“But surely it does not function in the same ways?” he challenged. “Can you envision a woman as prime minister?”
“Why not?” she asked again. “England has certainly fared as well under female monarchs as under men.”
“Not in recent generations,” he said.
“What has that to do with it? Elizabeth was surely one of our greatest rulers. Even her predecessor—the infamous Mary—was effective as an administrator, was she not? And,” she continued, warming to her subject, “another Mary ruled side by side as co-ruler with her husband, William.”
“I suppose you have a point,” he conceded, “but it is one thing to have certain tasks thrust upon one through an accident of birth and quite another for one to deliberately seek tasks that are better left to those of the other gender.”
“I will grant there are some tasks that men can perform with more facility than women.”
“Most generous of you, my dear Miss Palmer.”
“However,” she went on, ignoring the mockery of his tone, “the duties of the positions you named are not among them. I fail to see how anyone could label the content of a law or a Sunday sermon or a mathematical problem as ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’ in nature.”
He did not reply immediately as he offered her a hand to remount and then settled himself in his own saddle. Finally, his words came almost as a reprimand.
“You seem well read in reformist literature aimed at women, Miss Palmer. I do hope these views do not dominate your teaching of the very young females in your care.”
She felt a stab of anger, but quickly subdued it and kept her voice carefully neutral. “Of course not, my lord.” Good heavens! Did the man think one should expound Fordyce’s sermons to a child of five or six? Lady Elinor fumed, but Miss Palmer bowed to the will of her employer.
This last turn of conversation changed the whole atmosphere between them, at least for the moment. They finished the ride in comparative quiet, exchanging only empty polite chit-chat for the remainder of the excursion.
In the days following, Adrian timed his rides earlier, though he refused to admit even to himself that he did so to avoid her. He knew he should be pleased at having found a means of reestablishing a more formal basis for his dealings with the governess. But self-satisfaction eluded him. It had been rather like stepping off a path to trample a flower deliberately. Now she seemed more cautious in what she said to him. Their discussions had lost spontaneity—and he missed it.
As he returned to the stables one morning, he chanced to meet her and Huntington just preparing for their ride. He heard her laughter first as he obviously came upon them in the middle of a conversation before they saw him.
“Oh, Thomas—really ...” and she placed her hand on the secretary’s arm, but, catching sight of the marquis, quickly removed it, and they both greeted him in formal tones.
So. She was on intimate terms with his secretary, even using his given name. Bloody hell! Was he reduced to being jealous of an employee—someone hired to perform a particular service in the household? What was it about this woman that got under his skin so? Certainly the nursery maid—who spent as much time with his children as the governess—did not creep into his thinking with such regularity!
Then two other concerns managed to put these musings into a less trafficked part of his mind.
That afternoon he received a visit from Captain Olmstead who seemed somewhat disheveled and out of sorts as he was shown into the library where Trenville and Huntington had been working.
“Might I have a word with you alone, my lord?” Olmstead asked without preamble and with a look at the secretary.
“Of course. Huntington?” Adrian gestured for Thomas to leave them. When the door was closed, the captain spoke.
“I have just had a hard, cold ride from London, but they wanted you to have this information immediately and it could not be put into writing.”
“Well?” Adrian handed him a glass of brandy from a sideboard and poured one for himself.
“I hate to be the one breaking this news, but it would appear that the leaked information has a direct line from you.”
“Are we sure?”
“Yes. It was your plan that pinpointed it.”
“Bit of irony there, eh?”
As Captain Olmstead had no answer to this, they sat in silence for a moment.
“Any clues we can use to determine precisely who is doing this?” Adrian asked.
“None. Canning thought you might be able to tell us where to start.”
“Sorry to say it—but I have not the foggiest notion. I would have staked my reputation on the fact that all my people are clean.” He gave a derisive snort. “That is precisely what I’ve done, isn’t it?”
“No ideas at all?”
“I have considered carefully all the people who might have had access to my papers—and I cannot see any of them being involved.”
“Perhaps you are too close to the situation.”
“Perhaps.”
The two of them spent several more minutes discussing possible culprits—from the courier who regularly brought Adrian’s dispatches to any person with even the most remote access to Whitsun Abbey. Finally the weary captain left, promising to return the next day.
The other distraction occupying Lord Trenville’s mind was the family’s annual remove to Wallenford for the Christmas holidays. Huntington, whose mother lived in a cottage in the next village, would remain in Devonshire, but everyone else would be going to Adrian’s father’s seat in Wiltshire for three or four weeks. He informed Miss Palmer of this family custom on one of his afternoon visits to the schoolroom.
“I see,” she said. “Shall I be accompanying the children then?”
“Why, of course.” His surprise was apparent. “The children will have a few days of holiday, but their lessons will continue.”
“Oh. I just thought . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Thought what?” he asked. “That we would leave you behind? Not likely, Miss Palmer. We rely on you too much.”
That was certainly true. But her name had again come up as he and Olmstead discussed possible spies. Adrian did not want to think of her in such a light at all, but the fact was she appeared in his life about the same time this trouble with leaked information attached itself to him. It would not hurt to have her near enough to watch, if only to be able to prove Olmstead’s suspicions groundless.
“I see,” she said again, sounding rather vague.
“The nursery and schoolrooms at Wallenford are quite adequate,” he assured her, “but if you wish any particular items included, you must inform the maids as they pack.”
Elinor felt decidedly stupid. Why had she not even thought about the Christmas holiday? Another example of how she had simply not thought this venture through. She had never spent a Christmas away from her family, though for several years the closest family had been only her father and her brother. There had always been a house full of more distant relatives and friends as well. Now she would be alone among strangers. What was worse—much worse—Peter would be left on his own among people who cared little for him. Last year, when they had been still mourning their father, the holiday season had been awful for them, but at least they had been able to comfort each other. Now Peter would be on his own. She felt sorry for him. Indeed, she felt sorry for herself, but she knew she could do nothing about the situation.
She sat down to write Peter a long letter explaining that she was well, but would be unable to join him for the holidays. She tried to make her letter cheerful and amusing, ignoring her own loneliness. She had left money with Miss Palmer in London to accept mail for “Mrs. Garrison” and send it on to her brother. She could, of course, ask the marquis to frank her letters for her, but she thought it much more prudent to await a decently dry day and walk to the village to post her letter.
She was able to do so sooner than she expected. As she prepared to set out on the long walk to the village, Trenvill
e stepped into the entrance hall. She caught his image in the looking glass as she tied the ribbons on her bonnet.
“Good afternoon, my lord.” She picked up the reticule containing her letter.
“Miss Palmer. Are you going out?”
“Merely to the village to purchase a trifle or two for Mrs. Hoskins.”
“Mrs. Hoskins usually sends a footman on such errands, I believe,” he said.
“Well, yes, but as I was going anyway, I volunteered my services. There are a few items I wish for myself.”
“The same footman could do for you as well,” he said firmly. “You’ve no business traipsing off by yourself when the weather is so uncertain.”
“But it is perfectly dry now,” she said, “and it is only a short distance. I thought to enjoy the exercise.” She tried to keep her voice calm. He might be her employer, but what business did he have checking on her so closely, especially as this was her free half day?
“A short distance? Good heavens, woman, it is more than six miles! You should confine your exercise to the Abbey gardens.”
“Six miles?” she echoed in a small voice. “But I wanted to ... make some small purchases.” It was vital that Peter receive her letter before he left school for the holidays.
“Well, then, take the gig—and a groom,” he said impatiently. “Riverton, see to it,” he ordered the hovering butler and turned away.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said to his receding back.
Despite her earlier visit there, she had not realized it was quite so far to the village. She had no doubt she could walk such a distance, but it would likely be dark before she returned in this season of very short days. Did he have to be quite so high-handed in offering the gig? If nothing else came of this experience, she was surely gaining a better appreciation of the feelings of the so-called lower orders!
A short while later she was seated in the gig beside a groom from the Trenville stables. He was a pleasant and amiable young man who sang the praises of his employer the entire way—much to Elinor’s annoyance today.
“Where to, miss?” he asked as they entered the village.
“I think there is a mercantile shop, is there not?” She hoped she remembered correctly that the post office was located in that establishment.
“Tanner’s.” He pointed with the whip.
There it was: “Tanner’s Mercantile” in large letters and a smaller, more discreet sign saying “Post Office.”
“Please just wait for me here,” she instructed the groom when it seemed he would follow her into the shop after helping her to alight.
“Yes, miss.”
As she entered the shop Elinor nodded a greeting to the plump woman behind the counter and the customer she was serving. The proprietor returned the greeting, asked if she could be of service, and pointed Elinor in the right direction for ribbons, needles, and knitting wool. Elinor cast a surreptitious glance at the other two as they resumed their conversation in subdued tones. She was sure they were discussing her. Finally, the customer left and Elinor took her items to the counter.
“Oh! And I should like to post this letter,” she said, keeping her voice casual as she fished the letter and some coins to pay for her purchases out of her reticule.
“Ain’t ye the new governess at the Abbey?” the woman asked curiously, pausing in the transaction.
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, then, whyn’t ye ’ave ’is lordship frank this fer ye?”
“I could not trouble Lord Trenville with my personal correspondence, now could I?” Elinor smiled—disarmingly, she hoped.
“Don’t see why not,” the woman replied. “ ’is lordship is a right kindly fellow.”
“Yes, he is,” Elinor agreed, making her tone more firm. “But I do not wish to trouble him with my personal business.”
The woman behind the counter shrugged. “‘ave it yer way—but this here’s a thick’n. Gonna be dear at t’other end.”
“The receiver is prepared to pay,” Elinor said, gathering up her packages.
Just then the bell attached to the door jingled to herald the entrance of another customer.
“Greetings, Mrs. Tanner. How is my favorite shopkeeper in all of West Benton?” Elinor’s heart sank as she recognized that hearty voice as belonging to Captain Olmstead. “Ah, Miss Palmer.” He gave her a polite bow. “May I help you?” He reached to take her packages which she automatically gave over to him.
He walked out to the gig with her, making idle conversation as they went. He handed her up, gave her the packages, and stepped back to wave her off before returning to the shop.
Her mind in turmoil during the return drive, she paid scant attention to the groom’s chatter. Would Olmstead learn she had posted a letter? Perhaps she should have had Trenville frank it after all. What was the likelihood of his connecting the names of Garrison and Palmer and discovering the ruse? No. It was better this way. Surely Captain Olmstead would have no reason to inquire about her business in the mercantile shop or to note the activities of a mere governess.
Seven
The chief residents of Whitsun Abbey, along with the governess, two maids, his lordship’s valet, and necessary outriders and groomsmen to attend three carriages, removed to Wallenford during the second week of December.
Wallenford was not the first ducal seat Elinor had ever visited, but it was certainly the most elegant. The huge, palatial house showed an eclectic gathering of architectural styles spanning its nearly three centuries. Elinor would have been lost several times had the children not taken great delight in showing her about.
For the Duchess of Wallenford, Christmas was obviously the big family and social occasion of the year, though Elinor had learned earlier that her grace also enjoyed the season in Town. As more guests arrived and the guest chambers filled up, Elinor had some difficulty keeping all the names attached to their correct faces. Besides the oldest son’s widow and child and the younger son and his children, there were the two daughters of the Duke and Duchess of Wallenford along with their titled spouses and an assortment of six more children. In addition, there was an older gentleman who turned out to be the duke’s younger brother, a navy admiral whom Adrian obviously admired. And there was Henrietta—Aunt Henny—whom everyone adored, despite her rather brusque manner. Though bound to a wheeled chair, the Lady Henrietta missed nothing.
As the family gathered, lessons diminished in importance, until finally the children were left largely to their own entertainments and the supervision of their respective nursery maids. As the only governess in attendance, Elinor distinctly felt neither fish nor fowl. She wondered resentfully just why she was here.
She was invited and readily accompanied the others when they went on excursions with the children—ice skating, building a whole family of snow people, and caroling. Watching the others enjoy their family togetherness made her acutely aware of missing her brother and she worried anew about his being alone. Well, perhaps not alone in the sense of not having others about, but certainly not in the most convivial of company with Uncle Brompton and that lot. And, she asked herself, do you truly think you could have been with Peter without the Bromptons knowing?
Scarcely had the family been duly accommodated when an assemblage of guests began to occupy the remaining chambers. In the end, there would be nearly thirty adult guests, plus sundry children. Elinor was informed that her presence would be required at evening meals and entertainments. While she considered it a kindness of the duchess to include her, she suffered no illusions. Her presence was “required” to even the numbers at table.
The additional guests were an assortment of members of two generations—that of the duke and duchess on the one hand, and their children on the other. The latter group included several eligible ladies and gentlemen. One afternoon as guests gathered for tea, Elinor chanced to overhear Adrian’s two sisters talking quietly with one another.
“Well,” the Countess of Cambden was saying, “I do not see why Moth
er persists in putting those two together. Merrilee Grimsley has been out for two seasons now. If he were truly interested, he would pay her more attention.”
“You know how our dear mama fancies herself a matchmaker,” the other, the Viscountess Tellson, replied.
“And with disastrous results. Beatrice was a mistake of major proportions.”
“Oh, come now. He was besotted with her initially.”
“Perhaps,” the countess agreed reluctantly. “A pretty face and practiced charm can do wonders. But let’s face it—our brothers did not show much sense in choosing their wives!”
Good heavens! They were discussing Adrian. Elinor was embarrassed at being privy to such a conversation, but she could not tear herself away.
Lady Tellson laughed. “You must admit that Gabrielle has just the sort of charm that attracts gentlemen like flies to honey.”
“She does that,” the other concurred. “But neither she nor Beatrice had much in common with their husbands. Had he lived, Alex would have been bored eventually with Gabrielle. And, lord knows, Adrian was bored within weeks of the marriage vows.”
“I think you are right. He never said anything, though. Just immersed himself in work.”
“And then felt guilty when he lost her as the twins were born. Now, just as he seems to be regaining some of his old vitality, Mother presents him with another bubble-brained debutante.” Lady Cambden was clearly vexed with her mother.
“The dowager Lady Grimsley is very eager to see her daughter a marchioness.”
“Poor Adrian. Beset from all sides.”
With that, the two women drifted away.
In the evenings, the duchess provided a variety of activities to amuse her guests—card games, charades, and musical performances—often evolving into impromptu dancing. One evening, the duchess invited members of the local gentry to join her house party for a performance of Christmas plays by a group of mummers and dancing afterward. It was to be a very festive affair. The ballroom was richly decorated and she had hired a group of musicians.
My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance) Page 8
