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

by Bridget Barton

  Georgette found it rather refreshing to be confronted with a butler who did not seem to have any pent-up animosity reserved especially for governesses.

  “Thank you kindly, Mr Benson,” Georgette said with great respect. In truth, she was really rather grateful for his kindness.

  Georgette liked the drawing room at Winterbourne very much. The small country estate of the late Lord Lyndon was rather a welcoming place not one-tenth of the size of Draycott Hall. Georgette could not help thinking that that was a large part of its appeal for her; she did not have the same feeling of disconnection and isolation that she generally felt on returning to Draycott Hall. Draycott was so very large, and the idea that one could walk great distances within its halls and corridors and meet not one person was ever present.

  “My dear Miss Darrington, I do hope that you do not mind giving up your Sunday afternoon for me.” Lady Cynthia was already on her feet in the drawing room, fussing a little as two maids laid out a very hearty little tea for them.

  Georgette smiled broadly as she regarded the food; so many sandwiches, all neatly cut into beautiful little triangles, and little pastries and tomatoes and apples. When her eyes fell upon the three-tiered platter of little cakes, she almost laughed. So, the Duke had been quite truthful in his assertion that his Aunt Cynthia rather liked to fill little children’s bellies with cake. For a moment, Georgette could quite imagine that dear woman lavishing all manner of love and indulgence upon her nephew when he was but a little boy.

  “Not at all, Lady Lyndon. And the food looks wonderful,” Georgette said with true feeling.

  The tasty stew and dumplings of just days before notwithstanding, Georgette was really rather looking forward to the most palatable food she had been presented with for weeks.

  “Oh dear, is the dreadful Mrs Griffin up to her old tricks?” Lady Lyndon said with an amused smile. “Are you still suffering burnt offerings, or is there now a complete lack?”

  “In truth, I believe things are a little better,” Georgette said, not wishing to be seen to complain. “And I must admit to having been presented with a rather tasty and well-made stew this week. Not a thing upon it spoiled.”

  “Well, enjoy it my dear, but do not trust it,” Lady Lyndon said rather sagely.

  “Yes, perhaps I ought not to let my guard down in that respect.”

  “But let us not think of my nephew’s dreadful servants. Let us sit down and enjoy this lovely tea.”

  Eleri and Ffion were wriggling on the spot, both keen to be seated at the table where the wonderful cakes were.

  “Come on, my girls. Let us get you seated.” She smiled and helped them into the chairs. “Now, what would you like me to put on your plate first?” Lady Cynthia said indulgently as the two little girls peered wide-eyed across the table, both clearly settling upon the cakes.

  “Cakes, please,” Eleri said, and Georgette and Lady Lyndon both laughed.

  “Eleri, perhaps you ought to eat a sandwich first. Or even just a tomato,” Georgette said and was delighted to hear Ffion laugh quite unguardedly.

  “Yes, Eleri, you cannot just eat cakes the whole afternoon,” Ffion said happily.

  “Oh, you wonderful little girls,” Lady Lyndon said, standing between them and placing a wrinkled hand on each of the bright blonde heads.

  In no time at all, the girls were happily munching away, and Georgette, feeling herself a little gluttonous, helped herself to yet another little pastry.

  “Forgive me,” she said when Lady Cynthia looked up at her and smiled.

  “Not at all. It is here to be eaten, and I shall be most distressed if I must send the better part of it back below stairs. Eat up, my dear.”

  “You really are so very kind, Lady Lyndon.”

  “As are you, my dear,” she said, clearly alluding to the last time they had met. “I rather thought church went well today,” She added, significantly.

  Immediately, Georgette realized that Lady Cynthia was not referring to the watery sermon delivered by the tiresome Reverend Merrydown.

  “Yes, quite without incident. And the carriage ride was quite a revelation, My Lady.”

  “Oh?” Lady Lyndon said, clearly keen to hear the details. “Now then, girls, I wonder if I can trust you to sit at the table by yourselves whilst Miss Darrington and I make ourselves more comfortable on one of the couches.” She mused with a smile on her face. “Or will you simply eat all of the cakes and make yourselves ill?”

  “We promise we won’t,” Eleri said with the air of a little girl who had absolutely no intention whatsoever of keeping that particular promise.

  “Well then, Miss Darrington and I shall leave you, but we shall only be but a few steps away.”

  Once they were satisfied that the girls were perfectly happy where they were, Georgette and Lady Cynthia took a seat together on a pale pink velvet covered couch.

  With her hunger satisfied, Georgette was now free to look around the room a little. It was not one-tenth of the size of the immense drawing room at Draycott Hall, and yet, once again, Georgette found herself liking it very much better. It was still very much larger than the drawing room that she had enjoyed in her London home but, of course, there seemed always to be a little more space in the country.

  The wood paneling on the walls was all painted in a rather fresh pale ivory colour, giving the room a wonderful feeling of space whilst at the same time not taking anything away from its air of coziness. The windows were very much smaller than those in the drawing room at Draycott Hall but were pleasingly arched and framed by soft velvet drapes in the very same pale pink of the furniture.

  The round oak table and chairs where the girls still sat had been set in an alcove in front of one of the arched windows. On the opposite corner of the room, there was a rather large piano in a gleaming mahogany wood. Next to the piano was a harp, and Georgette found her attention very much drawn to it. It had been many years since she had seen a harp, and she had never played one. It left her wondering if Lady Lyndon was something of an avid musician. If she was, perhaps she might assist in the teaching of the wonderful accomplishment to the girls. Perhaps such a thing would give her yet another legitimate excuse for attending that good woman’s home.

  Chapter 20

  “You were saying the carriage ride to church this morning was rather interesting, Miss Darrington,” Lady Lyndon said, clearly keen to return to their conversation.

  “Yes, I was quite taken aback,” Georgette said and was pleased to see that the children were paying their conversation no heed whatsoever. Rather they were chattering happily between themselves, and Georgette smiled as she saw Eleri reach for yet another cake. “Because it is the first time that I have heard His Grace speak to the children so conversationally.”

  “He spoke to them without prompting?” Lady Lyndon’s eyebrows rose.

  “Yes, quite out of the blue he asked them if they were looking forward to their tea here.”

  “Well, I rather think that is progress of a sort.”

  “And he went on to tell them not to eat too many cakes, for he had often eaten too many cakes here himself when he was a little boy,” Georgette went on, pleased to see a look of happiness cross Lady Cynthia’s lined and kindly face.

  “Oh, he did. I daresay I was as much at fault for I cannot help indulging children. But dear little Hamilton would just reach for cake after cake, picking up one whilst he still had a mouthful of its predecessor. But he was just the most adorable little boy, and I absolutely doted upon him. I think more than once he made himself ill, and yet it did not stop him on his next visit. He would attack the cakes again, and I would provide them in the same great quantities.”

  “It sounds as if the two of you think a great deal of one another,” Georgette said, hoping that she was not overstepping the conversational mark.

  “We certainly did. And I hope that we still do, despite our difficulties. In truth, I shall always see him as I did then; however tall and broad he is, and however tac
iturn and morose he becomes, he will always be little Hamilton.”

  “Really, My Lady, how lovely.”

  “He would undoubtedly fight against it. Men always do.” She chuckled. “But tell me, are you quite well?”

  “I am very well, My Lady. I thank you,” Georgette said and felt greatly pleased to note how very genuine Lady Cynthia’s inquiry was. “I have been greatly relieved these last days as I feel a sense that things are settling just a little.”

  “I am very pleased to hear that, my dear. I do not wish to disrupt such a good feeling, but I must once again beg that you remain vigilant. I should not like you to find yourself most horribly surprised by something.”

  “It is good advice, My Lady.”

  “You know, I really am so pleased to hear that my nephew has addressed the girls, even in so small a way. When he was a very much younger man, he was a most kind and attentive brother to his little sister.”

  “That is a good thing, My Lady, for I rather think that not all brothers are so,” Georgette said with a smile.

  “No indeed,” Lady Lyndon said, nodding furiously and agreeing. “But Hamilton absolutely adored Josephine. When their mother died, Josephine was but four years old. Just a little older than these two poor little mites were when Josephine was taken from them.”

  “Oh dear, that really is most terribly sad.”

  “Indeed, it was sad, my dear. Hamilton was sixteen years himself, and quite the little gentleman. He was so clever and bright and caring. And he was such a tall and broad youth, having almost the body of the man when he was still but a boy. And he seemed to take on such great responsibilities as if he himself believed that he was fully grown.”

  “And yet sixteen is full young to lose one’s mother,” Georgette said, knowing the pain of such an early loss herself.

  “But he did everything in his power to keep little Josephine’s spirits up. He told such wonderful stories of heaven and how they would see their mother again and that nothing would ever change between them. Really, I can hardly think of it now, all these years later, without crying.”

  “So, the two of them were very close?”

  “As close as any brother and sister could be. He could never bear to see a look of sadness on her face in anything and always sought to play with her and make her laugh whenever it was so. I have seen him, a man of twenty years, crawling about the floor in the style of a horse with his eight-year-old sister sitting on his back, squealing and laughing with happiness.”

  “What a wonderfully attentive brother. How proud you must be of him.”

  “Yes, I had always been so proud. Their father, you see, as good a man as he was, was not particularly attentive himself. He had never been particularly a part of things and seemed to drift ever more after my dear sister passed away. I have nothing to resent in Hamilton’s father. The old Duke was a good man, and he adored my sister greatly. I just wish he could have found a way to be a little closer to his children. He loved them, I have no doubt; he just had no means at his disposal with which to express it.”

  “It is sad, My Lady, but I believe not uncommon.” She thought of her own father and realized that she could not give him even that much credit.

  After all, he had not been a man who loved his child but could not show it. He had been a man who had paid her little heed because he had thought very little of her.

  “Still, Josephine did not suffer for it. She had a brother and a parent in Hamilton and was, as such, a very lucky girl. It was Hamilton I felt for, being old enough to understand the pain of his mother’s loss and to note the lack of support and attention from his father. He must have felt so incredibly alone at times.”

  “But he had you, My Lady.”

  “Yes, indeed he did, Miss Darrington. I wanted so much to take over where my dear sister had been forced to leave off. I tried to be a mother to him and, I daresay at times, I rather overdid it and got under his skin.” She shrugged and chuckled.

  “I believe all good mothers do that, Lady Lyndon. I rather think it is the mark of a good mother, is it not?” she said, wondering, a little sadly, at Lady Lyndon’s lack of children of her own.

  Surely, she would have been a wonderful mother, and Georgette could only assume that maternity had simply never been an incident in Lady Lyndon’s life. While she felt incredibly sad for her, she felt pleased also that she’d had her sister’s children as an outlet for the great love she had to give.

  In truth, Georgette thought it little wonder that the poor woman now suffered such heartbreak at the ever-widening chasm that was opening up between herself and her much-adored nephew.

  “You really are such a kind young woman, Miss Darrington.” Lady Lyndon smiled at her, holding her gaze kindly. “I just wish that Hamilton and I could be a little closer now. Oh, and I wish with all my heart that we had not lost dear Josephine.”

  “It must have come as a most terrible shock to you.”

  “It did; a great shock and a great sadness. For you see, we had not seen her for some years, and I think it is that, as much as anything else, which torments Hamilton so.”

  “But where had Lady Josephine been?” Georgette asked, thinking herself safe to do so. After all, Lady Lyndon was parting with such great confidences that she must trust her entirely.

  “She had moved to Wales, my dear. She had been there for more than five years, almost six when she died. And, in all that time, Hamilton had not set eyes upon her once. I had only seen her once myself, having made the journey to Snowdonia not long after the girls were born. I had so wanted to see them, you see, and could not bear the thought that my dear Josephine had become a mother, and yet not one member of her family would be there to celebrate it with her.”

  “But why had your nephew not seen his sister for so long? If he had adored her so greatly as she has grown up, what possibly could have kept them apart?”

  “Anger and jealousy, my dear. You see when she was but nineteen years, Josephine met Carwyn Thomas.”

  “The man she married?” Georgette asked cautiously.

  “Yes, the man she married. Oh, she loved him so.”

  “But your nephew did not approve?”

  “My dear, he did not. He disliked poor Carwyn instantly; the very moment the poor man spoke, my nephew was a changed man.”

  “Because Mr. Thomas spoke with a Welsh accent?”

  “The very strongest accent, Miss Darrington. And Josephine had never heard anything so wonderful. She thought his accent like music to her and his language like a wonderful poem that she could not understand.”

  “But where did they meet?” Georgette said, feeling herself drawn inexorably to the romantic little tragedy.

  “Through a mutual friend. They were both at an evening of interest being held by a good woman in Oxford. The sort of woman who often has poets and authors and musicians to surprise and delight her guests. And dear Josephine did so love such amusements. She was a regular attendee to that particular Oxford drawing room, and it was there that she met dear Carwyn. He was in Oxford, you see, visiting his aunt. His aunt had married an Englishman, a man who had done really rather well for himself, and it was she who had secured him an invite to the evening of interest.”

  “I wonder what the evening was?” Georgette said a little wistfully.

  “Knowing my dear Josephine, it will have been poetry,” Lady Cynthia spoke with warmth and sadness. “And, of course, Carwyn Thomas was rather a lover of poetry himself. And he introduced her to the Welsh poets, buying her book after book and reading to her whenever they met. It was inevitable, really, that the two of them would fall in love. They were both so young and unblemished by the world. They cared nothing for differences or society; they were simply at that wonderful age where everything is fresh, and your heart and mind are filled with the most wonderful ideals.”

  “I must say, that is most terribly romantic,” Georgette said, wondering if she would ever experience such a love in her life.

  Of course,
the whole thing was really rather unlikely now. She was a governess, a servant, and the chances of finding a young man such as that to be interested in her were really rather slim.

  “Oh, it really was. Dear Josephine seemed almost afloat everywhere she went, so in love was she.”

  “But her brother would not relent?”

  “No, he would not. He would not even talk to her about the man. He had simply told her that a woman of her status could not possibly marry a man so low-born.”

  “But was Carwyn Thomas really so very low-born?”

  “He had spent his entire life in North Wales surrounded by the most wonderful scenery imaginable. And the house they lived in was rather large and set in some small, but very pretty, grounds. They were certainly not poor, and I believe their household stretched to a housekeeper and a cook if my memory serves me correctly. But of course, as beautiful as the place was, the house would have been worth very little in comparison to something similar here in England. Quite why that matters, I do not know. But my nephew could not see around it. He had quite decided that his sister would be married into wealth and comfort, and he could not seem to shake the notion from his head that she would be suffering in some way.”