The Wayward Governess

by Joanna Fulford

  ‘If I have caused offence, I beg your pardon, sir.’

  ‘As well you should. In future you will confine yourself to your duties, Miss Davenport, instead of interfering in matters that do not concern you.’ He got to his feet. ‘That will be all.’

  Uncomfortably aware of having made a false step, she rose from her chair and dropped a curtsy before beating a retreat, aware as she did so of the fierce hawk-like gaze that followed her every step of the way. Only when she was safely in the hall did she let out the breath she had been holding. Her cheeks burned. How angry he had been. Yet in spite of that she could not regret having said it, even if he did ignore the words.

  *

  After she left him Marcus poured himself a glass of brandy and took a deep swig. Claire’s assessment had been quite correct: he was angry. Angry with her for presuming to tell him his duty and angry with himself because he knew the words were merited. It was true he had been very busy since his return; Greville’s death had left a vacuum and there were numerous matters requiring his attention. However, he realised now that in part they had been an excuse for avoiding his young niece. Having spent the last ten years soldiering, he was unused to children and unfamiliar with their needs. The journey from Essex had been more difficult than he had anticipated, for the child was withdrawn and shy of him. Though he spoke to her with the utmost gentleness he had hardly been able to get half a dozen words out of her. He had tried telling her stories about the animals in India that he thought she might enjoy but, though she heard him quietly, she had offered no response. Moreover, she ate very little and slept badly. Clearly the disruption of recent months was taking its toll on her. More than once he had been overwhelmed with a sense of inadequacy.

  Claire had known what to say, he recalled. From the first she had instinctively known how to get past the barrier that Lucy had been protecting herself with. He sighed. He had spoken more harshly than he should have done, but her words had touched a nerve. At the same time, he acknowledged, she was offering him an opportunity. Could it work?

  *

  After the unfortunate interview in the salon, Claire had seen Marcus only twice in the following week, and that was when he had come to the schoolroom. As usual he had stayed only a short time, just long enough to see what his niece was doing and to ask about her progress. When he had spoken to the child it was always in a tone of quiet encouragement, but this had never elicited more than a few shy words from Lucy. Seeing it, Claire had been saddened. Were the two of them destined to remain polite strangers?

  She had said nothing at all to Lucy about the matter of a pony. Marcus had promised to speak to Trubshaw, but would he remember? He was very busy. She wouldn’t raise the child’s hopes only to see them dashed. Nor would she raise the subject again with Marcus himself. It was too loaded a topic now. He had made no reference to their conversation and his manner to her was one of polite aloofness. It seemed that she and Lucy were both to be relegated to the periphery of his affairs.

  It came as a surprise, therefore, when a footman came to the nursery to say that His Lordship desired Miss Davenport and Miss Lucy to attend him in the stable yard after luncheon. Hearing the summons, Claire felt the first faint stirrings of hope. Had he kept his promise?

  ‘Why does Uncle Marcus want us to go to the stables, Miss Davenport?’

  ‘I don’t know, dear. We must go and find out.’

  When they arrived, the Viscount was already there, talking to Trubshaw. Seeing their approach, he greeted them both and then nodded to the groom. The man promptly disappeared into the stable and emerged a few minutes later leading a grey pony. Understanding the implication, Claire felt her heart soar even as her critical eye took in the details of the new arrival. A sturdy, shaggy little creature, the pony stood approximately twelve hands high. He had a bushy mane and tail and gentle brown eyes. A perfect choice, she thought, and her face lit with a smile for she could not but remember when she had been given her first pony. The memory was bittersweet.

  Beside her Lucy’s eyes widened.

  ‘He’s wonderful, isn’t he, Miss Davenport?’

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘May I ride him one day, do you think?’

  ‘You had better ask your uncle,’ she replied.

  For a moment her gaze met his. Then Marcus looked down at the child and smiled. ‘Of course you can ride him. He’s yours.’

  ‘Mine? To keep? Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  Too overcome for speech just then, she flung her arms round him and hugged him. Taken totally by surprise, Marcus felt himself redden and then somehow, rather awkwardly, his arms were round the child and he was hugging her back. Then together they walked over to the pony.

  ‘His name’s Misty,’ he said.

  Lucy looked up at him. ‘I like his name. It suits him.’

  ‘Yes, I think it does.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Er…’ Marcus looked at Trubshaw for help.

  ‘Ten, my lord,’ replied the other.

  ‘He’s older than me,’ said Lucy.

  ‘That’s so he can teach you how to ride, miss,’ replied the groom.

  She nodded thoughtfully, then looked at her uncle. ‘Can I ride him now?’

  ‘Why not?’ He lifted her up and sat her on the pony’s back. ‘Hold on to his mane. That’s it.’ He looked at the groom. ‘Take her for a walk around the yard so she can get used to him.’

  As they set off he watched for a moment or two and then glanced back at Claire only to see that she was already looking at him, her face lit with a dazzling smile. His heart missed a beat and for the second time that afternoon he was taken totally by surprise. She was more than a pretty girl, he realised then. Furthermore, the expression in those glorious eyes was joyful and tender and its warmth was directed at him. The effect was to take his breath away.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Marcus collected himself quickly. ‘He’s hardly bloodstock,’ he replied, ‘but he’s quiet and steady enough for the child to learn on.’

  She nodded. ‘Lucy adores him already.’

  He followed her gaze back to the child and the pony, and then he smiled, too. ‘I believe she does.’

  ‘It will be hard to keep her away from him now, but he will be so good for her, I know it. He’ll build her confidence like nothing else could.’

  ‘Yes, I think he will, and for that I owe you my thanks. If you had not mentioned the idea, it might not have occurred to me.’

  ‘I’m very glad I did.’

  ‘So am I.’

  The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, and the grey eyes looking into her face held an expression she had never seen there before. It disturbed and excited in equal measure, like the memory of his lips on her neck and throat. The recollection sent a shiver along her skin and she was more than ever glad he had known nothing of it. Besides, she reflected, in his fevered dream he had been kissing someone else.

  Just then Lucy returned, bright-eyed and smiling, from her short excursion. Marcus lifted her down.

  ‘Can I ride him again tomorrow?’ she begged.

  ‘Yes, I don’t see why not,’ he replied. ‘If Miss Davenport doesn’t mind.’

  He looked over the child’s head and met Claire’s eye. Lucy looked up anxiously.

  Claire laughed. ‘No, I don’t mind.’

  ‘Will you teach me how to ride properly, Uncle Marcus?’

  ‘If you wish.’

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’

  ‘Very well, but I warn you now. I shall expect you to try hard.’

  ‘I will try hard, I promise.’

  She tucked her small hand into his and gave the other to Claire. Then they walked back to the house together.

  ‘Will Miss Davenport come riding with us too, Uncle Marcus?’

  ‘If she wishes to,’ he replied.

  The grey eyes rested on Claire. Her heart leapt. It would be wonderful to ride again. She had always loved it, but
the opportunities had been few and far between in recent years for it was a pursuit that found little favour with her aunt. Equally quickly she knew it would not be possible to take up the invitation. She had no riding clothes and no means of getting any either with the few meagre shillings remaining to her.

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot,’ she replied.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I regret that I have no suitable costume.’

  ‘I see.’

  Much to her relief he didn’t pursue it. In any case, she realised, he must have understood how the case was. He had seen every gown she possessed many times. Her salary would be paid quarterly and wasn’t due for weeks yet. Besides, if he went out alone with Lucy it would strengthen the relationship between the two of them and that could only be to the good.

  Chapter Six

  Having tucked Lucy into bed that night Claire took herself off to the library to find a new novel. It was her favourite room, a warm, comfortable place with wonderful old chairs in which it was possible to curl up and lose oneself in a good book. She was perusing the shelves when a footman entered with the intelligence that His Lordship desired her presence in the study.

  Wondering what it could possibly be about, Claire made her way there. The Viscount was seated behind a large desk. He had apparently been reading some papers, but looked up as she entered and smiled faintly. After inviting her to sit, he opened a drawer in the desk and took out a small box.

  ‘It occurs to me that if Lucy is to learn to ride she will require a riding habit and some boots. I would like you to attend to it.’ Opening the box, he took out a pouch of coins and laid it on the desk. ‘That should cover the expense.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘It also occurs to me that you might require an advance on your salary.’ He laid another pouch beside the first. ‘Shall we say ten pounds, to cover immediate expenses?’

  Claire felt warmth rise to her face. Ten pounds! It was more money than she could ever recall seeing at one time in her whole life.

  ‘I should have thought of it earlier,’ he continued, ‘but there have been many matters requiring my attention. I apologise for the oversight.’

  ‘I…not at all.’ She sought for the right words, feeling oddly tongue-tied. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I have some business in Harrogate tomorrow. I thought perhaps you and Lucy might like to come along. I understand from Mrs Hughes that there are some good drapers in the town and an excellent seamstress. You can get Lucy’s riding habit made up there. Order one for yourself at the same time. There is enough there to cover the cost.’

  Claire felt her face grow very warm and the hazel eyes that met his were bright with indignation. Somehow she controlled her voice.

  ‘I thank you, sir, but I cannot accept such a gift. It would be most improper to do so.’

  He raised one eyebrow. ‘Miss Davenport, when my ward has learned to ride it will be necessary for you to accompany her when I cannot. That being so, you will require the appropriate costume to do it in. It is a vital part of the equipment you require to do your job—like the horse and the saddle.’ He paused. ‘I take it there will be no difficulty attached to my providing those?’

  Hearing the ironic tone, she lifted her chin. ‘It is not at all the same thing.’

  ‘I beg to differ. I can see very little difference.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but I assure you, sir, that I can.’

  ‘Your opinion in this matter is of no moment, Miss Davenport, since it is my wish as your employer that you should ride with my ward. And as your employer I expect my wishes to be obeyed.’

  The tone, though perfectly level, was implacable. She knew it would be fruitless to argue, but only suppressed the desire with great difficulty. Had it been Mark Eden she would have yielded to the impulse—with Marcus Edenbridge she could not. It was infuriating, like the suave expression on that handsome face. How arrogant he could be at times and how determined to get his own way.

  Though he guessed quite accurately at the thoughts behind the hazel eyes, he remained undeterred. Following up his advantage, he continued, ‘Should you see anything else that Lucy might need, you should feel free to make the purchase.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  ‘Quite so, Miss Davenport.’

  Her hands clenched in her lap as she wrestled with a strong desire to hit him. She mastered it and tried to focus on what he was saying.

  ‘The carriage will leave at nine o’clock.’

  ‘We will be ready, sir.’

  ‘Until tomorrow, then.’

  It was clearly dismissal. Claire retrieved the purses from the desk and rose from her chair. She was halfway to the door when he recalled something else.

  ‘Incidentally, I have asked Dr and Miss Greystoke to honour me with their company for dinner next Thursday. I would be pleased if you would join us.’

  Taken unawares, she heard him with surprise and then with pleasure. It would be wonderful to see her friends again. Gathering her wits, she nodded.

  ‘I should be delighted.’

  ‘Good.’ He favoured her with a charming smile. ‘That’s settled, then.’

  *

  After she had left him Claire returned to her room. Laying the two purses on the table, she regarded them thoughtfully. With that one casual gesture he had rescued her from financial embarrassment. Moreover, he didn’t have to do it. She could not have asked him for money, particularly since she was essentially here on a trial basis. It was within his rights to withhold any payment until that period was over. Yet he had given it anyway. It was an act of kindness and one she had not looked for. But then there was the matter of the riding habit. He must have guessed what her response would be and had met it most adroitly, leaving no possibility of refusal. The knowledge of her defeat still rankled. For a moment his face returned to her mind.

  ‘Impossible man!’ she said aloud.

  Attempting to dismiss that provoking image, she turned her thoughts to the morrow. With a trip to town in the offing, she would be able to rectify some of the deficiencies in her wardrobe. It occurred to her that, having seen every gown she possessed, he must have realised how the matter stood. The thought that he had assessed her wardrobe and found it wanting was mortifying. Worse, he was right. It was inadequate and unsuited to her present role. It had been foolish of her to think otherwise. By suggesting this trip he had saved her from some potentially embarrassing situations, damn him!

  *

  As she had anticipated Lucy was eager for the forthcoming treat and both of them were ready at the appointed time. The carriage stood waiting, a liveried footman by the open door. The Viscount was already in the hallway. Looking at that tall elegant figure, Claire knew a moment’s misgiving. However, nothing of their earlier encounter was apparent in his manner. On the contrary he glanced at the clock and smiled.

  ‘You are punctual, Miss Davenport.’

  Unable to think of a reply, she merely inclined her head.

  He gestured toward the door. ‘Shall we?’

  Having lifted Lucy into the vehicle, he held out a hand to Claire. For a few brief seconds she could feel the firm clasp of his fingers. His touch seemed to burn through her glove. Then, having spoken to the coachman, he climbed in after her and seated himself opposite as the carriage moved forwards. Aware of his presence to the last fibre of her being, she arranged her skirts and hoped that nothing of her feeling showed in her face.

  Fortunately Lucy diverted his attention with a question. He answered her with his customary patience and showed no sign of irritation when it was followed by two more. Now that the barriers were starting to come down, he clearly wanted to encourage the child to talk to him. As she watched the scene it occurred to Claire that he would be a good father as well as an indulgent uncle for there could be no doubt he would have children of his own one day. The thought was pleasing and unwelcome together. Before she could ask herself why, Lucy broke in.

  ‘Uncle Marcus used to live in India,
Miss Davenport.’

  ‘So I believe,’ replied Claire.

  ‘When we were travelling from Essex he told me stories about it.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, all about hunting tigers and riding on elephants.’

  ‘How exciting!’ Then, recalling her defeat the previous evening, she smiled. ‘Perhaps he’ll tell you another story now. I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I would, if you please, Uncle Marcus.’

  Torn between disbelief and amusement the Viscount threw Claire a most eloquent look. It was met with an innocent expression that did not deceive him for a moment and he was strongly tempted to deliver a severe set down. Then he saw Lucy’s eager face and knew he could not. After making a mental note to deal with Miss Davenport later, he favoured them with a tale about crossing a river on an elephant which had chosen to take a cooling shower while its passengers, of whom he was one, were still aboard. Lucy laughed in delight.

  ‘Was anyone watching, Uncle Marcus?’

  ‘Roughly half the population of the local village, as I recall.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘The only thing I could do. I adopted a stiff upper lip and pretended to be quite unconcerned.’

  Lucy giggled and, unable to help herself, Claire laughed, too. He regarded his audience with a pained expression.

  ‘This really is most unkind of you both.’

  That had the effect of sending Lucy into fresh peals of laughter, as he had known it would. Claire was both impressed and touched by the way he engaged with the child, and by his ability to take a joke; his expression now was far removed from the haughty individual she had spoken to the previous evening.

  Sensing her regard, he looked up and for a moment met her gaze. Then the light of humour faded a little and was replaced by a different kind of warmth altogether. Conscious of that look, Claire felt her heart miss a beat and she quickly looked away.

  Seeing her unease, Marcus was annoyed with himself. He had been caught off guard when he should have been prepared, for he had already felt the effect that her laughter could have. Once again it lit her face and made her look beautiful. She laughed sincerely, from the heart, without any trace of affectation. He realised too that it pleased him to see her laugh like that. Hitherto her demeanour, though pleasant and courteous, had always seemed a little reserved, but in unguarded moments she had revealed another side to her personality, one that was fun-loving and light-hearted. It suited her. More, he found it intriguing. Almost at once he brought himself up short. As Lucy’s governess and a member of his staff she was strictly off limits. He had appointed her to the post because it suited him; it was convenient and she was eligible and he wanted to help. Now he realised, somewhat belatedly, that he had not been completely impervious to her charms either.