A Governess for the Brooding Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “As upset as I am, Hamilton, I am a grown woman. I am not a child, and I am not helpless against you.”

  “And what exactly do you mean by that?” Georgette looked all about her, determined that she should not be caught by any of the servants. Her heart quickened as she realized that the Duke was once again becoming agitated.

  “I mean that I shall survive harsh words, even if they do make me cry. And I shall not give up on Eleri and Ffion. They are my great-nieces and Josephine’s children, and I love them as I loved her. I shall not stand by and see them made sad by yet more losses. They have endured enough. And I shall not stand by and see them chastised and belittled simply for being themselves. It is a disgrace, Hamilton, and the boy I once knew would have known that by instinct. What I cannot understand is why the man does not see it.”

  “It is true, Aunt Cynthia, that I am not the boy you knew. Much has happened since then, much which has hurt me very gravely, and I do not apologize for my reaction to it. And I do not see myself as the monster you clearly have painted me.”

  “Oh, Hamilton.” Lady Lyndon was crying again. “My dear nephew, I do not see you as a monster. That is what hurts me so very greatly. I know that you are not a monster. I know that you are a good man. You have let life make you jaded and cynical, and you have detached from anything which forces you to feel your feelings. And in doing so, you have left two helpless little children so dreadfully vulnerable. And they are not only vulnerable to the likes of that dreadful Mrs Wells, but they are also vulnerable to you. After all, it is only by your decree that their nurse feels justified in her actions.”

  “Again, Aunt Cynthia, neither you nor I have seen evidence of that, have we?”

  “Do you really need to see such evidence, Hamilton?”

  “This conversation is truly ended, Aunt Cynthia. I shall pull the bell for tea and give you the chance to calm down a little. In truth, I cannot see you leave here in all this state.” Whilst he spoke kindly, Georgette felt suddenly angry with him again.

  “Do not patronize me, Hamilton. I shall not be diverted with tea and sympathy. If you cannot raise those children in an atmosphere of kindness and caring, then I shall do it for you. I know that Josephine would be devastated to know that her precious babies were so out of place in the home that she herself had always loved. I shall take them, Hamilton, and raise them myself.”

  “You will do nothing of the sort.” The Duke’s sudden shout may Georgette physically jump.

  “I see no option, Hamilton.” Lady Lyndon had become a little shrill. “And I cannot see what your objection to it all would be. You yourself say that you cannot look upon them, and it is clear that you have distanced yourself from their upbringing entirely. Surely you would be pleased with the idea of me taking them away. At least then you would never see them. You would not have to look upon them nor hear their little voices.”

  “You will not take the children!” The shout, when it came, was louder than anything that Georgette had ever heard come from another human being.

  Not only was it loud, but it seemed to be filled with the most dreadful emotions. In truth, she was rather too shocked to be able to pick through them, nor even guess at what they might be, but she knew that it was raw emotion nonetheless.

  Finding her hands suddenly shaking and her throat so dry that she could barely swallow, Georgette knew that she must get clear of the area for she felt sure that the Duke and Lady Lyndon could not possibly maintain the drawing room together for very much longer.

  Suddenly panicked, Georgette decided that she must simply run back the way she had come and head for the schoolroom. She had barely made the safety of the narrow corridor which led to the schoolroom by the time she heard the door open and footsteps hastily making their way out of the drawing room.

  She turned by instinct, knowing that she must be seen to be walking forwards rather than walking away. In walking forwards, she could at least claim a certain amount of accidental presence. Walking away would leave her vulnerable to an accusation of eavesdropping. Albeit an accusation well deserved.

  Chapter 16

  Georgette felt a prickling of cold sweat on the back of her neck and raised her head, as she knew she must, to see who had come out of the drawing room.

  It was Lady Lyndon herself, and Georgette looked at the door to the drawing room, breathing a sigh of relief when it was slammed shut from the inside. So, the Duke was not coming out, and he had not seen her. However, it would be very plain to Lady Lyndon that Georgette had at least heard a little of the last moments of the argument.

  Georgette stopped in her tracks, as did Lady Lyndon, and the two women simply looked at each other for a few moments. It felt like a lifetime to Georgette, who was rather expecting to feel the wrath of Lady Lyndon at any moment. Instead, Lady Lyndon simply looked at her rather helplessly, tears streaming down her face.

  When Lady Lyndon turned to look at the doorway leading out of Draycott Hall, Georgette knew that she could not possibly let her leave in such a condition. She would be embarrassed before her own driver and whichever members of the Duke’s staff were outside of the building at that time.

  Without thinking, Georgette hurriedly rushed to the woman and, laying a comforting hand upon her shoulder, silently turned her in the direction of the schoolroom.

  In truth, Georgette was more surprised than she could ever have imagined when Lady Lyndon simply did as she bid her and followed.

  “Forgive me, Lady Lyndon. I did not mean to force you in this direction, but I rather thought you ought not to leave just yet. I do not wish to intrude, My Lady, I simply mean for you to have some privacy in which to gather yourself before returning to your carriage.” Georgette could hear the tremor in her own voice.

  “You have nothing to be forgiven for, my dear Miss Darrington. What kindness you have shown me, and how grateful I am for a few moments respite before I leave this place.”

  “Please do sit down on the couch for a moment,” Georgette said, leading the Duke’s aunt to the little couch in front of the empty fireplace. “You shall not be disturbed in here at all, I can assure you. Mrs Wells has taken the children for the day, and I know that they do not return to the schoolroom once I have finished with them.”

  “Mrs Wells,” Lady Lyndon said somewhat distractedly as she shook her head.

  “My Lady?” Georgette said, feeling somewhat guilty at portraying herself as someone who did not know the entire contents of the conversation Lady Lyndon had just had with her nephew.

  “I daresay you are very aware of the fact that I have just greatly argued with the Duke.”

  “I am afraid that I heard shouting as I was making my way along the corridor. I really am terribly sorry for appearing when I did, My Lady. I meant you no discomfort; in truth, I did not.” Although Georgette knew that she was bending the truth a great deal, she truly had meant Lady Lyndon no discomfort.

  “I am glad you were there, Miss Darrington. I am glad that you were there and that you are quite as courageous as you appear to be. After all, I could not truly have gone outside in all this state, and yet, at that moment, I could not have thought of where to go. I am most grateful to you for leading me here and taking care of me. The children really are very lucky that you have come to Draycott, Miss Darrington. I would hate to think that you would leave them.” To Georgette’s great dismay, Lady Lyndon’s voice broke again and, quite without warning, tears began to run down her face.

  Not knowing what else to do, Georgette sat down at Lady Lyndon’s side on the small couch and put an arm around her shoulders.

  “Oh, Lady Lyndon, I do not want to leave the girls. I have been here such a short time, and already I have come to care for them more than I could ever express. They are such precious children and yet so very fragile and lost.”

  “But if you were to leave them, Miss Darrington, they would be yet more lost.” Lady Lyndon dabbed at her eyes with a beautifully embroidered handkerchief.

  As Georgette l
ooked at her lined and kindly face, she could not help feeling truly sorry for her. Lady Lyndon, despite her title and all the advantages of her aristocratic birth, had a heart so large that it had undoubtedly affected her throughout her life. Georgette wanted to protect her and yet knew that it was not her place. She was a simple governess, and she must remember that, even when comforting so kindly a lady.

  “Please do not make yourself so upset, My Lady. I have no plans to leave the children.” Georgette rather wondered at her own words.

  By saying that she had no plans to leave the children did not mean that she unequivocally never would. In truth, she knew that it was a promise that she could not make in the knowledge that she would never break it. If the Duke was to be so unbending as he had been thus far, Georgette did not know quite what she would do in the end.

  “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear you say it,” Lady Lyndon said and took a deep and steadying breath. “I care so greatly for Eleri and Ffion. And I see them so rarely, yet I cannot stop thinking of them. They are the very image of their mother at the age.” She broke off and stared into space a little wistfully.

  “And their mother has died?” Georgette said, wanting to press for information but knowing that she must do it most carefully and cautiously.

  “Yes, Josephine died eight months ago. And Eleri and Ffion were so very young. Not much more than three years in this world, and they lost everybody who mattered most to them.”

  “Goodness me, their father also?”

  “Their mother, their father, and the only grandparents they had ever known.”

  “What on earth happened?”

  “A most dreadful infection seemed to sweep across several villages in Snowdonia. It began almost like influenza of some sort but turned quite morbid for almost everybody afflicted. It did not affect everybody. In truth, it would appear that many seemed quite immune. And so it seemed so very cruel that my niece and her husband both succumbed to the dreadful thing within days of each other. And to make matters so very much worse, the children’s paternal grandparents, who had been with them helping to nurse Josephine and Carwyn, fell prey to the dreadful infection also and died within the week. In just seven days, Eleri and Ffion had lost both of their parents and their grandparents.” Lady Lyndon hastily dug back into the sleeve of her gown where she had, just moments before, stowed away the handkerchief she had clearly thought herself finished with. As her tears began to fall, Georgette felt herself quite overcome.

  “Their Nain and Taid,” she said quietly and quite without thinking.

  “Nain and Taid?” Lady Lyndon said, somewhat confused.

  “Oh dear,” Georgette said, realizing that she had exposed her own secret. Lady Lyndon was looking at her expectantly, and she knew she must provide an answer. “Their grandparents,” Georgette said, apologetically.

  “Nain and Taid,” Lady Lyndon said as absently as Georgette had said it in the first place. “Their grandmother and grandfather.” Lady Lyndon looked at Georgette for confirmation.

  “Yes, it is Welsh for grandmother and grandfather. I rather picked it up from the girls.” Georgette had the awful feeling that she would say something which would see the children in yet more trouble. “But it was before I quite realized the situation, My Lady. It was before I had known that the words were not to be spoken in the house. I had asked them, you see. I mean, they did not willfully disobey all they had learned. It was just that they did not know. And I did not know; not exactly.” Georgette knew that she was faltering dreadfully.

  “That is not entirely true, Miss Darrington, is it?” Lady Lyndon held her gaze fixedly.

  There was nothing that Georgette could say but the truth. If she continued to lie, she would simply push Lady Lyndon away from her. But she rather thought that to tell the truth in its entirety might also have the same result. And yet she had no choice.

  “Forgive me, My Lady. I am a little flustered and do not know quite what to say about things.”

  “Then you must speak freely, Miss Darrington. You do not have to find an answer which you think will suit me, for that is not what I am seeking.”

  “My Lady, it is true that Mrs Wells had tried to instruct me that the children were not to say any words in Welsh. If I am entirely honest with you, I found the notion quite distasteful. I found the very idea that the children ought to be ashamed of themselves for simply speaking the language they grew up speaking rather a heartbreaking sort of thing. And it is true to say that I entirely ignored Mrs Wells’ instruction, for I do not lend anything that woman says any weight whatsoever. And I did not from the very first. You may think that I made my judgment of her a little too immediately, but it has not changed any for getting to know her better.”

  “I am quite sure that it has not,” Lady Lyndon said and smiled at her. “And your instincts and first impressions do you credit, Miss Darrington, for that woman, above any I have ever met, should never dignify herself with the title of nurse.”

  “I should never dare to say such a thing out loud myself, Lady Lyndon, but I can do no other than agree with you wholeheartedly. And I find myself quite unable to bear the cruel treatment she meets out on Eleri and Ffion. She does not hurt them physically, and I cannot make such a claim. But she frightens them, Lady Lyndon. She has such a face and so dreadful a tone when she berates them. I know that she must enforce the Duke’s wishes, as we all must. And yet she seems to do so with such intent. There is nothing kind in what she is doing, and it rather strikes me that she is very well aware of it.”

  “That is why you must not leave them, Miss Darrington. However hard things become, you must stand fast. Please believe me when I tell you that I know that what I ask of you is almost too great. And yet I do not know what else to do or say. Just please, please do not abandon them.”

  “I shall not abandon them, Lady Lyndon.” Georgette felt tears welling in her own eyes. “I promise you,” she said with feeling.

  Feeling herself to suddenly have an ally had made the making of such a promise a thing that she could almost not resist. It was as if it were a foregone conclusion already, something that could not be denied nor turned away from. Georgette would stay with the children for as long as they needed her, however long that might be.

  “And although it might feel as if you are alone here, you are not alone entirely. We shall be friends, Miss Darrington. Not simply because I think that you shall be able to help me, but because I admire your courage and caring. I know what it must have taken to stand up to my nephew. I know what it must have taken because I feel it myself every time I draw the subject to his attention.”

  “But why will he not listen, Lady Lyndon?” Georgette said, knowing that she should, in truth, not really demand such an answer.

  “It is all so very complicated and involved. But it has gone on for such a great swathe of time, and there has been much heartbreak and anger and misunderstanding. It involves love and the sort of choices that ought never to have presented themselves. And I shall tell it to you all, my dear. I shall hold nothing back. But I rather fear that we do not have the time at present. I ought really to be making my way out of Draycott Hall before I expose you to suspicion, Miss Darrington.”

  “I understand, Lady Lyndon, and I thank you for your concern.”

  “I daresay that our time together shall be quite limited, my dear, but I shall swear to you now that you shall know everything, however many attempts I must make to part with my tale.”

  “I thank you for your confidence in me, Lady Lyndon. And I can, of course, assure you of my absolute discretion.”

  “I was already quite sure of it, Miss Darrington, or I should never have begun to take you into my confidence in the first place. I think you are very fine young woman, my dear, and I cannot tell you how grateful I am that Providence has brought you this way.”

  “And I am grateful to have somebody believe what I say, Lady Lyndon, for I care so very greatly for the girls.”

  “I can see it in
you, Miss Darrington.” Lady Lyndon began to rise to her feet and, once standing, took Georgette’s hands in her own. “And so it is that I find I must extract another promise from you.”

  “Please, Lady Lyndon, you have only to mention it.”

  “You must never let those little girls forget who they are. They are Welsh children with beautiful voices and a musical language. You must never let them lose that, Miss Darrington. You must find a way to manage it without causing trouble for yourself or for the girls. In truth, I do not know how such a thing can possibly be managed, but you are brave and resourceful, and I have every faith in you.”

  “I shall try, Lady Lyndon,” Georgette said, her voice thick with emotion. “I shall try my very hardest.”

  Chapter 17

  After church at the end of that week, Georgette decided that she would not waste the afternoon. They were enjoying a truly wonderful summer that year, and she did not want to spend another afternoon of precious free time lying on the tiny bed in her room looking at the ceiling and letting her concerns have free reign of her mind.