? I think twenty-one is a fantastic age for marriage. How old are you?"

  Agnes blushed. "Twenty, sir."

  "And not a day too old to marry," he said with a smile. "See? I suppose I am not married. But I could be."

  Agnes nodded. "How old was Your Grace when he married?" she asked tentatively.

  "I never married, I simply mean that I could be," he replied, once again paying more attention to the child than to Agnes.

  Agnes felt even more uncomfortable than before. Without a doubt, Georgia was a young girl, of around four. And without a doubt, Agnes was to educate her. And without a doubt, this man was the duke, her employer, and never wed. Of course, the child did not have to be his own. But Agnes was hard-pressed to think of how a young duke would end up with a little girl under his care following her mother's death. Ordinarily, a child of that age would be sent to an older female relative, a family with children, or a married couple without children. All signs pointed towards something seriously embarrassing for the duke and his entire family, either way.

  But Agnes had been taught not to press into such matters. And, as a lowly governess, it was not her place to judge. A duke may not be entitled to sow his seed like some sort of a beast, but if he did, it should be a peer or a better to criticize him and persuade him to repent, not a governess. And it was possible he had already repented and was moving on. No, she was there for a job, not to tell him how to carry himself.

  The duke placed his daughter on the floor and she immediately rushed to a chair, climbing onto it, getting dirty footprints all over the cushions. The duke made no move to correct her, simply watching contentedly.

  "Shall I begin teaching her today?" Agnes asked cautiously, stepping aside as the child ran about the room uncontrolled. Georgia narrowly missed Agnes's leg and instead brushed a small table, sending an ornamental vase flying to the ground where it shattered into thousands of tiny shards.

  "Teaching?" he asked, looking a little alarmed. "It is far too soon for that! She has never had a governess before, to her you are only a stranger. No, she is not ready."

  "Has she not had a tutor of any kind before, sir? Or perhaps a nanny?" Agnes asked cautiously.

  He shook his head. "Not at all."

  Agnes hesitated. This seemed as though it would be more difficult than she had planned.

  "No, no. I simply wish for you both to get to know one another for the first week," he said with a grin. "I am sure you shall get along." With that, he moved to a chair in the corner of the room and sat down. It seemed he was going to stay and oversee the meeting, too.

  Agnes was not sure what to make of any of this. It was not what she had been taught to do at the Duchess of Dorset's School for Noble Women. It was not what she had been taught to do by anyone, anywhere, in fact. Children needed routine, strict rules, and frequent discipline and rewards to raise them into respectful, well-mannered adults. And overly active children like Georgia more so. That was what she had always been told.

  Agnes was not quite as confident about the likelihood of her getting close to the child as the duke seemed. She was not really one to befriend children, especially not young ones. Even as a child herself, she had not much time for other children. They s
eemed less like friends and more like hindrances to her. Perhaps because of how her father had sheltered her and kept her busy, she'd never developed the social skills necessary to bond with other girls her own age.

  Now that was not the case, of course. Thanks to her friends and her recent education she now knew how to handle social interactions on a more personal, less formal level, with her peers and with younger people.

  But although Agnes was confident in her skills as a governess and perhaps as a mother, she never saw a child as an equal to befriend. She wasn't sure exactly how an adult could be friends with a child. After all, they had so little in common, from their daily activities and concerns to their interests and to their life purpose.

  Especially at Georgia's tender age, when she was barely able to talk, if at all, and most likely could not read or play music or do anything that was much fun at all. How could a person befriend someone who was not only absolutely hopeless but who was under their care? How could Agnes help Georgia develop into a wonderful, respectable young woman if she could not so much as chastise or instruct her?