The Extraordinary Tale of the Rebellious Governess
A Historical Regency Romance Novel
Emma Linfield
Edited by
Robin Spencer
Contents
A Thank You Gift
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
The Perilous Quest of he Rejected Duchess
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Also by Emma Linfield
About the Author
A Thank You Gift
Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.
As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called The Betrayed Lady Winters. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.
Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.
With love and appreciation,
Emma Linfield
About the Book
Changing the past is not an option, but you can always try to define the future...
The poisoned needle that threatens a little child’s life is the only clue for Miss Lucretia Brent to solve the puzzle of a deadly disease that comes upon the Dukedom of Breckenridge.
Sampson Claridge, the fraught Duke of Breckenridge has to manage not only his dukedom but also his little sister. Completely enamored by the new governess, he needs her help to find the way out of the impending tragedy that threatens his kin.
Sins of the past awake and they are all used for blackmail. As time runs short, Lucretia and Sampson have only a few hours to solve the puzzle or forever be gone.
Chapter 1
“Miss Lucretia! Miss Lucretia!”
She glanced up from her task of assisting the three and four-year-old foundlings into their day clothes. Willie, a ten-year-old orphan wearing dark grey woolens and a shirt that used to be white, waited at the door for Lucretia’s permission to enter. He bounced from foot to foot, his round face eager. Picking up a brush, she stroked it through the tiny girl’s thin, scraggly hair, gently tugging out the knots acquired during her restless sleep the night before. The child stuck her thumb in her mouth to suck.
“Now, you are too old for that, Rose,” Lucretia admonished quietly. “You are no longer a baby, am I right?”
Rose pulled her digit from between her lips, her pinched face puckering as though she were about to cry.
“You are a big girl now, sweetling,” Lucretia told her, reaching around Rose’s neck to gently stroke her cheek. “And big girls do not suck their thumbs.”
“I sorry, Miss Luce.” Rose scrubbed her eyes with her small fists.
Lucretia waved for Willie to enter the chamber filled with small, narrow beds. Toys were scattered on the stone floor and thin, colorful rugs. Two children quarreled over a wooden horse, and Lucretia decided it was not yet fierce enough to warrant her interference. “You look as if you need to use the privy, boy,” she said, as Willie stood beside her, still shifting from foot to foot with impatience.
“Mrs. Marsh sent me to fetch you,” Willie said, his missing front teeth clear as he grinned. “I think it is important.”
Lucretia reached out and straightened his collar, tucking his shirt into his breeches tidily. “Have you finished your breakfast, Willie?”
“Yes, Miss. It was stewed apples with cinnamon. I loves cinnamon.”
“Good. Now run back to Mrs. Marsh and tell her I must see these children to breakfast, then I will come to her office.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“And then you practice your sums. I will look at your work shortly.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Willie ran through the toddlers’ room and out the door as Lucretia rose from the three-legged stool she sat upon. Breaking up the quarrel over the toy horse, she clapped her hands. “Come now, children. Time to break your fast. Line up at the door.”
At her words, the nine small orphans lined up obediently, waiting for her to lead them to the dining hall. As she was more frail than the others, Lucretia picked Rose up and carried her, then walked briskly down the corridor with her charges giggling and chattering behind her. The small dining room at the Foundling Hospital was on the same floor as the ward for small children, thus she did not have to take them far. Handing them over to the kitchen matron, Lucretia then walked up the many flights of stairs to the upper chambers.
Pausing at a window to observe her reflection, Lucretia tidied her red-gold tresses, coiled into a neat bun at her neck. Wiping a smudge of dirt from her cheek, she inspected her light complexion and wished, not for the first time, she could wipe away her scattering of freckles from her nose. Of all her features, she liked her eyes the best – light brown, like new honey fresh from the comb. Most people who met her complimented her on her unusual eye color.
Straightening her pale blue gown trimmed with white lace, Lucretia retied her apron, and decided she appeared presentable before knocking on the Hospital Matron’s door.
“Come in,” came the call from within.
Lucretia opened the door and entered, closing it softly behind her. She curtsied to Mrs. Marsh, seated behind her desk, and waited for her invitation to approach. As one of the administrators of the Foundling Hospital, Mrs. Marsh could often be quite harsh in her discipline. Yet, once Lucretia grew old enough to help with the care and education with the other orphans, she and Mrs. Marsh got along quite well.
“Come here, child,” Mrs. Marsh said, at last looking up from her papers.
As she often did when inside Mrs. Marsh’s private domain, Lucretia gazed longingly as the shelves and rows of books. The matron kept an extensive collection, and willingly loaned them to Lucretia, always with the admonition to return it quickly and without damage. If any of her precious books came back not in the same condition, the lending of books ceased immediately.
“Sit down.”
Lucretia smiled before taking one of the chairs in front of the desk. “You wished to see me, Mrs.Marsh?”
“Yes, I did, dear.” Mrs. Marsh gazed at her with sorrow in her pale blue eyes. She folded her hands atop her desk, her full lips thinned, tense.
Lucretia felt a chill creep down her spine. Something was wrong. While a summons to visit the matron in her office was quite ordinary, Mrs. Marsh nearly always greeted Lucretia with a warm smile, and sometimes with a cup of tea. She ran her recent actions and behavior through her mind, thinking she had done something to attract the matron’s i
re. If she had erred in some way, she had no idea what that could be.
“I am in receipt of a letter, Lucretia,” Mrs. Marsh said, picking up a piece of parchment. “It appears His Grace, the Duke of Breckenridge, is in need of a governess.”
Lucretia felt her heart stop. Resting in her lap, her fingers twisted together in anxiety.
No, she cannot possibly mean me. I cannot leave here.
Swallowing hard, she stared, unseeing, downward. The Foundling Hospital was the only home she’d ever known. While most young men and women her age left the Hospital with the education necessary to begin a trade outside, she expected to spend her life here, caring for the children. She wanted nothing else – not even marriage and her own offspring.
“Lucretia?”
Glancing up, she forced herself to meet Mrs. Marsh’s eyes. “Perhaps Helen Murphy will make a good governess,” she ventured, hoping Mrs. Marsh had asked her here for her opinion only. Yet, deep down, she knew better. The matron’s tension would not manifest itself if she merely wanted Lucretia’s judgement.
“Helen is seventeen,” Mrs. Marsh said, her tone quiet, kind. “You are twenty, three years past the time you should be out of our care and custody. No, child, you must go to the Duke’s estates in Gloucestershire, and become His Grace’s new governess.”
A sudden flare of anger overrode her fear. She straightened her back. “No.”
Mrs. Marsh gazed at her, her brows lowering. “Do not defy me in this, Lucretia. Your time with us has ended. You must venture out into the world.”
“You cannot make me. I refuse to go.”
“I will not get angry with you at this moment,” the matron went on, her tone hardening. “I know of your fears. However, I will not tolerate this insubordination from you. You will leave this house and go to into the Duke’s service.”
Lucretia merely sat and waited. I will not go. I will not.
“It breaks my heart to see you leave here, child,” Mrs. Marsh went on. “But your only choice is Breckenridge or the workhouse.”
“You need me here,” Lucretia said, her tone as level as she could make it. “I look after the children, I keep them clean, teach them manners, and their letters and arithmetic.”
“And that is what makes you an excellent governess, Lucretia,” Mrs. Marsh replied. “Please do not fret. You will have your room and board, clothing, plus a nice salary. In time, perhaps the Duke will arrange a suitable marriage for you. The workhouse is a harsh place, and I would not see you go there unless you leave me no other option. Child, this Hospital is a temporary home only.”
“But you need me.” Lucretia gripped her skirts until her knuckles turned white. Workhouses are terrible places, but how can I leave everything I have ever known behind?Surely Mrs. Marsh will have pity on me.
Mrs. Marsh nodded. “You have done quite well here, too, I will admit. The other orphans are respectful and well-mannered, and during your tenure here many have gone to have good lives because of you. Believe me, you will be missed.”
Drawing a deep breath, Lucretia forced calm into her frazzled nerves, released her anger. “Then there is no chance of my remaining here?”
“None.”
“When must I leave?”
Mrs. Marsh glanced at the letter. “His Grace expects you in six days.”
“Am I dismissed, Mrs.Marsh?”
“Not yet.”
Folding her hands once more, the matron gazed at her earnestly, a faint smile crossing her stern features. “I do understand your trepidation, Lucretia. You have been here since you were an infant, after your parents died in that dreadful accident. You have been training for this moment all your life. I know you will make me proud.”
Studying her hands, Lucretia stifled her sudden urge to plead, to beg to be allowed to remain, even without pay. Such would not help her. Orphans at the Foundling Hospital all grew up to find trades, marry, have children of their own. She knew this moment would arrive one day, despite hoping and praying she could be the one exception – the one foundling who remained to live out her life there, assisting other orphaned children into the world outside.
Mrs. Marsh’s voice turned cool. “You are dismissed, Lucretia.”
Standing, she curtsied, then walked with her spine stiff and her head high to the door. Determined to not weep, Lucretia shut the office door behind her. Though she scarcely felt her legs under her, she maintained her youthful dignity as she traversed the corridor and down the stairs.
However much she recognized it as unreasonable and unworthy, hatred for the Duke of Breckenridge filled her heart. Fiercely resenting his need for a governess, Lucretia fervently wished he’d gone elsewhere to search for one.
As she walked, her knees shaking, Lucretia knew she would not long survive the Duke’s service.
How can I leave this place, my home? Workhouse or servitude to a Duke, how can I survive?
Chapter 2
Trotting his bay stallion down the road, Sampson Claridge, the Duke of Breckenridge, did not look forward to returning home. He had ridden out shortly after dawn with his two closest companions to inspect his lavish stud farm a few miles south of his home.Though he never said so aloud, his stud was one of the finest in the realm. Even the Prince Regent bought his horses, and asked his advice.
Now, late in the afternoon, Sampson wished he had other work that might keep him away. The huge manor house seemed to echo with loneliness ever since the death of his mother, and Henrietta’s anguish only made the place more difficult to bear.
“Is something the matter, Sampson?”
He glanced to his right to find Oliver eyeing him closely.
“You are quiet,” Oliver continued, “even for you.”
Sampson offered a half-nod, half-shrug. “It is Henrietta,” he answered.
“She is not ill?” asked George from his other side.
“No, not ill.” Sampson shook his head. “No, I fear I have enraged her when I informed her I sent for a governess.”
Oliver Fortescue, the sixth Earl of Egerton, clicked his tongue in sympathy. “With the Duchess gone, she should be under the care of a governess rather than the household servants.”
“I agree. I told her that. But she insists she has no need for a governess. She claimed she will make any governess’s life miserable should I send for one.”
“You coddle her too much, my dear Sampson,” George said, smiling. “Show her a firm hand and she will learn obedience.”
Though he knew that would only make the situation with Henrietta worse, Sampson admitted he was right. He did tend to permit his ten-year-old sister to have her way more often than not, and now he paid the price. Yet, his intense love for her – the only family he had left–would not allow him to be strict with her. One glance into those hazel-green eyes and he eagerly granted Henrietta her every wish.
“If I know the girl at all,” Oliver said, “that will not be easy. She is as stubborn as you are.”
Sampson permitted himself a small smile. “We are siblings, after all.”
“When will your new governess arrive?” George asked.
George Carter, the third Baron of Gillinghamshire, was his friend since childhood. As their estates bordered one another, he and George often spent time at one another’s properties. Rather than breed fine bloodstock as Sampson, he preferred to raise cattle and sell them over the border in Wales. Yet, he spent more time at either Sampson’s home or Oliver’s than his own. Sampson never quite understood this, as he governed his own small realm with his own hands. As he enjoyed the Baron’s company, he never spoke of it.
“I have only just sent the letter,” he replied, gazing around at the beautiful rolling hills of Gloucestershire. “I do not expect her until next week.”
“Plenty of time to get Henrietta used to the notion,” Oliver said.
“What is the latest news from the Prince Regent?” George asked.
“Very little, I am afraid,” Sampson answered. “His Royal Highness
has not called me to court, thus I am out of touch with London.”
“I heard rumors His Majesty the King has taken a turn for the worse,” Oliver put in.
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