by Anne Herries
Before she died, Sarah’s mother had complained bitterly that she wasn’t sure when he’d had time to give her a child. It wasn’t true, of course, for he came home for meals and occasionally had Sunday off, but he’d certainly put in long hours to ensure that his business empire was solid. Sarah couldn’t claim to do the same, but she had a knack of choosing her employees well and of inspiring loyalty. She’d taken up the challenge at the start because it was there and she did not wish to hand over her father’s empire to someone who might abuse it. However, she had begun to grow a little tired of the constant rounds of meetings and bookkeeping that were an ever-present part of her life. It was time to sit back a little, for her life was slipping away and some might already consider her as being past the age of making a good marriage. Her managers would make sure the mills continued to prosper during her absence and also the two copper mines she owned in Cornwall. It was on her return from her biannual visit to the mines that she’d stopped off to visit her own governess and there met Miss Hester Goodrum.
Something about the young woman had appealed to Sarah immediately. Had Hester been a woman who wanted a lifetime career she would have offered her a position as her companion, but Hester had confided her hopes for marriage and that had set Sarah’s quick mind working.
It was a little deceitful to pretend to be someone she wasn’t, of course, but she wasn’t harming anyone. She wouldn’t steal the silver or teach the children to swear and drink gin. A smile touched her lips, for the idea of being the children’s mentor was pleasant. Sarah had worked hard since her father’s death, giving little thought to pleasure of any kind. She’d been asked to dinners and evening affairs at the homes of her father’s friends, but since she knew that the ones with wives wanted to buy her mills and the widowers wanted to marry her to get them cheaply, she normally found such evenings tedious.
Even at school she’d been aware that she wasn’t really one of the gentry. She was the daughter of a rich man who’d bought the right to live in a big house and own land, but she wasn’t one of the blue bloods. The other girls were friendly to a degree, but she’d felt the barrier between them and knew that they laughed at her northern accent, which had all but disappeared now. Sometimes, if she was upset, it returned, but her teachers had earned their money. Mr Hardcastle had wanted his daughter to be a lady and to all intents and purposes she was—except that she wasn’t fully accepted into their society. They welcomed her on the boards of their charities and they were even friendlier towards her money, which they grabbed as soon as it was offered, but she was seldom invited to an intimate affair at their homes. Occasionally she would be invited to a large dance because of her influence, but she wasn’t the kind of woman that gentlemen thought of marrying.
Well, that wasn’t quite true, either, Sarah mused, glancing out of the window. She did have one rather persistent suitor. Sir Roger Grey had asked her to marry him three times now and he didn’t like being refused. Sarah was aware that he was in financial difficulty, though he’d managed to hide that fact from her uncle and most of his acquaintance. Sarah had asked one of her agents to make enquiries and his report was disturbing. Sir Roger gave the appearance of being wealthy and respectable, but in reality was a rake and a gambler, and the last man she would ever wed. However, he was difficult to shake off, for he seemed to have taken it into his head that she would come round to the idea if he continued to press her. Unfortunately, her uncle was completely taken in and believed him to be a man of his word.
It was Sir Roger’s tactics at the charity ball in Newcastle that had made her decide to leave for Cornwall a month earlier than usual. He’d tried to kiss her and he’d fumbled at her breasts. She’d had to fight him off and had scratched his cheek in her efforts.
‘You little hellcat.’ He’d put a hand to his cheek in shock. ‘You will be sorry for that, Sarah. I’ll teach you to respect your betters.’
‘I do not consider you my superior, sir,’ she’d retorted. ‘I have no intention of being seduced. If you thought to compromise me and force me into marriage, you are far off the mark. I would rather have fingers pointed at me in the street than marry you.’
That was perfectly true, for she would rather die than marry a man like him, but it was also true that she didn’t wish to lose her good name. Nor would she care to be whispered about or pointed out as an object of shame.
‘If you would marry Sam Goodjohn, or Harry Barton, you’d be safe from rogues like that,’ her uncle had told her when she’d told him what had happened. ‘They’re good men and run mills of their own so you could stay home and be a wife and mother as you ought. It’s time you married and thought about a family, Sarah—unless you want to die an old maid.’
‘I know you want to protect me, Uncle William,’ Sarah replied. ‘But I should hate to be married simply for the sake of my fortune. When I find a man I love who loves me, I’ll get married.’
‘Love,’ her uncle scoffed at the idea. ‘When did love ever get you anywhere? You need a man to protect you and look after your business, young woman. Don’t leave it too late or you may find that even money won’t get you the kind of man you need.’
Her uncle’s scolding had jerked her from her complacency. It was true that time was slipping by and she was no longer a young girl. If she wanted a family she must marry—and Sarah had begun to realise what she might miss if she did not.
Was she so ill-favoured that she needed money to buy her a husband? Sarah knew she wasn’t beautiful by any means. Her hair was dark brown, and her nose was straight. Her mouth was bigger than she liked and she wished she had thin lips like Hester. Miss Goodrum was prettier than she was, but Sarah didn’t feel ugly. When she dressed in her best she was attractive enough and people said she had a nice smile.
Was it impossible that she would find love?
She felt she might have more chance of it if she were not her father’s heir. When men looked at her they saw the rich Miss Hardcastle and they wanted what she could give them. The hard-headed ones wanted to build up her business and get richer; the spendthrifts wanted a ticket to the easy life.
Sarah wanted … A little sigh escaped her. She wanted a man who would make her laugh. A man who appreciated music, poetry and beautiful gardens … someone who would love her for who she was, not for her money.
Was she asking too much? Perhaps her uncle was right. It might be sensible to accept one of her suitors and have the lawyers draw up a contract that gave her the right to retain control of her business and protect her fortune.
It was the simple way out of her predicament. A business arrangement that would protect her from fortune hunters and unscrupulous businessmen who wanted the vast wealth her father had bequeathed her. Until recently, Sarah would have thought it a perfectly sensible idea, but for some reason she had begun to feel a slight dissatisfaction with her life as it presently was. She had not thought of marriage whilst her father lived and in the first years after his death she’d been too wrapped up in her work to consider it. Of late she’d begun to notice children playing in the parks and sweethearts walking together in the sunshine. If she did not marry, she would miss so much.
Was she lonely? Certainly not! She had friends and loyal employees and was too busy to be lonely.
Yet surely there was another way to live? She must have time to consider, to decide what she wanted of life. What Sarah needed was a place to escape, to hide and to be someone else for a while… .
‘Yes, I’ll do it, miss. Like you said, it can’t hurt anyone—and Jim will be so happy to have me home… .’
Sarah blinked, dragging her thoughts back to the present. For a moment she couldn’t believe that Hester had agreed, then, as she saw the other woman was in earnest, she smiled.
‘Thank you so much, Hester,’ she said and leaned forwards to touch her hand. ‘You won’t regret it. I shan’t do anything that could harm your good name, I promise you.’
‘Lord, miss, as if you would.’ Hester laughed, looking yo
unger as her eyes lit with excitement. ‘I can’t thank you enough for giving me this chance—and I hope you’ll get on with your charges. Lady Mary arranged it for me. She said they’re a little bit difficult, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.’
‘Yes, I’m certain I shall,’ Sarah agreed and laughed. ‘How hard can it be to look after a young lady and a boy of thirteen?’
Chapter Two
‘Why do we have to have a mentor as well as a governess? I thought you said it would be all right when we got rid of the last two? You said Grandfather would give up sending us tutors and take us to live with him in London.’
‘I said he would take me. It’s time I had my come out,’ Francesca Scunthorpe said and made a face at her brother. She was a pretty girl with soft hair and bright eyes, and a mouth that was wide and sensuous. Her yellow-silk gown was attractive, but not as fashionable as she would like, and made for her by a local seamstress. ‘You will be going to Cambridge after Christmas. It looks as if I’ll be stuck here on my own with some stupid governess.’
‘I don’t mind going to college,’ John said and threw a paper dart at her across the schoolroom. He was a sturdy boy, attractive with dark hair and eyes and a stubborn chin. His tutor had given him a list of Latin verbs to learn to keep him busy until the new mentor arrived, but John was bored with lists. His tutor had given him new lists every day for the past eighteen months, but he hadn’t explained anything. His lessons consisted of setting a new exercise and then tests to see what he’d learned. ‘It would be better than staying here on our own.’
‘It was all right at first,’ Francesca said. ‘When we were younger we had Miss Graham and Mr Browne. I liked her and she taught me lots of interesting things, but she left and the last governess was useless. She couldn’t play the pianoforte or the harp and she chose all the wrong books.’
‘And she didn’t like frogs in her bed,’ John said, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. ‘I’ve never heard anyone scream as much as she did when she saw that grass snake.’
‘She thought it was poisonous.’ Francesca looked scornful. ‘She didn’t know it was a grass snake and harmless.’
‘Anyone knows the difference between a viper and a grass snake,’ John said and looked up at his sister. ‘What are we going to do, Fran? I’m so bored—aren’t you?’
‘Yes, some of the time,’ Fran agreed. ‘I like to read poetry, but I know you’d rather play games or go fishing.’
‘Can we go fishing today? He will probably stop us having fun when he gets here—and your governess will say it isn’t a fit occupation for a lady.’
‘We’ll outwit them somehow,’ Fran promised. She picked up a volume of poetry she’d been reading earlier, then threw it down with a sigh of discontent. ‘They are both supposed to arrive later today, though not together. We’ll go fishing this morning and come back when we feel like it.’
‘Grandfather’s letter said we had to be on our best behaviour—to be waiting in the parlour when they arrive.’
‘Well, he should have come down himself and stayed for a few days.’
‘He said it was getting a bit much for him. Do you think he’s ill?’
‘I don’t know.’ Fran’s brow creased because she worried about her grandfather. The marquess was all they had—the only one who bothered about them anyway. Her father had gone off abroad somewhere when his money ran out. His house and estate had been put up for sale and the marquess had brought them here. At first he’d spent time with them, but of late he hadn’t bothered to come down other than at Christmas, though he always sent birthday gifts. ‘I hope he isn’t, because I don’t know what would happen to us if he died. We haven’t any money of our own, John. Everything comes from Grandfather. If I get my Season, I’ll marry a rich lord and then we’ll have money. I’ll look after you then. You won’t have to work for a living.’
‘Do you think Grandfather will leave us anything?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t want to think about that …’ Fran’s throat caught at the idea that they might be forced to leave this house. She’d loved it from the moment they came here and didn’t want to live in a horrible little cottage like some of the children on the estate. ‘Come on, I refuse to be miserable on a lovely morning like this. Let’s get some stuff from the kitchen and go down to the stream.’
‘Yes.’ John grinned at her. ‘At least we’ve got each other. I’ll put frogs in her bed and you can think of something to do to this lord whatever-his-name-is …’
‘Lord Rupert Myers,’ Fran said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll think of some way to get rid of them if we hate them. Let’s go fishing. It will serve them right if there’s no one to greet them when they get here.’
Sarah got down from the chaise and looked at the house. Cavendish Park was a pleasant country house, much the biggest one she’d ever visited, larger and more impressive than her father’s on the outskirts of Newcastle. She’d visited a few country houses as the guest of her school friends, but never one quite like this. It was so beautiful that for a moment all she wanted to do was to stand and stare at the mellow golden walls and long windows that sparkled like diamonds in the sunshine.
‘If you’d like to come into the house, Miss Goodrum.’
Sarah came to herself with a start. The housekeeper must have been speaking to her for a few minutes, but she’d been lost in thought—and it was difficult remembering that she was no longer the wealthy heiress, Miss Hardcastle. She’d packed that particular persona into her trunks and sent them back to her home with a letter for her uncle explaining that she was taking a little holiday and they were not to worry. All she had with her was a small trunk containing the clothes she’d purchased from Hester.
She was wearing Hester’s best gown, because she’d been assured it would be expected for her first arrival. It was pearl-grey with a slender skirt and tight bodice, and it had a white lace collar. Sarah had fastened a small silver brooch at the neck to cheer it up a little. Hester’s other gowns were not as good and certainly not what Sarah was accustomed to, but she would get used to them—and it was only for a few weeks or so.
‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Brancaster. I was just thinking what a lovely house it is. You must enjoy living here?’
‘It’s a nice enough house, Miss Goodrum, but …’ The housekeeper hesitated and then pursed her thin mouth. ‘Things are not quite what they ought to be. His lordship doesn’t come down often enough and the children are left to do much as they please. The house needs a master or a mistress, if you ask me—prefer-ably both.’
‘Yes, I expect it does. A big place like this takes some running and it shouldn’t be left to the servants.’
Unaware of the odd glance her remark had brought from Mrs Brancaster, Sarah walked into the house by way of the kitchen entrance. Since she made a habit of visiting her kitchens regularly at home this did not make her uncomfortable. She might be wealthy and she’d been educated as a lady, but Sarah knew she was a long way from being one. You could take the girl out of Newcastle, but you couldn’t take Newcastle out of the girl; it had been one of her father’s favourite sayings and made her smile. She’d been so close to her father, his right-hand man, and she missed him so very much.
She supposed she was looking for someone she could admire and respect as she had Tobias Hardcastle. If such a man were to present himself, she would not hesitate to hand over her person and the day-to-day running of her business to him—but as yet she’d never met anyone who came close to filling his shoes.
‘I’ll take you straight up to your room,’ the housekeeper was saying. ‘You can settle in and then come down to the kitchen for a nice cup of tea. Miss Francesca and Master John were supposed to be here to meet you, but they slipped off early this morning. I suspect they went fishing in defiance of the marquess’s instructions that they should sit in the parlour and wait for you and their mentor.’
‘Their mentor? I thought the Marquess of Merrivale was their grandfather and guardian?’
‘So he is, Miss Goodrum. Mr John is to have a tutor and he is to be their mentor. As I understand it, he’s to be in charge here and we shall all report to him.’
It was the first Sarah had heard of this arrangement and she wondered if Hester had known. This new man might enquire more closely into her background than she’d imagined and she was glad she’d asked for the reference as well as Hester’s clothes.
‘I see. Do you know this … mentor’s name?’
‘I wasn’t listening properly when Mr Burrows told me,’ the housekeeper admitted. ‘I’d just discovered that the pair of scamps had disappeared again and my mind wasn’t on it, but I’ll find out when he arrives and let you know.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Brancaster.’ Sarah was thoughtful. ‘Do you think I could leave the tea for an hour or so? I should like to take a walk about the grounds before I unpack—get my bearings.’
‘Well …’ Mrs Brancaster looked a bit put out. ‘I’m sure it’s up to you, miss. I thought you might want to see the schoolroom?’
‘When I return you can give me directions or I’ll ask one of the footmen. I don’t want to take up too much of your time, because I know you have so much to do in a house like this—and with two new visitors it must have turned your routine upside down.’
‘It has …’ Mrs Brancaster nodded. ‘Well, off you go then. Your trunk will be taken up and you can find your own way here when you’re ready, I dare say.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I shall. I’m really quite capable, you know.’
Sarah left the housekeeper staring after her. She knew that she had perhaps risked offending her new colleague, but she’d felt as if she must escape before she did something stupid. All at once the enormity of what she’d done—and what she was attempting to do—had hit her square in the face. In her comfortable chaise with all her familiar things about her it had seemed a clever idea. She’d imagined the children were left much to themselves with just their grandfather’s servants—but who was this new mentor and what would he be like?
