by Tess Byrnes
“You were going to rouse Lucy, and have her prepare herself for callers,” Priscilla replied calmly, an understanding twinkle lurking in her blue eyes. “Which I will now go do for you.”
A closer acquaintance with Mrs. Hartfield had not abated the immediate liking Priscilla had felt for the older woman. Although she was definitely silly, and a little too ambitious to marry Lucy well, the matronly woman was generous and kind. “If only Richard had married someone with some genuine kindness, how different things would have been,” Priscilla often thought. She tried not to let her mind dwell on Pleasance, but it was impossible not to wonder, from time to time, how Richard was, and if he regretted her flight. She had debated before leaving about whether or not to leave a note, and had decided at last that it would be cruel to leave without assuring them that she was safe. And the note had said just that. That she was going somewhere where she would be safe, and able to make her own decisions. She often wondered what the reaction to her note had been. Relief on Carolyn’s part? Sadness on Richard’s? A desire to have her back, or a determination not to?
Time in her capacity as governess had raised many questions in Priscilla’s mind. Although the work was not as she had planned it, Priscilla felt a real affection for her young charges, and looked forward to the prospect of Lucy’s London season, and helping her to make wise choices. Beyond the season, though, Priscilla’s imagination drew a blank. Much as she loved her new-found independence, she knew she could not go on being a governess forever. And without any contact with home, it would not be possible to reconcile with Carolyn, even if that should prove to be possible. A little worried furrow appeared in Priscilla’s brow when she contemplated the future, but with the resilience of youth, she believed deep down that things would work out. She refused to regret her decision to leave, and she approached each day as it came to her. Smiling now at Mrs. Hartfield, her only plan was to breakfast on some coffee and a buttered muffin, and then go ready Lucy for the expected morning calls.
Coming back down the main stair with a somewhat sleepy Lucy less than an hour later, Priscilla saw that Mrs. Hartfield knew her fellow county-men well, as the hall table already held two gentleman’s curly brimmed beaver hats, a pair of brown leather gloves, and a pair of riding crops. Entering the blue salon, her ears were quick to recognize the suave tones of Lord Hillaire. Knowing that she should turn and leave at one, Priscilla moved through the door, keeping her eyes lowered, feeling every ounce the governess. Her jonquil dress was not as somber as she could wish, but she was glad she had pulled her hair back into a knot instead of leaving it loose. If she had glimpsed her reflection in the mirror she passed on her way to the salon she would has seen several curly tendrils that escaped the confinement of the ribbon to caress her cheek. She might have also seen the delicate flush on her high cheekbones and the gleam of excitement in her sparkling blue eyes.
Nodding a greeting to Lord Hillaire and the handsome young man Lucy had pointed out as his cousin Julian, Priscilla made her way to the window seat, uncomfortably aware that her heart was beating rather quickly. She was aware of a delicious feeling of anticipation, even though she knew that avoiding any contact with Lord Hillaire was undoubtedly her safest course. As Mrs. hartfield encouraged Lucy to sit beside his Lordship, Priscilla was surprised to see a determined smile on her pupil’s pretty face.
“Hawkie, please come sit by me,” Lucy smiled, grabbing Priscilla’s arm and directing her next to Jasper on the small sofa. Lucy then took Priscilla’s intended place in the window seat. Blessedly unaware of Lucy’s plan to try her hand at playing cupid’s apprentice, Priscilla gave a puzzled smile. “How can I sit by you if you sit over there?” she murmured.
“Have you been out riding, my lord,” Lucy was asking his Lordship pointedly, as Julian turned his chair politely to include Lucy in the group.
“As a matter of fact we have, Miss Lucy,” Jasper replied with a quizzical look. “Do you enjoy riding?”
“Oh, no. I have never gotten accustomed to being seated so far from the ground. And horses shift so, from foot to foot. I never feel quite steady. But I do enjoy carriage drives,” she continued pointedly.
“Lucy, dearest,” Mrs. Hartfield was trying in vain to catch Lucy’s eye with an abashing stare. “I’m sure we all enjoy a nice drive. The country too, so lovely in the fall. Have you been about your estates much during this visit, My lord?” she queried.
“I’m afraid not,” Jasper’s blue green eyes lit with a rueful grin. “I’m chagrined to admit that no sooner did I arrive at my hunting lodge than I took my new stallion out and parted company, as they say. He’s a magnificent animal, but new to the saddle, and he must have stepped in a rabbit’s hole, at least that’s my story, and down I went. Out like a light. My people tell me that a local maid found me and notified them of my whereabouts. She disappeared before I could find her and thank her, but maybe that’s best for my wounded pride.” He bore Mrs. Hartfield’s profuse exclamations of concern for his welfare with a self deprecating smile, and much good will. She sounded much as his own mama had.
“And you dare to call me cow-handed,” Julian teased his older cousin.
“Honesty compels me to try to encourage you to better yourself,” Jasper retorted. “Ignore him, ma’am,” he continued, addressing Mrs. Hartfield. “He has no notion of proper respect.”
Julian grinned appreciatively, and turned to address a question to Lucy.
Priscilla had kept her head lowered during this exchange and felt her cheeks burn at his recounting of the night she had found him in the lane. She couldn’t but be glad that, despite his talk of his pride, he was able to speak so openly about what to some men would have been an unmentionable and ego bruising event. Finding oneself in so helpless a position would be intolerable to a man of Lord Hillaire’s stature, and being able to laugh at it the only way to make it bearable. She gave him an approving gleam, and met his eyes as he glanced her way. With the sun gleaming on her hair, her open, smiling face glowing, she took his breath away momentarily. As he met her eyes a compelling smile lit his own, causing her pulse to quicken.
Priscilla gave herself a strong mental pinch, appalled to find that she apparently had the heart of a wanton. It seemed that all it took was a smile from the handsome peer to cause her body to respond in ways she couldn’t control. Her desire to have his hands on her body was almost overwhelming, and if it wasn’t for the other occupants of the room, she knew that she would act upon it.
“A carriage drive,” Jasper said suddenly, turning abruptly back to Mrs. hartfield. “Would you like to come for a ride this afternoon, Miss Lucy, with my cousin and me?” he asked. “You would of course bring your governess to chaperone,” he continued as if to convince Mrs. Hartfield to let her daughter accompany him. She needed no convincing. Smiling broadly, she gave her blessing, and arranged to have Lucy ready for the promised treat immediately following luncheon.
When Lord Hillaire and his young cousin took his leave, after a very proper twenty minute visit that would have made his Mama proud, Priscilla turned to her employer.
“Surely there is no need for me to accompany Lucy with such an old family friend?” she inquired hopefully.
“Don’t you care to go, Miss Hawksworth?” Mrs. Hartfield asked. “There is no impropriety in Lucy driving alone with Lord Hillaire and young Julian if his groom or tiger goes with him, I suppose,” she said mindfully.
“Oh, you must come with me, Hawkie,” Lucy broke in impetuously. “You absolutely must come with us.”
Priscilla’s brows came together quizzically at the almost desperate note in Lucy’s voice, but before she could inquire as to the cause of this apparent apprehension, Mrs. Hartfield spoke.
“Indeed you must accompany this young hoyden if what we just witnessed is her idea of conversation!” she said imperiously. “Lucy, you must take your cue from Miss Hawksworth, and learn to curb your tongue. It is one thing to entice a gentleman into asking one out for a carriage ride. You, h
owever, came nearer to leaping into his carriage and handing him the ribbons! I blushed at your manner, young lady.” She softened her tone as she saw that Lucy was looking truly penitent. “Well, enough said. And I was glad to see that you were able to participate in the conversation. Miss Hawksworth, you were entirely in the right of it. Bringing Lucy into the way of society now, before the season begins will be greatly in her favor. You will both be ready to accompany his Lordship after luncheon.” With a complacent, yet somewhat implacable smile, Mrs. Hartfield excused them from the salon, reminding them to hold themselves at the ready to rejoin her should further morning callers arrive.
As she closed the salon door behind them priscilla saw the penitent look on Lucy’s face fade away instantly, only to be replaced with a very self satisfied one.
“There’s something going on in that head of yours, Lucy, and I’m not sure if I should find out about, or leave it entirely alone,” Priscilla said suspiciously. Lucy only smiled mysteriously, and accompanied her governess back up to the schoolroom where they had promised to fill amabel in on all the details of the ball before joining Mrs. Hartfield for luncheon. They found amabel seated at a table in the school room, a book open before her, a frown upon her pretty face. It changed into a smile as she saw her sister and Hawkie enter the room.
“Oh, wonderful,” she exclaimed happily. “Now I may put away this dreadful book and hear all about the party.”
“Dreadful book?” Priscilla could not help but repeat in tones of consternation. “Why, that’s a translation of one of the finest poets that ever wrote.” She picked up her beloved copy of Virgil, with whom she had hoped to entice Amabel into a semblance of the love for his poetry that Priscilla herself had. Holding the book almost protectively to her chest she bent a reproving look on the unrepentant child, who shook her golden curls naughtily.
“Well, to me it is dreadful,” Amabel shrugged. “Mama said I shouldn’t bother my head with that sort of learning. She gave me this book to read instead.” She held out a slim volume covered in lavender leather, with a pattern of violets across the front, and the legend, ‘Deportment and Poise, a guide for young women of quality.’
“Mama said that this would be very much more to the point.” A mischievous smile appeared suddenly as she continued. ”But I find this book dreadful too! It doesn’t confuse me as much as your Virgil, but it says I may not run, or play, and must learn petit point and water colors!”
Priscilla took the little book she was handed, and opened it to the spot that was marked with a lavender ribbon. Under the chapter headed ‘Polite Conversation’ she read aloud, “A Lady will never find herself truly at a loss for Appropriate Conversation, for she will always have a ready fund of interesting facts, anecdotes and homilies at her fingertips for those times when her Conversational Partner is sadly wanting.”
Smothering a smile, Priscilla handed the book back to Amabel, saying, “well, that is an interesting notion, if perhaps not as elegantly phrased as the poetry in my Virgil.”
Amabel thrust out her jaw and said mutinously, “I don’t want to know any interesting facts!”
Priscilla sighed at the thought that whoever would have the joy of preparing Amabel for her come-out in five or six years would have quite a task on her hands. She glanced from one sister to the other. Both had golden curls and shared an elfin look, upturned noses and freckles. But Lucy had a wistful, romantic streak that just was not present in the quicksilver Amabel. Lucy would need some guidance and protection. Amabel, on the other hand, would need a much firmer supervising hand. The two girls did share a caring, confiding nature, and Priscilla already liked them, each for their own qualities.
“Please tell me about the party,” Amabel’s plaintive request broke in on her thoughts. “Did Lord Hillaire ask you to marry him, Lucy?”
“Of course not,” Lucy replied sternly. “You should make better use of that book, amabel and not be quite so pert!” She unbent a little at the abashed look in Amabel’s eye, and continued. “I did dance with him twice, though. I do think him most handsome, do not you, Hawkie?” She watched Priscilla closely as she replied.
“Certainly he is a well-looking gentleman, Lucy,” Priscilla replied with cool composure. “But I’m sure Amabel also wants to hear about the dancing, and the supper, and the other guests.”
“No I don’t,” Amabel said quickly.
“Well, then, I will leave you two to your discussion of the viscount,” Priscilla responded coolly. “You and I will have a little talk about contradicting people, Amabel, after lucy and I return from our drive. Perhaps there is a chapter on that very subject in your Mama’s book. Mind you two are ready for luncheon when the bell is rung.” She exited the room, leaving the two girls too excited about their confidences to feel very much chagrin at her speech.
“Well,” Priscilla thought to herself wryly. “If that sort of pronouncement doesn’t convince them that I am in fact a governess, nothing will.” She chuckled a little as she made her way to her own room to prepare for the drive. Seated before her mirror, she was aware that she was taking extra care in the arrangement of her hair, and choice of driving dress. Her mind went back to the exchange in the morning salon earlier. The Viscount had said that a local maid had notified his people. That meant that her identity was not known. Surely that meant that she was safe in enjoying a drive in the country with the handsome nobleman. And Lucy, of course, as well as his rascal of a cousin. It was to further his acquaintance with Lucy that Lord Hillaire had proffered the invitation of a drive, Priscilla told herself. Nevertheless, priscilla was aware of a feeling of anticipation as she tidied her dusky locks. She arranged a chip-straw bonnet becomingly over them, a few curls escaping to frame her face. Her carriage dress was of sprigged muslin, with rose colored ribbons that matched the color on her high cheekbones. A pair of serviceable kid boots on her feet, a warm rose colored pelisse and tan gloves buttoned tightly at the wrist completed her toilette, and when Jasper handed her into his perch phaeton a few minutes later, the look of admiration on his face told her that her efforts were not in vain.
“Not that I’m seeking his admiration,” she told herself sternly, allowing Lucy to move past her to sit next to the Viscount. Priscilla couldn’t help but feel that Lord Hillaire was once again looking impossibly handsome, his hair tousled in the wind, his blue eyes glinting. She was grateful for the presence of Lucy, and tried for a semblance of composure.
“We’ll be a little cramped in this carriage,” his Lordship warned them, “but from up here we can see over the hedges. And it’s the only carriage I own that will seat four.” Priscilla propelled Lucy to the front of the carriage, intending to seat her next to Lord Jasper.
“It is a lovely carriage, my lord,” Lucy informed him in an uncertain voice, “but I think I would feel a little safer sitting in the back, where I can hold on to the arm rests.” She turned an artless look upon her governess that defied suspicion. “Would you mind very much sitting in the front, dear Hawkie?”
With the agility of youth, Lucy stood on the support and pivoted into the back seat of the open phaeton. Julian climbed up behind her leaving Priscilla no other option than to take Jasper’s outstretched hand and allow herself to be assisted onto the front seat. Because of the narrow silhouette of the perch phaeton, she found herself pressed against the familiar, firm form of the Viscount Hillaire. A tingle ran right through her and a faint flush warmed her face, but by keeping her face lowered, and counting slowly to ten she was able to regain her composure as Jasper skillfully pulled the team away from the steps and heading the beautiful high stepping chestnuts down the drive.
They drove for some time in silence, Jasper keeping an eye to his horses and, to his credit, missing a high percentage of the deep ruts in the road. Julian and Lucy were conversing quietly about various acquaintances they had in common. Priscilla wracked her brain for a safe topic of conversation. Questions about the estate might lead back to the night he fell off his horse on his estate.
Comments on the beautiful pair of horses leading the phaeton were definitely out of the question. Finally, feeling more than a little embarrassed by her complete lack of conversation, Priscilla looked over at him. Finding his amused glance upon her, she realized that he was completely aware of her discomfort.
“The country is so beautiful my lord, I don’t know how to tear my eyes away from it,” she hazarded hopefully.
“No indeed,” he replied with a laughing note in his voice. “But before tearing your eyes away, I believe you must first look out at it.”
Priscilla searched his face mistrustfully, but was unable to see anything but amused sympathy. Relaxing slightly, she replied with a laugh, “Yes, but it really is lovely,” she returned sincerely. “I am not familiar with these parts, and find the rolling hills quite soothing.”
“Where are your people from, if I may ask, Miss Hawksworth?” Jasper asked conversationally.
“Oh, north of here,” Priscilla replied noncommittally. “What is our destination this afternoon?”
Lord Hillaire accepted the change of conversation calmly. “My own estate,” he replied smoothly. “There is an ornamental lake, with a belvedere. It faces the afternoon sun, so should be warm enough even at this late time of the year. It affords a fine view of the lake, and there is a path around the lake, if one is adventurous and wants to circumnavigate.”
“But your estate is at least a two hour drive,” Priscilla replied unguardedly.
