The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor_A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

  She had spent but two Christmases with Philip, three without him but as she regarded the family, she was reminded of the times she had spent divining her true love. The first yule had been before their civil wedding, two months after they had met in Chelmsford. He had been on leave from the Navy, unsure of when he would be called back to action.

  “We must make the most of the time we have together,” he told her, She remembered little else about those days but that she had been truly loved for the first time in her lonely life.

  The second Christmas she had spent with Philip had been the following year, him returning just on Christmas Eve with a smile on his face. They joined the Boyles for a meager supper of mutton stew and bread.

  “Philip!” she cried, jumping into his arms as her neighbors watched, smiles lighting their faces. It was so exceedingly rare to see Rose in such high spirits when her husband was away with such frequency.

  “How have you made it home for Christmas!”

  “You must not expect too much,” he warned, embracing her with strong arms. “I must return at dawn on Boxing Day.”

  Rose tried to swallow her disappointment, not wanting to ruin a single fleeting moment.

  It is only one Christmas. There will be many more to come, she told herself. How could she have known then? There had been no warning, no indication that she should have begged him to stay where he would not be touched by the perils of war, aboard the ship of death.

  “Miss Rose, are you well? You have taken on a shade of pale that I find alarming!” Duchess Buford called out and Rose was abruptly brought back to the present.

  Philip is gone now, Rose. You must accept your loss and embrace the gifts you have been given here in Buford. Look about you. You are surrounded by good breeding and you want for nothing. You have been showered with friendship and a new beginning. Tis time to let go. Philip would want you to live, not pine for him.

  Rose knew she would always have love for her husband. It was not something which she could simply vanquish but as her eyes fell on Nicholas’ face, his brow knit in concern, she realized that with the proper help, the pain would eventually diminish.

  “Miss Rose?”

  “Pardon me!” she sighed, forcing a sheepish smile upon her face as she stepped across the threshold toward them. “I do believe I was lost in thought.”

  “Tonight is for family and celebration of our savior, not thoughts of the past,” Nicholas told her a small smile on his lips.

  Does he seem curt or do I imagine it? She thought, perching on the edge of a settee. Theodore hurried forward to place a warm cup of cider in her hands, and she thanked him before turning her attention back to the family who continued to sit upon the freshly cut yule log.

  The men had gone into the woods for a tree and log earlier in the day while the women continued to decorate the household. Rose was surprised to see that the duchess herself got to work, unbothered to get her hands prickled with pine needles as they strung the greenery throughout the manor house.

  They do not seem like noblemen in this moment, she thought, sipping her drink appreciatively. If not for the lavishness of our surroundings and finery, I would not have known them to be any different than the commoners doing this very thing tonight in all parts of England.

  “You must come and sit on the log, Miss Rose,” Harry told her. “It is bad luck if all in the family do not touch it before it is burned.”

  “Oh, I could not!” she protested, her eyes darting uncertainly, but the duke, duchess and marquess all nodded in agreement.

  “Indeed, you must,” Duke Buford announced, his booming voice filled with insistence. “You should not wish to bring a plague upon this house, would you?”

  Rose was aghast by the idea but the twinkle in his emerald eyes told her he merely jested.

  “I dare not,” she replied, rising to join them and the children scooted aside to permit her room to sit.

  “Mother, you must remember to find the coal from last year’s log,” Nicholas reminded the duchess.

  “I needn’t be reminded, Nicholas. I have it here,” she replied, raising a sack in her hand.

  “Your Grace, do give that to me!” Rose called, reaching for the satchel. “You will soil your beautiful gown!”

  “Nonsense, my dear. A gown is replaceable. Traditions are not.”

  Rose stared at the duchess appreciatively, seeing something she had never before noticed.

  For all her seemingly icy exterior, she is kind and the duke is also.

  “Off you go now,” Duchess Buford announced, shooing them from the log. “We must light it now. Theodore, please bring forth the cards. After the log is in the fire, we shall play a game of commerce, yes?”

  There was a murmur of consensus, but Rose’s eyes were drawn to Nicholas who seemed to be avoiding her gaze. She stood as Duke Buford and the marquess wrested the yule log into the hearth.

  For several days, it seemed to Rose, she had found Nicholas unavailable for the outings. She realized just how accustomed she had grown to taking long walks with him and their conversations.

  It was not that the children made for poor company; on the contrary. Each day, she learned more about the inquisitive soul who was Lord Harry Arlington and his sweet but impish sister. She had come to see that Harry was not the backward boy she had been expecting and that Betsey was as caring as she was mischievous. The siblings cared deeply for one another, depending on the other’s strength in the wake of such terrible loss.

  She saw much of herself in the Arlington siblings, relating to them in ways which only orphans could know. Rose was certain, if not for their constant companionship, she would have been far more desolate than she was. But each day was bright with promise, despite Nicholas’ sudden unavailability.

  He has much to do with his father. I must not expect him to prance about with us when there is work to be done. I was blessed to have him even for the days he bestowed upon us.

  “Miss Rose, Nicholas tells me you are an orphan.”

  The statement took her aback and before she could catch it, her jaw fell open to gape at Duke Buford. Casting Nicholas a shamed look, she lowered her eyes and quickly closed her mouth.

  “I am, Your Grace.”

  “Pity that,” he commented, reaching for his pipe and lighting it before sitting back in his chair. “Such a tragedy for the young to lose their parents.”

  “Grayson!” Duchess Buford snapped, and Rose was shocked to hear her refer to her husband so informally in present company. While they had dispensed of formalities around her, she found using his given name was stunning.

  “Yes, darling?” he asked, clearly perplexed by her sharp tone as he sucked back his pipe. “

  “Your niece and nephew are quite in earshot!” she growled and Duke Buford had the good graces to appear ashamed of his insensitive wording.

  “It is quite all right, Your Grace,” Betsey volunteered. “It is true that we have lost our parents but we have been blessed with a stable home now, among family. Miss Rose was not so fortunate.”

  Good God! Rose thought, her eyes dancing from one sympathetic face to another. Does everyone know of my unfortunate childhood now?

  She would speak with Nicholas privately and explain her discontent, but at this moment, she was forced to respond to intrusive inquiries which she had no desire to relive.

  “I had family,” Rose replied, trying to keep the anger from her tone. “My husband was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy and he provided well for us.”

  She would not sully Philip’s memory over something as trivial as money. Their lack of pence did not seem so important until Philip was gone and there were none to be had.

  “Moreover, we had caring friends and neighbors, ones who tended to me when he was at sea and after…”

  She could not finish her thought.

  “Indeed!” Duke Buford announced, his face growing ashen when he realized he had caused her pain. “I meant no harm by asking, Miss Rose. Precisely the oppo
site, in fact. It was brought to my attention that you were quite close with our former governess’ in-laws. Miss Eloise arranged for this position, did she not?”

  “Yes…” Rose replied slowly, unsure of where the conversation was headed suddenly. She had read it as an attack on her character somehow yet the family did not seem to be regarding her with contempt. Duke Buford glanced at his wife before continuing his thought, clearing his throat nervously as if he regretted bringing forth such a topic.

  “I wished to know if you would fancy having your friends visit over the holiday. We would see to the arrangements, of course.”

  Rose raised her head, and met his eyes, unsure if she had heard him correctly. She knew it was improper to stare at him so directly, but she could not believe her own ears.

  “Come here?” she asked, her mind whirling slightly at the idea. In her plans, she had always foreseen herself extending an invitation to the Boyles once she was settled but she had only been at Rosecliff a short while, not quite two months. Making such a request was presumptuous and apt to be dismissed.

  Yet, they have asked me. I am truly blessed.

  “Miss Rose?”

  “Yes!” she gasped. “Oh, yes, thank you, yes!”

  In her excitement, Rose knew she was blubbering but she could not stop the tears of joy misting her eyes. She pulled her gaze from the duke and stared at Nicholas, knowing he was responsible but he had turned away, pouring himself a drink from the decanter.

  Indeed, I will speak with him privately and thank him profusely for such a kind gesture. If I write John and Bridget today, will the mails reach them afore Epiphany?

  It did not much matter. Even if she was unable to see them before the holiday ended, she would see them soon enough.

  “Thank you, Duke Buford, Duchess Buford! A thousand times thank you!”

  In her happiness, Rose had not noticed she had risen to her feet, her pink slippers dancing nervously across the wool rug at her feet, her skirts swishing at her calves. Duke Buford chuckled, waving his hand dismissively and his wife hid a smile but not before Rose could see the glint in her eyes. Yet Nicholas still did not meet her gaze. Rose was much too busy planning her letter to the Boyles.

  “Forgive me,” she sighed breathlessly. “May I be excused to write the Boyles? If I send a note soon enough, perhaps they will arrive before the decorations come down.”

  Rose wondered if she was trying her good fortune but there was no stopping her now, her pulse racing.

  “No, you may not,” Duchess Buford replied before her husband could speak. “You may spend the evening with your charges and you may write your friends before you retire for the night. The mails will not go anywhere until the morn.”

  Rose did not permit the disappointment to show on her face, knowing that the duchess spoke the truth.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” she answered, hanging her head with contrition. “Forgive my silliness in the moment.”

  “It is quite all right. Now, shall we play commerce?”

  Rose nodded and joined the nobles at the table. For the rest of the night she recalled nothing but how Nicholas refused to meet her eyes.

  Chapter 14

  Tis nothing more than a distraction for her, Nicholas thought, unable to sleep that night despite having been into several cups of wine, but his mind was still fixated on what had occurred earlier.

  When Nicholas had told his father about Rose’s childhood, it had not entered his thoughts that the duke would betray his confidence and tell her that he knew. Not that the duke or duchess viewed the governess any differently with the knowledge but not everyone behaved as his parents did. Rose would surely see it as a breach of trust and Nicholas had been shamed, blindsided by his father’s seeming innocuous gesture.

  He had gained so much experience averting his eyes in her presence that it had come artificially when she had gazed at him accusingly. Nicholas had no idea that his parents had planned such a surprise for his new friend and he admitted he was endeared by the gesture. Yet he could not help but wonder if there was another motive for the duke’s actions, something clandestine and underhanded. Was it simple happenstance that the invitation to Rose’s neighbors was extended at the same time as the impending hunting excursion?

  Nonsense! Nicholas thought, furious with himself for allowing such a dark thought into his mind. Your father is a good man with noble intentions. Rose’s neighbors could not possibly reach here before the party has come and gone. One has nothing to do with the other and shame on you for thinking such a thing.

  Since the talk with his father, Nicholas had maintained a distance between himself and Rose, hoping that it would become easier to overlook her imploring eyes as she tried to understand his sudden about face. He made himself unavailable, reaching out to his friends in the towns to avoid having to refuse the governess’ and his cousins’ constant solicitations.

  Tis bad enough rejecting Rose but to add Harry and Betsey to the fold; it is near torturous.

  Nicholas had enough tossing among the sheets and he rose to fetch his slippers and over-robe near the fire. Theodore had come in not an hour earlier to add another log to the flames, while Nicholas had pretended to be asleep in the four-poster bed, the curtains drawn halfway. He watched the elderly butler shuffle through the apartment before disappearing through the doorway and leaving Nicholas to his thoughts once more.

  He will be back to put another log on the fire soon, Nicholas realized, wrapping the sash of his robe about his waist and hurrying toward the hallway. It was not that he was forbidden to leave his bedchambers at night. He merely did not wish to engage in conversation with the servants who would try to ply him with laudanum.

  Warm milk is what I need, he decided, stealing through the shadows, a candlestick in hand.

  How eerie the manor seemed at night, so still that even the mice seemed to sleep that chilly, damp eve as if waiting for St. Nicholas to visit them in slumber. The portraits above his head flickered past, the nobility of Rosecliff past peering down at him, their secrets forever sealed in the oils of the canvasses where they had been immobilized for eternity.

  Soon, my painting will be among them, Nicholas realized and the thought gave him an inexplicable shiver. What secrets will I bring to my grave?

  He made his way into the galley and stood corrected as the sneaking rodents scrambled at his footfalls, fallen crumbs in their thieving paws as they dove for cover.

  Nicholas remained in the middle of the vast kitchen like he had forgotten the reason for his trip.

  “Are you angry with me, Lord Buford?”

  He whirled at the sound of Rose’s voice and raised the candle to look into the darkness.

  Her long hair was loose, flowing over her nightclothes and Nicholas felt heat shoot through his body, tainting his face red in darkness.

  “Miss Rose! This is inappropriate!” he sputtered, backing away as if she approached but she did not. She rested in her spot near the servant’s stairs, her head cocked slightly to the side in confusion.

  “Forgive me,” she murmured. “I do not oft see another when I come here at night.”

  “You oft come here at night?” he asked. He was more curious than embarrassed.

  “I find sleep elusive,” she replied softly. “I oft seek out warm milk. I see you suffer the same ailment.”

  “Not often,” Nicholas confessed. “Perhaps it is the charge of the night.”

  She nodded and stepped forward tentatively.

  “May I fix you a cup of warm milk and almonds, my lord?”

  He knew he should excuse himself and return to his bedchambers, but he could not bring himself to do that, not when he wanted to be there with her in that moment. It had been many days since they had even spoken, and he admitted that he had missed her awfully.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  She set her candle upon the cutting table and moved toward the back entrance to retrieve the milk from the ice shelf. Nicholas shifted his eyes, careful not to
stare openly at her but she seemed to have forgotten that she wore only her nightgown, as she poured the near-frozen milk into a heating pan and lit the stove.

  “You did not respond to my question,” she said as she placed the iron pan upon the stove and waited for the liquid to heat. It was almost black in the kitchen, but for the flicker lights of the two wicks but Nicholas had no desire to create any more illumination. They did not want to invade the other’s privacy while they stood mere yards apart.

  “Your question?” Nicholas echoed. “What was it?”

  “Have I angered you?”

  “Certainly not!” he scoffed with far too much gusto. “Why do you ask?”