The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor_A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

  “If she is becoming fanciful of Lord Buford, telling her what we know could hinder her future happiness.”

  There was a long silence and Rose waited, her pulse racing wildly in her veins.

  “John, Rose has been through much. She deserves to know the truth and we should tell her. Only then can she truly move forward.”

  “I disagree,” John said curtly. “It will do more harm than good.”

  Good Lord, Rose thought angrily, pushing open the door. Is this what they have been doing all night? Arguing over whether to deceive me? I hope it is well worth missing meals for I am going to learn what it is they have kept from me.

  “Rose!” the Boyles chorused as she entered, her blue eyes flashing with upset.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, blinking through her anger. “What is it I am not meant to know?”

  “Rose–” John started to say but Bridget cut him off mid-sentence.

  “She has heard us, John. We must tell her the truth now.”

  “Bridget, be reasonable,” John muttered. “We cannot…”

  He faltered as if realizing there was no other option in that moment, sighing in resignation.

  “What is it? What have you kept from me?” Rose exploded. “I deserve to know!”

  The couple exchanged a nervous look and suddenly both seemed reluctant to speak but Rose was insistent.

  “Please!” she begged, attempting to keep the ire from her tone. “I have endured enough without having you conspire against me!”

  “We would never conspire against you!” Bridget gasped, shocked by the accusation. “You are like our own daughter, Rose!”

  “Then you must tell me what you have hidden from me!”

  John inhaled deeply and hung his head in defeat.

  “Yes, Rose,” he mumbled, refusing to meet her steadfast gaze. “Tis time you knew the truth.”

  “The truth about what?” Her voice was near hysterical and John rose his hand to calm her as Bridget reached her side, placing a palm on her arm gently.

  “Come and sit, my dear.”

  “I do not wish to sit!” Rose cried, wrenching her arm away as she sensed a delay tactic.

  “You should,” John sighed. “What we have to tell you is very painful.”

  “John!” Rose wailed, tears welling in her eyes. “I cannot bear it a second longer. Please, what is it?”

  Once more the Boyles eyed one another but Bridget sighed and answered her desperate plea.

  “We know the unnatural circumstances of Philip’s death.”

  Chapter 20

  Nicholas was sure he had never been more miserable than the past two days. Snow slid into his boots to cast a puddle on the soles of his feet as the flakes whipped against his face, freezing the whiskers of hair to his face.

  “This is bloody daft!” William Cromley announced, slamming his rifle to the snow in irritation as he reached into his waistcoat. He produced a flask and took a swig, offering the marquess which Nicholas accepted gratefully.

  “We will never catch even a dashed squirrel in this miserable posting!”

  Nicholas choked slightly at the whiskey as it seeped down his throat and into his belly, temporarily warming his frozen frame.

  “Shall we head back toward Rosecliff?” Nicholas suggested, turning his head to peer into the sky. Indeed, it had begun to storm quite a bit more since the morning. Yet despite the ominous wind, Duke Buford had insisted they hunt that day. He had tried to warn his father before they had embarked on their day.

  “Father, a storm is brewing,” Nicholas commented, pulling the heavy drapes aside to peer toward the woods. “Perhaps we should forsake today’s hunt.”

  “Is my lord afraid of a bit of snow?” Captain Balfour asked from his spot at the breakfast table, a small smirk forming on his lips as he stared at Nicholas challengingly. “I daresay, I am surprised.”

  “I am hardly afraid of snow, Captain,” Nicholas replied, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. “I am merely observing that a storm appears to be in the making and it does not seem wise – “

  “I suppose I am accustomed to more challenges than Lord Buford. Having been to war, I have a much better tolerance for a wee bit of snow,” Captain Balfour interrupted and Nicholas’ eyes widened at being cut short on his thought. Moreover, the insult was blatant and condescending.

  The incredible nerve of the man! And before my father, no less!

  Nicholas glanced at the duke and while his father made no comment, the younger Frampton knew that his father was keenly aware of what was happening.

  He is watching to see how I respond.

  The marquess wondered if his father had not arranged for the captain to deliberately behave crassly as some ploy to gage his reaction.

  “Forgive me for interjecting, Captain,” Nicholas said, leaning forward, his green eyes glittering. “But you must admit, if you were given an option, you would not have braved the weather, particularly for sport.”

  The men stared at one another, a silent clash of wills.

  “We will see how the weather fares,” Duke Buford announced, settling the debate for the time. “Should it grow worse, we will return for drinks and hombre.”

  The men murmured their consensus and finished their breakfast, grouping off into their parties.

  “My ballocks are freezing clean off!” Lord Hastings groaned and William nodded in agreement.

  “I daresay, the good duke is behaving rather peculiarly this go, is he not?” the barrister declared, shaking his soaked mass of hair. “Despite his bravado, he would never opt to hunt in such treacherous weather, especially not when good port and cards wait in the parlor.”

  “Is he acting peculiar?” Nicholas asked, his eyebrows rising slightly at the comment.

  “Perhaps he has been dipping into Cromely’s colony ale,” Hastings laughed. “Indeed, that will wither the old mind, will it not?”

  “Speak for yourself, Lord Hastings,” William chuckled. “I have supped much of it and I haven’t any issues.”

  “How else has my father acted strangely?” Nicholas asked, half-hearing their banter. “Has he given you cause for concern?”

  “The duke?” Lord Hastings asked, chuckling. “No, Buford. He is as sound as they come albeit I have no idea what he was imagining coming out here today. Any animal worth bagging is burrowed out of harm’s way by now. Let us return to Rosecliff.”

  Cromely and Lord Hastings turned, stomping their snow-covered boots as they moved, and Nicholas paused for a long moment, watching them. His mind was elsewhere although he could not explain definitively what it was that troubled him.

  Was his father acting strangely or was he merely looking for meaning behind the exchanges between himself and Captain Balfour? It seemed unlikely that under normal circumstances, anyone would feel comfortable enough to speak so brashly toward him in front of the duke and yet Captain Balfour did not hesitate.

  It is just as you thought; father is putting you through an examination of sorts, seeing how you handle brutish behavior. You deigned for more understanding of what happens, truly occurs in parliament. Now you will know for certain if you pass his study. You must not permit Captain Balfour to rattle your nerves.

  “Buford! Are you coming, or have you become a block of ice in your place?” Cromely yelled from a distance. “I am unsure I have the dexterity to dig you out without having feeling in my fingers.”

  Nicholas waved, wondering if the barrister could see him through the now-driving snow. Warmth and scotch awaited him just beyond the treeline. He needn’t waste his time concerning himself with the snarky mentions of Daniel Balfour.

  The afternoon progressed swimmingly, the heat of the fire quickly alleviating the cold from the toes and fingers of the men who had returned. Although Nicholas and his party were the first to return, the others arrived in the salon in due time and the weather grew into a fantastical blizzard out of doors.

  As Trudy served the men drinks
and offered them nibbles as they slowly filtered in from the cold until everyone had returned from the hunt but for the duke’s group.

  “Those men are as stubborn as mules,” Duke Sommersail snorted, glancing at his son. “Did you encounter them in the woods?”

  Lord Sommersail shook his blonde head.

  “Not us,” he replied, glancing at his group for confirmation. The other men conceded.

  “They will not return without a fox,” Lord Hastings chortled. “Mark my words. We will find them in blocked ice on the morrow, their guns pointed toward the caves.”

  Yet as the afternoon slipped into early evening, Nicholas found himself wandering the anteroom, looking for his father through the doorway. He could not shake the sense that it was no longer a hunt his father was embarked upon but possibly a struggle to return.

  Footfalls at his back caused him to turn and Rose paused, peering down at him on the second to last step before the landing.

  “Lord Buford,” she said, her tone oddly flat. “You have returned from your hunt.”

  If Nicholas had not been so distracted, he would have noticed the perceivable strain in her eyes but his mind was on his father’s safety.

  “Hours ago,” he replied absently. “I have not seen you.”

  “I have only finished with Lord Arlington. We had intended to hike to the bluffs but the weather…”

  “Indeed,” Nicholas said shortly, not wanting the reminder.

  “Are you all right, my lord?” Rose asked, her face creasing with a slight concern as she descended the final stairs and slipped toward him. “You seem…disquieted.”

  Nicholas stared at her for a long moment, marveling that she was able to read his face so easily. Yet as he continued to study hers, he saw that she wore her own expression of concern.

  “I fear my father and his group may have grown lost in the storm,” he confessed, seeing no reason to lie. She was a good a friend as any, certainly better than the men he barely knew, imbibing and growing rowdier in the next room.

  “Who is among them?” Rose asked, tilting her honey stained hair to the side in a charming fashion. Her irises glowed like sapphires against the flickering light of the candles lighting the foyer.

  “Peter Alderson, Lord Preston and Captain Balfour,” Nicholas recited. “All seasoned huntsmen.”

  Rose’s face waned in the light and she dropped her eyes, entwining her long fingers together, lost in thought.

  “Captain Balfour is among them,” she repeated but it was not a question, only a dull, emotionless comment.

  “I hope you have overcome whatever anxiety he seems to give you, Rose,” Nicholas murmured, stepping toward her as he noticed the tension in her lovely profile. “He will be gone in mere days.”

  “Of course,” Rose replied quickly, raising her head to peer into his eyes but just as quickly, she shifted her gaze away.

  Something has changed in her demeanor toward me, he realized. I have not seen enough of her since the party’s arrival to assess why but I would wager it has much to do with Balfour. She is reminded of her husband.

  “Rose…”

  He reached out to touch her arm but she drew back nervously.

  “I must help Trudy with supper, my lord. I fear that Duchess Buford will be forced to spend the night in the towns and Trudy cannot handle twelve men on her own.”

  “I will assist you,” Nicholas said impulsively, and Rose gaped at him.

  “You, my lord? I fear you misunderstood me. I must prepare for the evening meal.”

  “I understood just fine,” he replied, smiling as he met her eyes. “I wish to help.”

  “My lord, you mustn’t!” she whispered. “It is improper and the men…”

  “The men will be glad to have their supper in a timely fashion. No one could account for the weather doing what it has.”

  She stared at him, her full lips parting in surprise and Nicholas found himself wondering if they tasted as sweet as they appeared. He dared not find out.

  This is precisely what I need while I wait for father to return; a distraction with the comely Rose Parsons. Tis better than waiting by the window as a soldier’s wife would do.

  The analogy filled him with shame and he thought of how many days and nights Rose had sat, watching for her beloved Philip to return.

  “As you wish, my lord,” she murmured, knowing that an argument was useless if he had made up his mind. “I will inform Trudy to expect your arrival.”

  “Oh, you mustn’t!” Nicholas chuckled. “I would much rather catch the expression on her face if I should arrive in the galley, donning an apron.”

  “My lord!” Rose gasped, her imagination running amok with such an image. She burst into a tinkling laughter which warmed him throughout his entire body.

  I could listen to her laugh all the day.

  “Imagine what the men would say then,” he continued, prancing about as if he was serving a tray. He flipped his head in a coquettish fashion, batting his eyes.

  “Lord Hastings, your leg of lamb,” he announced, leaning forward to present the unseen dish. “Mr. Cromely, may I refill your cup?”

  “You seem more a bar wench than a servant girl,” Rose giggled but her face grew scarlet as the words left her mouth. “I – I only meant –I did not mean —”

  Nicholas stared at her, his mouth agape in shock.

  “You think I make a poor servant girl?”

  “No!” Rose replied, her eyes widening. “You are a fine…”

  She stopped speaking, apparently unsure of how to respond to such an inane inquiry. Nicholas held her stare sternly and suddenly burst into peals of laughter. She was relieved.

  “Lord Buford, you had me alarmed!” she sighed, realizing that he was merely jesting with her. “I nearly–”

  She abruptly stopped speaking, her head rising fully to look past him.

  “Rose? What is it?”

  She pointed, brushing past him toward the door but even before he turned, Nicholas was consumed with a feeling of dread. Perhaps he read the fear on her face or perchance he had known it all along but when Rose threw open the heavy front door, a bluster of wind sweeping through the front hall, there was no doubt.

  Galloping toward them at full trot was Victor, his father’s hunting horse. He had no one on his back and no one followed as the animal grunted in frustration, raring his beautiful brown head.

  “Oh, Lord Buford…” Rose breathed but Nicholas barely heard her, a wave of dizziness distorting his senses.

  “Where are they?” he mumbled, stepping onto the slippery stoop to greet the snorting beast. “Victor, where are they?”

  Of course, the animal could not answer but the howl of the wind seemed to imply it knew. Nicholas knew nothing good was waiting for them inside the woods.

  Chapter 21

  “I feel helpless,” Rose whispered, and Bridget pulled her close. “They are all combing the woods in the dark, in the storm and we remain here waiting for word. I feel just as…”

  She did not finish her thought, but it was understood; it was as if she was waiting for word on Philip once more. Rose wished desperately that the men had not retreated into the night in search of their missing peers but there was little she could say to stop them. No one was apt to listen to a governess, no matter if she was seemingly the only one sound enough to foresee the danger which lay ahead.

  “The temperatures are freezing, and the men are all in their altitudes. Instead of merely one missing group, we shall have a dozen missing men, all frozen to their deaths by morning!” Rose whimpered to the Boyles after the men charged into the night.

  “You mustn’t think that way,” John chided softly. “They are experienced in hunting and tracking. They will find the duke and his men and return safely.”

  Rose bit on her lower lip to contain more terrified words from escaping. There was no positive outcome to be had. Something awful had occurred in the woods, of that there was no doubt but what? Had someone been inju
red or taken ill? Or was it much worse than that?

  “Come, child. We will fix tea and wait for word together in the salon,” Bridget told her, guiding her from the galley and into the front of the house

  “I will see to the tea, Mrs. Boyle,” Trudy volunteered, and Rose eyed the woman gratefully.

  Her concern for Nicholas was paramount but only slightly more than the worry she had for the duke. The Boyles’ words to her earlier that morning still rang in her head and gooseflesh prickled her arms. She could not supress the thought that Captain Balfour had something to do with the group’s predicament.