Mary was both glad and sorry to see him leave. Of all the people in Stiffkey Hall, he was the one that she felt most kinship with—apart from Beatrice. Their shared appreciation of books and scholarly pursuits was an obvious connection. Yet there was more to it. There was something indefinably personal about it.
Yes, there was something much too intense about her affinity to him and it made her decidedly nervous. She had never had much to do with men and had certainly never met anyone like Sir Nicholas before.
Perhaps that is precisely why I am drawn to him.
Her mind had not encountered his like before and it wished to study this new type of creature. Yet this did not explain why Mary felt such a strong physical response to him. Twice now she had experienced strange sensations when near him. It was unprecedented, confusing and unwelcome, so Mary did what any sensible person would do: she put it out of her mind.
* * *
‘Miss Smith, come and meet my other children.’ Mrs Fenhurst’s tone was sharp, her posture unbending.
Have I displeased her?
Thinking back, Mary realised Mrs Fenhurst had not addressed her directly in the breakfast room. They were now in the Yellow Parlour, where Mrs Fenhurst had asked Mary to attend her after breakfast. Mary walked forward to where Mrs Fenhurst was seated near the parlour fireplace. Opposite, stiffly seated on a long straw-coloured satin sofa, were Amabel and Beatrice, alongside Miss Cushing and a younger girl.
‘This is Miss Caroline, who is twelve years old since Yuletide.’
Mary greeted the girl, who eyed her calmly. ‘Are you a governess?’ she asked bluntly. Beside her, Miss Cushing showed definite signs of agitation, clutching her skirt and frowning.
‘I can be, if needed,’ Mary replied evenly. ‘I am here to assist Mrs Fenhurst and Miss Cushing, as are these nursemaids.’ She indicated the two nursemaids, who were clearly rather distracted by their charges. The boys were currently attempting to fence each other with invisible swords at the other side of the room. The nursemaids, conscious of the delicate furniture and ornaments in the parlour, were trying to prevent harm coming to anything.
Lord, the boys are full of vivacity!
Mrs Fenhurst pointed to the taller one. ‘Master David is almost ten, while my baby, Master Edmond, is seven.’
‘Seven and a half!’ Master Edmond broke off from his swordplay to make the point with some indignation.
‘That half is very important,’ Mary agreed solemnly. ‘I am happy to meet you both.’
The boys gave her the briefest of bows, then returned to their swordplay.
Mrs Fenhurst was not done. ‘I have discussed matters with Miss Cushing and I have made a decision. Miss Smith, you will assist me with invitations and planning for the parties. You will also assist Cushing by taking responsibility for the boys’ lessons.’
Mary’s heart sank. She had hoped to be allowed to concentrate on Beatrice. While she had no difficulty with assisting Mrs Fenhurst in preparing for the entertainments, she suspected that she was being given responsibility for the boys simply because no one else was able to manage them.
What am I to do with them?
‘I wish to make it clear that Cushing retains my full support, that she remains the governess for all my children and that your involvement is limited to our visit here in Norfolk. Is that understood?’
‘Of course.’ Mary had no desire to usurp poor Miss Cushing. Her aim was to do her best here in order to assist Papa. Nothing more, nothing less.
‘You may begin the boys’ lessons today—under Cushing’s guidance, naturally.’
‘Indeed.’ Mary gave Miss Cushing what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Perhaps you could give me some information about the boys’ proficiency in reading, writing and arithmetic.’
‘Well, if you are going to be tedious, you may do it over there,’ declared Mrs Fenhurst, waving towards a side table with two straight chairs beside it, by one of the long windows. Obediently, Mary and Miss Cushing moved to that part of the room.
* * *
Half an hour later, Mary was not reassured. The boys were, it seemed, reasonably proficient in reading and writing, but resisted number-work with passion, determination and some artful distraction. Miss Cushing was at her wits’ end and quite lacking in suggestions as to how Mary could achieve success where she had failed.
‘I have made it plain to Mrs Fenhurst, but she is unconcerned, repeating only that it will come to them eventually and that she herself detested all things mathematical!’ Miss Cushing was wringing her hands at this point. ‘I do worry that my dear Mr and Mrs Fenhurst will replace me with a tutor for the boys—indeed, it would be surprising if they did not do so. And then what shall I do?’
Mary touched the older woman’s hand. ‘I have no doubt they will treat you with kindness and provide a pension for you.’ A thought struck her. ‘Does Mr Fenhurst hope to join his family in the coming weeks?’
‘Oh, no! For he says this is an opportunity for some tranquillity—that is to say, his time is taken up with matters of business.’
‘I understand completely.’ They both looked to the bottom of the room, where Master David and Master Edmond were currently disagreeing hotly about some matter. The nursemaids seemed unable to manage them and the disagreement soon escalated to fisticuffs.
‘Cushing! Miss Smith! Do something!’ Mrs Fenhurst, clearly exasperated, instructed them from her throne near the fireplace.
Jumping up, Mary and the elderly governess approached the boys. Mary held back a little, wishing to observe how Miss Cushing would manage the situation. Since this seemed to be an ineffectual attempt at a lecture about good behaviour, Mary’s heart once again sank. The boys barely heard the elderly lady, so intent were they in exchanging blows, while the nursemaids tried to stay their hands.
‘Enough!’ Remembering how well they had responded to Sir Nicholas’s discipline earlier, Mary spoke loudly and forcefully. She stepped between them, taking a blow to her arm that was meant to land on Master David’s chest. ‘Who started this?’
As a way of disrupting the fight, it was immediately effective. Both brothers abandoned the bout in order to justify their angry actions. Mary spent quite five minutes listening to their reasoning, questioning them and checking the veracity of both accounts. By the end, the anger had subsided, as both looked to her for judgement.
‘David,’ she said, ‘you should not have insulted your brother. Your words were designed to wound him and that is wrong.’
She turned to the younger boy. ‘Edmond, instead of raising your fist, you should have challenged the falsity of his words.’ She eyed both of them. ‘Now, you are brothers. You will soon be gentlemen. You must each apologise for your part in this and shake hands.’
Grumbling, they did so. Mary turned to one of the nursemaids. ‘Might I suggest that you take Edmond to change his shirt, for he has lost a button?’
‘Yes, miss,’ said the nursemaid, a respectful look in her eye. She found the missing button on the floor and led a protesting Edmond out of the room.
‘Master David, come and sit with your mother and sisters,’ added Miss Cushing. ‘And I do not wish to see you playing at sword fighting in the parlour ever again!’
The boys needed to be separated for a while, thought Mary, relieved that her intervention had had the desired effect. Now, all she needed to do was teach them arithmetic!
* * *
‘And then, according to the nursemaid, the two boys shook hands, placid as you like.’ Bramber smiled. ‘I am glad that Miss Smith is turning out to be good at managing children.’
Nicholas snorted. ‘Well, she could hardly be worse than my sister and her elderly governess! It is not for me to interfere in how Susan handles her children, but it is of interest to me when they destroy the peace of everyone in this house.’ He eyed Bramber closely. ‘Miss Smith...is she...do you.
..?’
Damnation! How should I ask this?
‘Are you asking if I have a tendre for her?’ Despite flushing a little at the intimate turn of the conversation, Bramber shook his head decidedly. ‘No, not at all. She is all that is admirable, but I must confess that—that another lady has been in my thoughts.’ His ears were as bright as Nicholas had ever seen them.
‘Another lady?’ Relief warred with curiosity. Ignoring the former, Nicholas indulged the latter, asking bluntly, ‘Who?’
‘I am not going to tell you. With respect, sir.’ Bramber lifted his chin.
‘Fair enough. I have no right to pry.’
‘In fact,’ Bramber continued, ‘I did wonder, while I was travelling home from London, if perhaps you...but no.’ He clamped his mouth shut.
‘If perhaps I what?’
If I know already which lady has taken your fancy?
Nicholas frowned in puzzlement. ‘I have not the faintest idea what you are referring to. Really, Bramber, you should learn to speak more plainly.’
‘I shall give the matter my urgent attention,’ offered Bramber wryly. ‘Anyway, I need you to sign these papers for me. They relate to the new barn you are building in the West Farm.’
‘A new barn? Why am I building a new barn?’ Nicholas grinned, accepting the change of topic. ‘Do not answer that. I shall sign them.’
* * *
Half an hour later, Bramber was gone and Nicholas was alone again. He picked up his book, but paused for a few moments, imagining the scene that had played out in the Yellow Parlour. Miss Smith had spirit, it seemed. Beauty, intelligence and spirit. Perhaps she was not so dull, after all.
Chapter Eight
Once again, Mary found herself seated between Sir Nicholas and Beatrice at dinner. Once again, she was conscious of that thrill of strange awareness in his presence.
I did not imagine it, then.
As she ate and conversed, and behaved—she hoped—in a natural way, she was curiously alert to his movements, his words, his nearness to her. Perhaps it was something to do with the wine, for she was unused to taking much alcohol. She tried another sip. It was truly delicious!
Sir Nicholas does have a formidable physical presence.
His height, the breadth of his shoulders and the banked strength in his frame was all strangely interesting to her. She found herself watching his hands while he cut his food—long fingers managing the utensils with practised ease. Stop! she told herself. How mortifying if he should see her watching him.
‘Has my sister decided yet what she will require of you, Miss Smith?’ he asked politely.
‘Yes. As well as assisting her to plan the parties, she wishes me to centre my attention on Master David and Master Edmond.’ Strangely, the wine seemed to have created bubbles of mirth inside her chest.
How delightful!
Thankfully, her outward demeanour remained sensible.
‘I wondered if she might,’ he murmured. ‘I have no doubt you are equal to the task.’
‘Then you are more confident than I,’ Mary retorted frankly, ‘for I do not have the faintest idea how I might manage them!’
He laughed at this. ‘Your honesty does you credit, Miss Smith. It is refreshing to hear something more real than bland platitudes.’
‘I am sadly lacking in platitudes,’ she replied forlornly. ‘A deficiency which has frequently led to trouble for me.’
I should not be speaking to him with such openness.
Yet, somehow, she could not stop herself.
He grinned. ‘I myself admire plain speaking, Miss Smith—except when speaking plainly might distress another.’
She tilted her head to one side, remembering Miss Plumpton’s inconsistent approach to this very matter. ‘That is true. I have frequently heard people defend inexcusable rudeness on the grounds of “honesty” or “plain speaking”.’ The footman refilled her wine glass and Mary thanked him absently.
‘Precisely. Rudeness and downright vulgarity are not to be encouraged. Yet we agree, I think, that false solicitude is equally abhorrent.’
‘Indeed. Honesty is a virtue, as we know, and yet blunt honesty is not always the best response in terms of morality.’ She frowned, remembering that she had been less than honest with him and with the guard in the gaol.
I must, she reminded herself. Papa’s survival takes precedence.
Yet her discomfort was acute.
‘What are you thinking now?’ he asked, clearly attempting to read the expressions on her face.
She looked at him blankly. ‘I...’ She paused.
Say nothing!
‘I do apologise, Miss Smith. You are entitled to the privacy of your thoughts.’ His words were calmly uttered, yet somehow he had withdrawn from her. Gone was the open, teasing expression of a moment before, replaced by a cold, closed expression on his face. The affinity they had been sharing was lost, leaving a sick, empty feeling in Mary’s stomach. They ate in silence after that, until the conversations turned and they each spoke to the Fenhurst sisters on the other side.
* * *
Morning brought Mary back to the Yellow Parlour, where the Fenhursts and Miss Cushing were gathered, along with the two harassed-looking nursemaids.
‘Time for schooling,’ announced Mrs Fenhurst. This brought exasperated sighs from the boys. ‘Now, boys,’ said their mama in a wheedling tone, ‘you know you must continue with your lessons. Your papa expects it.’
Master David eyed Mary with suspicion. ‘Will you force us to learn arithmetic?’
Mary shrugged. ‘If Miss Cushing wishes it. But I believe that it is better if children enjoy their lessons.’
‘Hurrah!’ declared Master Edmond. ‘That means no arithmetic!’
‘Ah, but you are jumping to conclusions!’ Mary kept her tone light.
The boy frowned. ‘But I did not jump at all. I just stood here.’
Mary smiled. ‘It is a way of saying that you came up with the wrong answer because you immediately assumed you knew exactly what I meant to say.’
‘You said enjoy lessons. I heard you!’
‘I did.’
David decided to join in the conversation. ‘One cannot enjoy arithmetic—why, the very idea is nonsensical!’ His tone was scathing. ‘Therefore enjoying lessons means no arithmetic. Edmond is correct!’
‘I like that you are using logic to explain your thinking, Master David.’ She leaned closer. ‘That is clever.’
He snorted. ‘No, that is common sense!’
‘But common sense may sometimes be wrong.’ She thought for a moment, wondering if her unusual idea might work. ‘Very well. I shall do this differently.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘Master David Fenhurst,’ she declared, ‘I hereby challenge you to an arithmetic quest!’
His eyes lit up, then he looked dubious. ‘Is this a trick?’
‘No, for I am happy to tell you openly that there will be arithmetic involved.’
‘What would I have to do?’ His tone was dripping with suspicion, but he was nevertheless intrigued. Mary was sure of it.
‘I shall challenge you to complete three tasks. They all involve being outside in the gardens. At the end of each task, I shall ask about your enjoyment and we shall talk together about arithmetic. Do you accept the challenge?’
‘Can I play, too?’ Edmond, clearly liking the sound of Mary’s proposal, elbowed his way back into the conversation.
Miss Caroline, Mary noted, was listening intently. ‘If Miss Cushing permits, all three of you may take part.’
Miss Caroline sniffed. ‘It all sounds rather childish!’ she declared, with all the defiant gravitas of a twelve-year-old. Yet, Mary noticed, the girl’s eyes gleamed with curiosity.
‘Caroline, you should stay here this morning,’ said her mother, patting the seat beside her. ‘I know Cush
ing is keen to work with you on your knowledge of the globe. This is the perfect opportunity, with Miss Smith diverting the boys.’
Miss Caroline, whose shoulders had slumped a little at the mention of Cushing’s globe, shook her head. ‘Actually, Mama, I think I should help Miss Smith with the boys.’ Leaning confidentially in towards her mother, she added, ‘For she will have no idea of the mischief they can get up to!’
* * *
Thankfully, the day was dry, clear and sunny, if cold. The frigid February wind whipped around them, tousling the boys’ hair and flattening Mary’s muslin gown against her. Miss Caroline, who had donned her cloak and bonnet with alacrity, now looked as though she regretted the impulse to take part. They all looked at Mary expectantly.
What on earth am I doing?
Still, it was worth attempting.
‘I have created a series of challenges for you—three for you, Master David, and three for you, Master Edmond. The first is easy and, if you are successful, you will be deemed a Page. The second is more difficult, and will earn you the right to become a Squire. Only a true Knight will pass the third.’
The boys’ eyes shone with excitement. ‘I should love to be a knight,’ declared Edmond, unsheathing his imaginary sword. ‘I shall kill all the dragons!’
‘No, for I shall kill the biggest, most fearsome ones!’ argued his brother.
Intervening before Edmond could utter a frustrated retort, Mary adopted a confidential air. ‘David, your first quest is near the kitchen door. Edmond, you must go to the Rose Garden. Wait!’ for they had almost run straight off. ‘You do not yet know what to look for.’
They paused, eyeing her eagerly. ‘Here is a slate for each of you. Use it carefully.’ She handed it to them with great solemnity and they took this most prosaic of items with much ceremony. ‘I have hidden a note for each of you on parchment. You must find the note, read it and find the answer to my question. You may need to use the slate for the arithmetic part. Then you must run back here as soon as you have the answer. Do you understand?’
A Waltz with the Outspoken Governess Page 6
