by Regina Darcy
Copyright © Regina Darcy 2018
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and writer except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a contemporary work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
For queries, comments or feedback please use the following contact details:
reginadarcy.cleanandwholesomeromance.com
info@cleanandwholesomeromance
SIGN UP FOR THE MAILING LIST
TABLE OF CONTENT
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
PREVIEW: THE MISTAKEN ARRANGEMENT
KEEP IN TOUCH!
ONE
“Beatrice!”
Miss Beatrice Lakeheart wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, using a wood pillar to push herself into a standing position. Her back was aching so badly it felt as though it might break in half — not that her stepmother would care.
“Beatrice!”
Biting back a harsh response, Beatrice set her cleaning brush to one side and headed towards the entrance of the stables.
“Yes?”
“Don’t be impertinent with me, girl!” her stepmother bit out, her lined face contorted with anger.
“I wasn’t — ” Beatrice began, only to be silenced by her stepmother’s harsh voice.
“Enough, Beatrice. I am tired of your excuses and laziness! Not only will you need to sweep the stables, but I insist that you wipe down and feed the horses as well. That will teach you to be so impudent!”
Bristling with the injustice of it all, Beatrice forced herself to keep her mouth closed. This was her stepmother’s way of keeping control over her.
Beatrice had barely said anything, and already her stepmother had decided she was being rude. It was quite ridiculous, but saying anything more would simply land her with more chores.
“Your sister —”
“Stepsister,” Beatrice whispered under her breath, earning herself a glare from Fanny Stanford, Lady Shropton, the new mistress of the house.
“Your sister,” her stepmother emphasised, “requires your assistance with her wardrobe.”
Beatrice sighed inwardly. “What sort of assistance would that be?” Last time, it had simply been an excuse for Beatrice to rehang all of her stepsister’s dresses.
“She mentioned something about a few new dresses that require hanging,” her stepmother said, dismissively. Turning on her heel, she walked back along towards the grand staircase, her back towards Beatrice.
“Oh!” she called back. “And that godmother of yours is arriving later this afternoon. Do make sure you’re presentable. Although why your father still allows her to call on you is quite beyond me! A bad influence, that woman.”
Beatrice allowed herself a small smile, ignoring Lady Shropton’s mutterings. Lady Grenville, her godmother, was the only friend she had in the world, and Beatrice was exceedingly grateful for her. Ever since her father had remarried, Beatrice’s life had changed dramatically, and not for the better. The new Lady Shropton was a shrew and had poisoned Beatrice’s father entirely against her.
To compound matters, Lady Shropton had brought with her two daughters and a son, who all looked down their noses at Beatrice. In particular, the son, Steven, seemed to dislike Beatrice intensely. She would often catch him watching her with a particularly disturbing gleam in his eye. It was as though he were planning some devious act, which Beatrice had yet to discover. Even thinking of him sent a shudder sweeping through her body.
Sighing heavily, Beatrice walked back down the stables, shivering a little in the chill air. Picking up the small brush, she continued with her task of sweeping the area clean. She was determined to do it and to do it well. If it was not done well enough, Beatrice knew she would have to do it again. Her back complaining already, she bent over and began to sweep.
A short time later, Beatrice looked over her handiwork, hoping it would satisfy her stepmother. She had scrubbed the stables until her hands were red and numb with cold, but she was determined. She simply would not allow her stepmother to win. Lady Shropton could treat her as a servant as much as she chose, but Beatrice would continue to hold her head high and complete each and every task with as much dignity as she could muster.
A sudden movement in one of the windows caught her eye. Idly wondering if it was her father, Beatrice shook her head to herself and stretched carefully. Every single muscle in her body seemed to ache, and she knew she looked every inch the servant. Her father, of course, would not say a word to her stepmother. She had grown to hate that about him. Instead of standing up for his only child, he had allowed his new wife to rule his home. Of course, Beatrice still loved him in her own way, but her trust and faith in him had been completely dashed.
“Whatever are you doing?” called a voice, just as Beatrice heard the sounds of a carriage approaching. How like her godmother to be leaning out of the window. Turning around, Beatrice did not make even the slightest effort to hide her bedraggled appearance. Lady Grenville knew full well exactly how her goddaughter was being treated.
“Cleaning the stables,” Beatrice replied, just as her godmother alighted from the carriage.
“At the shrew’s direction, no doubt,” Lady Grenville muttered, grimly.
“Precisely that,” Beatrice agreed, throwing her arms around her godmother. “I am delighted to see you, of course.”
Her godmother smiled, her blue eyes full of sympathy. “Are you allowed to enter the house with me?”
Beatrice rolled her eyes. “I presume so, although I must warn you that Lady Shropton will have a vast amount to say about my appearance, I’m afraid. She did tell me to make myself presentable before your arrival, but, on the other hand, she also ordered me to scrub the horses!”
“The witch,” Lady Grenville muttered, darkly. “Never mind, I have a proposal for you that may lighten your mood.”
“Oh?”
Lady Grenville smiled at her goddaughter.
“All in good time. Let’s get you inside. You must change out of your wet things, for I can see you shivering! Then a quiet tête-a-tête, I think.”
“The shrew will not like that one bit,” Beatrice grinned, climbing the steps with her godmother, arm in arm. “You know how much she likes to listen to our conversations!”
“Don’t worry about that,” Lady Grenville replied, grimly. “I am quite able to remove her from our presence. Indeed, I shall take great pleasure in doing so.”
Beatrice changed as quickly as possible, rubbing as much life back into her hands as she could before descending to the drawing room.
“Ah, Beatrice,” Lady Grenville smiled. “I have just now ordered a tea tray, which should be here momentarily.”
Lady Shropton, who was hovering around the room like a bird of prey waiting to attack, gave Beatrice a small nod. “Beatrice does have some duties to attend to, I’m afraid, Lady Grenville. She cannot tarry long.”
Lady Grenville got to her feet, turning cold eyes on Lady Shropton.
“Thank you, Lady Shropton. However, I do wish to speak to my goddaughter in private. I shall make my farewells to you in person, of course, but for the moment, I wish to be alone with her.”
&nbs
p; Beatrice watched with some amusement as Lady Shropton’s mouth fell open. She was being dismissed, and Beatrice was more than aware that the other lady did not like it.
“I beg your pardon?” Lady Shropton asked when she’d found her voice.
“It is not too much trouble, is it?” Lady Grenville asked, innocently. “After all, she is my goddaughter.” She gave Lady Shropton a winning smile.
“I - I -”
“Very good,” Lady Grenville interrupted, walking to the door and holding it open. “And you might take your son with you, Lady Shropton. As I said, there are some things of a private nature that I wish to speak to her about.”
Beatrice watched, half-amazed, half-stunned, as Steven sidled out from a dark corner of the room and followed his mother, a sullen look on his face. Lady Grenville shut the door behind them, letting out a long, satisfied sigh.
“You amaze me, Godmother,” Beatrice laughed, seating herself opposite her. “They never listen to me - or anyone else for that matter - in the same way.”
Lady Grenville’s face grew determined. “They do not treat you well here, Beatrice. Tell me, have you any prospects at all?”
“None,” Beatrice replied, honestly. “Papa does not let me out to any social gatherings, thanks to Lady Shropton’s insistence. Besides, I have no fortune and no dowry anymore, either.”
“She took that away from you also?” Lady Grenville gasped.
Beatrice nodded. “She did. There seems to be no end to her cruelty.”
Lady Grenville sat a little farther forward in her chair. “Then I have a proposal for you. My nephew requires a governess.”
“A governess?” Beatrice echoed, frowning.
“Indeed,” Lady Grenville replied, firmly. “You are highly educated and would do very well. The girl is but six years old, and her mother passed three years ago. My nephew has never remarried but dearly loves his daughter. I can assure you that the post is yours if you wish it.”
Beatrice considered this for a moment. Life as a governess would be considerably better than working here, as a servant to whatever took her stepmother’s whim. She would be respected, at least.
“Papa might refuse.”
“He won’t,” Lady Grenville replied, with a look that told Beatrice that her godmother had no intention of letting Lady Shropton run roughshod over this idea. “If you want the post, it’s yours, Beatrice.”
“What is your nephew’s name?” Beatrice asked, as a slight modicum of happiness stirred in her soul.
“Does he live nearby?”
Lady Grenville smiled. “He owns the Carrington Estate, which is less than a day’s travel from here. Although at the moment he is in Bath for the season,”
“Carrington…surely not the Duke of Carrington?” Beatrice gasped, suddenly aware of who her potential employer might be.
“The very same!” her godmother exclaimed.
“Is that not exciting?”
TWO
“Exciting is not the word I would choose,” Beatrice murmured, looking away.
“Nonsense,” her godmother replied, quickly. “Those are simply rumours, Beatrice.”
Beatrice raised an eyebrow, but her godmother looked away at once. It was right for an aunt to defend her nephew, she supposed. However, the Duke of Carrington’s scandalous reputation was so much spoken of that there had to be some truth to it!
“They cannot all be rumours, Godmother,” she returned, as her godmother’s cheeks filled with colour. “Although, if he is a good employer, I suppose that his reputation would be of no importance.”
“Precisely,” her godmother replied, a sudden smile on her face. “All that nonsense about affairs and dalliances, you must simply ignore.”
Beatrice took in a long breath, considering her options. On one hand, she could remain here and allow her stepmother to find new ways to make her life miserable, whilst her father remained silent in the background. Or she could take on the position as governess and leave her current situation far behind.
The Duke had a less than sparkling reputation, but given that she would very rarely be in his immediate presence, that matter was moot.
“What is the child’s name?”
Lady Grenville beamed at her, assuming by Beatrice’s words that she was favourably inclined to the offer.
“She is called Angelica. Something of a mouse, I believe. Quiet for a girl her age. You will need to coax her out of her shell, Beatrice, but I am quite sure you shall manage.” Reaching over, she patted Beatrice’s hand.
“You know I would take you to my home if I could,” she murmured, her face awash with sympathy. “Your papa may have turned down all my requests for you to live with me, but I promise you he will not refuse this.” Her mouth drew into a thin line. “Or it will be all the worse for him.”
***
Things moved very quickly after her godmother’s visit.
Her father had rowed with Lady Grenville, by all accounts, but she had got her way in the end. Lady Shropton had cried many angry tears over her husband’s compliance, but, given that Lady Grenville had written to the Duke of Carrington almost immediately, there was nothing Beatrice’s stepmother could do.
The Duke was currently residing at his estate in Bath over the summer season. Beatrice was to travel through two counties to join his household staff.
Never had she been more than two hours carriage ride from home. Her employment as a governess was truly going to be a great adventure.
After a week of travel to reach Somerset, the beautiful estate of Abingdon House became visible in the horizon. Beatrice was flabbergasted that this was only one of the Duke’s lesser properties, and that he only used it during summer months to boot.
The satisfaction Beatrice had felt in closing the carriage door and leaving her home without even a backward glance, had not yet left her, however trepidation was rising in her chest at the thought of meeting her new, extremely wealthy employer.
The army of servants she was introduced to by the Housekeeper and Butler was a blur. Her thoughts focused on one singular event, meeting the Duke.
“Miss Lakeheart has arrived, Your Grace.”
Upon being allowed entry, Beatrice walked into the study and curtsied as best she could before looking directly at her employer. Her breath caught in her chest, but she attributed it simply to being surprised to see such a youthful-looking man studying her.
His fair hair was swept to one side, with a few curls at his ears. Deep blue eyes looked into hers, whilst his lips turned up into a small smile.
“Your Grace,” she murmured, as his gaze swept over her. “I am your new governess.”
“Are you, now?” he replied, tilting his head to one side. “Goodness, you are younger than I expected.”
“How so?”
He grinned, and a sudden heat burst in Beatrice’s core. “I had thought you something of a spinster, Miss Lakeheart, but you are not quite on the shelf!”
Beatrice felt heat flood her cheeks, but continued to keep his gaze. “I have very few prospects, Your Grace.”
“Mmm,” came the reply. He watched her for a few minutes more, before taking a breath and smiling at her again. “You are my aunt’s goddaughter?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Beatrice replied, feeling slightly disconcerted by the way he was continuing to gaze at her. It was as if she were a puzzle he was trying to resolve. She had not expected such a warm reception, either, now that she was a lowly governess.
Then again, the rumours about the Duke had him as a seductive and alluring man. Perhaps the warmth he was showing her now was an attempt to allow him access to her bed at a later time. The thought forced Beatrice to stand a little taller, lifting her chin. She had heard that some men liked to make bedsport of those they employed. That would not be a trap she would fall into. Whilst she was vastly grateful for his employ, she would not be seduced by him, despite her lack of experience. She was completely resolute.
“My aunt has told me you are,
in fact the daughter of Lord Shropton,” the Duke continued. “Why, pray tell, are you settling for a lowly position as a governess? Your station does not require it. Should you not be practicing the pianoforte or working on your embroidery?”
Beatrice shook her head. Without giving too much away, she told him briefly about her responsibilities at home, and watched the smile slide from his face. “And so,” she finished, “I decided that this would be a much better situation for me. Besides, I do love children, and I am greatly looking forward to making your daughter’s acquaintance.”
The Duke nodded, slowly.
“Very well,” he said, getting to his feet. “Then I shall have the butler show you to her rooms. Or, rather,” he amended, coming around to the front of the desk, “I shall take you myself. Angelica is a quiet girl and does not always take to strangers. My introductions will smooth the path, however.” He gave her a quick smile, before exiting the study, leaving her to follow behind.
Her charge’s room turned out to be in another wing. The entire journey, which seemed to take forever, was conducted in silence. Beatrice trailed behind the imposing figure of her employer. She could not help but notice the pristine cut of his jib; the spotless waistcoat and breeches which would have left Beau Brummel himself a trifle jealous. Before she had finished exploring the reason why she was obsessing about the Duke, they arrived at the little girl’s chambers.
The Duke had been quite right, Angelica was a very quiet child. Her blond hair had been tied back neatly, and her large blue eyes regarded Beatrice with something akin to fear. She stood beside her father, one of her hands in his, but did not raise even a glimmer of a smile as he made the introductions.
Trying to encourage the child, Beatrice knelt down on the floor, so that she was no longer towering over her. Unaware of the Duke’s look of astonishment, she smiled gently at Angelica, keeping her voice low.
“It is lovely to meet you, Lady Angelica. May I say how pretty your hair is? It is just the colour I have always longed for myself.”
