“Have you an admirer, Miss Sharpe?” Lady Josephine had risen to examine the flowers. The maids curtsied and filed out the door, closing it behind them. “If so, he ought to be informed that mixing this many blooms is more likely to cause a headache than tenderness of feeling.”
“The orchids are rather strong,” Miss Arlen agreed. “But very pretty.”
Alice came to the table and put the stack of paper upon its surface, then handed Lady Josephine the note. “Not an admirer, my lady. Mr. Gardiner.”
What did the R stand for?
“Oh, this is part of the catalog project.” Lady Isabelle had flounced her way over to the table, too. “You have to paint all of these?” Her eyes widened at the task.
Alice looked again at the drawing on the top of the stack. “I am expected to do my best, yes.” She lifted it to inspect the next one.
“You see, the gentleman owes you a favor.” Lady Josephine sounded rather triumphant as she handed the note back to Alice. “You will make your best effort on his behalf, so he will do the same for you.”
As though used to echoing her lady, Miss Arlen immediately agreed. “You can at least ask him, Miss Sharpe.”
Alice shook her head, reading his note once more, her eyes tracing the curls of his handwriting as well as its sharp points. The R continued to intrigue her.
“Perhaps you are right. If an opportunity presents itself, I will speak to him.”
From the corner of her eye, she thought she detected Lady Josephine and Miss Arlen sharing suspiciously pleased grins. But she had to have imagined it. What did they truly care if she spoke to Mr. Gardiner or not?
Alice had more pressing issues. She had two dozen types of flowers to paint.
Chapter 10
Rupert dug about in his largest trunk, hunting for a book on the subject of bees. He had found a large swarm in the lower gardens and meant to discover exactly where they had come from and where they might go next. The beekeeper on the estate knew nothing of the swarm and swore not a single one of his hives had abandoned their posts. He seemed keen to add new bees to his colonies, however.
“I am uncertain we brought your book on beekeeping, sir.” Billings stood by, stoic as ever, with several starched cravats in hand. “But since you are here, perhaps you would choose your jacket for dinner this evening?”
“My choice of clothing is not nearly as important as those bees.” Rupert came out of the trunk and fussed with his hair, trying to get it out of his face. “They do not look at all like the bees kept on the castle grounds. I think they are a different breed entirely. I have asked the beekeeper about catching them.”
Billings simply stared at him, cravats still in hand.
The valet assisted Rupert with insects when required but had no interest in them on his own. With a sigh, Rupert gestured to the closet. “The blue jacket, then.”
“Very good, sir.” The valet turned with his cravats, apparently intending to stow them away, when he paused. “I nearly forgot to tell you, sir, but Miss Sharpe sent back your drawings. They are upon your desk.”
“She did?” Rupert brightened at once and rushed to the desk. A stack of papers waited for him, with a half sheet on top of the whole. He held it at an angle to read with the low evening light.
Mr. Gardiner,
I have given your sketches color, to the best of my ability. I apologize for the time I took to complete the task, but with the arrival of the new guests, my time has been limited. I hope you find my work satisfactory.
Miss A. Sharpe
A numbered list below her note labeled the flowers.
The sketches had gone to her four days previous. Four days. She had worked with more speed than he had thought possible. How had she done it so swiftly?
He took up two of the papers and held them to the light, studying the colors carefully. Each drawing had a small number in one corner, corresponding to the name of the flower on the list Miss Sharpe had sent.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, noting the unique orange of the Welsh poppy, the delicate shading of white Ground-elder. Wildflowers and those planted and cultivated by the groundskeeping staff were each given the same amount of care.
“I take it you are pleased with her work, sir?” Billings sounded disinterested, but when Rupert glanced up, he saw his valet’s eyes had narrowed.
“Very pleased. She has a perfect eye for color and an artist’s hand. Look at these.”
Billings came closer and accepted one of the papers. He hummed with feigned interest. “It is lucky you found out about her talent.”
“Indeed.” Rupert took up several more sheets, sifting through them. “Her work is stunning.”
“You ought to tell her that, sir.” Billings put his paper back in the pile. “It does a soul good to know when their work is appreciated.”
“You are right, of course.” Rupert put the papers down and clapped his valet on the shoulder. “As you well know. Thank you, Billings. I will find her and give Miss Sharpe her due.” He glanced out the window. “After my work is done today.”
Rupert had left most of his things outside, near the edge of the forest where he had caught sight of the bees.
He really needed better organization. And to send to his home, sixteen miles away, for his beekeeping book.
Striking out for the gardens with a wide-brimmed straw hat upon his head, Rupert walked with purpose. He knew his way around well enough, and cut through hedges and around a folly, thinking only of his various tools, nets, and sketchbook waiting for him.
Or trying to think only on those things.
Keeping his mind busy upon his task kept it away from his curiosity about Miss Sharpe. He hadn’t seen her in nearly a week and truly began to despair of ever seeing her again.
The number of guests in the house had tripled the amount of people at dinner. And the table was, unfortunately, too well balanced for anyone to think of sending for the governess.
Thankfully, since the duke made it clear that Rupert had much to occupy his time, no one expected him to be about to entertain anyone. Though there were two young women at dinner the evening before who had shown more than a passing interest in coming to know him. That would likely change the moment the duke’s eldest child, his son and heir, arrived for the house party.
Truthfully, it was the presence of the unattached ladies that had sent him to the far reaches of the castle gardens. He had no wish for husband-hunting females to come in search of him.
A scream of laughter caused Rupert to falter in his step. A shout of dismay followed the laughter, and then sounds of distress from several voices assaulted him.
What sort of gentleman would he be to keep walking? It sounded as though something dreadful had happened on the other side of an ivy-covered wall. Rupert sighed, tugged the brim of his hat lower, and went directly for the wall. He put his hands atop it, then heaved himself up.
Sitting on the wall, a leg over each side, Rupert looked down into the garden. The plants and flowers cultivated in that area were all imports from the Far East. The head gardener had put them into a walled garden to avoid creating hybrids with English flowering plants.
Several children of various ages were standing in a circle beneath a tree, all looking down. Two women, dressed in severely dark gowns and wearing sour expressions upon pale faces, stood on the edges of the circle.
And in the circle itself, which Rupert could barely make out even from his higher position, Miss Sharpe knelt on the ground with a child half in her arms.
Rupert dropped down into the garden and hastened to her side. “Excuse me, children. Please, stand back. Give the little one some room.” He spoke firmly, and found the children hastening to obey. The sour-faced women relaxed their glares and one of them directed the children to the other side of the garden.
Miss Sharpe looked up at him, her face pale and eyes burning with what he assumed to be anger—but where was that anger directed?
“Mr. Gardiner, thank goodness you are
here. Geoffrey fell out of the tree, and I cannot move him on my own. I think we must send for a doctor.”
The one remaining sour woman huffed. “I am certain the lad is fine. He is forever getting into scrapes. He will rouse and be well.”
Given the way Miss Sharpe’s eyes narrowed at that declaration, Rupert knew he had found the source of her anger. He addressed himself to that woman. “Thank you for your opinion, Miss…?”
The matronly woman drew herself up. “Miss Felton. I am the governess for Baron Addington’s children.” She added, almost as an afterthought, “And Geoffrey.”
Ah, one of the guests had brought a governess along with his brood. Rupert nodded to her. “Thank you, Miss Felton. I know the duke has a fondness for children, and his honor will demand nothing less than a full examination of the child to ensure his good health. If you will excuse Miss Sharpe and I, we will take him up to the house and see to his needs, as His Grace would wish.”
The woman puffed up like a hen, but she made no protests. “Very well. I will see to His Grace’s children.”
Miss Sharpe lowered her voice and spoke quietly to the child, whose eyes were barely open in a wince. “Geoffrey, Mr. Gardiner is going to help me get you to the house. You must try very hard to remain still while he carries you.”
“Yes, Miss Sharpe.” The boy’s eyes closed. He was so young. He could be only five or six years old.
Rupert put one arm beneath the boy’s knees and the other around his shoulders, necessitating he brush Miss Sharpe’s arm as he did so. She kept her support there until he stood, making the movement easier to accomplish. The little boy groaned, turned paler still, and tucked his face against Rupert’s shoulder.
Poor fellow.
Nodding to the archway on the other side of the garden, Rupert spoke quietly for the sake of the lad. “Lead the way, Miss Sharpe.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gardiner.” She offered him the barest of smiles before marching out of the garden at a quick pace—one that Rupert found hard to match. Before he could beg her to slow her steps, the moment they were out of the garden she waited for him and then walked alongside him.
“The poor boy knocked his head against a branch on the way down. I was watching him, though no one else noticed until he fell. His bottom came in contact with the ground first—I imagine he will be rather bruised. But he did not jump up, or even try to rouse himself, as most children do after a fall.”
“A sure sign of trouble,” Rupert agreed easily. “I had my own share of tumbles as a child, including one similar to this. I think it best we send for a doctor, as you suggested.”
Miss Sharpe released a huff of breath. “That horrid Miss Felton said to leave him or make him stand. She said he was pretending the injury for attention.”
Rupert grunted as he went up a wide set of steps to the next tier of gardens. “I cannot imagine the baron would like to hear his governess overlooking such a thing as a tumble out of a tree.”
With lowered voice, Miss Sharpe corrected his assumption. “Geoffrey is not the baron’s son. He is the son of a distant cousin. The baron is a temporary guardian.”
“Still.” Rupert did not understand the distinction. “The child is in his care.”
“I am afraid being in someone’s care is not the same as being cared for, Mr. Gardiner.” The grim set to her jaw as she spoke those words, coupled with the sudden darkening of her eyes, made him wonder.
It put him in mind of their last conversation, when she had given him too much information, too quickly for him to respond. My own relatives do not want me in their homes, she had said.
“I will make certain Geoffrey is properly attended to, Miss Sharpe. I promise.”
Her head turned in his direction, giving him a clear view of her lovely face and the way her lips parted, her eyes wide behind her spectacles.
Surely, his promise was not all that surprising.
But then, for a woman who openly noted the lack of care her own kin had for her, perhaps it was.
A footman offered to relieve Mr. Gardiner of Geoffrey, the boy still distressingly listless, as soon as they entered the castle. Much to her surprise, Mr. Gardiner immediately turned down that offer. Even the child’s light weight would have grown burdensome by that point.
Instead, Mr. Gardiner started giving orders to the footman, and another who had appeared from the other end of the corridor.
“I will take the boy to the nursery. One of you send for the doctor, and the other must alert Lord Addington to the fellow’s misadventure. Miss Sharpe, you ought to stay on hand until the doctor arrives, to answer any questions he has about the injury.” He carefully adjusted his hold on the child, moving the boy higher upon his shoulder.
Geoffrey finally made a noise, the barest whimper.
The servants bowed and hastened away.
“Thank you, Mr. Gardiner,” Alice whispered. “Follow me. The servants’ stair will be quicker than taking the main staircase.”
He fell into step behind her as she sprung open one of the hidden doors that made it possible for the servants to come and go, unseen by the duke’s guests. The staircase was wide enough for two servants to pass while burdened with trays or laundry, and the steps themselves were deep enough to ensure good footing.
Not like the staircases in London that servants used. One of her uncles had a townhouse with stairs that were practically walls with shallow grooves for climbing upward. Horribly dangerous to the staff.
Alice tucked aside the nervous thought, focusing instead on her gratitude for a safe way to take the little boy to his bed.
The nursery and schoolroom were along the same corridor. By the time they arrived there, Alice pushing open another well-concealed door, Mr. Gardiner was breathing heavily. To carry a boy, even a small one, as far as he had, and climb steps while burdened, would challenge anyone’s stamina.
“We are nearly there, sir.”
He did not waste breath to respond, instead he nodded tightly.
When she opened the door to the room where the little boy had a cot made up, and Mr. Gardiner brushed by her, he said not a word of complaint. He took the little fellow to the temporary bed and laid him down.
“Here we are, Master Geoffrey.” The gentleman backed away at last and sat in a narrow wooden chair against the wall.
Alice hurried to remove the boy’s shoes to make him more comfortable, then tucked an extra pillow beneath his head. “Are you well, Geoffrey?”
He nodded, wincing, then turned to face the wall and curled up tightly. Alice’s heart ached for him. At his age, she had already learned to rarely be seen and never heard. She had already learned to keep her tears to herself, lest she upset people around her. Perhaps all orphans had to learn those lessons.
She smoothed away his curls from his forehead, as gentle as she could.
Alice went to the washstand and used the pitcher and bowl to dampen her own handkerchief. She folded it into a long rectangle, then took it to lay across the boy’s forehead. Until the doctor arrived, there was nothing else to be done.
“Geoffrey, you have been very brave,” Mr. Gardiner said from his place against the wall, his head tilted back, and eyes closed as he spoke. “I would have howled like a wounded pup when I was your age, lad.”
That was a positive way to look at it, Alice supposed. She took up another of the chairs, a match for Mr. Gardiner’s, and placed it by the boy’s side. “You appear rather done in yourself, Mr. Gardiner. If you wish to leave, I will not hold it against you. You have already done a great service.”
He cracked open one eye to look at her. “I am not about to leave until I am certain our patient has been seen. To be honest, I am rather surprised the baroness hasn’t appeared yet.”
The little boy shifted, curling further in on himself. “They won’t come.”
The three whispered words bruised Alice’s tender heart. She knew the truth as well as he did. “A servant will be sent to carry back news. The baroness is busy, perhaps
. This is an important visit for the baron’s family. A chance to strengthen their political alliances with His Grace.”
Both of Mr. Gardiner’s eyes opened, his expression incredulous. “Surely not—”
A knock on the doorframe interrupted his denial, and Alice turned at the same moment as he to see an older woman in the modest clothing befitting an upper servant. The baroness’s maid.
“My lady sends me to look in on Master Geoffrey.” She curtsied to Mr. Gardiner, then came to stand by Alice. “His Grace sent for a doctor, I am told. There is one staying nearby.”
Swallowing her disappointment, Alice nodded her understanding. “You may tell Lady Addington that he is well enough for now. He has an aching head and is in poor spirits, but I am certain it will pass.”
“I will inform her, of course.” The maid, whose name escaped Alice in the moment, peered down at the boy and a softness stole over her features. “I will send up tea for you both and ask the cook if she might have a remedy for the boy’s aching head.” After another abbreviated curtsy, she left.
Mr. Gardiner’s deep frown further testified that he had grown up in a better way than she. His childhood injuries and wrongs had likely been addressed with love and affection. Perhaps his mother had joined a sweet-tempered nursery maid by his bed to see to his hurts and cheer him.
He had been fortunate.
Alice brushed aside her envy. She knew well enough that the emotion served no purpose except to make her unhappy.
It is better to choose happiness over misery. She had decided upon that course long ago.
"Miss Sharpe?”
Alice turned her attention to Mr. Gardiner, adjusting her spectacles upon the bridge of her nose. “Yes?”
With a weary, crooked smile that made her heart thump a mite harder, he tipped his head to her. “Your work on the flower sketches—you are quite talented. They’re remarkable likenesses. I did not expect so many in such a short time.”
She tucked away a loose strand of her ash-blonde hair, averting her gaze from his. “I am glad you approve of my efforts.”
Mr. Gardiner and the Governess: A Regency Romance (Clairvoir Castle Romances Book 1) Page 8
