by Regina Darcy
Madame was a great believer in exercise, and the academy insisted that its students partake of fresh air regularly. Being inside was giving her foolish fancies, she decided. What did it matter if someone arrived at the inn and chanced to see her? She was not in hiding and her private reasons for seeking employment with the duke who had destroyed her family were a personal matter and certainly not known to this stranger.
She took out her embroidery needles. As a governess, she must project an impression of industry as a woman who did not waste her time in idleness. Despite what Mrs Lodings said about the comfort of Farringdon Manor, Henrietta expected that it would be cold and draughty, in the manner of most ancestral halls, and she guessed that she would spend a great deal of time embroidering in order to stay warm.
How Madame would have laughed at the thought that Laurence Kerrick’s niece was embroidering as if she needed to supplement her wardrobe. She, who could go into any dressmaker’s shop in Paris and order clothing to her heart’s content, with a generous uncle who paid the bills.
But Madame did not understand that Henrietta needed to be sure that she could embody being a governess, not an heiress, during her time in England. Her stay in the country would not be long, only as much time as was needed to give the Duke as memorable and miserable a Christmas as he had given her ten years ago. She smiled at the image of her victory.
Yes, today she was only Miss Jamieson, an orphaned young woman who had grown up in France and was putting her education to use by seeking employment as a governess.
Cher Madame, she wrote, confident that by the use of the title, she was maintaining the masquerade that she was truly an orphan with no one in France who was concerned for her wellbeing. I have arrived in England and so has winter. I am currently lodging at the inn in the local village as the guest of the Duke of Farringdon, who has told the innkeeper to provide for me. I have been well fed and I am comfortable and eager to begin my work as governess, as soon as the roads can once again be travelled. As I am sequestered inside, I engage in conversation with the innkeeper’s wife, who assures me that the Duke is kindness itself, the very soul of generosity, a man who is known throughout the village for his charity to those less fortunate than he. He is particularly kind, the innkeeper’s wife assures me, to his niece, because she is an orphan and he does not wish her to suffer as she only has an uncle and no mother or father. You would be astounded at the tales I have been told of his charity to those in need, of his unmatched compassion for the people in his care. Such a model of a man can surely not have a match in all of Europe.
I shall remember well the lessons that you have taught me, Madame, so that I may be assured of putting them to good use when I am in the Duke’s employ. I assure you that I attended well to what you taught me and that I am confident that I shall be able to send you good reports of my success as a governess.
I do not know when this letter will reach you, so I will wish you a Joyeux Noel, and please be assured that I will do credit to your teachings during this Christmas season.
Your most attentive and obedient student,
Henrietta
Later that afternoon, the innkeeper’s wife assured Henrietta, when she brought her lunch, that the letter would be posted as soon as the snow abated and they were back to their usual routine. “This is most unusual, Miss, I do say. I don’t recall a snow like this in many a year, and my husband says the same. You must be feeling quite cooped up here.”
“I am used to spending part of each day out of doors, but you have been so kind and provided so well for my needs that I feel quite pampered,” Henrietta assured her.
“That’s very kind of you, Miss, but it’s no more than the Duke expects and we’re happy to oblige him. I know that, as soon as the snow eases, he’ll send for you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he came for you himself. He’s very particular about extending the proper welcome. Why, only think: tomorrow at this very time, you might be at Farringdon Manor.”
FOUR
Sometime during the evening, the snow ceased to fall. Rising once during the night, Henrietta went to the window and saw that the moon was shining brightly upon the ivory landscape, spilling across the snow like an abundance of gold. It was a beautiful sight to behold. Then she noticed movement by the stables. It was very odd for anyone to be about at this late hour. Concealing herself behind the drapery, she watched as a man emerged, looking around furtively before he came out into the open.
It was the man she had seen before, the man in the heavy greatcoat and beaver hat. What was he doing in the stable at this hour? If he were lodging in the inn, he should surely be abed. If he were not, what was he doing on the premises?
She watched as he crossed the expanse of snow and vanished from sight, presumably into the inn where, she supposed, he had a room. Not long after, she heard footsteps in the hall, the heavier tread of a man. She held her breath when the footsteps paused before her door, and then continued down the hall to another room. She knew the door was locked but nonetheless, she quietly crossed the room to make sure.
Who was the man? She knew no one in England and was not acquainted with this man. Yet, she had seen him look up at her window and knew that he had seen her. It seemed insufficient reason for him to stop in front of her door and yet he had done so. As she climbed back into her bed and pulled the quilt and blankets over her, she was relieved that she would soon be leaving the inn and would not see him again.
The sun was shining the next morning, giving the winter landscape a golden glow of beauty that seemed to mitigate the impression of cold. Henrietta dressed carefully, knowing that it was likely that someone from Farringdon Manor would show up for her.
She had just finished breakfast, another ample offering of the inn’s excellent cooking, when she heard a commotion in the innyard. Hurrying to the window, she saw a sleigh, drawn by an impressive team of black horses, pulling up to the inn. A man got down from the sleigh. Even from the window, Henrietta could see that he was laughing as he helped the young girl at his side to the ground. She was well dressed in a warm coat, a muff, a scarf, and a hat, and he must have made some comment about her appearance because she took out a gloved hand from the muff to adjust her hat. Taking her hand, the man and the child headed into the inn.
He was very handsome, Henrietta observed. Even with the tall hat and the thick coat with its three capes covering him, his appearance was that of a man of vigour and good humour, his smile affectionate as he spoke to the child.
It must be the Duke, Henrietta realised, and her charge, Lady Jacqueline. Feeling suddenly nervous, Henrietta went to the mirror to smooth down her dress and make sure that her coiffure was tidy. She had chosen to adopt the pose of a prim governess who dressed soberly in dark colours. But the dresses were designed to fit perfectly and therefore, they emphasised the slenderness of her waist and the fullness of her bosom. Madame herself had instructed the dressmaker in the design.
The English were cold, she reminded Henrietta; one must acknowledge the cold before introducing a warmer climate. Henrietta’s blonde hair was set off by the navy dress she wore and she could see in the mirror that her blue eyes were shown to advantage.
She recalled her father, when she was a child, telling her that she was the image of her mother. She had thought her mother the most beautiful woman she knew. Studying her reflection, Henrietta wondered if she still resembled her mother so identically as her father had said back then. It was impossible to be objective about one’s looks, she thought.
She thought her features ordinary and, except for the dimple in her cheek, there was nothing distinctive about her face to attract attention. She remembered how her mother had told her that they both had a dimple. It was God’s way, Mama had said, of placing a little smile inside the bigger smile because there was so much joy that one smile could not contain it all.
Fancy remembering such a thing now, after all these years.
Henrietta walked away from the mirror. In her role as governess, she d
id not think it would be proper to simply appear in the inn’s dining area on her own. She had no doubt that Mrs Lodings would come to fetch her. The question was when.
She had not unpacked her belongings, knowing that her sojourn at the inn would be short. Nonetheless, she went about the room, making sure that she had left nothing behind and that her books and embroidery were safely packed away.
“Come in,” she said upon hearing a knock at the door, expecting Mrs Lodings.
The door burst open and the entrance was taken up by a tall man who had to duck to allow for his hat to enter without tumbling off his head. He wore a silver-grey great coat with three capes. As he entered the room, he swept his hat from his head, revealing a thick mass of tousled black curls that owed nothing to London fashion and everything to the wind that had dishevelled them.
As his eyes locked with hers, the deep forest green depths of them held her enthralled for what seemed like an eternity, but it was surely only a blink of an eye. His demeanour was entirely dominated by an enormous smile which lit up his face.
A pearly giggle broke the spell. Following closely behind him was the little girl with a head full of golden locks.
“Miss Jamieson, finally! This little minx and I began to think the snow would never stop. She pranced into the morning room today and announced to me while I was enjoying my coffee that, as the snow had stopped, we must come and get you right away. I protested that it was yet early and perhaps you were sleeping in. But she tells me that governesses do not sleep in. As she has never had a governess before, I do not know how she comes by such information.”
Henrietta didn’t mean to smile, but his mirth was so infectious that she found her lips curving upwards in response. She let her gaze drop to his charge and her smile widened.
“I was awake before the sun came up,” she told the young girl gravely.
Suddenly shy, the little girl, held tightly to her uncle’s hand.
“Will you not greet your governess? She’ll think you don’t know any French at all, and have we not been practising every day?’
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle,” Jacqueline said formally.
“Bonjour, petite,” Henrietta answered, speaking without thought and using Madame’s affectionate diminutive. Henrietta’s eyes widened as she realised that she had not been properly respectful to the girl, who was the niece of the Duke.
But the Duke was grinning broadly.
“I should describe both of you as petite,” he commented.
“Uncle Edward, that is only because you are as tall as a tree,” his niece pointed out saucily. “You will see, Mademoiselle, how he has to bend down to enter the cottages on the estate.”
“It’s not my fault if the cottages were built for a time when men were shorter,” her uncle said. His tone was grumpy but his eyes were twinkling.
“Well, Miss Jamieson? Are you ready to leave and sally forth into your next adventure? You shall be embarking on a perilous quest, you know, for this child has never had a governess and she is, of course, spoiled to the utmost by her indulgent nanny and her doting grandmamma. I, of course, am quite strict and she quakes with terror at my approach. I should advise you to beat her twice a day, merely for form’s sake, and then whenever the opportunity arises.”
As Jacqueline was giggling, Henrietta realised that the Duke was merely speaking nonsense. His niece looked to be a very well behaved child and the fact that she was so at her ease with her uncle was remarkable. Henrietta knew that in the upper-class English households, children were expected to be out of sight unless they were summoned by their parents, who were much too busy to have time to spend with them. That was regarded as the job of the servants, nannies, tutors, and governesses. It appeared that the Duke did not hold to those customs.
“I think that a child learns better when she is comfortable doing so, not out of fear but out of eagerness to discover what she does not know.” Henrietta smiled at Jacqueline.
“If you refuse to beat her, I suppose I shall have to do so. Once before breakfast and once before we dine. That should take care of it. Now, come, Miss Jamieson. Dress in your warmest cloak and take care to outfit yourself against the chill, for it is still quite cold. There are blankets in the sleigh. We’ll soon be home at Farringdon Manor, where you shall spend the day warming up and getting used to your new home. Lessons will not begin until tomorrow.”
As the whirlwind duo strode out of her room, Henrietta struggled to catch her breath. So this was the Duke of Farringdon. She should have known his presence would be alluring, for how else could he have seduced her mother? She pursed her lips.
He would find that she was no easy conquest. This Christmas, he would be the one on his knees.
FIVE
The Duke had not exaggerated. The air outside was bitterly cold. Although Henrietta was dressed warmly in a fur-lined cloak that Madame had insisted she take with her, despite Henrietta’s protests that governesses would not be so splendidly attired, the wind made the temperature feel colder than it was.
The Duke helped his niece into the sleigh and then lifted Henrietta in beside her. He tucked a thick blanket around them. Mrs Lodings came out with a warm brick wrapped in a cloth for the females to put against their feet so that they would not take a chill. The Duke cracked his whip and the horses took off.
It was a marvellous ride over the snow-draped terrain where the roads had become invisible and the trees, with their snow-laden branches, looked like arboreal roofs as the sleigh passed under them. The Duke handled his expertly trained horses with the skill of a London whip.
For a brief time, Henrietta forgot her mission of vengeance as she was captivated by the fairy tale setting of a world that was dressed regally in white. The sun that was now shining gave the snow a diamond-like sparkle. No one else was out, further creating the impression of a magical, untouched world in which the occupants of the sleigh were the only inhabitants.
Jacqueline was squealing with delight as the sleigh swiftly swept over the snow as if they were in flight, and Henrietta could not disagree with the child’s excitement. She had never travelled in a sleigh before and it seemed an unlikely conveyance for a duke. But Mrs Lodings had made reference to it as the vehicle the Duke used when visiting the tenants on his estate in winter.
Perhaps, Henrietta thought, it was an affectation. After all, she knew better than anyone that however well the Duke masked his true self, he was not at all the jolly, charitable lord of the Manor that everyone believed him to be.
When she entered the Manor, she found that Mrs Lodings had not been guilty of exaggeration when she boasted of the Duke’s extravagance in terms of firewood. Lady Jacqueline led her immediately into a room to the left of the entrance hall. It was a magnificent chamber with high ceilings and paintings on the walls, but the fireplace, which was massive, crackled with the bright orange flames of fire that cast its warmth upon them as soon as they entered.
“Grandmamma, we are back!” Jacqueline announced, running toward the settee where a dainty woman with beautiful white hair and bright blue eyes, which perfectly matched the hue of her dress, sat.
“So I see, and look at your rosy cheeks,” she replied with a smile. “Danvers,” she said to the butler who had entered the room in the wake of the arrivals. “Please bring something warm to drink. Hot chocolate for Lady Jacqueline. Miss Jamieson, what will you have?”
“Tea would be lovely, milady,” Henrietta said.
“I’m glad to hear it. My grandson has quite abandoned tradition and drinks coffee,” the Dowager Duchess said, her stern tone at odds with her smile. “I don’t know where he picked up the habit. I’m sure it was not when he was serving with Wellington. I am quite certain that His Grace was a loyal drinker of tea.”
“I can credit no one for the habit, Grandmamma,” the Duke replied, as he approached the fire and stretched his hands toward it. Divested of his coat and hat, he was still an imposing figure of a man, with broad shoulders that tapered to a trim waist
and long legs. He was fashionably but not foppishly dressed, Henrietta judged. Well-fitting breeches, Hessian boots, and a tailored waistcoat that did not offend the eyes showed him to be a man who was neither a slave to fashion nor to his tailor. Suddenly uncomfortable, she swallowed hard.
“It is simply my preference. Mark my words, the day will dawn when all the world will fall under the spell of this elixir.”
“Never,” his grandmother laughed. “Child, you have not introduced me properly.”
Jacqueline, who had been following the badinage with delight, quickly remedied the matter.
“Miss Jamieson, this is my great-grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Farringdon.”
Henrietta curtseyed. “Madame,” she said politely, “it is a pleasure.”
“The child has spoken of nothing else since you sent your letter to accept the position. We had been searching for just the right governess for her, and my grandson is so very particular. But when he saw your credentials, he instantly decided that you were the one.”
“I’m so glad,” Henrietta replied, giving the Duke a swift glance before casting her eyes down modestly, as Madame had taught her to do. “I hope that you will not be disappointed.”
“Nonsense,” the Duke exclaimed. “If you please my niece and teach her well, we shall be entirely satisfied with your performance. I do have one more requirement that anyone under my household must heed, and if you fail, it’s back to France with you.”
Alarmed, Henrietta forgot the lessons of Madame and stared up at him in dismay. “Sir? What must I do?”
His lips spread in a smile. “You must love the season of Christmas as if you were still a child, awaiting with breathless anticipation the presents that will be yours. Here, we follow the German customs and we decorate a pine tree in this room. Under the tree, we leave presents, although I suspect Lady Jacqueline might get nothing this year because she has been very ill-behaved.”
