The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor_A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

  The marquess leaned closer to hear his father better.

  “There were moments when I wished to land a cork on him myself.”

  The father and son snickered in unison but stopped as Theodore cleared his throat to announce the men arriving. It was nothing more than talk; the duke hadn’t a violent sense about him.

  “You have made a difficult choice with Miss Rose,” the duke whispered. “But the ends justify the means and she will thank you when you are a powerful duke with respect, not merely a doting husband who can tend to her bedside.”

  Pride swelled in his chest and he nodded at his father.

  “I agree, father,” he replied softly as the worse for wear men stumbled to their seats, muttering in a sea of profanity to bemoan their pain.

  “Good morrow, gentlemen!” The duke called much louder than need be. There was a cry of protest as they reached for their water cups.

  “I had Peter work into the night, establishing our teams,” Duke Buford continued. “He will pass along a copy to each of you as you are all much too rotten to recall anything I might say in these next moments.”

  Peter materialized, hurrying along the tableside to leave the schedules with the men who grunted rudely. Nicholas reached for his and exhaled with relief as he saw he was not teamed with Balfour that day.

  “Eat your hash and eggs, men,” the duke boomed. “We have a hunt to pursue!”

  “Hear hear,” they muttered, banging their cups on the table before burying their heads back into their arms. Nicholas could not stop himself from laughing aloud at their misery.

  These important bad men, he thought, smirking slightly as his eyes travelled around the table from one sorry face to the next. The future of England in a sickly pile of vomit.

  Yet when his gaze rested on Captain Balfour, his smile faded and a chill shot through him when the icy slate eyes rested on his face.

  Perhaps I should not be too hasty, Nicholas thought refusing to break the silent battle of wills between them. Daniel Balfour most certainly has qualities which we discussed; he is both important and bad.

  Chapter 19

  Rose could hear a slight disruption outside her window and she sat up, and blinked in confusion. She was unsure if she had dreamt whatever faint noise had aroused her from sleep. For the moment, she heard nothing again.

  What had she heard? Was it only the wind?

  Despite the time she had spent in Rosecliff, there were nights where she woke, unsure of where she was, alarmed and scared. On those eves, it took several minutes for her to gather her bearings and recall that she was not at her home in Dartford. Sometimes, she would clutch the blankets to her chest and imagine that it was.

  Had a dream woken her? A memory? As the remnants of sleep dissipated, Rose could sense that something was amiss as if someone stood in the room with her. Yet as she gazed into the shadowy darkness, illuminated only by the dwindling light of the hearth, she saw no one in her midst.

  Earlier in the night, snow had begun to fall in the late eve, fluffy flakes glistening against a full moon. Rose knew she needed rest but she could not take her eyes from the gloriousness of the weather. It never snowed in such a way in Dartford and there was a sweet romance about it, one which filled her with awe and wonderment.

  She sat at the window side, entranced for such a long while, she felt her eyes grow heavy and her breathing slow. It seemed she had only slipped between the warmth of the heavy blankets, almost in a sleepwalk when she was roused from her slumber.

  Is it morning already?

  Alas, it was not, and the moon still loomed high in the sky as Rose made her way back to the seat, she had only just left to peer out into the darkness.

  She gasped when she saw the man below, his presence at the hour startling her. There was little reason for anyone to be outside when the temperature demanded the little warmth the walls of the manor provided. She could not imagine who would prefer the chill of the outdoors on a night such as that. It took her seconds to understand who such an oddity would be.

  Of course, it is him. Who else would act so sneakily?

  Rose knew she should not gawk, yet she could not pull her eyes from Captain Balfour as he stood alone, puffing on a pipe as if waiting to be met in clandestine fashion.

  Her quarters faced the woods beyond and inexplicably, Rose felt she waited on some unholy beast to emerge from their depth to greet the man of her nightmares.

  Return to your bed, Rose, a small voice chirped in her ear. Nothing good will come of Captain Balfour catching you spying upon him.

  Reluctantly, she pulled herself from the panes and turned to look at the fire dying in her hearth. As she reached for a log to rekindle the flame, she heard the unmistakable sound of a voice below.

  I was correct! He was meeting with someone! But who?

  She hurried back to peer into the night once more but as she looked down, she could not make out the face of the second man. Rose could not even be certain that the figure was a male as she gazed at the duo, their heads close together as if confiding deep secrets.

  The hour was late, the circumstances uncouth. Rose could not resist the sentiment of suspicion rising in her gut.

  Your own wariness of Captain Balfour has tainted your perception of what is right, she chided herself. The man has done nothing untoward. He is a guest at Rosecliff and you have no cause to stand here questioning his actions.

  Why could she not shake the sensation of concern mounting inside her if his presence was not nearly as innocuous as it appeared?

  Slowly, she pivoted again, her night dress sweeping at the cold floor and she padded toward the poster bed on the tips of her toes as if the men below could hear her.

  Or woman below.

  Rose slipped back into the still-warm sheets, pulling the blankets high to block out any thoughts which threatened to consume her.

  You have had enough excitement for many lifetimes. Captain Balfour’s arrival has only aroused deep woe inside you which you believed you had put to rest. You needn’t pursue the feelings.

  Yet she asked herself if her own shame was not to blame for her scrutiny of Captain Balfour. She could not deny that her affections toward Lord Buford were growing. It was as if fate had presented Captain Balfour as a test to her devotion to Philip.

  I will always love Philip, she assured herself. No man will ever change how I feel about him. What I said to Bridget is fact; I will never marry another.

  She asked herself who had ever discussed the idea of remarriage and in the dim light of her apartment, Rose felt blood rush to her fair cheeks.

  Off to bed with you! She chided herself, but Rose knew that sleep was not to come again that night.

  The men had departed when Rose and the children arrived in the dining hall, Duchess Buford was alone with her tea as they sat to join her. Rose looked about in confusion for the Boyles, but they were nowhere in sight, although places had been set for their arrival. Before Rose could ask about their whereabouts, Duchess Buford spoke.

  “I daresay,” the duchess sighed. “I will be grateful when this gathering has dispersed. We are but two days in and I find myself exhausted with entertaining already.”

  Rose eyed her with surprise as she perched gingerly on the edge of her chair. It was unlike the older woman to offer such intimate sentiments, especially in the presence of Harry and Betsey. She found herself unsure of how to respond. Betsey saved her from thinking of an answer.

  “Are they incorrigible, Your Grace?” the girl asked, leaning forward with keen interest. “Are they sloppily into their cups?”

  Duchess Buford glanced up sharply as if she realized she had spoken her thoughts aloud, her face displaying some embarrassment.

  “Of course not!” she snapped. “I am merely exhausted from their relentless presence. This is an annual occurrence, yet it never seems to grow less tiresome.”

  Rose smothered a smile, the wording amusing to her and shifted her eyes downward before the duchess could catch
her expression.

  “Harry, I have received word from the duke this morning. You will join the men on their final day,” the duchess announced and Rose watched the young boy’s face twist into a look of worry.

  “Join them?” he echoed. “On the hunt?”

  “Indeed, on the hunt. You shan’t join them to sup, shall you? Albeit, they are oft so ape-drunk, they are not apt to notice if you were to fall into your own cups among them.”

  Harry’s face colored at his aunt’s biting tone and Rose cringed slightly at her harshness. It was clear the duchess did not approve of the men in the house and despite her cuttingness, it did relieve the governess in a small way. Perhaps she was not the only one to feel the underlying tension in the manor. Or perchance she merely wished to have her home back in order. Whatever the reason, Rose felt a kinship with the woman for the first time.

  Tis only for a few days. Soon we shall both be as we were.

  Rose admitted to herself that she looked forward to their departure and to having Nicholas within the walls of the manor again if only to sneak glances and exchange smiles.

  “I would rather not,” Harry mumbled. “I have lessons.”

  Rose gaped in shock at the boy.

  He would rather do lessons that go on a hunt with the men. My word, who is this child?

  “Tis not for discussion, Harry. His Grace has asked that you accompany him. Tis high time you ventured into Buford Woods for purposes other than chasing cottontails.”

  “Miss Rose,” Harry said pleadingly, his blue eyes wide and plaintive. “You cannot spare me, can you?”

  Rose felt the duchess’ eyes upon her but she need not look at the lady of the manor to know the proper response. The boy should know better than to believe she could contradict the duke’s explicit instructions.

  “I am afraid I will need to make do without you, Lord Arlington,” she told him softly, offering him a warm smile. “I could not stand in the way of such a wonderful adventure among the men.”

  Betsey snorted contemptuously, and the women gazed at her in shock, such an unladylike sound escaping her lips.

  “There is nothing quite like a crush of men hunting defenseless woodland creatures,” Lady Arlington snickered.

  “Betsey, mind your tongue!” Duchess Buford scolded, her jade eyes darkening with annoyance. “You speak with too much frankness for a woman of your standing.”

  “It shall be great fun,” Rose interjected, sensing the headstrong Betsey about to embark on a diatribe unbecoming to their ears. “It is an honor to be invited, Lord Arlington.”

  Rose nodded encouragingly at him and he lowered his eyes begrudgingly, catching her hint. He was not one for conflict and he, too, sensed the undercurrent of tension between Betsey and the duchess.

  “Yes, Miss Rose.”

  “I will be about towns today,” Duchess Buford announced as if the matter was resolved. “Should the men return early, inform Duke Buford that Trudy will tend to him and the others.”

  “I am able to assist, Your Grace,” Rose offered before she could stop herself. It would be good to see Lord Buford for the evening. As Duchess Buford had said, it had been but two days since the men had arrived yet it seemed much longer.

  Of course, Rose reminded herself. Captain Balfour will also be in attendance.

  Rose wished she had thought before volunteering her aid but it was too late for regrets. The good of seeing Lord Buford would outweigh the negativity of seeing Captain Balfour.

  “If it is necessary,” the duchess agreed. “I shall inform Trudy to send for you if need be.”

  The duchess stood and replaced her napkin on the table, her eyes falling on Harry who continued to sulk silently into his breakfast of fruit.

  “Harry, you are becoming a man,” she told him sharply. “You must act the role.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Rose felt a pang of sadness for the boy, and as the duchess left the hall, she beamed at the children with extra enthusiasm, hoping to alleviate the discontent from the room.

  “Lord Arlington, shall we trek to the bluffs today?” she asked cheerfully, desperately wishing away the stricken look from his face.

  “I would rather not,” he replied, and Rose felt a pang in her chest. He adored the views from the cliffside and would oft plead with the governess to bring him there following their lessons.

  “I would not go,” Betsey announced, crossing her arms under her blossoming bosom, a smirk on her face.

  “You were not invited,” Rose told her, disliking the way the girl seemed to encourage her brother’s sullen mood.

  “Tis a blessing I was not!” she insisted. “I daresay that it is a barbaric act – “

  “Lady Arlington, that is quite enough!” Rose told her, her brow furrowing as the smile faded from her lips. “You are not helping matters by saying such things.”

  “I do not mean to help matters,” Betsey replied sullenly. “I mean to have my brother stand up for himself.”

  Rose stifled a sigh. She was in no mood to argue with a child, particularly when she agreed in that instance. If Harry did not wish to attend the hunt, he should not be made to do so.

  This is not my concern. The duke has spoken.

  “Come along, Lord Arlington. Finish your breakfast. We have lessons.”

  Rose knew that it was bound to be a long morning, exaggerated by the fact that there was a good chance she was expected to spend the evening under the watchful eyes of Captain Balfour.

  Her mind ventured back to the night, again wondering why he was outside in the dark and who had he met. She wracked her mind for details, pondering that perhaps he was in the throes of a sordid affair with one of the servants. Why else would he meet outside the house on such a frigid night?

  “Miss Rose?”

  She looked upward and realized that Harry awaited her from the doorway and she had been lost in thought. Whatever the reasoning behind Daniel Balfour’s stealthy encounter, it was none of her concern. She had enough with which to concern herself.

  “I must see to the Boyles first,” Rose explained. “Shall I meet you in the schoolroom?”

  “Yes, Miss Rose.”

  The boy retreated toward the back stairs and Rose headed up to where her friends were staying. She had not seen them the previous night at supper and when she visited them after Harry had retired for the night, their quarters had been silent. Rose had assumed they had gone to sleep early.

  Yet not seeing them at breakfast gave her a small fission of alarm. Were they unwell? Had they eaten since the day before at mid-day meal? Rose needed to ensure they were cared for prior to commencing the day’s plans with Harry.

  As she raised her hand to knock on the door, she heard John’s voice rise and Rose realized the door to the apartment was slightly ajar.

  “…terrible notion, Bridget. She has moved forward now. This is precisely what we wanted for her! We risk ruining her happiness with the truth!”

  “I would be inclined to agree if that captain had not materialized, John but I daresay, he had dredged forth something which should have stayed buried,” his wife declared and Rose pressed her ear to the opening to hear them better.

  They are discussing me, she realized, her heart pounding slightly at the realization. What is it I must know?

  “Bridget, darling, I fear if we bring up such a thing, she will retreat into the same darkness which found her in Dartford. We arranged to send her here for a new beginning, away from the memories of Philip. It is counterproductive.”

  “And if she learns that we have known all along? She will never forgive us for keeping it from her!”

  “Captain Balfour will not tell her,” John insisted. “She has no opportunity to see him alone. Bridget. Moreover, he was not the one who told us. He kept it a secret, if you recall. Also, I suspect that she is developing feelings toward the marquess.”

  “I noted that too,” Bridget murmured and Rose felt her face grow red. “I have seen the way they gaze
at one another when they believe they are unobserved.”

  What is the meaning of this? What terrible secret have they kept from me?

  The idea that her dearest friends—the couple she felt closer to than anyone else in the world—could be deceiving her was unbearable and yet that seemed to be precisely what they were discussing.

  She thought of the mysterious meeting she had witnessed in the night and suddenly she wondered if one of the Boyles had been Captain Balfour’s companion.