The Folly at Falconbridge Hall

by Maggi Andersen

  Spinning, she was suddenly disoriented. She caught a flicker of lights through the trees, and relief spread through her. It must be the house. Heart thudding, she tried to hurry, but solid trunks loomed and barred her way.

  Suddenly, she smacked up against a hard body and hands gripped her, fingers digging into the soft skin of her arms. She bit down on a scream.

  “Miss Ashley?”

  “It is I, my lord.” Weak with relief, Vanessa pulled away from Lord Falconbridge and almost fell. His hands came round her waist to steady her. Aware of her lack of undergarments, she pushed away from him again. “You can let me go, if you please. I’m quite able to walk unassisted.”

  She heard a soft laugh. “You are giving a poor imitation of it.”

  “It’s the heels of my shoes. They sink into the soft earth, and I’m a little unsettled. You gave me a fright.” It all sounded so lame, she clamped her lips together and lurched in the direction of the house where welcoming lights shone out.

  “I’m sorry to have alarmed you.” He walked beside her, and when they reached the house, he took out a key. Unlocking the door, he held it open for her. Aware of her dishabille, she brushed past him making for the stairs, her head lowered to hide her burning cheeks.

  “Don’t hurry away, Miss Ashley. I’d like to talk to you.” In the lamplight, he frowned at her. “Do you suffer from wanderlust?”

  She caught her breath. He had no reason to be so cross. “No. As I said, it’s so hot I couldn’t sleep and went for a walk.”

  “I’d prefer you put up with heat like the rest of us. Didn’t I warn you not to roam around the grounds?”

  “I believe you said not to go into the wood.”

  Tucking his brass-topped cane under his arm, he divested himself of his gloves and his silk top hat. “You have a perfectly good bedroom, do you not? One might think we have ill-treated you.”

  “Of course you haven’t … you don’t.” She swallowed, annoyed with herself. “Rest assured I won’t go there again at night. Particularly as others use it.” The words slipped out before she got control of her tongue. She had no intention of getting the staff into trouble.

  “Who was there?” He paused in the act of removing his coat and turned to look at her. “I saw the light myself and was coming to investigate.”

  She pulled her dressing gown closer and folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t know.” She decided to speak frankly and raised her chin. “It appeared to be two people. A man and … a woman.”

  “A man and a woman.” He repeated her words as his gaze ran over her down to her shoes. Did a flicker of heat enter his eyes? She took a step backwards as the suggestion of a clandestine meeting charged the atmosphere. “Can you describe what you saw?”

  “The light was poor,” she said, uneasily. “Obviously, very little.”

  “Then you must have heard them?”

  She clutched her hands in front of her. “Yes, their voices …”

  His eyes gazed into hers and his brows rose in inquiry. “Their voices …” he offered encouragingly.

  Vanessa sucked in an anxious breath, aware that the rest of the house slept. Her heart picked up its beat during a long pause where she struggled to think of something to say that would place them back on a business-like footing. He loomed large and very male, and they skirted around a very risqué subject. Was he aware of how vulnerable he made her feel? She did not know this man well enough to trust him and had heard horrible stories of governesses being seduced by the man of the house. She thought fleetingly of Miss Lillicrop. “Their laughter,” she said firmly. “I left immediately.”

  “Quite so, Miss Ashley. Very correct.” He seemed to gather himself into action and hung his coat on the stand, then gestured towards the stairs. A corner of his mouth lifted. “I gather I needn’t worry about you bowing to such an impulse again.”

  Vanessa’s shoulders slumped with relief. “No, my lord. I believe you’ve removed any such pleasure from the prospect. Goodnight.”

  A dark brow rose, no doubt at her impertinence. “Goodnight, Miss Ashley.”

  He courteously waited until she reached the top of the stairs before turning down the lamp. Vanessa hurried up the next flight, hearing his bedroom door close below as she reached hers. She locked her door and leaned against it. To be found in her dressing gown breaking his rules had been unsettling, but more than that had passed between them. She wasn’t usually given to flights of fancy. Had she imagined the flicker of desire in Lord Falconbridge’s eyes? She sank down on the bed, damp and exhausted. Might he have judged her a prude and an excellent subject to mock? Unfair. She could say little in reply without risking her position, even though it was hardly true. Her years with her eccentric father had prepared her for almost all circumstances. Except, perhaps, someone like his lordship. He disturbed her so much she wished him gone on his travels; although she had to admit, he looked as handsome tonight in his black evening clothes as he had the night of the dance. Pearl buttons decorated his white shirt, and a satin stripe ran down the outside of his trousers, emphasizing the length of his legs.

  She ran a wet flannel over her neck and face, wondering where he’d been. Had he escorted a lady out for the evening? Miss Patterson perhaps? It was certainly no business of hers. Stripping off her dressing gown, she discarded her nightgown damp with perspiration, cast aside her slippers, and climbed naked into bed. She drew the sheet over herself and laid her head on the pillow, thinking of the lovers. She understood why lust was rife in hot places like the West Indies, or so she’d read. The heat drove one slightly mad. English winters most likely discouraged feelings of this sort. Restless, she turned onto her side. For all her fears of rampant seduction, she decided she’d merely been an annoyance to Lord Falconbridge. The plain prudish governess failing to obey the rules.

  She turned over in bed. What would it be like to have such a man do to her what was being done so effectively to the woman in the folly? What a thought! Her knowledge of such things was less than her knowledge of botany, and yet her imagination came to the fore, conjuring up images of passionate kisses from his well-formed lips, his long fingers, which produced such exquisite drawings, stroking her in places never before touched. Annoyed, she urged herself to sleep. A busy day with Blythe awaited her tomorrow, and the child kept her on her toes.

  Vanessa turned again, trying to get comfortable. Her hands settled against her breasts. What would a man think of them? They were acceptable as breasts go. Not too big or too small, the nipples a nice coral pink. She flipped onto her back. Although she had not told his lordship, suspecting no good could come of it, she recognized the man’s voice in the folly. It was Lovel. That man exuded a disturbing sensuality. She recalled what she’d seen, a flash of pale thighs and buttocks. Little more than moving shadows really, but there had been such a sense of urgency and passion in their voices! Now she was truly hot and bothered. She tried to banish such thoughts, thumping her pillow and closing her eyes tightly.

  *****

  Julian frowned into the hot darkness of his room. His governess’ womanly presence had drawn him and he’d almost forgotten himself. He was a male after all. And it had been some time since he’d enjoyed making love to a woman. He pummeled his pillow. It must be this heat! He could not afford to upset Miss Ashley, although she seemed to be made of sterner stuff than Miss Lillicrop. No maidenly confusion showed at the mention of the lovers, just an annoyed glance in his direction. Good, he didn’t want a missish woman in charge of his daughter, suppressing her spirit. Not when he had to leave Blythe for such a long trip. He felt again that painful reminder of how much he wanted Blythe to have a happy home life. He’d failed before and would likely fail again, as long as he continually took himself off to foreign climes.

  Julian stretched his legs over the sheet, searching for a cool corner. He should remarry for Blythe’s sake, and would give it due consideration when he returned from the Amazon. Tonight at dinner, he’d been seated beside another yo
ung woman barely out of the schoolroom, who gazed at him with nervous eyes. So young and innocent he’d feel like a rake if he pursued her. He was often required to even out the numbers at dinner parties. At the last party he’d attended, he’d been partnered with his neighbor’s daughter, Miss Abigail Patterson. She’d looked delightful in her rose pink satin. With her brown hair and hazel eyes, she was pleasantly different to Clara. Not a Circe, a sorceress who enchanted a man turning him into a poor fool, just an ordinary young woman. More sophisticated than many, he’d read an invitation in her eyes, and might give her more attention when he returned from Peru. He would invite her to ride with him.

  He must be very careful not to upset Miss Ashley. Now there was a woman gifted with a remarkable intelligence and an abundance of commonsense. It was her soft body in his arms free of corsetry, which had surprised and unsettled him. Too many glasses of port after dinner. He would have to be on his guard to make sure it didn’t happen again.

  Chapter Seven

  The door opened, and Mrs. Royce entered. Her steely gaze roamed over the food on the sideboard, the accoutrements on the table, and settled on the bread roll on Blythe’s plate. Without a word, the girl rose and went to spoon eggs onto her plate.

  Pleased, Mrs. Royce nodded, turned, and left the room.

  “May I?” Blythe asked. She leant over and scraped the eggs onto Vanessa’s empty plate.

  “Is that honest?”

  Blythe shrugged. “It’s easier this way. Mrs. Royce has never had children, you know. I’m sure she desperately wanted them.”

  “She cares for your health.”

  Blythe wrinkled her nose. “If she really did, she wouldn’t make me eat something that makes me sick.”

  “Could you manage some porridge then?”

  Blythe shook her head in an emphatic refusal, ringlets swinging.

  “You shall be hungry by tea time and eat too many cakes, which will make you fat and spotty when you’re a little older. Just when you’ll wish to be quite devastating,” Vanessa added, sounding like the portent of doom.

  Big blue eyes widened. “Spotty and fat?”

  “Yes,” Vanessa said firmly.

  Blythe jumped up and went to the sideboard. She lifted the silver lid and spooned porridge into a dish, adding milk.

  She returned to the table. “Father can’t ride with us today. He has a prior engagement with Miss Patterson.”

  “Why don’t we take a nature walk instead?”

  Blythe’s face fell at the thought of missing a ride on her beloved Buttercup.

  “You can gather specimens for your father’s botany lessons.”

  “Oh. Very well, Miss Ashley.”

  After lessons, they strolled along the bridle trail as Blythe collected an assortment of leaves and plants, placing them in the hemp bag she carried. “Your father was a painter, wasn’t he, Miss Ashley?”

  “Yes, Blythe. My mother was interested in history. I suppose it brought about my fascination with art history.”

  “Would you teach me about art too?”

  “I could. We might begin by making a study of the paintings in the house.”

  “I’d like that.”

  They emerged from the trees onto the meadow. In the distance, Lord Falconbridge hailed them and rode towards them accompanied by Miss Patterson. Vanessa watched them approach, both so elegant and sure in the saddle. Miss Patterson wore a striking forest green habit with a wide-brimmed hat tipped at a fetching angle, a veil covering her face.

  Lord Falconbridge controlled his superb Arab stallion without effort as it danced impatiently about. “I don’t believe you’ve met Miss Ashley, Blythe’s governess.”

  Miss Patterson’s gaze rested on Vanessa for a brief moment before she turned to Blythe. “What do you have in the bag, Miss Blythe?”

  “Leaves and acorns, Miss Patterson,” Blythe offered unhelpfully. She made no effort to show her.

  “We are finding specimens for his lordship’s botany lessons,” Vanessa felt it necessary to add.

  “How very good of you to take time from your busy schedule to teach your daughter botany, my lord,” Miss Patterson said.

  Lord Falconbridge leaned his hands on the pommel. “Are you testing my local knowledge, Miss Ashley? I should not have admitted to it being sketchy.”

  “You have some helpful books in your library, my lord,” Vanessa said, recalling those she feverishly perused when he’d led her to believe she would have to teach it. It felt satisfying to say it. Suspecting her time at Falconbridge Hall might end soon, made her reckless. She doubted Miss Patterson would keep her on if she became the next Lady Falconbridge.

  With a chuckle, Lord Falconbridge rode away. Miss Patterson’s brow rose at her impertinence. She nodded at Blythe and followed him.

  Vanessa was grateful to Lord Falconbridge for drawing her into the conversation. It didn’t sit well with her to be dismissed in that fashion. The elegant couple disappeared amongst the trees. Distressed at the idea of leaving, she watched her charge with a heavy heart as Blythe picked daisies to make a daisy chain.

  *****

  The nursery maid entered with the tea tray. Vanessa looked up from teaching Blythe how to make a cross-stitch on her sampler.

  Agnes set out the china on the table. “There’s a travelling fair come to the village.” Her voice rose with excitement.

  Blythe paused over a stitch. “A fair?”

  “Yes, Miss Blythe. It’s on that wide strip of ground near the church where they hold church fetes. There are all kinds of interesting things to do and see. I’m hoping to go before it packs up and leaves on Sunday evening.”

  “What sort of interesting things?” Blythe asked.

  “There’s a carousel and hoopla and nice treats to eat like candy floss.”

  “What’s candy floss?”

  “It’s pink like a newborn pig,” said Agnes, wonder in her voice, “and made of spun sugar. It fair melts in your mouth, it does.”

  Blythe dropped her sampler and turned to Vanessa, her gaze imploring. “I’ve never been on a carousel. Do you think Father would allow it?”

  Vanessa rose and went to the table. “I don’t know, Blythe. Let’s have our tea. I see we have Savoy cake; perhaps Cook plans a trifle.” She picked up the teapot, remembering the red and white striped tents flapping in the sea breeze, the smell of hot food, and the puppet shows of the seaside fairs from her childhood. She would love Blythe to experience one. Indeed, it was odd the child never had.

  “Why don’t you ask your father and see?”

  Coming from Blythe, the appeal might have a better chance of success. She couldn’t see why his lordship would reject such a scheme, but she could never be sure.

  *****

  As Vanessa suspected, Lord Falconbridge couldn’t refuse Blythe’s impassioned entreaty. Blythe begged him to come, and although disinclined, he finally agreed to accompany them. Capstick drove them to the village in the brougham-landaulet with the top folded down; Blythe perched on a pull-down seat in the corner. Summer was giving way to autumn. The road bordered Falconbridge Wood, turning into a golden haze of soft color, the hot weather gone. Ploughed fields butted up against the road on its other side, and farmhouses peeked from trees in the distance. At Vanessa’s request, Lord Falconbridge put names to the farms and their owners as Blythe wriggled excitedly in her corner.

  It was only a few miles, and moments later, the first of the village cottages appeared with neat walled front gardens. Around a bend and the cluster of shops, looking onto the village green came into view. Smoke rose from the blacksmith’s furnace. Capstick drove on through as villagers paused to acknowledge his lordship. The spire of the church they attended on Sundays appeared above a band of firs.

  They heard the fair before they saw it. Loud music, chatter, and laughter rose on the air. Then it appeared in full swing, the smells rushing to meet them—manure from the pony rides, human sweat, baked goods, and roasting chestnuts.

  Blyt
he craned her neck. “So many people,” she said in a breathy voice, and turned shining eyes to them.

  Vanessa was so glad Lord Falconbridge had agreed to the outing. It worried her how much time Blythe spent alone. There must be girls of similar age and social standing in the area, and she was determined Blythe would see more of them. This part of her life had been sorely neglected. Without a mother to arrange such things, she had spent most of her life in the company of adults. It made her oddly grown up in some ways. When riding or reading a book, she was the carefree young girl she should be, but she slumped into the doldrums far too often. It worried Vanessa to the point where she felt she should broach this with his lordship when the time was right.

  They left Capstick with the vehicle, and his lordship paid the entrance price at the gate. “May I ride on the carousel?” Blythe asked with a skip in her step as children began to climb onto it.

  He nodded. “Off you go.”

  The prettily painted wooden horses rose and fell as the carousel revolved, powered by gas. Blythe turned her laughing face towards her father and Vanessa as she flew past where they stood. The riders were reflected in the mirrors at its center, the peal of their high childish voices rising above the din around them.

  When the carousel slowed to a stop, Vanessa took Blythe’s hand, and they followed her father as he shouldered his way through a crowd clustered around tin alley and roll penny. Blythe stopped to play a game of balls in jars and came away holding a red balloon on a stick. After a magician released white doves into the sky when they appeared mysteriously from his top hat, they watched the coconut shy where you might win a coconut if you hit it with a wooden ball.

  “But how does one eat a coconut?” Blythe asked.