The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor_A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

  It was the first time since she had come to Rosecliff that she had been asked to sit apart from them and while she knew it was foolish, Rose felt dismissed.

  Would you prefer to dine with Captain Balfour as he stares at you with those cold, calculating eyes? Do not be daft, Rose. Your place is here. Even Harry and Betsey are here and they are true nobility. If anyone should feel displaced, it is them.

  Rose suspected there was a good reason for keeping the Arlingtons out of earshot and her also; whatever the men discussed over whiskey and port was likely not healthy for young ears.

  Yet she could not help but wonder what was said among them. Did they cuss and speak vilely or were there business negotiations occurring? Of course, Rose knew nothing of business or politics but she would give a week’s pay for just a few minutes of conversation.

  Perhaps John and Bridget should have institutionalized you after Philip passed. You are going stark raving mad.

  “Miss Rose, why do you not have children?”

  The question seemed to fall from the sky and Rose instinctively looked up as if God had spoken. Alas, it was not God but Betsey who peered at her with curious eyes as she continued to chew her food. Oddly, however, the inquiry did not pierce Rose as she would have expected.

  “That is a vile question, Lady Arlington!” Bridget exploded, immediately jumping to Rose’s defense. “Have you no shame?”

  “It is quite all right, Bridget,” Rose interjected, holding her hand up. “She is only a child.”

  “A petulant child!” Bridget stormed, and Rose watched as Betsey’s eyes filled with tears.

  “I did not mean – “

  “It is quite fine!” Rose said again, casting her friend a warning look. “I will answer your question.”

  “You needn’t!” Betsey choked, contrition etched in her finely boned face. Rose was struck at how lovely a woman she would become in just a few years time.

  She will marry a count or baron and bear many children of her own one day. She is curious about her future and I am happy she is comfortable enough to ask me. Lord knows, Duchess Buford will not be as accepting of these queries.

  Rose inhaled deeply and thought of all the times she and Philip had spoken of starting their family. Then she offered Betsey a warm smile.

  “As you know,” she began. “I was married before I came to live here.”

  “But your husband died,” Harry intoned. Those words had a greater impact on Rose than Betsey’s question, but she dared not show her anguish.

  “Indeed, he did. His name was Philip and he was a lieutenant in the royal navy. He fought bravely, proudly and sadly, he perished doing what he felt he was fated to do—protecting our glorious country.”

  “Do you miss him?” Betsey asked, her eyes as round as the dinner plates left untouched on the table.

  “My word!” Bridget muttered, her cheeks stained with anger but Rose continued.

  “Yes,” she replied honestly. “I miss him every day.”

  “Would you miss him less if you had had children?” Betsey asked and Rose smiled sadly at the simplicity of her thinking.

  If only it could be so simple, she thought miserably. Truthfully, I have no way of knowing.

  It seemed impossible that one small hand could aid in the healing of her badly wounded heart.

  “We wanted to have children very much,” Rose continued. “But alas, it was not meant to be. I imagine that it is for the best. I look at you and think of how much you have lost, and I realize that it is unbearable to see a child in such pain.”

  “Perhaps you will marry Nicholas,” Harry piped in and the grown people inhaled sharply.

  “It is not as simple as that, Lord Arlington,” Rose explained. “There are many factors to consider.”

  “Nobility, you mean? The duke and duchess do not care about status,” Betsey offered. “They would encourage your union.”

  Would they? That is interesting.

  “It is more difficult an issue than status,” Rose told them softly. “When someone passes, it is very difficult to allow another into your heart in the same place they occupied because, truly, that space is still quite full from the original. Just because someone dies, does not mean they have been forgotten or can be replaced. You, of all people, understand what it is I am saying.”

  The Arlingtons nodded and stared at the table.

  Have I said the wrong thing? She wondered, suddenly concerned she had made a mistake. Will my words scar them in the future somehow?

  “Miss Rose?” Betsey whispered, looking up.

  “Yes, Lady Arlington?”

  “When we are alone, Harry and I would like you to call us by our given names.”

  Rose’s mouth became a small O of surprise.

  “I would like that…” she lowered her voice and looked about to ensure no one else was about. “…Betsey.”

  The girl’s face brightened considerably, and she leaned forward glancing at the Boyles who pretended to eat their supper.

  “Miss Rose?”

  “Yes, Betsey?”

  “If you are ever sad and you wish you had children of your own, you may pretend that Harry and I are yours – but only if you like.”

  She sat back in her chair in a rush, her cheeks growing pale. Rose stared around the table, the Boyles’ faces reflecting the look of awed shock she felt and Harry nodding in agreement.

  “We love you, Miss Rose,” the boy mumbled. “You remind us of our mother – and not just because of your toilet water.”

  “Oh children…” Rose whispered, emotion catching in her throat. “That is the kindest thing anyone has ever offered me.”

  “Is it?” Betsey asked warily. “Why are you crying?”

  “These are tears of appreciation and adoration for you both,” she replied softly, reaching her hands out to each sibling.

  Eagerly, they accepted her outstretched palms and they squeezed together simultaneously.

  “Thank you for being my family,” Rose told them before raising her head toward Bridget and John. “Thank you all. I may have no blood-bonds but I know that real family is not always born.”

  “Hear hear!” John cackled, the display making him very uncomfortable and he raised his wine goblet up to toast. Rose laughed and pulled back, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a napkin before retrieving her fallen cutlery.

  “You see?” she added after a small silence. “We are having much more fun than the men today.”

  With the children and Boyles tucked safely away in their bedchambers, Rose took to wandering through the now-quiet corridors, a habit she had developed over the past weeks when her mind would not rest.

  Even though she was certain the hunting party had retired to their quarters for the night, all well into their cups before retiring. They were apt to sleep as snoring hogs might, Rose wondered why she was risking such a brazen move that evening. She could easily chance upon Balfour in a drunken stumble, agog and unsure of his surroundings. Yet Rose knew there was someone else she was much more likely to see and that overrode her nervousness.

  She had not seen Nicholas throughout the day, not even to bequeath him the scarf of red she had so carefully knitted for him for Christmas. She hoped to see him before the men ventured off into the woods for the expedition. Even a day without speaking to him seemed unbearably long.

  Stealing into the kitchen, she held her breath, half-expecting to see his handsome frame standing before her in the shadowy darkness, waiting for her also.

  He would not come here, she thought. He is likely just as much into his cups as all the others. What happened on Christmas Eve was simply a one-time event.

  Then why, when she turned, did she still fully expect to walk into his arms, even when the dim light produced nothing but stealthy rodents who deigned for her to leave? Why did she sneak up the servants’ stairs, into the east wing where she had no cause to be and pass by the door to his apartment one time after the next, after the next? Was she hoping he would sen
se her there and open the door?

  The blackness of night began to give way to a more forgiving grey and Rose turned to flee through the halls, her heart hammering ferociously in her chest. When she nearly tripped into her bedchambers in her haste, pressed the heavy door closed and sank against it, her head swimming with shame and disappointment.

  She had never been so humiliated with herself.

  You are a fool! What if he had seen you? What if Theodore or one of the Abigails had seen you? Shame! Shame! Shame!

  Rose had not slept and she lay on the mattress, staring at the canopy above her head.

  You must stay away from the marquess. You eat in the kitchen with the other orphans.

  Chapter 18

  The dreams were fitful, relentless, catching Nicholas in a whirlwind of confusion and desire. Rose was everywhere at once, walking beside him, her blonde tresses sweeping over his face taunting him but when he turned to look, she was gone. She darted ahead, her hands outstretched, beckoning him forward but when he ran, she had fallen to his back, shaking her head.

  “You must be faster!” she warned. “You must see all at once!”

  The words were inane to his ears and yet they were laced with caution, a warning which he could not quite comprehend.

  “Philip, you must be faster!” she said again.

  “I am not Philip!” he protested but suddenly he realized he was upon a ship on thrashing waters. He reached out to support himself as seawater stung his eyes blindly. Calling out, he stretched his hands toward Rose and her mouth moved but he could not hear her speak as her words were carried away by the wind.

  He watched in horror as she turned to his father and her eyes glimmered with panic as if the duke had consumed her. She opened her mouth to scream but his father’s form dissolved into a pile of ash, swallowed by the driving waves crashing aboard the ship.

  Panting, Nicholas sat up when Theodore spun from the window, his face surprised.

  “Are you ill, Lord Buford?”

  “No, Theodore,” he replied quickly. “I merely had a night terror.”

  “Ah.” The old butler nodded wisely. “Tis the cups. The devil’s ale will do it.”

  Nicholas tried to smile but he could not shake the terrible nightmare from his mind, his brow still encased in beads of sweat.

  “Will you fetch me a cup of Adam’s Ale, Theodore?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  The servant disappeared from view for a moment before returning with water for his master.

  “Are you certain you are well enough to hunt today, my lord? You do seem quite…damp.”

  “I am certain,” Nicholas assured him. He could not imagine what his father would say if he was to miss the first day of the hunt on account of a foul dream.

  “Say nothing to His Grace,” Nicholas instructed and Theodore nodded.

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  Theodore continued his morning duties in the marquess’ apartment before departing and leaving Nicholas to dress which he did with great effort.

  Perhaps I did indulge a wee bit much last night, he thought. I must learn that those men have many more years on me.

  He adjusted his sporting gear, pausing to examine his breeches and puffed shirt critically.

  I cannot permit father to see me as anything less than fetching for the upcoming days.

  Once more, the image of his father disintegrating into a pile of ash flashed into his mind and a shudder of revulsion coursed through his body. He could not be bothered with silly dreams for the moment. The men waited on him and he would not be tardy that morn.

  He had wished to speak with Rose before leaving but he dared not for several reasons. His father had already displayed his displeasure over what had happened in the aftermath of her fainting spell although Nicholas had yet to hear of it directly.

  One week, he reminded himself. In one week, there will be no watchful, scornful glances, no chauvinistic naval captains nor hunting trips to account for. It will be a trying week, indeed, but it is merely a week.

  Nicholas very nearly knocked down Theodore as he exited his chambers.

  “Ah, you are ready, my lord,” the butler commented. “Very good.”

  I have impressed Theodore with my punctuality. Perhaps there is hope for this marquess after all, Nicholas thought wryly, joining the men in the formal dining hall for breakfast. To his surprise, only the duke was seated in at the extended table, sipping on Bohea, his eyes scanning an old copy of the Oxford Gazette.

  “Good morrow, Your Grace,” he offered brightly. “I trust you slept well.”

  The duke slipped the paper down onto the table, his green eyes twinkling at the sight of his son.

  “I wager better than you,” he chuckled. “William Cromley and that blasted colonies moonshine. It is a wonder we have not all perished in our sleep.”

  “Indeed,” Nicholas agreed, slipping into his seat at the opposite end of the table. “I imagine the rest are still asleep then?”

  “Oh, good heavens, yes,” the duke laughed. “You do not recall our last hunting trip, but I fear we got very little done in the way of bagging stags.”

  Nicholas smiled and accepted his tea from Trudy.

  “Where is mother?”

  “She has gone into the towns for the day. She claims we gave her a terrible ache of the head with…how did she put it? Ah yes, all of our caterwauling about women and ponies.”

  Nicholas swallowed a bemused grin as he recalled the silliness of the conversation they had shared the previous night. He hoped that Rose and the children had not heard. It was not one of his finer moments.

  “It is fortunate that I have this opportunity to speak with you, Nicholas,” the duke continued and Nicholas felt his shoulders tense.

  I knew he would find a moment to reprimand me for what happened, he thought, gritting his teeth. He was determined to accept his father’s lecture with grace until one of the other men rescued him from his punishment.

  “Captain Balfour,” Duke Buford commenced. “He is quite a character, is he not?”

  Nicholas’ eyes narrowed, sensing a trap.

  “Highly regarded in the Royal Navy, well decorated also.”

  “Is he? I hadn’t given it much thought,” Nicholas replied glibly. The duke’s expression tightened.

  “He is an important man, Nicholas, just as all the men I have invited here are important in their own right.”

  “I understand, father,” he replied, unsure of how else to respond. Of course, he was aware of all that the duke explained. He simply did not know why the duke felt the need to tell him again.

  “That said, Nicholas, that does not mean they are good men or even pleasant men.”

  The younger Frampton’s head moved up slowly to meet his father’s eyes and for a moment, neither man spoke.

  “I was quite impressed with how you handled yourself against the blatant attack Balfour administered against your young lady.”

  Nicholas was genuinely stunned, and his face expressed his shock.

  “You seem perplexed,” the duke laughed. “Is it so strange that I would think my son a man of integrity in the eyes of adversity?”

  “I–I do not know what to think in this moment, Your Grace,” Nicholas replied truthfully. “I daresay, I was not expecting such a statement from your mouth. And may I add, Miss Rose is not my young lady.”

  Not for the moment…

  “Oh Nicholas,” the duke sighed. “Perhaps this is why I have always been so concerned for you. Your propensity for falsehood leaves much to be desired and I fear in politics, you require a much better gambler’s expression.”

  Nicholas snorted.

  “If my ineptitude for fibbing is the most of your concerns for me, father, I daresay you have much smaller problems than many of your peers.”

  “I concur, son. And in your situation, that is my most major concern. If only that was the only worry which plagues me…”

  The duke trailed off, his e
yes falling into a faraway look which troubled Nicholas.

  “Father? What is it?”

  “I digress,” the duke said, returning to attention. “What I mean to say, Nicholas, is that you are both a good man and a pleasant man. I am proud of who you have become, someone who will turn the other cheek when your opponent lunges carelessly in your direction. You must know when to fight and when to simply allow your enemy to tire himself with his own endless rhetoric. You displayed your ability to do that in the face of what Balfour was saying. And Nicholas…”