by Sophia James
Simeon looked down and saw a child who might have been himself nineteen years ago. Frightened. Indignant. Uncertain. The black rings under the girl’s eyes gave the impression of a lack of sleep, her thinness indicating poor nutrition and the sores on her bottom lip pointing to the sort of stress that he himself had once known well.
He’d hardly given her a glance since her arrival here and that had been a mistake. He’d made sure she had a governess and was well housed and clothed and fed, but that had been it.
‘Are you happy here, Flora?’
He tried to make his voice as soft as he could, but still saw a flinch of terror run through her.
‘Yes, sir.’
Her reply was flat.
‘Yet you do not enjoy your lessons?’
‘I do, sir. I try.’
‘I see. Do you go out with her, Mrs Wade? To the park or to the river. Or into town, perhaps?’
‘Not often, sir. I am the governess. I am here to expand her mind. Books and writing are the tools with which I can do that.’
Simeon looked down at his desk. He had always been good at reading people and cursed himself for not recognising before what he did so plainly now.
Mrs Wade was patently unsuitable as a governess for this child.
Looking up, he took a calming breath. ‘Could you wait outside for a moment, please, Mrs Wade. I should like a private word with my ward.’
The woman looked as if she might refuse, though as he continued to stay silent she eventually did as he asked, a final look at her charge confirming everything he had been afraid of. When she was gone, he asked Flora to sit, watching as she did so in that precise and careful manner fear engendered in young children.
‘Your mother asked me to look after you, Flora, in a letter that was found in her lodgings after her death. Do you understand that?’
A single nod came back in reply.
‘Your mother had no other family, no wider set of relations apart from a sister from whom she was estranged and who already has too many children of her own to take you in, but I was her friend so your future lies here under my protection. There is no one else to care for you.’
A flicker of desolation dashed across the small frightened face.
‘But there is one thing I can tell you. I shall not fail you. You shall always have a home here with me until you no longer require it. Do you understand that?’
‘I am…not…clever,’ she returned as though this trait was the most important thing in all of the world.
‘I do not require you to be.’
He gave the words as he might once have wanted them said to him. Without embroidery. Without question. A fact that was indisputable.
‘I am not pretty, either.’
This took him aback. Who had told her that? Her mother? His intuition pinned such a criticism on Catherine Rountree. She had been both attractive and vain, a girl three years older than he was in the backstreets of Manchester and running wild. They’d enjoyed a friendship, but nothing more. By the time he was old enough to be attracted to her he’d understood the fatal flaw of her beauty and had never actively sought such perfection again. Until he had been pressed into a marriage with the most beautiful woman of them all.
‘Show me your hands, Flora.’
Surprised, the child held them out, her long fingers pale and thin.
‘A wise man once told me that hands hold life and that if you allow them good work you will always have happiness. I believed him and what he said turned out to be true. Is there something you would like to work on or with that you have not yet had the chance to?’
She shook her head.
‘Think about it, Flora, and when you know I hope you shall tell me.’ He waited for a second before asking his next question.
‘Would you like me to find you another governess?’
Hope flared in small dark eyes.
‘A kinder one, perhaps?’
‘Mrs Wade will be angry…’ she said and stopped.
‘But you would like her to leave?’
Her head nodded instantly, no thought involved.
A shock of fury kept him still. Had the woman hit her or even worse? He would find out and then make sure the woman never worked as a governess again. She wasn’t fit to care for children.
He rang the bell and waited as his butler came in.
‘Could you take Miss Flora to the kitchens and ask the cook to give her something to eat, Harris? On the way out could you also send in Mrs Wade?’
‘Of course, sir.’
* * *
An hour and a half later he was at the door of Theodora Wainwright. He had not seen her since the day of his marriage.
When she invited him in he went, hat in hand, and was relieved when she did not cross over to him, but waited for exactly what she knew must have been coming.
After firing the governess and asking Mrs Wade to leave immediately, he was in no mind to simply allow all the loose ends in his life to dangle around him. He needed to begin again in the way he meant to go on and, as a married man, he knew having a mistress was not a situation he was comfortable with.
‘You are here to say goodbye, aren’t you?’
Theodora got the question in before he could even start to speak and then she continued.
‘I knew it would come to this, of course, Simeon. I have been dreading it for weeks.’
‘I came to tell you myself and to say thank you for your company. I also come bearing a gift.’
He handed her a purse and she grasped it, taking a quick look at what was inside.
‘You were always generous and honourable. If you ever change your mind…’
‘I won’t.’
‘I know.’
‘I hope you will be happy, Theodora.’
‘Like you are?’
He found the grace not to answer that, for lies at this moment were what neither of them needed.
‘I might go abroad, Simeon. America and the city of New York is tempting. A different life, a new start?’
He understood her frame of mind because his own was the same.
‘Could I also give you something just to say goodbye.’
He nodded, waiting as she rifled through a drawer to one side of her bed and bringing out a small red-velvet book.
‘They are poems I wrote for you.’
He took the offering even as he wished he did not have to, for something so personal and intimate was the last thing that he desired. But then goodbyes were seldom without mess and this was only a little quandary.
‘There is also something that I wish to tell you about your new wife, something that you might not have heard.’
His interest focused.
‘Ask her about the Honourable Alexander Thompson and see what she has to say about him.’
‘Who is he?’
‘A neighbour of hers who lives just outside the village of Athelridge. A close friend, by all accounts.’
Simeon did not like the way she said ‘close’, but he knew the harm of gossip and so he never listened to it. In fact, her words made it easier for him to leave her.
‘I wish you well, Theodora.’
Outside, he closed his eyes briefly and smelt the call of autumn on the wind. His favourite season.
He had divested himself of a mistress and a governess all in the space of one day and tomorrow he would finally see his wife again.
A street caller’s shout made him pause and he stopped to purchase a bloater, delighting in the memory of the taste. If you were lucky, the herring had roe in its belly cavity and so it was two for the price of one. He could not ever imagine his wife thinking such fare a delicious treat and frowned as he took the offering.
* * *
Adelia arrived at midday on Thursday in London, the close pus
h of traffic on the busy Northern Road holding her up. She came alone because her mother was sick and Adelia had asked the new young maid to stay back and look after her. There was no one else who could have accompanied her—the Cranstons were too old and her sister was too young.
The Morgan carriage sent to Athelridge Hall to bring her south was both comfortable and spacious and the driver and footman had been polite and helpful. Smoothing down the cotton of her dark blue gown, she hoped it was not too far out of fashion, for it had been one of her older dresses that had been refitted and differently trimmed.
The town house the conveyance finally stopped in front of was the one she had visited the first time she had met Simeon Morgan all those weeks ago. In daylight it looked far more imposing.
She would be the mistress of the servants working here and that, too, was intimidating. She hoped she might play her part well, though she could not quite fathom what her husband might want of her.
As the front door opened, a trail of stiff-looking servants spilled out and within a moment her luggage had been transported inside and an older woman who introduced herself as Mrs Hayward, the housekeeper, led her up the staircase. The same butler she had met before smiled at her as she passed and tipped his head.
‘Welcome to London, Mrs Morgan. I hope you had a pleasant journey.’
Upstairs, her room was a much paler version of the one she had come to the last time.
‘This chamber has the very best view over the street,’ Mrs Hayward said in a brisk way as she opened up doors that led to a balcony, ‘and this is the best season to see the trees that line it.’
‘Thank you. It all looks lovely.’
‘The master will be here later, but if you wish to have someone show you around the house before he comes—’
Adelia interrupted her. ‘No, but I would like a cup of tea and then I shall unpack.’
‘Of course. You have no lady’s maid with you?’
‘Unfortunately, I do not. My mother sickened yesterday with a chest complaint and so I left my maid at Athelridge Hall to attend to her needs.’
‘Then one shall be provided, if you could give me just a little time, ma’am. A pot of tea and something to eat will be brought up to you now.’
When she left, Adelia sat down on the bed. She had a headache and a few moments of peace and quiet were just what she needed to recover, though the nervous energy of coming here made her feel slightly unbalanced.
Mama had barely spoken to her since the wedding and every time she did it was to reiterate her disappointment about the lack of a supper and celebration. It was as if the fact that her daughter’s bridegroom had not made an appearance in over a month did not rate in importance at all. Adelia frowned, for given her father’s lack of interest in his family perhaps this was what her mother imagined all unions to be like.
Providers of heirs and keepers of the house. She felt suddenly as lonely as she ever had in her life, marooned here in the city without any true intent and with a husband who was barely tolerating her.
* * *
Three hours later she was in the dining room, finishing her evening meal, when the door opened and Simeon Morgan swept in.
Today he was dressed all in black and with his dark hair and golden eyes he looked as dangerous and huge as she had ever seen him.
‘I hope my servants have attended to your needs.’
He didn’t say her name or give a greeting, and the awkward distance between them was so palpable she could almost touch it.
‘They were very helpful, thank you, Mr Morgan.’
At her formal use of his name there was a slight twitch to his lips.
‘You are settled in a room?’
‘I am. A very pretty one upstairs with a balcony.’
‘Good.’
The silence lengthened.
She could hear the tick of a clock in the corner by the windows and outside came the call of a bird in a nearby tree. A wren, she thought, the long jumbled bubbling interrupted by abrupt churrs and scolds.
‘It is a fortunate aspect to have a park so close to your house.’
He made no answer, and she gritted her teeth. Dear Lord, this was going so much worse than she had imagined it might have. The ring which she had not worn until today glinted on her finger, mocking her, and she folded her hands into the copious fabric of her skirt to hide it.
‘Would you like a drink?’
When she nodded, he crossed to a long low cabinet on one side of the room. After pouring out a good measure of white wine, he brought it over, his own libation in his other hand.
‘To us,’ he said then, and she almost dropped her glass in surprise, the ‘us’ he spoke of so non-existent and problematic. Was he jesting? His countenance did not suggest that he was and so she sipped the drink quietly.
The full body of grapes assailed her senses and she took another. It had been so long since she had sampled something as delicious.
‘I asked you to come to London because there is a dinner here in town in two days, one that I have no way of avoiding. A society dinner, I suppose is the best way to describe it, and one full of important men who hold an interest in the advancement of the railways.’
‘As you do?’
He took a further sip of his drink and explained. ‘It has been challenging to get to the place in business that I am at now, but if luck and fate have something to do with my success, then hard work is the true backbone of it. I should not like to fail at the last fence, so to speak.’
‘And this dinner is the last fence?’
He smiled at that and she thought he should do it more often.
‘Lord Grey, the man who is hosting the party, is an entrepreneur with very old-fashioned views. He wants to invest with me, but he has a need to know exactly who my family is before he can do so.’
‘Your family?’
‘You.’
One word that had her reeling.
‘I know we are strangers and I know we have had our differences, but I would hope my help financially at Athelridge Hall might count for something and that you would agree to accompany me as a supporter to this dinner.’
‘I know of him, this Lord Grey. He is said to be a good man.’
‘Which is heartening.’
‘He is also not a fool.’
‘Less encouraging, that.’
Unexpectedly, she began to laugh. What was he wanting her to do? As if he had read her mind, he answered the question.
‘I need a wife who might display diplomacy, refinement, grace and tact.’
She recognised his words as her own. It is what she had promised him on her very first visit.
‘A wife who might bridge the differences between myself and Lord Grey.’
It was the only time he had mentioned his unusual background and because of it she was more honest, too.
‘I doubt my name has much to recommend it. In truth, my father was not well liked.’
‘Yet the connections of privilege still hold power, Adelia, and these connections are the lifeblood of great fortunes.’
She liked the way he pronounced her name, with a long ‘A’ before it so that is sounded both different and exotic. She also liked the way he did not hide his true motives from her.
‘Will you help?’
Her reply was given with caution. ‘There were some in society who by the end of my time here in London might have a case to complain about my family’s lack of funds.’
‘You speak of the rental on the town house you were in?’ He didn’t wait for any answer. ‘I paid off the debt. There will be no further objections on that score.’
A great weight lifted from her shoulders even as a complete humiliation and shame replaced it. She should explain herself, she knew she should, but what could she say? Her father’s debts were many. She had
tried to pay off all those she could, but that one was simply beyond her means and so they had fled back to Athelridge Hall, her shame and mortification complete and the constant and continuing demands for remuneration worrying.
‘I owe you a considerable obligation, then, Mr Morgan, and one which I would be happy to discharge at the dinner you speak of and in the manner you require.’
‘Call me Simeon. Sim is even better. Do you have a dress to wear? One that is suitable for such an occasion. I only ask because Mrs Hayward intimated you had brought a very small case with you.’
‘I am not entirely sure if what I have brought would be fitting…’
‘Then a seamstress will come to the house tomorrow to see to your needs.’
His tone of speech did not encourage argument, but she gave it anyway. ‘The Athelridge Hall accounts you have been so generous with will pay for the cost of procuring a dress.’
He did not reply for a moment. ‘Can I ask you something, Adelia?’
He waited till she nodded.
‘Did you kill your father?’
Shock ran through her like a bolt of lightning. ‘Who said that I did?’ She fought for her words in the light of all he had just told her.
‘Tom Brady. He is an inspector with the London Constabulary. He was there at our wedding and he said there have been whispers recently that you might have been involved.’
‘Papa killed himself.’
‘He told me that, too.’
‘Then you know everything you need to and so does the inspector.’
* * *
Her prickliness was back again and he saw how her heartbeat raced in her throat. One step forward and then two steps back. He cursed himself for asking such a blunt question and sought a topic that was less inflammatory.
‘My housekeeper said you had not brought a maid with you to London and that she has asked one of the girls from the house to aid you until we can find someone more experienced.’
‘The girl, Christine, is more than adequate to meet my needs for the small time I shall be here. She has professed a great interest in the art of hairdressing as well and has asked if she can practise a style on me tomorrow. I am sure she will be sufficient.’
