The Wayward Governess

by Joanna Fulford

  ‘Goodnight then, Miss Davenport.’

  Reluctantly he watched her walk away and then returned to the drawing room and poured himself a large brandy from the decanter on the table. He tossed it back in one go and poured another. As he did so he glanced across the room to the pianoforte and, in his imagination, heard Claire singing and knew again the frisson along his spine. He also knew that what he felt was a damn sight more than admiration for fine musical skill. When they had been alone together after the guests had gone he had wanted to take her in his arms. No, he corrected himself, what he had really wanted to do was carry her up the stairs to his bedchamber and make love to her all night.

  Almost immediately he felt self-contempt. Claire Davenport was not some trollop to be used for an idle hour’s amusement. She was a respectable young woman. She was Lucy’s governess, for heaven’s sake. A role he had appointed her to. Any liaison between them would make that position untenable and he would be responsible for ruining her reputation and then for causing her to leave. Only a real cur would do that. Only a cur put his own desire before the welfare of the woman he claimed to care for. For both their sakes there could be no familiarity between them. It was not only his feelings and hers that were involved here, but Lucy’s, too. She was beginning to settle into her new home, to trust him. It was obvious that she was also growing attached to her new governess. Could he be responsible for the loss of yet another person she cared for? Could he put her through that? It needed but a moment’s thought to know the answer. There must be no advances to Claire, no matter what it cost him. Had she been living with the Greystokes it might have been different, but the minute he hired her he had put her out of reach. The irony did not escape him.

  *

  Claire returned to her room and retired to bed, but sleep would not come. Her thoughts were troubled and her mind raced. Every time her eyelids closed Marcus’s face was there. His words echoed in her memory. She could still feel the warmth of his hand on hers. The memory set her pulse racing, like that other memory of his lips on her skin. When he was near it was hard to think of anything else. His presence drew her as a moth to a flame and, just as surely, she knew that yielding to temptation would mean getting badly burnt. Men of rank might dally with their servants, but they did not marry them.

  The knowledge brought with it a feeling of overwhelming sadness. If things had been different…if they had met under other circumstances…but she could not imagine any circumstances under which they would have met. Her uncle, though a gentleman, did not move in such exalted circles. He was flattered by the notice of a man like Sir Charles Mortimer. What would he have said to the notice of a viscount? What would have been his reaction if such a man had offered for her hand? She knew the answer too well: the offer would have been accepted immediately and she would have been expected to comply. Her heart beat a little quicker at the thought. If she had been promised to a man like Marcus Edenbridge would she have sought to escape the match? The answer brought another wave of warmth to her neck and face. Just as quickly she realised how ridiculous it was even to consider the possibility. Ridiculous and dangerous. She was not safe yet. This post was her refuge, her protection. She would do nothing to jeopardise it, no matter what her personal inclination.

  In the morning she would resume her duties as though nothing had happened. When she and Marcus Edenbridge happened to meet, she would behave with the utmost propriety. Never by word or sign would she let him suspect what she felt for him. This evening, delightful as it had been, was a one-off occasion, a favour perhaps for past aid. It would not happen again. He had discharged his obligation and in future his socialising would be done among his social equals. The knowledge gave her a pang; she had enjoyed herself this evening. It had given her a glimpse of another world, one to which she would never belong. It served to reinforce how very different were their social positions.

  *

  In the days that followed the Viscount behaved with the utmost propriety when their paths crossed. He visited the nursery each day and took a keen interest in what Lucy did, but he never lingered or tried to interfere in any way. To Claire he was unfailingly civil, but never more than that. Just occasionally the grey eyes betrayed a stronger emotion, but it was never given further expression.

  He also rode with them less frequently, having many other matters requiring his attention. Although she missed him, Claire was grateful for the distance between them. Sometimes she would look from her window and see him ride out across the estate, sometimes alone, but more usually with the land agent. Then she would know that she and Lucy would be riding with Trubshaw that day. Her young charge made good progress and gained in confidence. Soon she was clamouring to be let off the leading rein. The next time that Marcus appeared in the nursery she petitioned him on that score.

  ‘I’ve been riding for three weeks now, Uncle Marcus. Can’t I please ride Misty without being led?’

  He dropped to one knee so that they were face to face and then he smiled. ‘I don’t see why not.’

  Lucy flung her arms round his neck. ‘Thank you, Uncle Marcus.’

  He returned the hug and looked over the child’s shoulder to Claire.

  ‘The pony is quiet enough. I think she’ll come to little harm,’ he said. ‘In any case, one learns by doing. Is that not so, Miss Davenport?’

  ‘Indeed it is, sir.’

  Lucy looked at him solemnly. ‘Will you come with us, Uncle Marcus?’

  He grinned and ruffled her hair. ‘I have a lot of things to do today.’

  She threw a conspiratorial glance at Claire. ‘But I might fall off.’

  ‘Well, you might,’ he agreed. ‘But then you’ll just have to get back on, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The tone and facial expression were so forlorn that Claire was unable to restrain a grin. Her young charge was clearly not above using feminine wiles to get her own way. Even so she didn’t expect him to succumb. His expression said very plainly that he knew what she was about, but to her surprise she saw him smile.

  ‘Oh, all right, then, you ghastly brat. I’ll come.’

  Undismayed by this mode of address, Lucy smiled up at him.

  ‘But only if you have completed all of your lessons first,’ he added, with belated severity.

  Desperately wanting to laugh, Claire turned away and fixed her attention on the view from the window. The Viscount stood up, regarding her with a speculative expression.

  ‘You will inform me later, Miss Davenport, if Lucy has not done everything she ought.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He looked at his ward and jerked his head towards the desk. With the sweetest of smiles Lucy returned to work. Seeing her once more bent over her copybook, he turned back to Claire. Though she had assumed an expression of becoming gravity she was unable to hide the laughter in her eyes. It was fascinating, all the more so because she was quite unconscious of the effect it had on the beholder. If they had been alone, he would have taught her about the dangers of exerting fascination. As it was he could not permit himself that very attractive luxury so, reluctantly, he made her a polite bow instead and then took his leave.

  *

  Claire didn’t set eyes on him again until they met in the stable yard that afternoon. However, apart from a brief, polite acknowledgement of her presence he focused his attention on his ward. Claire was glad of it. It also afforded an opportunity of watching them together. He was, she thought, a good teacher, for he was quiet and firm in delivering instruction, but always ready to praise. As always, Lucy hung on his every word, clearly eager to please him. She learned quickly. He had only to tell her something once and she remembered it.

  As she was off the leading rein a groom and not Trubshaw attended them. And as it was Lucy’s first solo outing the pace was necessarily gentle, but Claire didn’t mind. It was just pleasant to be out of doors on so fine a day and in so beautiful a place. All the trees were turning now, the foliage a glorious display of red and russet
and gold, and the autumnal air was rich with the scent of leaf mould and damp earth. It was good to be alive on such a day. She glanced at her companions. It was good to be in such agreeable company. Even if it could not last for ever she would enjoy it now.

  Lulled by the easy pace and the beauty of her surroundings, Claire was totally unprepared for the sudden violent eruption of a pheasant from the long grass at her horse’s feet. For one heartbeat she had an impression of beating wings and a squawking cry and then her startled mount shied violently, throwing her hard. Earth and sky and trees spun crazily for some moments afterwards, so she lay quite still until the scenery had stopped moving and she could get her bearings again. Then she was aware of someone beside her and of anxious grey eyes looking down into hers.

  ‘Claire, are you hurt?’

  For a second she did not reply, being aware only that he had used her Christian name, a mode of address that he had never employed before. Then she shook her head.

  ‘I…I don’t think so. Just a little dazed, that’s all.’

  ‘Can you sit up?’

  A strong arm brought her to a sitting position and supported her there. She managed a wan smile. ‘Nothing broken, I think,’ she said. ‘Only my pride is a little bruised.’

  ‘That will mend. Can you stand?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  She made to rise, but was saved the trouble for his arm was round her waist, lifting her onto her feet. It stayed there while the groom was despatched to retrieve her horse. Feeling somewhat foolish and not a little self-conscious, she disengaged herself from his hold and took a tentative step away. Without warning the ground shifted under her feet and she swayed. If he had not caught her she would have fallen.

  ‘I think that’s the end of your ride for today,’ he said. ‘We must get you back to the house.’

  ‘There’s really no need. I’ll be all right in a minute or two.’

  ‘Nonsense! Your cheeks are the colour of paper. You need to go and lie down for a while.’

  ‘Really, I…’

  ‘Don’t be a little fool. If you get back on that horse now you’ll be off again within a minute.’

  He guided her to his own horse and without further consultation she was lifted in a pair of powerful arms and transferred with consummate ease onto the front of his saddle. As the implications dawned Claire paled further. Surely he could not be intending to… It seemed that he was for, having given orders to the groom to lead the mare back, Marcus swung up behind her. Then, taking the reins in one hand, he locked the other arm around her waist. Claire tensed, her heart racing.

  ‘I can ride home,’ she protested. ‘There’s really no need…’

  In mild panic she tried to resist the arm. For answer it tightened a little, pulling her closer.

  ‘I think otherwise,’ he replied, ‘and for once you’re going to do as you’re told, my girl.’

  With that he turned the horse for home. Seeing there was no help for it, Claire capitulated, lapsing into warm-cheeked silence. As he glanced down at her his lips twitched.

  ‘What, no furious counter-argument?’

  ‘Would it do any good?’

  ‘Devil a bit,’ he replied.

  It drew a wry smile in return. She might have known how it would be. Being used to a life of command, this man had an expectation of getting his own way, and an infuriating habit of succeeding, too. In any case she didn’t feel much like arguing. Her head was beginning to throb now and, in spite of her assertion to the contrary, she was no longer convinced that she could have ridden back by herself. Moreover, there was something comforting about having the responsibility removed and she felt grateful for that solid and reassuring presence.

  Lucy regarded her somewhat anxiously. ‘Are you all right, Miss Davenport?’

  ‘Not quite right,’ she replied, ‘but I shall be better soon.’

  ‘It was a naughty pheasant, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Very naughty.’

  Marcus grinned. ‘If I see it again I’ll shoot it.’

  Satisfied with this, Lucy nodded and trotted along beside the groom.

  Claire sighed. ‘I should have been better prepared. Then I would not have fallen off.’

  ‘You could scarcely have avoided it,’ Marcus replied. ‘The bird was well concealed and there is nothing like a pheasant for putting a rider on the ground.’

  The tone was both humorous and kind and not what she had been expecting. There was also an unusually gentle expression in the grey eyes. Seeing it, Claire felt her pulse quicken. Not knowing quite what to say, she lapsed into silence.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Lean your head on my shoulder and rest.’

  Claire reclined against him and closed her eyes. The gentle motion of the horse and the warmth of the man were soothing and gradually she began to relax. There would probably be some bruises tomorrow, but all things considered she’d got off lightly.

  *

  They returned to the stables some twenty minutes later. Marcus instructed the groom to see to Lucy and then dismounted, lifting Claire down after. Just for a moment she had a sensation of weightlessness before he sat her down gently on the cobbled yard, surveying her with a critical eye. She still looked a little pale though not quite as much as before.

  ‘Can you walk?’

  She replied hurriedly in the affirmative, dreading that if she did not he would carry her. The idea of presenting such a spectacle to the watching servants filled her with horror. Much to her relief he did not gainsay her this time, but merely offered her his arm, and his free hand to Lucy.

  ‘Come then, let us go in.’

  He escorted them in and sent Lucy to change before escorting Claire to the door of her room.

  ‘I will have Mrs Hughes send up some water,’ he said. ‘You must have a hot tub at once. If not you’ll be as stiff as a board tomorrow.’

  Claire’s cheeks turned a deep shade of pink. Gentlemen did not commonly refer to such things in front of ladies, yet he seemed quite unembarrassed. He was also right. A hot bath would help enormously. Lowering her gaze from his, she nodded.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘After that you must lie down for a while until you feel better.’

  ‘But Lucy…’

  ‘I will see to Lucy. You just concern yourself with getting well again.’

  With that he left her. Claire slipped thankfully into her room and closed the door, leaning upon it in relief.

  *

  In fact, Marcus was right. A hot tub and a lie down did much to restore her. She was right though about incurring some bruises, but Mrs Hughes had come to the rescue with tincture of arnica so the discomfort was considerably lessened. It was from the housekeeper that she learned about the Viscount’s plans to host a soirée.

  ‘It is to be a fairly small gathering,’ said Mrs Hughes, ‘but it will be so pleasant to see company at Netherclough again.’

  Claire felt the first stirrings of apprehension. Company posed a possible threat to her anonymity here. However, she forced a smile. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  ‘His Lordship wishes to establish his return in the neighbourhood,’ the housekeeper continued, ‘and that can only be to the good, can’t it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. When is the event to be?’

  ‘On Tuesday next. There’s a deal of work to do before we can pass muster, of course, but I doubt not we’ll pull it off.’

  ‘I’m sure you will.’

  ‘Perhaps he’ll ask you and Miss Lucy to come down for a while.’

  Claire’s stomach lurched. The possibility had not occurred to her and now occasioned real alarm. She had no desire for anyone to see her here. It wasn’t that she thought they’d find a governess of any interest at all, but gossip spread and a careless word in the wrong place might mean her uncle somehow got to hear of it. Then she would be lost. When she had asked for this job it was in part because Netherclough was remote. It had not occurred to h
er that her employer would entertain. Too late she realised it had been a foolish oversight on her part.

  *

  In the days that followed this conversation she waited in trepidation lest the Viscount should approach her to solicit Lucy’s presence in the drawing room. If he did she would be obliged to accompany her charge. She could not risk arousing suspicion by refusing or making difficulties. As he hadn’t mentioned the occasion to her at all, perhaps it was because he had no intention of having either of them there.

  But on his next visit to the nursery, he explained, ‘I would have asked you to bring Lucy down tomorrow evening,’ he said, ‘but the affair is not due to start until eight, which is really too late for her.’

  Claire seized her chance. ‘Yes, sir, you are quite right.’

  ‘It’s a pity but, on this occasion, it can’t be helped.’

  ‘She is also shy and might feel daunted at the prospect of so many strange faces.’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘I had not thought of that.’

  Claire felt flooding relief. He seemed to have accepted what she said. She was off the hook and, perhaps, when she and Lucy did eventually appear in company, all need for circumspection would have passed.

  *

  On the evening of the soirée he came to say goodnight to his ward. He had got into the habit now and Lucy clearly derived pleasure from seeing him.

  ‘You look very nice, Uncle Marcus,’ she said, surveying the tall figure clad in impeccable evening dress.

  Claire silently agreed with the assessment. He wore a dark coat with cream-coloured breeches and waistcoat and immaculate linen. It was simple, almost severe, but it enhanced every line of that lean, athletic form. She thought it would be hard to find a more elegant figure, or a more striking one. He was, she acknowledged, a very handsome man.

  He smiled down at the child. ‘I hope the rest of the ladies will be so easily pleased.’

  Hearing the words, Claire experienced an unexpected pang. Of course there would be ladies present. Moreover, they would be ladies of his social class. Some, no doubt, would be single and on the lookout for a husband. He was, she knew, a most eligible bachelor. Annoyed with herself for thinking such thoughts, she tried to dismiss them. A man like Marcus Edenbridge could set his sights as high as he liked. Not only would he never look her way, but, once married, the secluded rural idyll she had enjoyed would be shattered for good.