by Diane Gaston
‘We saw you riding,’ Ellen added.
‘Where is the maid?’ Mrs Dodd asked Mr Glover. ‘Mary was supposed to be watching them.’
‘I do not know,’ the butler replied. ‘The children dashed through the hall. I followed them out.’ He gazed apologetically at Lord Brookmore. ‘My lord.’ He bowed.
‘Good to see you, Glover.’ Lord Brookmore nodded to the man.
Rebecca stood.
Little Pamela pulled her sister behind her as if protecting the child from her uncle.
Brookmore gestured to Rebecca. ‘Mr Glover, this is Miss Tilson, the new governess.’
Mr Glover’s brows rose. Undoubtedly the household expected someone different.
‘How do you do, Mr Glover.’ Rebecca smiled.
‘Miss.’ He bowed.
Lord Brookmore moved impatiently. ‘Let us go in the house. Miss Tilson and I have been riding all day. I am certain she needs a rest.’
Mr Glover hurried to open the door and scooted the children inside. Rebecca followed them in to a huge oak-panelled hall. The ceiling had an ornate white plasterwork design of interlocking circles unlike anything she’d seen before. Dominating the room was a huge fireplace, like a castle might have.
A maid rushed into the room. ‘Miss Pamela. Miss Ellen. You must come back to the schoolroom.’ She looked fearfully at Mrs Dodd, then Lord Brookmore. ‘I told them to wait. I am sorry, my lord.’
‘No harm in it,’ he told her. ‘Perhaps you can show Miss Tilson to her room and attend her?’
‘Oh, yes, sir.’ The maid curtsied to Rebecca. ‘This way, miss.’
As they headed for a large carved oak doorway, Rebecca heard Mrs Dodd say to Lord Brookmore, ‘Mr Evans wants to see you. Something about the crops...’
The maid led them to an oak stairway, its newel post and balusters ornately carved. Little Ellen scampered up the stairs. Pamela followed, walking very correctly. They climbed to the second floor and walked down a long hall past several closed doors. At the end of the hall was another hall off to the side with more doors.
‘This is the children’s wing,’ the maid said.
Ellen pulled on the maid’s dress. ‘Mary, are you sending us to the schoolroom?’
‘I am,’ the maid admitted.
‘But I want to stay,’ Ellen wailed. ‘We can help Miss Tilson.’
‘I don’t think so, Ellen,’ her sister said. ‘I think we aren’t allowed. It is for servants to do.’
The maid gave Ellen an affectionate hug. ‘You will be with Miss Tilson soon enough.’
‘Come on.’ Pamela took the little girl’s hand. ‘I will read to you from Aesop’s Fables.’
Reading, thought Rebecca. I can have them do a lot of reading.
‘Miss?’ the maid said. ‘I will show you to your room.’
The room was a comfortable size. Its oak walls made it a bit dark, but there was a nice window overlooking other buildings. She could see one of the footmen leading the two horses to what must be the stables. Would she still be welcome to ride? she wondered. Lord Brookmore’s invitation had come before he’d cooled towards her.
The maid bustled around the room, straightening things that did not look as if they needed straightening. ‘I will fetch some water directly. We did not know you would arrive today. Someone will light the fire, as well.’
The other footman appeared in the doorway. ‘Your bag, miss.’
The maid ran to take it from his hands and he left quickly.
Rebecca removed her gloves and her hat and placed them on a table. She felt all dusty and dirty from the ride. The maid held the bag.
‘Just place it on the floor.’ She stepped towards the maid and extended her hand. ‘I should introduce myself properly. I am Miss Tilson, as you have already guessed.’
The maid shook her hand limply and pulled away to drop into a curtsy. ‘I am Mary Beale, miss.’ She backed towards the door. ‘I’ll run and get your water.’
When the maid was gone. Rebecca pressed her hand against her abdomen and breathed deeply. Could she truly perform this masquerade?
She’d had a governess when she was about Ellen’s age. Before that her mother had taught her. She remembered her mother reading books to her and showing her numbers and letters on a slate. Her governess lasted only a year. After that she’d been sent to school in Reading.
All she remembered about her governess was that the woman never smiled and often scolded. Rebecca might know nothing about being a governess, but she would be one who would smile.
Chapter Six
Garret retreated to his room right after Miss Tilson and the children disappeared above stairs. He’d not taken over the room that had once been his father’s and then his brother’s. He’d not wanted the memories...the ill feelings.
He’d kept the room given to him after he’d gone to school, although even that room had never entirely felt like his. He’d only stayed there on school holidays. It was on the second floor, the same floor as the children’s wing, but closer to the top of the stairway.
Inside the room was his valet, the valet who had served his father and brother and was now old enough to be pensioned off. When Garret suggested it, tears filled the elderly man’s eyes. ‘Where would I go, m’lord?’
Garret hadn’t the heart to send him away, then, even though the job occasionally seemed too much for the man.
‘Good day to you, m’lord,’ the valet said.
‘To you as well, Brant.’
Brant helped him off with his coat, brushing it with his hand. The footman appeared with Garret’s bag and it took two hands for Brant to carry it into the small dressing room off the bedchamber.
Brant had known Garret since his boyhood. Knew everything about him. Garret could not help but wonder if the old man compared the ne’er-do-well second son with his father and sainted brother.
‘So you have brought the new governess,’ Brant said when he returned to the bedchamber.
‘Yes.’ Garret unbuttoned his waistcoat. ‘I will stay long enough to make certain she is well established.’ And long enough to make certain all was well on the estate. He still needed to hear why Ben Evans needed to speak with him about the crops. ‘After that I might return to London.’
So not much would be required of the valet. He could rest easy.
‘Indeed?’ Brant took his waistcoat. ‘London is hot in summer.’
Not that Brant had ever spent a summer there. He’d come to London with Garret’s father and brother, but that was one accommodation Garret had insisted upon. Brant would remain at Brookmore House and Garret’s old batman would act as his valet in London or elsewhere. If Garret needed him, that is. He’d happily forgone a valet on his trip to collect Miss Tilson.
Perhaps if he’d sent for his batman, Garret would not have acted so abominably towards her. Or have forgotten he was betrothed.
The memory of how Miss Tilson’s lips had tasted, how she’d felt in his arms, flashed through him, more vivid than any kiss or embrace with Lady Agnes. If only he could have remained a second son. Lady Agnes would never have looked at him and he might have courted Miss Tilson.
What was the use of thinking of what could never be?
Garret stripped down, washed and donned fresh clothes, and at least felt...cleaner. Mrs Dodd had told him dinner could be ready in two hours. Garret was much too restless to sit and wait. Or to sit and consume brandy until mealtime.
It was early enough to call upon the estate manager and find out what the man wished to speak with him about. Garret left the house and strode to the manager’s office and rapped on the door.
‘Ben!’ Garret cried. ‘Are you there?’
The door opened.
‘Garret. You are back.’ His manager thrust out his hand to shake.
Garret accepted it warmly. Ben Evans
was the son of his father’s manager and he and Garret had grown up together as boys. Some of Garret’s happiest memories at Brookmore House were the adventures he and Ben shared.
Garret was glad that Ben moved into the job of estate manager when his father could no longer perform it. He trusted Ben. Best of all, he could just be Garret with Ben. Not Viscount Brookmore.
‘I brought the girls’ governess finally.’ Perhaps one day he’d tell Ben about Miss Tilson’s shipwreck. He certainly would not tell him about the kiss.
Ben gestured for Garret to sit. He opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle, offering it. Garret nodded.
Ben poured a glass for Garret. ‘I know you said you were not staying here long, but I want to persuade you to change your mind.’
Garret took a sip. ‘Whisky?’
Ben grinned. ‘Do not ask.’
Importing whisky was illegal, but smuggling the liquor was not unheard of.
Ben’s expression sobered. ‘Stay. Through the harvest season, at least.’
He had no intention of staying. This was his father’s house, his brother’s house; memories lurked around every corner. And now there was the additional temptation of Miss Tilson. ‘Why?’
Ben poured a glass of whisky for himself. ‘I need you here.’
‘Me?’ Surely not. ‘You know more about managing the estate than I could ever know. Father never bothered to teach me a thing. He thought he needed only the heir, not the spare.’ The spare was merely good for cannon fodder.
‘I do not need you to run the estate,’ Ben said. ‘I need your authority.’
Garret waved his hand. ‘You have it. You have my full authority.’
Ben leaned forward. ‘Heed me, Garret. The workers are slacking. No matter what I say or do, they are not working as hard as they should. The farm, the quarry, it is all going to suffer because of it and, let me tell you, you cannot afford for that to happen.’
‘Not afford?’ Garret’s brows rose. ‘Are we in financial difficulty? Our men of business in London led me to believe otherwise.’
‘Not yet, but it would not take much to tip the scales. A poor harvest. An outbreak of gid. Bad weather.’ Ben sat back, shaking his head. ‘Things have been slacking since your father died. Your brother made terrible decisions.’
‘My brother?’ Garret could not believe his ears. ‘He was taught to run the estate like my father.’
‘I know,’ Ben said. ‘I remember how it was, but I am telling you, John ignored all sense. His way of caring for the estate was ruinous.’
‘I cannot believe this.’ The fair-haired boy ruinous?
Ben downed his drink. ‘He neglected the tenants and the workers. No matter what I said, he’d never authorise me to make necessary repairs to the houses or the equipment. The workers were convinced he cared nothing for the estate and for them and they’ve assumed you to feel the same. You’ve spent no time at all here.’
That was true. He had travelled straight to London upon receiving word of his brother’s death. He’d avoided the estate until his nieces’ governess had died.
He rubbed his face. ‘What’s to be done?’
Ben gave him an earnest look. ‘For a start, stay through the harvest. Show yourself in the field, the stables, the barns and the quarry. Show them you value the estate and them.’
Garret and his brother John had known the people on the estate their whole lives. If the estate failed, what would become of those people? He hated thinking that they’d be forced to leave this beautiful land to work in one of the big factories being built near the larger towns. They might find work, but they’d lose the mountains and lakes and fresh air.
‘You want me to act the Viscount,’ he said cheerlessly.
Ben held his gaze again. ‘You are the Viscount, Garret.’
He drained his glass and let the brown liquid burn down his throat. He placed the glass loudly on the table.
‘Very well, I will stay.’
* * *
Garret walked back to the house, then sat in the drawing room, sipping brandy. Glover soon announced dinner. Garret entered the dining room. His place was set at the head of the long table in the seat that really belonged to his father and brother. The thought of eating alone in this cavernous room, in that seat, made his appetite flee.
He’d much prefer a simple private room in a tavern. The last two dinners he’d shared with Miss Tilson had been more pleasant than many he could remember.
He thought of that first night when she’d been so desperate not to be alone. Who would keep her company tonight? The girls would eat separately. The maid would eat with the servants.
He turned to Glover. ‘Do you know if Miss Tilson has dined?’
‘I believe not, sir,’ the butler responded. ‘We would serve you first.’
‘Set another place here and send word for her to join me. She should dine with me. Tell her she does not have to dress for dinner. She may come in her day clothes.’
‘As you wish, m’lord.’ Glover signalled to a footman to do what Garret requested.
If Garret were completely honest, she was not the only one with a dread of eating alone. At least tonight.
* * *
A few minutes later Rebecca followed a footman to the dining room, which was located off the hall.
This room had the same plasterwork ceiling as the hall, but its walls were covered in leather. All these brown walls made it feel as if she were in a box and yet the feeling was a comfortable one, warm and protected. The dining room contained a long table. Lord Brookmore sat at the far end. He rose when she walked into the room.
‘Miss Tilson,’ he said formally. ‘Thank you for coming so promptly.’
She had not dared to refuse.
He gestured to a chair adjacent to his. Glover pulled out the chair for her and held it while she sat.
‘You may serve us now,’ Lord Brookmore said to the butler.
When the soup was served, Brookmore spoke to her. ‘Is your room comfortable, Miss Tilson?’
He was acting as if they’d merely met an hour ago.
‘It is quite comfortable,’ she replied in the same tone. ‘As is the schoolroom and the girls’ bedroom.’
‘You must let me know if you need anything.’ He sounded sad, she thought, and her heart went out to him.
‘I think all is sufficient,’ she replied, suddenly more concerned about his mood than her own worries. She made a try at conversation. ‘What did you do, my lord, before it was time for dinner?’
He took a drink of his wine. ‘I visited the estate manager.’
Was that what had depressed him?
She glanced at the butler and footman, who remained in the room. Not likely he would say much in the presence of servants, but he must have invited her to dine with him for a reason. So as not to be alone? They both knew she’d understand that.
No matter the strain between them earlier in the day, Rebecca wanted to distract him from whatever thoughts plagued him, like hers had done two days before.
‘Your nieces are lovely little girls,’ she began. Talking of the children seemed a safe enough topic.
‘Yes.’ He finished his wine.
‘As different as night and day, are they not?’ she went on.
He nodded.
This conversation was going nowhere.
‘Tell me about the estate,’ she tried.
He looked up at her. ‘What would you like to know?’
She took a breath. ‘Well...what crops do you grow? What livestock? That sort of thing.’
‘Sheep and beef,’ he said.
‘Those funny brown sheep we saw on the ride here?’
‘Herdwick sheep. Yes, we raise them. Mostly for eating. Their wool is too coarse for weaving.’
‘And crops?’ she asked.
&n
bsp; The main course was served—a lamb roast.
‘Hay and oats for the livestock and what you’d expect in a kitchen garden,’ he replied. ‘We brew our own beer so we also grow barley and hops.’
She was impressed. Her brother’s estate was not so diverse. ‘It is a large estate, then.’ It must be for so much industry.
He shrugged. ‘I suppose.’ He glanced at her sideways and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘We have a quarry, as well.’
She laughed. ‘A large estate, indeed! And I will wager your quarry produces this grey slate I see everywhere.’
He nodded. ‘The house was built of it. Most of this house is Elizabethan with some modernisation in the 1700s. The family has been here since the fourteenth century, though.’
That explained all the oak panelling and plasterwork. ‘The hall must be Elizabethan, then. And the tower in the front of the house?’
‘That remains from the original house, built in the 1300s. The matching tower on the same wing as the children’s rooms is a later copy.’
She smiled. ‘You’ve good reason to be proud of all this.’
He looked sad again. ‘I never expected it to be mine.’
* * *
By the time she had finished the cake for dessert, the day finally caught up with her. Her legs ached and her arms felt like lead.
‘May I have your leave to retire?’ she asked him. ‘I am suddenly very fatigued.’
He nodded. ‘It has been a long day. Of course you may retire. I will walk up with you.’
She gave him a plaintive look. ‘Are you certain that is wise?’
He averted his gaze. ‘I will walk you to the top of the stairs.’
Glover pulled out her chair and Lord Brookmore rose. He followed her as she walked the length of the long room. The footman opened the door for them. When they crossed the hall, they were out of earshot of any servants.
He fell in step next to her. ‘I hope you approved of my asking you to dine with me.’
Her approval was hardly necessary.
‘I was surprised,’ she admitted. ‘But glad. I still have a dread of too much time alone and there was no one else with whom to share dinner.’
