A Governess of Great Talents

by Murdoch, Emily E K

  He sighed heavily. It was going to be just like last time. The results would be announced, everyone would feign surprise that the Duke of Rochdale had won again, and then he would be forced to leave the place he loved and descend to London.

  At least it would be over soon. It could not be much longer before the result would be announced, would it?

  “Think of it as a celebration,” came the murmured words from the woman he loved.

  Meredith was beaming, eyes bright and gown accentuating her loveliness more than ever. Alfred’s stomach lurched. How was it possible that he had managed to win her in the end? It did not seem possible. Not after all the foolish mistakes they had both made.

  “There is Mr. and Mrs. Walker,” said Meredith with a smile. “Goodness, they look pleased, don’t they?”

  Pleased with themselves, was Alfred’s less than charitable thought, but he pushed it aside. True, the couple had their heads held high as though they were going to be announced the winner, rosettes of the Carmichael blue carefully pinned to their fronts.

  But then, Alfred reminded himself, they had done most, if not all of the hard work of the election, bar giving the speeches—and they had been written by Mr. Walker in most cases.

  No, he should give them their dues, and Mr. Hemming, who was somewhere in the bustling crowd.

  “So much of my life builds up to this moment,” he said in a low voice so that only Meredith could hear, “and now I am here, again, ’tis nothing like what I had expected.”

  Meredith raised an eyebrow. “You thought there would be trumpets to herald you, crowds to throw flowers at you?”

  Alfred chuckled, despite the anxiety balled in his chest. He would make a speech, even if it was short, and in all the kerfuffle of the last week—the accusations of theft, Meredith leaving, Archibald going missing, his proposal—he had completely neglected to write one.

  “Not exactly,” he said. “More…I do not know. I have won this seat before, and I will surely win it again after today. But it is different. I think—”

  “Can I go and play over there?”

  Both Alfred and Meredith turned to look down at Archibald’s beseeching face.

  “Play?” said Alfred rather hesitantly. After Archibald’s runaway attempt, he had trodden rather carefully around the boy. He had no wish to spark another moment of rebellion. “Play where? With whom?”

  It was only then that he caught Meredith’s silencing look.

  “Archibald,” said Meredith, lowering herself down to her haunches so she could look into the boy’s eyes. “Tell me what you would like to do.”

  The child hesitated, still looking up at Alfred as he spoke. “I…I want to go to the other corner, away from the stage, and play tig with the other children.”

  The two Carmichael brothers and Meredith peered over. There were several children, mostly clean though none as smartly dressed as Archibald, giggling away in a corner of the Town Hall playing tig. One of the chairs had been pulled away from the rows and was ‘home’.

  “I’m not sure if…” began Alfred.

  “Make sure you stay within the Town Hall, do you hear me, Archibald Carmichael?” said Meredith sternly.

  Archibald looked at his brother.

  “Listen to your gov—to Miss Hubert,” amended Alfred with a grin. “Go on with you.”

  A look of surprise and delight suffused over the boy’s face before he muttered a ‘thank you’ and scampered off to play with the other children.

  Alfred watched his brother approach them slowly. A few words were spoken on both sides, and within an instant, Archibald was giggling with delight as he leaned out of the way of whoever it was being tig.

  “What are you thinking?” Meredith asked softly.

  Alfred hardly knew. The last week had been such a whirlwind he had almost forgotten, truth be told, that the ruddy election was to be announced so soon. Its importance had paled into insignificance when he looked at Meredith Hubert.

  He did so now, and she blushed prettily. Here she was, a woman who would continue to challenge him right into their old age. Encourage him, surprise him—teach him things he did not even know he did not know.

  He was the most fortunate of men, and whenever he tried not to notice just how beautiful she was, or what she did to his body when he was near her…

  Well. They had been careful. Rochdale Abbey was large enough for two people to do almost anything without being found out, after all.

  Keeping their hands off each other had proved utterly impossible. Alfred would just have to hope no one caught them before…

  “I said, what you are thinking?” she repeated.

  Alfred smiled wryly. “Truthfully?”

  She nodded.

  “I am not entirely sure how I managed to land you,” said Alfred, almost laughing. “After all the confusion between us—after I had accused you of a crime!”

  He could hardly believe it. They would be married, and he would be the happiest of men.

  But Meredith did not look overly impressed with the praise. “Land me? You forget, Your Grace, it was you who chose me in the first place. You picked me out of a catalog!”

  That made Alfred chuckle. “I mean, in the fullest sense of the word, I suppose I did. I was sent the details of all the governesses available at the Bureau, and you seemed the most proficient. I could never have imagined you would have so many great talents. You have far surpassed your description! Besides,” he said more softly now, “you are perfect for me.”

  Meredith raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Not perfect, just perfect for you? Where is your flattery, Your Grace?”

  Alfred’s heart soared. Well, he would never be bored whenever he was with Meredith, that was certain. “Absolutely perfect, and perfect for me.”

  Meredith squeezed his arm and was about to say something when she faltered, her mouth closing and her eyes fixed on something just behind Alfred.

  He turned to see Miss Wilhelmina Talbot walking past haughtily, sniffing as she glanced at them before she returned to her brother’s side.

  Alfred looked back at Meredith and saw the shine had gone.

  “You should have married her,” she said quietly. “That is what she thinks, anyway.”

  “And yet not what I think, and surely ’tis my opinion that matters here,” said Alfred with a dry smile. “Miss Talbot is accustomed to getting whatever she wants. She will have to learn that that doesn’t extend to people.”

  Yet despite his warm words, Meredith did not appear consoled. Her cheeks flushed, and her gaze had dropped, though she had not mercifully dropped his arm.

  Alfred squeezed her hand. “Ignore her.”

  Meredith gave him a swift smile. “You must have noticed, though, Alfred.”

  He waited for more, but when it did not come, prompted, “Noticed?”

  Meredith nodded. “No one has approached you—no one at all. Wouldn’t you expect your supporters to be congratulating you on your campaign? Gentlemen and ladies to approach for the honor of speaking to their duke? Even tenants, interested in settling a grievance or getting a decision from you?”

  It was only now she mentioned it that Alfred realized: no, no one had. He and Meredith had been able to chatter away quite happily without interruption, but only now did he see how odd that was.

  “I suppose they do not wish to disturb us,” he said bracingly.

  Meredith’s smile was too knowing. “’Tis because of me, Alfred. Look. Really look.”

  Alfred did so, though he was not entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking for. Only when he concentrated did he spot it.

  No one would meet his eyes.

  Whenever he looked at someone, their gaze would slide over to someone else, or the floor, or in some rare occasions, the ceiling. Worse, there were a few people—the Hemmings over there, and the Talbots of course—who were glaring. They looked genuinely angry as they beheld him and Meredith standing near the stage.

  Alfred swallowed. It was
a rather unusual experience for a duke, not to be universally beloved and applauded. He had never noticed it before, but now it was absent. It was rather unsettling.

  “Well, let them stare, let them ignore us,” he said heartily. “If they do so because I am in love with you and will be marrying you in two weeks, then so be it.”

  Meredith’s cheeks darkened. “This was exactly what I was afraid of, why we held back for so long. You have…you have lost your standing, Alfred. Your reputation.”

  “I may have done something wild and radical, but I am happy,” said Alfred fiercely. He had to make sure she understood. “I regret nothing, Meredith, for if I lost their affection by merely securing your own, it was not worth having. I tell you I am happy, and as long as you are, that is all that matters.”

  The hot flush lessened in Meredith’s face, and she smiled. “I do love you.”

  Alfred kissed her on the cheek, ignoring the shock of those around them, and tightened his grip on her arm.

  He had known this would happen, of course. Meredith was right. This was precisely why the idea of professing their love to each other had been such a radical idea.

  Dukes did not marry governesses.

  Except this one did. Alfred smiled. He had always done what he had been told, his whole life. Even this damned election was because he was following the wishes of his father, now long gone from this world.

  But not with love. Love could not be dictated in that way, and so he would marry Meredith, blast them all!

  “And I will even represent them properly in Parliament with no malice,” he whispered to her, seeing her smile, “even though they are being downright rude! After all, ’tis not as though—careful, Archie!”

  Archibald, giggling loudly and cheeks flushed, rocketed past them as the game of tig started to break the boundaries of that little corner.

  Alfred stepped forward to go after him, but Meredith held him back.

  “Let him play,” she said softly. “He gets so few opportunities to do so, and besides, the announcement will be made soon.”

  “I thought they would have done by now,” Alfred said, his temper rising. “It’s past twelve.”

  “They will announce it when it is ready,” said Meredith patiently, as only a governess could. “I…I hope you do not blame me if our engagement announcement has lost you votes.”

  Alfred sighed. Mr. Walker had been adamant it would, and they had argued over it five days ago when Alfred had shown him the announcement he was sending to The Times.

  “You cannot possibly mean to—wait a week, Your Grace,” Mr. Walker had pleaded, while Meredith had sat quietly in the drawing room, saying nothing. “A week is all I ask, and then you can announce whatsoever you wish.”

  “A week?” Alfred had not understood in that moment. “Why a week?”

  And Mr. Walker had glanced awkwardly at ‘the governess’, as he had called her that entire conversation, and Meredith had laughed.

  “To ensure you win the election, of course,” she had said lightly. “Mr. Walker knows there will be those who would never vote for a duke who could so forget his place in society as to marry a servant!”

  The Town Hall was growing louder as more people joined the throng. Alfred sighed and shook his head.

  “I never wished to run in this damned election,” he said under his breath so only Meredith could hear. “You know that, Meredith. You knew that about me almost as soon as you first met me. I am far more interested in being your husband—which will happen when, by the way?”

  Meredith seemed to glow with pleasure at his words. “You are a very impatient man, Alfred Carmichael! I told you, two weeks is the fastest we could possibly marry, and you have already waited half that time. You just need to be patient.”

  Lowering his head to whisper in her ear, he murmured, “You will need to teach me that.”

  Alfred turned around and saw the official counter enter the Town Hall in his ceremonial red robes. He was moving toward the stage. This was it.

  Stomach dropping, Alfred tried to swallow but found he could not. In just a few short minutes, his election to Parliament would be announced, and he would have only enough time to complete his packing, marry his beloved, and wave goodbye to Archibald before returning to London.

  Crowded, dirty London. It did not bear thinking about.

  But, Alfred thought as John Talbot stepped to the stage in the wake of the official, he was a Rochdale. This was his duty.

  “You know,” whispered Meredith as the volume of the chatter rose. “We could take in some of the children from other gentry families—for lessons, you know. Archibald would be happier then, and it would bring greater education to the area.”

  Alfred tried to grin, but his heart was beating too quickly. “Yes, we could charge them, too—think of the fortune we could make.”

  Meredith laughed and started to speak, but her words were drowned out.

  “Quiet!” bellowed the official.

  A hush fell across the room. This was the moment they had been waiting for. Weeks of campaigning, miles upon miles of meeting with voters, hustings, speeches…it all came down to this moment.

  Alfred was not entirely sure he could feel his feet. How he was still standing, he could not tell. Only Meredith holding onto his arm brought him relief, and when Archibald scampered over to them, standing on Alfred’s other side, he placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Archibald! Don’t you want to play with your friends?” Meredith whispered as the official cleared his throat.

  The boy shook his head. “When Alfred wins, we all have to go up onto the stage.”

  Meredith stared. “We—we all do?”

  Alfred nodded. He did not trust his voice. Any moment now, he would have to go up there and make a speech thanking everyone for voting him in. He felt nauseous just thinking about it.

  “I have here the results of the October eighteen twelve election of Rochdale,” said the official in a loud, clear voice into the silence. “These results have been ratified by myself, the chamberlain of the…”

  Alfred tried to concentrate, but the words just seemed to wash over him. This was the moment that dedicated him to servitude for the next goodness knows how many years. And then there would be another election and another…

  “—and so do declare the winner, thusly,” said the official. He hesitated, looked down at his paper again, and then said, “The member of Parliament for Rochdale, as chosen by its electorate in a free and fair campaign, is the Right Honorable John Talbot!”

  Gasps echoed around the Town Hall, and there was the sound of breaking china.

  Alfred looked around and saw Mr. Walker standing in a daze that mirrored how he felt. A smashed teacup was scattered around his feet.

  “My goodness,” murmured Meredith.

  Alfred stood still, trying to understand what had just happened.

  “The member of Parliament for Rochdale, as chosen by its electorate in a free and fair campaign, is the Right Honorable John Talbot!”

  The words were clear, but they had not sunk in.

  John Talbot. John Talbot?

  And then there was cheering from his right, and Talbot stepped forward with wide eyes and a broad grin. Forcing his way past Alfred and Meredith, almost knocking Archibald to the floor, he stepped onto the stage and looked out at the crowd.

  Applause started, and was taken up by the rest of the crowd.

  “Why thank you, thank you,” said Talbot sycophantically, bowing low. “Oh, what a day! I must thank a great number of people who made this possible—who made it possible for I, John Talbot, to represent the great people of Rochdale in our noble city! First, my sister, whose words of encouragement…”

  Alfred stared up at the man as he continued to spout nonsense. John Talbot. Talbot had won the election.

  Something—no, someone was squeezing his arm. Alfred blinked, and Meredith swam into view.

  “Are you quite well, Alfred?”

  Her voic
e was quiet, obviously concerned. Alfred was hardly sure. He could barely comprehend his feelings, let alone express them. They were complex, to be sure, but one overriding emotion was drowning out all the others, and he could not yet discern it.

  It was only when he focused on Meredith and allowed the pretentious speech of Talbot to disappear that he realized.

  Relief.

  A huge wave of relief had washed over him, leaving him standing on the shore of his life with so much more before him than he could ever have imagined.

  He had not won. He was not the member of Parliament for Rochdale. He would not have to leave his land, his people, Archibald—he would not have to live in smokey London.

  He was free. Finally, he was free to do something different with his life, to make his own decisions.

  “Alfred?” Meredith was clearly a little alarmed by his utter silence.

  There was a tug on his frockcoat, and Alfred looked down to see Archibald’s face, a little concerned. “Does…does this mean we have let Father down?”

  Alfred opened his mouth, but no words came out. It was a question he had never had to consider before. He had always done what he had been told, always obeyed the rules of the Carmichaels.

  “Alfred?” said Archibald, a little fearfully now. “Have we let Father down? Would he be angry with us?”

  “No,” said a voice firmly.

  Alfred was not sure how he had managed to say it until he realized he had not. Meredith had removed her arm from his and was once again leaning on her haunches, looking into Archibald’s serious face with an expression just as serious, though with more warmth.

  “Your Father loved being in Parliament,” she said quietly as Talbot’s speech continued on. “He served his people that way, and it made him happy. Now we will find our own ways of serving our people, and that will make us happy. Do you understand?”

  Alfred watched with love twisting in his heart as Archibald carefully considered her words and then nodded solemnly.

  “In that case,” he said slowly, “can I go back and play tig with my new friends?”

  Meredith smiled, and Alfred cuffed him gently around the ear. “Of course you can.”

  “Just don’t wander off,” Meredith added. “I don’t want to track you down again!”