Alfred, the footman, appeared at the door. ‘His Lordship is waiting in the front hall, my lady. He said to ask you to come down if you and the Ladies Elizabeth and Jane are finished with lunch.’
Surprised, she stared at him. Marguerite’s heart tumbled over, causing her the oddest little pang. Joy. Happiness. How did he make her feel this way with such a normal request?
She swallowed. She must keep him at a distance. Protect her foolish heart. She was not such an idiot as to think last night would have the same importance for him. Men liked their pleasures. It was as simple as that.
‘Quickly, girls,’ she said. ‘It will not do to keep your father waiting.’
Elizabeth looked puzzled. ‘Papa is coming on our walk this afternoon?’
‘It would seem so,’ Marguerite said, trying not to grin and give things away.
‘Hooray,’ Janey shouted and tugged at her coat until it fell down from the hook and smothered her in its folds. She struggled free.
Marguerite laughed. Elizabeth giggled and Janey looked highly pleased with herself. In short order and with help from Lucy, they got their coats on and hurried downstairs.
‘There you are at last,’ he said as they ran down the last flight of stairs into the great hall. ‘I was beginning to think you had decided you preferred to stay in the nursery.’
Janey pointed to the kite he was unsuccessfully trying to hide behind his back. ‘What is that?’
‘It is a kite,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I saw a picture of one in my book. K is for kite.’
‘A kite,’ Janey squealed and jumped up and down. ‘What does it do?’
Jack grinned. ‘It flies. Come on, I will show you.’
‘Do I have to sit on it?’ Janey asked, taking his hand. She sounded intrigued and a little nervous.
‘No,’ Jack said and swung her up on to his shoulders. ‘You have to sit on me.’ She squealed with delight and drummed her heels on his chest. He captured her little boots in one large hand. ‘Careful. Never kick a willing horse.’
‘My turn,’ Elizabeth said, reaching up.
‘It will be your turn on the way back,’ Jack promised.
They trooped outside on to the lawn.
It took a bit of time to initiate the girls into the secrets of kite-flying, but Jack was patient and the girls eager, so after a half-hour or so, with first Elizabeth on the end of the string and then Janey taking a turn, the kite lifted high overhead and danced and dipped in the breeze. Marguerite’s role had been to run with each girl while Jack tossed the kite upwards. Now she stood back and watched Jack show his daughters how to control the darting red diamond. When to pull it in and when to run and when to let the string play out.
The wind scoured the children’s cheeks until they were rosy. Their eyes shone with joy. Marguerite wanted to hug them, she felt so happy for them. She wanted to hug their papa, too, as he romped with his little girls. The upswell of emotion shook her to the core of her being. Her eyes watered. It must be the wind. She sniffed and dashed the moisture away with her glove.
‘Look at me, Lady Marguerite,’ Janey called out since it was her turn now. ‘I am flying.’
Indeed, she looked so tiny on the end of the long string, Marguerite could imagine the kite lifting her and taking her away.
Jack grabbed the string higher up and gave it a few swift tugs as the kite showed signs of drifting downwards.
Elizabeth left her sibling and father and came to stand beside Marguerite. ‘I have never seen Papa so happy,’ she said, her little face a picture of ancient wisdom. ‘He never played with us before. Thank you.’
Surprised, Marguerite stared at her. ‘This was all your papa’s idea. There is nothing to thank me for.’
Elizabeth smiled knowingly up at her. ‘He hardly ever visited the nursery before you came. And he never ever let us go outside.’ The kite began to do cartwheels. ‘Janey,’ she shouted. ‘Don’t let it fall. It is my turn.’ Off she ran.
Marguerite gazed at Jack. Yes, he had changed. So had she. And the eldest of his girls had noticed. She winced, recalling her own childhood. She had noticed a great deal more than people thought in those days, too.
She and Jack were going to have to have a talk.
* * *
After such an eventful afternoon, Marguerite had brought the girls back to the nursery and left them to quieter pursuits while she went to work on the very last of her drawings. A very rare orchid found only in the wildest of places. The outdoor air seemed to have invigorated her spirit and the work went very well indeed, so it was with a cheerful heart she returned to her suite to dress for dinner.
Nell had laid out her best gown, the blue one Marguerite had bought when she was in London visiting her brother. She frowned. ‘That is not the gown I usually wear to dinner.’ She wasn’t quite sure why she had brought it, to be honest. It had been more a matter of habit than a plan to wear it.
The girl’s pale face flushed. ‘I beg your pardon, my lady. I thought that with the vicar coming to dinner... I will fetch the other one.’
Marguerite’s stomach rolled. ‘His Lordship never mentioned he was having guests to dine?’
The maid gathered up the gown. ‘Reverend Purvis dines with His Lordship on the first Thursday of every month, my lady. They are both single gentlemen and, as I understand it, they like a bit of company. Mayhap His Lordship forgot to mention it.’
Should she dine with the two men or take her meal in her room? Would it look odd if she hid herself away? Or would it be worse if she joined them? Likely it was better to stick to the usual routine. Because no matter that she would prefer her governess adventure not get to her family’s ears until she was ready to tell them, she wasn’t foolish enough to have it reach them smacking of something clandestine. Which it surely would if she tried to hide her presence in His Lordship’s household. If she was going to come to the vicar’s attention, she was going to meet him properly.
She smiled. ‘That gown will do very well, then, thank you, Nell.’
Nell beamed. It didn’t take them long to get her into the gown. ‘May I do your hair, my lady?’ the maid asked. ‘I saw this lovely hairstyle in a copy of The Lady’s Monthly Museum that I would like to try my hand at. I am sure it would suit you. If I am to become a ladies’ maid, I will need the practice.’
The longing in the girl’s voice was palpable. And Marguerite could not fault her for being ambitious. ‘Very well, you may try, but if I do not like it, you must promise me you will take it out and pin it the usual way.’
‘I promise, my lady.’
Marguerite sat down at the dressing table. Instead of feeling impatient, as she did, she should be pleased at the luxury of having a maid do her hair as a lady of her rank would normally expect.
* * *
After half an hour Nell stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘What do you think, my lady?’
The style was elegant yet feminine and attractive. Perhaps it even made her look younger.
Her heart picked up speed. Would Lord Compton like this new version of herself? Good lord. Hopefully he would not get the wrong impression and think she had improved her appearance for his sake and was throwing out lures. ‘I do like it,’ she said to Nell and hopefully managed to keep the doubts out of her voice.
The young woman beamed. ‘Thank you, my lady.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘It is time you went down. His Lordship will be in the drawing room with the vicar.’
‘You think the vicar will have arrived by now?’
‘Oh, yes, my lady. Mr Laughton says you can set your watch by the vicar’s arrival time. Always here at half past the hour.’
And dinner would be served at seven, so in just a very few minutes. ‘Very well. I will go down at once.’
* * *
Jack had forgotten all about the blasted vicar coming for dinner until his valet had r
eminded him while he was dressing. And, yes, it really was the first Thursday in April. April already. The weeks were flying by. Before long he’d be planning for the harvest. And he hadn’t yet found a permanent governess for his girls. His mood dipped. It was another of those tasks he did not relish. Not the least because it would mean Marguerite would leave. He forced himself to focus on his guest, instead of thinking about the woman who had brightened his days and his nights.
‘How do you find your flock, Vicar?’ he asked, as he always did. ‘This rain must have been exceedingly tiresome for you while making your rounds.’
The vicar was a scholarly, serious-looking man who peered at one as if he was short-sighted and was trying to see right into your soul. ‘I have been dodging the showers, to be sure. Quite a few of my older parishioners are complaining of rheumatism.’
Jack nodded. ‘As has Nanny James.’ To his great chagrin. He should have seen it long before now.
‘How is the planting coming along?’ the vicar asked.
‘The rain is slowing us down.’
Purvis nodded wisely. ‘Let us hope we have seen the last of it.’
The door opened to admit Lady Marguerite. For a moment, Jack couldn’t speak. She always looked attractive, but tonight she seemed to shine. The gown was a pale blue and had clearly been made by a skilled modiste. While not extravagantly low across the neck, it was low enough to reveal the creamy skin of her throat and offer an intriguing glimpse of the valley between her shapely breasts. A valley he had become intimately familiar with the previous evening. The skirt belled out at the hem, revealing a pair of nicely turned ankles and feet encased in satin slippers the same colour as the gown. A festoon of some white gauzy stuff caught up by bunches of yellow silk roses completed the picture of an elegant noblewoman. She had done him proud.
His gaze caught hers and her green eyes flashed a challenge. Did she expect him to comment in surprise? Why would he be surprised at her beauty? He had seen it from the first.
Catching himself, he moved forward to greet her, holding out his hand, which she bestowed upon him with great aplomb. ‘Lady Marguerite, may I present the Reverend Purvis, our vicar?’
She dipped a little curtsy and held out her hand. ‘A pleasure, Reverend Purvis.’
Reverend Purvis’s cheeks flushed pink. ‘Dr Walker did mention—’
Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘I am sorry, Vicar, I neglected to mention that Lady Marguerite would be joining us for dinner.’ He really hadn’t been sure she would come down. ‘Lady Marguerite has kindly agreed to give me pointers about the management of the children, now Nanny James is no longer fit for the task. I am deeply in her debt.’
The Reverend Purvis took her hand and bowed. ‘My lady,’ he murmured. ‘I believe that while we have not met I have heard your name mentioned upon a few occasions. You reside in Westram, do you not?’
She nodded briskly. ‘I do, indeed. And shall be returning there as soon as Lord Compton has found a suitable governess for his daughters. Sadly, while I did not have children before my husband died, I gained a great deal of experience helping my father bring up my siblings.’
‘It is good of you,’ mumbled Purvis, clearly overawed by her graciousness.
‘It is, indeed,’ Jack agreed, noticing how neatly she had introduced the information of her widowed state and her expertise. He noticed that she did not mention she was being paid as an interim governess. Nor should she. It was none of Reverend Purvis’s business.’
‘May I offer you a glass of sherry, Lady Marguerite?’ Since the first night they had eaten together, he had always simply ordered her ratafia, but tonight with a guest present the circumstances required he act the perfect host.
‘Thank you, Lord Compton.’
He tried not to show his surprise at her acceptance of an intoxicant. Was she in need of Dutch courage? He narrowed his gaze on the vicar. One out-of-place word and he—
He repressed the overwhelming urge to protect Marguerite. Firstly, any sign of such a reaction would not serve her well and secondly the lady was quite able to protect herself. However, he would hold himself ready, in case he was needed.
The footman poured her a glass and brought it over. He and the vicar raised their glasses. ‘To your very good health.’
She nodded her acceptance and took a delicate sip. Oh, yes, when she wished, Lady Marguerite could play the grand lady and no one would mistake her for anything other than a member of the aristocracy. Pride at her competence and her savoir faire made him smile. She really was an extraordinary sort of woman.
He was going to miss her when she returned to her cottage. The sense of loss that thought engendered came as no surprise. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought of her departure with regret. The thing was, might there be an alternative?
‘Lady Marguerite, your family hails from the north, does it not?’ asked the vicar.
‘The Greystokes have inhabited Gloucestershire for a hundred years or more, but we are originally from Kent.’
‘Kent? Really?’ said Purvis.
Lady Marguerite’s green eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘From this very house, in fact.’
Jack hadn’t been sure that she knew her family had once owned this estate. He hadn’t liked to bring it up in case there was remaining resentment. It seemed she only found the coincidence amusing.
Purvis frowned. ‘The Greystokes owned Bedwell?’
‘Before the Commonwealth tossed them out. Of course, it was not called Bedwell then.’
The vicar’s lips pinched. ‘Cromwell. A disgraceful fellow.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Vicar,’ Jack said. ‘He wasn’t all bad. You have to admit the Stuarts were no angels.’
‘I cannot say they did not deserve some sort of restraint, my lord, however, I believe the methods were barbaric.’
‘Cromwell proved to be no better than the Stuarts in the end, in my opinion,’ Lady Marguerite said. ‘The Lord Protector seemed to lose sight of his principles once he became all powerful.’
‘I agree, Lady Marguerite,’ said the vicar. He sounded most surprised.
‘From the diaries existing from those times, it is clear my family began to feel the same way,’ Jack said. ‘They were among the first to welcome back King Charles the Second, once he agreed to the terms offered.’
‘Hence their retention of Bedwell,’ Lady Marguerite said, smiling. ‘Our family took a while to work their way back into favour.’
‘My uncle resides in Gloucestershire,’ said the vicar. ‘You may know of him. Captain Trim. A naval man originally, he retired to Tewkesbury.’
‘The name is not familiar. My brother’s estate is south of there, near Chedworth.’
The vicar nodded. ‘Well, now that Uncle Trim is a Member of Parliament, he moves in more exalted circles than I. No doubt he knows Lord Westram. I shall write to tell him of the pleasant evening we spent together.’
Lady Marguerite nodded and smiled, but Jack sensed her disquiet. Oh, good Lord, do not say she was keeping her whereabouts a secret from her family? That would not do at all. It was his wife’s deceitful behaviour that had led to her death. This was something they would need to discuss.
‘Does your family hail from Gloucestershire, Vicar?’ Jack asked.
‘Dear me, no,’ said Purvis. ‘I was raised in Suffolk.’
Though she tried to hide it, Lady Marguerite looked relieved. Yes, she was definitely keeping secrets. He should have known better than to have trusted her word that her family approved of what she was doing. Disappointment swamped his earlier feelings of well-being. He hated the idea she might have lied.
He hated lies.
Chapter Twelve
Thank goodness Jack had found a new topic of interest for the vicar. Even so, every now and then, Marguerite felt Jack’s searching gaze on her face. She pretended to notice nothing, but it seeme
d he had sensed something not quite right about her replies.
The man had taken her aback when he had talked of relatives in Gloucestershire. With her luck, she might have known that the one person invited to dine with Lord Compton would be the only person in Kent with an uncle who lived near her brother and who likely knew him.
There was no help for it but to write to Red and tell him that she had taken a temporary position in Lord Compton’s household with stress on the word temporary. She would also have to tell him that she needed the money and tell him to mind his own business.
Not that it would likely do any good. So, the sooner Jack found a replacement governess the better.
‘Suffolk is not a county with which I have much personal knowledge,’ she said.
‘Most gentlemen think of Newmarket when they think of Suffolk,’ Lord Compton said. ‘One of the best racecourses in the country.’
‘It is true,’ the vicar said, ‘though my family prefers the raising of livestock to racing it.’
Lord Compton chuckled.
Marguerite breathed a sigh of relief. The comparison of pedigrees and family roots had been successfully got over.
‘Well, it looks as if we are finally done with Bonaparte,’ Lord Compton observed.
‘I was astonished that he actually abdicated,’ Marguerite said. ‘From Emperor to commoner.’
‘Indeed, yes,’ Jack said. ‘I am also relieved the government was not foolish enough to accept his attempt to have his crown passed on to his son.’
‘A clear ploy to continue to rule,’ Marguerite said. ‘Lord Liverpool clearly saw through it, along with our allies. I for one am so glad the tyrant is finally dealt with and we can have peace again.’
‘It is a wonderful thing,’ the reverend agreed. ‘It is time all those young brave men returned home.’ The vicar looked guilty. ‘I beg your pardon, Lady Marguerite, I understand that your husband was lost in the war.’
A Family for the Widowed Governess Page 14
