But if Arnwell was an impenetrable mystery, Felicia was not. He smiled as he thought of the way she had self-effacingly held back from the others as they moved from room to room, always trying to be the last. Yet even in the simple muslin gown that Drusilla no doubt considered suitable attire for a governess, she lit up the room as none of the other ladies could. Lady Lucia had a certain aged charm, but Edith Buckley looked the nonentity she was and Drusilla — he sighed. He was fond of his sister, and she was his closest kin, but she always looked as if she disapproved of everything and everyone she saw. She was never pleased, whereas Felicia was always pleased. She enjoyed her food, she enjoyed the company most of the time, and she had even looked as if she were enjoying whist with Giles and the two Buckleys, inconceivable as that seemed. Felicia! Never was anyone more aptly named, for she was always happy.
With such pleasant thoughts, Fin sat on in the window seat, drinking brandy and considering Felicia’s many charms until the first light of dawn drove him to his bed.
~~~~~
He woke to the same thoughts. Felicia! He would ask her directly what she thought of Giles and his impertinent questions. He jumped out of bed, scrambled into his clothes and hastened to the studio. She was not there, nor was her easel. Now that he considered the matter, the easel had disappeared some days ago. She was painting somewhere, some view that had caught her eye, perhaps from a window or out in the grounds somewhere. The temple? It could be. It had always fascinated her. Well, he would not tease her about it. If she wanted to paint in secret, so be it, and she would show him the results when she was ready.
He rang for a breakfast tray to be brought to him.
“Certainly, my lord.”
“Oh, and Mr Warborough will be here later to deal with the correspondence, so make sure the billiard room is warm enough, and refreshments laid out.”
“The billiard room is already adequately warm, my lord. Miss Oakes is at work there, so I took the liberty of lighting the fire, given the present spell of cool weather.”
“She is, is she? Bring my tray to me there, and a tray for Miss Oakes, too.”
She was sitting at the covered billiard table, heaps of unopened letters in front of her.
“I thought you had finished all this paper-shuffling,” he said.
“Almost,” she said, looking up with her mischievous smile. “There are always more letters, you know. The box may be empty, but more come in every day. Who is Lady Darwin? She writes to you a great deal.”
“Some distant relation, I believe. I cannot imagine why she bothers to write to me.”
“Can you not? If I tell you that she has a daughter called Alicia who is… now where is it? Ah, here we are. ‘Most agreeably accomplished now. Her tapestry work is exquisite and her Italian airs are so much admired, nothing could be like it. Such a pretty, good-humoured girl, everybody says so. We shall be visiting friends in Derby next month and would so like to see dear Hawkewood again and know how you are going on.’ Could you hazard a guess as to why she writes so much? Are you not tempted by the exquisite tapestry work?”
He laughed, but before he could reply the breakfast trays arrived and then Giles, and the talk was all of letters and business.
“The London lawyers in this pile,” Felicia said, “the Derby attorney here and the Nottingham one here. This is estate business, as best I can tell. These are all invitations whose dates have passed. This is family news, but I have compiled a list of births, deaths and unfortunate mishaps to save his lordship the bother of actually reading any letters. There are three proposals of marriage—”
“What!” Fin cried. “Surely not?”
“Couched in more decorous terms, naturally. A felicitous alliance… matter of mutual interest to our families… that sort of thing. Oh, and this one I cannot make out at all, so I hope you have more luck with it, Mr Warborough. Is it in code or just badly written?”
Giles seemed oddly flustered. “Oh… well now… hardly likely… just written very ill, I daresay…” He picked it up and scanned it briefly before cramming it into a waistcoat pocket. “I daresay it is just a mistake… nothing meaningful. I will do what I can with it. So these are to do with the estate? I shall see that Wistman gets them. Well, you have been most industrious, Miss Oakes. Most industrious indeed, has she not, Fin? However, I do not think it necessary for us to trouble you with this task again. I can manage perfectly well myself.”
She curtsied deeply. “I beg your pardon for my interference, but I was asked to undertake the work by Lord Finlassan and must do as I am bid,” she said demurely, but her eyes were twinkling.
“Oh, indeed!” Giles cried. “No censure implied. Not interference, but… you have more important duties… would not for the world take you away from your responsibilities to the little girls.”
“She is teasing you, Giles,” Fin said, amused.
“Oh. Oh, I see.” But he was puzzled, Fin could see. He was as bad as Drusilla for preferring his world to be well-ordered, with everyone in their right place, and a teasing governess was too far out of kilter for him to understand. “But never mind, Miss Oakes,” he went on brightly. “I daresay you will be returning to the delights of Hampshire soon, and will be far, far away from these troublesome letters.”
“That is for Miss Oakes to decide,” Fin said curtly.
“Of course, of course. Merely thought… assumed… no intention of… Really, Fin, you are very snappish today.”
“He is always snappish,” Felicia said. “Shall I leave you to be snapped at without my interference, Mr Warborough? After all, I have more important duties to attend to.”
And with a neat curtsy she departed, taking her breakfast tray with her, leaving Giles spluttering in outrage and Fin laughing at her impertinence.
16: A Day In Derby
A day was settled upon for the outing to Derby, and although the party had grown to encompass Fin, Drusilla and Giles as well as Felicia and Miss Claypole, Fin thought that all concerned would regard it as an improvement. Felicia would surely be happy to have some additional chaperonage to protect her from the smooth-talking Buckley, and his attentions towards her would look less particular in a larger grouping. Naturally, with Drusilla involved, there was some dispute as to the best equipage for their transportation, and whether the Bell or the King’s Head was the superior inn, but Buckley gave way gracefully on all points, which was always the best way with Drusilla.
On the day there was steady rain, so the barouche was abandoned for a closed carriage to convey the three ladies and Giles. Rather than ride, however, Buckley insisted on taking his curricle.
“The rain is not so great, and we shall be more comfortable than on horseback,” he said cheerfully.
Fin doubted it, but was not prepared to argue the point, although he hardly relished an hour of such close company with Buckley. In the event, however, he found him an amusing companion and reassuringly competent with the reins, so the time passed pleasantly enough despite the dampness. While the ladies explored the shops with Giles in attendance, Fin and Buckley dried off in a private parlour and refreshed themselves with a glass or two of Madeira.
“That was not so bad, now was it?” Buckley said cheerily, standing with his back to the fire to dry his buckskins.
“Apart from being soaked to the skin, not bad at all.”
Buckley only laughed. “I daresay you can squeeze in with the ladies for the journey home, but for myself I would sooner be in the fresh air, even when it is rather fresher — and wetter — than I might prefer. This is a very cosy room, is it not? I have not been here before, having always used the Bell, but it is very well appointed, and the Madeira is not at all bad. All in all, I believe this was an excellent idea of mine.”
“Excellent indeed if you had wished to accompany the ladies to the shops, yet here you sit.”
“They will get on better without me,” he said, not at all discomfited.
“Yet I do not quite see what you achieve by your excel
lent idea. If your object is Miss Oakes—”
“I have no object, apart from providing the ladies with a little pleasure,” Buckley said quickly. “The life of a governess is an uncomfortable one in general, and although both Miss Oakes and Miss Claypole are treated kindly, still they are in an awkward position, neither servant nor family. It must be a lonely life, and who would not wish to bring a little gaiety into it?”
Fin said nothing. The sentiments were admirable, and he saw nothing of insincerity in Buckley, yet he could not shake the unsettling feeling that there was more to his interest in Felicia than benevolence towards a governess.
Buckley swirled the wine in his glass, and went on, “I will not conceal from you that I should like to get to know Miss Oakes a little better, but her wellbeing is always uppermost in my mind.” Then, with sudden fierceness, he added, “She has nothing to fear from me, nothing at all.”
“I am happy to hear it,” Fin said, rather startled. To move his thoughts into happier channels, he said, “Is she really so like Lady Olivia?”
Buckley’s face lit up. “Oh yes! Indeed there is a marked resemblance, very marked. It is not so obvious now that I know Miss Oakes, for she has not Olivia’s fine figure or the delicacy of her complexion, and no one can match Olivia for beauty — she is quite incomparable — but about the face, in the eyes and the smile, they might easily be taken for sisters. It is an extraordinary coincidence.”
“Coincidence? Is it? Miss Oakes has not the smallest idea who her parents might be, so is it not possible that there is a family connection? That she may have Dulnain blood? Or Lister, perhaps?”
“Lister!” He seemed startled at the idea.
“Surely you must have wondered?” Fin said. “The Dulnains are too strait-laced to produce a bastard, but the Listers—”
“Sir Royston, perhaps? So that she would be a cousin to Olivia… it might indeed be so. Yes, Finlassan, I do believe you have hit upon the very solution to the mystery.” He chuckled. “Sir Royston Lister! It must be so, I am quite sure of it. But perhaps we should not mention it to the lady. It would never do for word to get about. Lister is not the man to take kindly to such talk.”
Fin grunted noncommittally, since he had already mentioned it to the lady. It had not occurred to him that Felicia would take it further, or that Lister might cut up rough at finding one of his by-blows turning up in his life. He must speak to her about that.
The waiter came in just then to take their orders for refreshments, and Buckley left with him to talk to the cook, and to ensure the horses had taken no harm from their wetting. Fin was left alone to wonder just why Buckley had never considered the possibility that Lister had fathered Felicia. It seemed such an obvious answer, yet it had never occurred to him. It was very odd.
~~~~~
Felicia had had a wonderful morning. Derby was not much bigger than Southampton, but the shops were new and different, and she had received her first salary at Midsummer, so her purse was full. Fifty pounds! The coins weighed down her reticule. At Miss Latimer’s she had never been permitted more than ten pounds a year for her own use, and at Summer Cottage most of her salary had been put straight into the bank on Mr Pierce’s advice. Here she was beyond the reach of Mr Pierce or the bank, and Fin’s attorney had come out from Derby with a bag full of money to pay all the servants, and had put fifty pounds into her hand, and now she was determined to spend some of it.
Within an hour, she had acquired a mountain of packages and lightened her purse considerably. When the little group returned to the King’s Head, and Mr Buckley had asked if she had enjoyed herself, she had only to point to the array of purchases in Mr Warborough’s arms. Yes, she had enjoyed herself enormously, even if her companions had not. Miss Claypole had bought one bottle of Atkinson’s curling fluid and a square of ambrosial soap. Lady Drusilla had bought nothing, and wore a disapproving frown.
After a very substantial meal, with both hot and cold dishes, Miss Claypole settled down for a nap, a glass of Madeira at her side, while the rest of the party looked around the Church of All Saints. Felicia found herself beside Mr Warborough as she gazed about the interior of the building.
“Do you like it?” he said.
“It is very beautiful,” she said. “Elegant and modern. This feels more like a house than a place of worship. A church should not be modern, one feels. There should be ancient timbers and medieval stonework and a crypt with rats.”
“Ah! A traditionalist,” he said, with an avuncular smile. “I like a modern church, myself. Less risk of breaking one’s neck on uneven flagstones, being flattened by a dislodged gargoyle or wading to the pulpit every time it rains.”
That made her laugh. “I take your point. I think the others are leaving. Shall we hurry and catch up with them?”
“One moment, if you please, Miss Oakes.”
She had already taken some steps in pursuit of the rest of the party, now approaching the door while they still lingered near the beautiful wrought-iron screen, but she turned back to him with a smile.
“Miss Oakes,” he began, his lips twisting as if unsure of his next words. “As your rector, I hope I am not presuming too far, but I am a trifle concerned by Mr Godfrey’s rather marked attentions towards you. Has he given you any indication as to the purpose of his interest? Some reason for it?”
“Must there be a reason other than gentlemanly civility towards a humble governess?”
“In many men, that would be so, but in a Buckley… one never knows. Drusilla likes him but her judgement is suspect where personable young men are concerned. A little flattery goes a long way with her. Has Buckley… at least, it is not for me to enquire into such a personal matter, but I do hope he has not made you any improper proposals?”
“He has not made me any proposals, improper or otherwise,” she said easily. “Nor do I expect him to do so.”
“Ah.” Oddly, she had the feeling that he was relieved by her words.
She went on, “He knows I am not in the sort of financial position that would make any improper offer acceptable to me, and obviously he is not going to make me a marchioness.”
“Of course. The inheritance from your governess,” he said musingly.
“I suppose she was my governess, in a way,” Felicia said. “She was certainly strict about lessons, and very knowledgeable. She could have been a governess, if she had not been burdened with caring for me.”
“And you will have a good income? Enough to live upon?”
Had anyone else asked her such a question, she would have turned it aside with a noncommittal answer, but there was something so reassuring about a clergyman, and Mr Warborough epitomised the type — genial, trustworthy and more worldly than some. So she saw no reason not to be open with him. “Five or six hundred pounds a year, according to my trustees.”
“So… fourteen or fifteen thousand,” he said musingly. “And it will have grown somewhat over the years, no doubt. Some lucky investments, perhaps.”
That was too intrusive, even for a clergyman. “I have no idea.”
But he chuckled. “A very handsome inheritance, Miss Oakes. I congratulate you, and you will be settled in your little cottage very soon, I make no doubt, and far away from Buckley.”
“You do not like him,” she said.
“I do not trust him,” he said. “I speak plainly to you, Miss Oakes, for you are a sensible woman and I would have you be on your guard against him. He is a charming and plausible young man, but do not be taken in by him.”
“You need not be concerned about me, Mr Warborough. I am very much on my guard against Mr Buckley and his aunt, and their strange questions.”
“Strange questions?” he said, his eyes widening.
“They wanted to know my birthday, can you imagine? I hope they will give me a present next March the thirteenth. Ah, here is Mr Buckley now, come looking for us. We are on our way, sir. Merely detained by the beauties around us.”
“I feared you had become los
t,” Mr Buckley said with his pleasant smile. “Miss Oakes, may I offer you my arm? Mr Warborough, are you quite well?”
“Oh indeed, quite well. Perfectly well.”
“You look a little pale,” Mr Buckley said.
“No, indeed, I am in the best of health. Let us re-join the others as soon as we may.”
They made their way slowly back towards the King’s Head, Lady Drusilla haranguing Fin about some imagined offence, while Mr Warborough followed them in his habitual pose, head down, hands behind his back, one hand flapping against the other as if in perpetual agitation. At the back of the group, Mr Buckley walked slowly, commenting jokingly on whatever came within view, to entertain her. But when they had dropped a little behind the others, his voice became more serious.
“Now that the sun is shining,” he began, “I wonder whether you would enjoy driving back to Church Compton in the open air. I am sure Lord Finlassan would be glad to surrender his seat to you, and since my groom sits behind, it will be quite proper, I believe. What do you say to the idea?”
While she was reluctant to give him any encouragement in his attentions, the prospect of the curricle and a pleasant view of the surrounding countryside was very tempting. The alternative, the carriage with Mr Warborough and Lady Drusilla gently bickering the whole way, was unappealing.
“What a kind thought! I should like that very much. Thank you!”
“I will arrange it with Finlassan,” he said.
Although she doubted the possibility of changing the seating plans without first consulting Lady Drusilla or attracting a great deal of opprobrium upon their heads, somehow he managed it. When Miss Claypole had been woken from her nap, the carriages had been brought round and all their parcels safely stowed, Felicia found herself being handed into the curricle without a word of protest from her ladyship. It was Mr Warborough who began, “I do not think—” and Fin who hushed him. Then the curricle turned out of the yard and into the main street.
The Painter Page 17
