‘Thank you, Mr Greaves.’ She smiled a bit. ‘I accept this offer.’
To her amusement, he flushed again at this reminder of his rakish behaviour. ‘You are most welcome, Mrs Merrill. By the way, you haven’t enquired about the salary.’
She smiled ruefully. ‘I’m not in a very good position to bargain, am I?’
He grinned. ‘Excellent. Then I shall pay you twice what you were getting from Lady Masters.’
‘Twice?’ she echoed, startled. One reason she’d so quickly accepted her former post was because the situation paid considerably more than a governess normally earned—Lady Masters, perhaps, having had difficulty finding a qualified individual who was willing to work on an estate in such a remote part of Hampshire…or tolerate her vile husband. ‘You truly wish to offer that much?’
‘You shall be instructing quite a few more children than you did as a governess.’
That was true, she acknowledged. Then the thought struck her that perhaps, moved by her plight and that of her brother, Mr Greaves had decided to strike back for them by chousing his employer out of a hefty sum to set up his school.
She was smiling at the idea when the humiliating realisation struck her that, employed or not, at the moment she was still homeless and without funds. ‘I’m afraid I shall have to beg an advance on that enormous salary. I must find lodgings and purchase some necessities.’
He waved a hand. ‘No reason for that. You can lodge here. We’ll probably set up the school in one of the old cottages nearest Hazelwick, once workmen have time to repair and furnish it.’
Lodge—under his roof? Unbidden, the image of his lips taking hers invaded her head. She felt a blush mount her cheeks. ‘It wouldn’t be…proper.’
He raised his brows. ‘Not proper? Why? You resided in the same dwelling as your employers in Hampshire. Had Lord Masters conducted himself as a gentleman, no one, yourself included, would have thought there was anything improper about it.’
He was quite right. She wasn’t an unmarried—or even married—lady of quality any longer, but a servant who did not have a reputation to safeguard. Nor would she be joining the household of a single gentleman. Though she suspected Mr Greaves, like herself, was gentry-born, he too had become simply an employee, albeit the most important one at this estate.
Though to her, she thought with a thrill of warmth in her breast, not even a duke could have conducted himself more nobly. She would be both thankful and proud to work for him. She’d just have to keep her lustful imaginings to herself.
But as she was about to agree, one other objection occurred to her. ‘What of Lord Englemere? I doubt he’d be happy about housing the sister of the man he just sent packing.’
Mr Greaves gave her a smile that looked positively conspiratorial, strengthening her conviction that he’d deliberately offered her an outrageous salary as a recompense for Lord Englemere’s dismissal of her brother. ‘You needn’t worry about Lord Englemere. I have the charge of Blenhem Hill now. So—have we a bargain?’ He offered his hand.
She took it, feeling a little tingle where their fingers linked. ‘A bargain. No more little “tests”, though! From now on, we shall deal with each other honestly.’
Chapter Six
A fter he’d sent Mrs Merrill back to her chamber to begin preparing lists of what they would need to set up a school, Ned poured himself another glass of wine and sank into his chair behind the desk.
Though she seemed to think he’d been joking, he’d not exaggerated when he’d claimed he’d found pretending to make advances to her disturbing. First, because as he stood near her, her luscious breasts brushing his chest, her tempting lips parted in surprise, he was consumed by desire so intense and compelling that even after seeing the fear on her face, he’d had to battle himself to step away.Quite a lowering realisation for one who’d always considered himself impeccably honourable. What a damnable fool lust could make of a man!
Even now, thinking back on it, his hands trembled at the violence of his conflicting emotions. He’d felt like the veriest beast in nature for frightening Mrs Merrill—even while still wanting her more than his next breath.
He blew out a breath now. At least he had resisted. Not that he wanted her any less, but if he ever felt the velvet touch of Mrs Merrill’s lips against his, it would be because she wanted the kiss as much as he did.
An unlikely occurrence, given that she’d nearly been attacked by her last employer and frightened half out of her wits by him.
Though he wasn’t very proud of his behaviour on the seduction front, he was pleased he’d hit upon the notion of engaging her to create a school. Though, as she suspected, he’d not yet begun planning one at Blenhem Hill, he was a firm believer in the value of education. He’d seen first-hand the good results he’d described to her after setting up a school on his holdings in Kent.
Establishing such a venture was not as easy as it might seem, though, he’d discovered. Finding a building and furnishings were the least of the problems. Some backward-thinking individuals, both yeoman and gentry, felt that farm children had no need of book learning, nor anything else that took them out of the fields.
It was a project he would have to work on with her, both to refurbish a building and to persuade the local inhabitants to allow their children to attend. He found the idea of collaborating closely with her appealing indeed.
He was also pleased to have struck upon a way, short of bodily restraint, to prevent her from leaving Blenhem Hill still destitute and in desperate need of immediate employment. If not in Hazelwick, almost certainly somewhere along the way to London some unscrupulous rogue, leering at those plump lips and that alluring figure and discovering her wholly alone and without resources, would have tricked or forced her into the position Lord Masters had envisioned for her.
Ned’s lip curled. If he ever encountered her unlamented former employer, he’d plant him a facer before kicking him down the street. No woman should be preyed upon, regardless of her station, but for a person of title to abuse his wealth and power in such a way infuriated him. A man like that—he’d not dignify him with the title of ‘gentleman’, regardless of his rank—ought to be crushed underfoot like a maggot on a corn stalk.
How providential his idea to present himself as plain ‘Mr Greaves’ had turned out to be! If Mrs Merrill had met him as ‘Sir Edward’, owner of the estate, Ned was nearly certain she would have refused to remain at the manor. Not only would she have considered it improper, at the moment she obviously did not have a very high opinion of titled gentlemen.
Of course, he knew the truth and it really wasn’t proper. But he’d been surprised by the strength of his desire to persuade her to stay, not just so she would be protected from potential debauchers—or even because he still wanted her himself, badly as he did.
Quite simply, he liked her. When he considered how terrifying it must have been to find herself alone, penniless, unprotected, without property, husband or position and no means to earn any, he could not help but admire her courage and endurance. Walking five miles alone through the rain! By heaven, she had fortitude!
He chuckled when he recalled her tart responses after she realised he’d not truly been trying to seduce her. Plant him a facer, would she? He looked forward to more demonstrations of that spirit.
Although he had to squirm when he recalled her declaration that they might now deal with each other honestly. She’d presented him with a perfect opening to confess he was not who he appeared. But though he was certain she had no connection to the attack on the road, he had not yet begun to uncover the truth behind that incident. The reasons for him to remain simply ‘Mr Greaves’ were as compelling now as they’d been when he’d first conceived of the notion.
Nor had he told her the truth about her brother or defended Nicky from her censure. Of course, simple ‘Mr Greaves’ could hardly claim to know a Marquess intimately enough to vouch for his character. Distraught as she already was, he didn’t think it would have
been a kindness to speak contemptuously of the brother she so obviously admired. Nor was it likely, given her memories of Anders, that she would have believed Ned’s testimony anyway.
She had noticed how well the manor was kept. Having grown up in a parsonage rather than on an agricultural estate, she might not recognise the wretched condition of the fields, but as they went about the estate in the process of setting up the school, she would surely observe the harsh contrast between the comfort of the manor house and the poverty and misery of the tenants and their dwellings.
With time and a discerning eye, there’d be no need for him to disparage her brother; her own observations would lead her to draw a more accurate conclusion about the reasons behind Anders’s dismissal.
Smiling as he recalled the determined look on her face as she left the room to go and prepare her lists, he raised his glass once more to the new mistress of Blenhem Hill’s first school. He was looking forward to bandying words with her every day over breakfast and dinner, to riding about the estate together as they conferred over the creation of the school and the recruiting of its pupils. Though while they did, he’d have to keep the lust within firmly leashed—unless Mrs Merrill herself chose to loose it.
‘To you, my intrepid Mrs Merrill,’ he said and drained the glass.
A fortnight later, wearing one of the cook’s voluminous aprons to protect her oldest gown, Joanna worked at cleaning out the inside of the gutted wreck of an old stone cottage. Located just off the lane to Hazelwick, adjacent to the village yet readily accessible from most of the farms on the estate, it would, Mr Greaves believed, be the best location for the new school.Outside, some workmen from the village were assembling thatch to replace the roof. Tomorrow or the next day, he’d told her, stonemasons would arrive to repair the walls, while, as soon as they finished the interior work on the stocking-mill project Mr Greaves was directing, estate carpenters would come here to begin constructing doors, window frames, desks and benches for the school.
She wiped her grubby hands on the apron and peered at the sky. Judging from the position of the sun, it was well after noon. Cook had packed her a basket of ham, bread and cheese to sustain her for the day. Though she was hungry, she’d delayed opening it, hoping, as he had the last two days, that Mr Greaves might pause in his work to come by and share it with her.
Otherwise she seldom saw him during the day, which he spent riding about the estate with its former manager, old Mr Martin, assessing the needs of the tenants and preparing for the spring planting. After completing her planning lists, she’d spent two days lounging in the morning room reading books he’d lent her. After viewing the building he’d selected as the schoolhouse, she’d argued him into letting her come and begin cleaning it. She was unaccustomed to being idle, she’d told him, and not afraid of a little hard work.
Becoming actively involved in the project also gave her something else to discuss with him over breakfast and dinner. Though he was far too prone to encourage her to speak while he listened, that intent expression on his face that made one think he found whatever one was discoursing about the most fascinating topic in the world.
After a year with only children and housemaids to talk to, she’d been all too easy to encourage, she thought ruefully, especially by a gentleman as attractive and attentive as Mr Greaves. After merely a week, he knew nearly everything about her, from birth to her sojourn in India. Having never travelled outside of England, he’d been especially eager to have her describe in detail the people, culture and happenings in that faraway land. They’d whiled away every evening after dinner in the small salon while she related stories of everyday life there interspersed with the tales and legends about the exotic land in which her husband and father had served and that she’d come to love.
The subtle, sensual something that sparked between them whenever they were together doubtless also played a part in her desire to linger after dinner. Being with him made her realise just how much she’d missed a man’s companionship. She found herself revelling in the simple pleasure of hearing his deep-toned voice, engaging his lively wit…observing the leashed power of his body.
Several times she’d caught her gaze lingering on the play of his lips or wandering down his torso from the strong shoulders to the flat stomach to the moulded front of his breeches. Fortunately, though she sensed he found her attractive as well, he treated her with such respect and restraint that she had no fear he would interpret her appreciation as an invitation to make advances she was not yet sure she wished to encourage.
Admiring his intelligence as much as his sensual appeal, she’d tried to prompt him to tell her about his own life. However, he’d proved surprisingly reticent, turning aside her questions with non-committal responses. Not wishing to pry, after several rebuffs she’d not inquired further. Perhaps, she mused, he’d suffered some sorrow or disappointment he did not wish to share. Which made her all the more curious—and admiring, for if life had treated him harshly, he had emerged from the experience with his optimism, kindness and courtesy intact.
Or perhaps when it came to his own personal affairs, he was just an unusually private person.
Only when she asked him about his work on the estate did his eyes light up and his face grow animated. Though she knew next to nothing about farm management, she loved to listen as he talked about his plans for breaking new ground, rotating crops, instituting improved planting techniques and working with the tenants to rebuild and refurbish their cottages. Then there was the mill project to provide supplemental employment for the farmers or those of their families who preferred to work elsewhere than in the fields. As she drove a trap back and forth to work on the schoolhouse, she’d begun to observe details about the countryside and the farm workers she would never have noticed previously.
From his talk of improvements and her own observations, it did appear that the tenants were a rather ragged lot, their dwellings in poor repair and many of their fields overgrown. The distressing thought occurred to her that perhaps Greville hadn’t done as good a job at managing the agricultural part of his duties as she’d assumed, though she was still not ready to excuse Lord Englemere for summarily dismissing him.
She was carrying out another armload of rotted wood framing when over her shoulder, she saw the figure of a man approaching from behind the cottage. Though she’d not heard the hoofbeats of his horse approaching, it must be Mr Greaves, she thought in delight.
Dumping the debris and scrubbing her hands on her apron, she quickly smoothed back under her bonnet the wisps of hair that had escaped their braids and turned to greet him, a welcoming smile on her lips.
She saw immediately that the thin, rangy man limping towards her was not Blenhem Hill’s manager. Her disappointment changed to compassion, though, when she realised that in addition to the limp, the newcomer was missing one arm.
As he approached, he doffed his hat with his remaining hand—although that, too, lacked a thumb. ‘Excuse me, ma’am. Tanner, the stonemason in the village, told me they were building a new school here. Would you be the mistress?’
Trying not to let her distress over his injuries show on her face, she said, ‘Yes, I am. Can I help you?’
He nodded. ‘If you would, I’d like to engage you to write a letter for me. As you can imagine,’ he said with a bitter twist of his lip, ‘my penmanship isn’t what it used to be.’
‘I would be honoured. Were you in the army? My husband served with the Penrith Rifles in India.’
His dull eyes brightened. ‘A rifleman, is he? My unit was the 95th. Fought with them all through the Peninsula and then at Waterloo. Sergeant Jesse Russell, ma’am.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Sergeant,’ Joanna said, curtsying. ‘I’m Mrs Merrill. I should be happy to pen a missive for you, but I’m afraid I don’t have ink or paper with me. If you’d like to accompany me back to Blenhem Hill manor, I could fetch some from my room.’
His eyes widened. ‘You live at the manor?’
Was he
insinuating there was some impropriety in that? Stiffening at his apparent disapproval, she said, ‘Lodging was provided as part of the conditions of my employment, since there isn’t yet adequate housing here at the school.’
Perhaps he must have noted the defensiveness of her tone, for he replied, ‘Only right you should be offered quarters. I’m just surprised, is all. Wouldn’t think the puffed-up toff who owns the estate would concern himself about housing for a schoolmistress.’
Secretly sharing that opinion, Joanna smiled. ‘Actually, it was the estate manager who provided it.’
‘Mr Greaves, is it?’ At her nod, he continued, ‘Heard good things about him from Tanner. Seems to know land and how to manage it.’
‘He has a great concern for the people who work the land, too,’ she replied. ‘’Twas his idea to establish the school.’
‘Good someone is thinking of the people’s welfare,’ he muttered. ‘But, no, ma’am, there’s no need to use your things. I brought paper, ink and pen with me.’ He gestured to the leather bag slung over his good shoulder. ‘If you’ve time, we could do the letter now.’
Though a little surprised that an army sergeant would be carrying such costly writing items, she nodded. ‘Let me just fetch something to write on. There’s a bench in the cottage, but ’tis too dark inside to write properly.’
‘I’ll get it, ma’am,’ Sergeant Russell said. ‘Can’t shoulder a rifle or write any more, but I’m not totally helpless.’
‘Of course not,’ she said softly, compassion for his injuries twisting her heart again. While he dragged the bench out of the dim cottage, she extracted quill, paper, ink and a knife from his bag.
After all was in readiness, she looked up at him. ‘You may begin now.’
From Waif to Gentleman's Wife Page 7
