A Very Unusual Governess

by Sylvia Andrew

  After more talk with her father, it was clear to Octavia that this stay of Lady Dorney’s was being a huge success. Lord Warnham was as content as she had ever known him, and by the time she left Ashcombe she was no longer at all worried about leaving him.

  In fact, Octavia was rather more concerned about what she would find waiting for her at Wychford, and asked herself if she was being foolhardy to return. She had pondered a lot over her behaviour on the day of Pip’s accident, and how it would affect her relationship with Edward Barraclough. He had appeared to think the blame all his, and had seemed sincere in his apology, and in his desire to treat the kiss as a momentary madness, which was to be forgotten. There would be no repeat, of that she was certain. Mr Barraclough had meant what he had said. Certainly his attitude to her during the week that followed had been coolly correct.

  No, it was not Edward Barraclough’s attitude that worried her—it was her own! She would miss a lot if she were not to return to Wychford. She would miss Lisette’s gentle charm and Pip’s energetic liveliness. She would miss the quirky house and its funny windows, its lake and its ancient trees. But above all, and this was what dismayed her, she would miss Edward Barraclough’s abrasive company. She had dismissed the importance of the kiss—it had been an accident, brought on by the exceptional situation, of that she was sure. She had always been the most sensible, level-headed member of all the family, not at all romantically inclined. Quickened heartbeats, panting breath, the torments of passion—these were for others, not Octavia Petrie. It was very unlikely that she would lose her head again. But this surprising enjoyment of Edward Barraclough’s conversation was not so easy to ignore. Not one of the eligible young men she had met during her London season had intrigued her as much.

  One other matter worried her. She and her brother Harry, the two youngest Petries, had always been close. If she was not at Ashcombe when he came back to England, he might well come to seek her out at Wychford. That would set the cat among the pigeons!

  She consoled herself with the thought that it would take some time for Harry to find his way back to Ashcombe. If she was not already back home, she would make sure he got a message to tell him not to come to find her. In the past they had often been coconspirators—he wouldn’t let her down!

  This settled, Octavia spent the rest of the journey disciplining her mind into a proper acceptance of her position. She was confident that her two-day absence had rid her of the unsuitable memories of how it had felt to have a man’s warm body pressed against hers, of the images of a dark-haired man in her mirror. She was now once again the unromantic, down-to-earth person she had always been. Her duty was towards Lisette and Philippa Barraclough, not their uncle, and between them they would give her all the affection and interest that any reasonable governess could expect.

  Edward Barraclough found to his annoyance that Miss Petrie’s absence had not cured him. He was looking forward with unreasonable eagerness to her return, and not because the girls had been difficult to look after. The two days had been pleasant enough. But a certain spice had been lacking, and he had come to the conclusion that he missed Miss Petrie!

  Though it wasn’t easy, he had conscientiously tried to put the unexpected delight of the kiss right out of his mind, as he had promised. If she was to continue to live at Wychford, that was an area that must remain barred, he knew. But there was so much more to it than that…

  It was strange. For such a little thing she had made quite an impression on him! He had always been attracted before to dark-haired, dark-eyed beauties, who were accomplished in the game of love. Neither their minds nor their powers of conversation had ever interested him. He would have said it was impossible that he should spend time really talking to a woman, enjoying her company, particularly the company of a dab of a woman, with scraped back hair, and features that were not at all striking. What was it about Miss Petrie…?

  Was it the way her face changed when she laughed, the way her eyes narrowed when she concentrated, the way she raised one eyebrow to express scepticism, or irony? Was it her willingness to challenge him while somehow remaining perfectly respectful? Or was it the annoying habit she had of managing to make her views absolutely clear while saying nothing at all?

  And she wasn’t at all a dab of a woman. Her face had a delicate beauty, and though she was small she was perfectly made…Edward Barraclough sat up and shook his head. This was doing him no good at all. He must stop thinking of Miss Petrie and her perfect proportions, and do something to cure himself of this madness. Looking after his nieces was all very well, but the comparatively celibate life it brought with it was not good for any man. No wonder he had strange ideas about their governess! He must spend more time in London, and as soon as the governess returned he would. Though he had to give up the tempting invitations to join his friends’ autumn house parties, there was plenty of entertainment still to be had in the capital. He would gamble in the clubs, drink with his friends, and enjoy Louise’s considerable attractions. That would soon chase away these confoundedly unsuitable thoughts of Miss Petrie!

  So Octavia Petrie was hardly back at Wychford before Edward Barraclough escaped to London, where he plunged into a determined round of pleasure.

  It lasted a week. He had done what he had promised himself, sought pleasure wherever and whenever he could find it. He had gambled a great deal, drunk even more and whiled away many an hour with Louise, who seemed to have recovered her desire to please him. But, maddeningly, after just a couple of days, he grew restless. London began to seem stale and dirty, its set patterns of behaviour and conversation artificial and dull. He found himself longing for the freshness of the woods round Wychford, the sound of his nieces’ young voices, their spontaneous laughter and games, the liveliness of their conversation, the sight of three figures as they wandered about the grounds, discussing and recording.

  Even his hours with Louise began to pall. She was as lovely, as skilled as ever in her efforts to please, but once they had made love what else was there to amuse him in her company? Her eyes never sparkled with anger or challenge, only at appreciation of some bauble or other. The delicate arch of her eyebrow was never raised in disbelief or scepticism at something he said. She could pout prettily enough, but you never saw her laugh in sudden delight, or risk wrinkling her brow in a real frown. Furthermore—and he wondered why he had not seen it before—Louise was entirely devoid of any real sense of humour.

  He came back on a blustery, cold day at the end of October, but even in the rain Wychford looked welcoming. The windows of the little parlour were lit up with the glow of a fire. He went up to the window and looked in. Three figures were gathered round a table, intent on a board with counters on it. As usual, Miss Petrie was plainly dressed with no attempt to flatter the shapely form beneath. Her hair was scraped back into its ugly knot, too, but the firelight touched it with colour and life and he found himself smiling with pleasure at the sight. He watched how her face lit up with laughter as she passed a pile of buttons over to Lisette and threw up her arms in mock despair.

  ‘Lisette! You wretch!’ she cried. ‘That was the last of my fortune. I am ruined!’

  Lisette joined in the laughter, her lovely face quite transformed. But Pip got down and went round the table to give her governess a hug. ‘You can have some of mine, Miss Petrie! I’ve got plenty.’

  ‘You’re a darling, Pip, but no, thank you. If you can’t pay, don’t play. My brothers taught me that from the first. Besides, you’ll need all your wealth to beat Lisette. She’s on the top of her form!’

  ‘Who’s that?’ In getting down Pip had turned to face the window. She pointed at Edward. Then she recognised him. With her usual shout of ‘Edward!’ she raced to the door of the room and out into the hall.

  The sight of her employer made nonsense of Octavia’s belief that she was a sensible, rational creature, with her feelings well under control. Her feelings when she saw his dark face at the window were neither cool nor proper. Her heart ha
d jumped, her pulse had quickened, and she had caught her breath at a sudden and vividly explicit memory of their kiss. So much for level-headed discipline! However, she still had some command of her emotions, and by the time he came into the room, towed by an ecstatic Pip, her manner was polite rather than warm.

  ‘You’ve had a cold journey, I think, sir. Shall I send for some tea, or other refreshment?’

  ‘It can wait. Finish your game. I don’t think I’ve seen it before, have I?’

  ‘Miss Petrie brought a lot from her home, Edward,’ said Pip, dragging him over to the table. ‘She and her brothers and sisters used to play with them. It’s been too cold to go out today, so we got them out. Look at Lisette’s heap of winnings! She’s ruined Miss Petrie already!’

  Edward picked one of the pieces up. It might be old and battered, but it had originally been quite valuable. He put it down again and said, ‘That’s unfortunate. Let it be a lesson to you, midget! Now, let me see you play!’

  As the two girls got absorbed once again, he drew Octavia to one side and said in a low voice, ‘How has Pip been? She seems well enough now.’

  ‘I’m sure there’s no lasting damage done. But she has the occasional nightmare when she wakes up crying with fright, convinced that she’s falling.’

  ‘Still? She had one while you were away at Ashcombe, but I thought they would disappear with time.’

  ‘I think they will. It would be better if the weather improved and she could get out in the fresh air as she used to. Pip has so much energy—she needs to get rid of it, but I haven’t dared to take her out for long. I’ve been trying to give her other things to think about. I’ve even been teaching her chess.’

  He looked at his nieces. ‘And backgammon. Are the chessmen as valuable as the backgammon pieces?’

  Octavia stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Merely that I wonder about you. Those pieces are old, but they’re not ordinary children’s playthings—they’re made of ivory, and I see some ebony and rose-wood over there. Strange toys for the children of a poor parson.’

  ‘Who told you my father was a parson? I certainly never have!’

  ‘I think I just assumed it. You’re obviously a woman of education, but you have to earn a living. You obviously like caring for others. A parson’s daughter seemed to fit. Your family would appear to be eminently respectable.’

  ‘Indeed they are, sir,’ said Octavia.

  ‘What is your father, if not a parson—a school-teacher?’

  ‘No. He…he has been an invalid for years. Before that he…he looked after an estate.’

  ‘Ah! A land agent.’

  ‘Something of the sort. The…the toys were handed on from a family who lived in the local manor house.’ Octavia felt very uncomfortable. She was getting deeper and deeper into a mesh of half-truths. She had brought the games with her from Ashcombe without thinking of their value, merely as a means of keeping the girls amused during the colder weather. Now Edward Barraclough was quizzing her, and his questions were getting too close to home! It was time to change the subject.

  ‘Did you enjoy your stay in London, sir?’ she asked.

  ‘Not altogether,’ he replied. ‘Do you know the city?’

  Here she went again! ‘I…I stayed there for several months,’ she said, ‘but it was some time ago. I expect it has changed a lot. Have you heard recently from your sister-in-law?’

  Edward frowned. He glanced at his nieces, who were intent on the game, and led her away to the other end of the room.

  ‘I think Julia may well arrive in England earlier than expected,’ he said quietly. ‘She is very concerned about a former neighbour of ours—I think I told you about him. Ricardo Arandez. It seems he has followed us to Europe.’

  ‘You think it is to see Lisette? Perhaps he loves your niece more sincerely than you thought?’

  ‘It’s her fortune he loves.’

  ‘But what can he do? I thought you told me that her father had withdrawn his consent? He must surely know that Lisette would never act against authority! Pip might, but Lisette never!’

  ‘I would agree with you, but the situation is not quite so simple. After my brother died, Arandez managed to convince Lisette that he had relented and wished her to marry him after all.’

  ‘And this wasn’t true?’

  ‘Of course not! Once John had decided that Arandez wasn’t suitable, that was it. He wouldn’t change his mind.’

  ‘Then…then why does Lisette believe differently?’

  He sighed. ‘I see I shall have to tell you the whole.’ He threw a glance at the two girls. ‘But not here. Come to the library.’

  Once in the other room he invited her to sit, and began. ‘Ricardo Arandez is plausible enough. My brother John saw that Lisette liked him, and eventually promised that if, when she was older, she liked the fellow well enough to marry him, he would give his consent. There were advantages to the match—the Arandez estates border on ours. However, John soon came to realise that Arandez was not the sort of son-in-law he wanted, and withdrew his promise. Right?’

  Octavia nodded.

  ‘Then John and his wife were killed. Before the week was out Arandez was at the house, claiming that he had spoken to John the night before he died, and that John had regretted his change of mind. The promise of a match between Lisette and himself had been renewed. We didn’t believe him. It was all too opportune. Henry and I sent him away, and told Lisette to forget him.’

  ‘Wasn’t that a little harsh? The poor girl was already in some distress. This Arandez might have been able to comfort her.’

  ‘Comfort her! Hear me out before you judge, Miss Petrie! Arandez waited till I had left Antigua and then he approached Lisette in secret. From what Lisette told my sister-in-law, he showed her a letter from John saying that he wished her to marry Arandez as planned. We all think it was a forgery, though no one other than Lisette ever saw it. But it was enough to convince Lisette. She was prepared to defy her family and run off with him. Fortunately Henry saw them, and Arandez was sent packing.’

  ‘Did it never occur to any of you that Lisette might be in love with this man?’

  He uttered an exclamation of impatience. ‘I’ve told you before, Miss Petrie! Lisette is far too young to be in love with anyone! Arandez used the fact that she was distraught and vulnerable after her parents’ accident. She saw him as someone to cling to, that’s all! She was not in love with him!’ He saw her sceptical expression and went on more seriously, ‘And it wouldn’t matter if she was. Neither Henry nor I would ever allow her to marry Arandez!’

  Octavia was not at all convinced of Lisette’s indifference, and her heart ached for the girl. Her air of sadness might not be due solely to her parents’ death. However, she saw little point in pursuing the subject for the moment. Instead she said, ‘So you think your sister-in-law will be here earlier than expected?’

  ‘She will if she can. I’m afraid Mrs Barraclough has no great opinion of my ability to look after our nieces, Miss Petrie. With some reason, I fear.’

  ‘I disagree. She can’t have seen you with them!’

  He looked surprised, and said, ‘I’m touched. Compliments from you are rare indeed!’

  ‘I mean it. Look at the way you’ve just cut short your stay in London.’

  ‘Er…yes. Yes, indeed! Though I have to confess that London is very boring in the winter months. I was not at all sorry to leave. Life at Wychford can be far more interesting.’

  Edward had clearly spoken without thinking, but Octavia felt her face grow scarlet and looked at him accusingly. For a moment he looked blank then he smiled ruefully. ‘I meant no harm, Octavia,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve done my best to forget as I promised. Don’t make it difficult.’

  ‘I…I don’t know what you mean,’ she said bravely.

  ‘I meant, Miss Petrie, that we both need to keep a firm control of our memories. That is, if we are to continue to live under the same roof without the sort of scand
al I would wish to avoid.’

  Octavia’s nerves were stretched to the limit. His sudden appearance, her efforts to counter his questions about her family, her sharp sympathy for Lisette, and now the discovery that the attraction between them was as strong as ever—it was almost too much! She called on all her reserves of pride and said coldly, ‘You have no reason to fear scandal from any actions of mine, sir.’ Then she turned away from him and went back to the table.

  The game was finished, Lisette had won.

  Octavia avoided Edward Barraclough for the next two days. It wasn’t difficult. He took the girls to visit friends in Guildford the next day and readily accepted her excuses when she refused his invitation to accompany them. It was almost as if he was relieved. The day after that he was closeted in the library for most of the day, and eventually came into the parlour, frowning at some papers he had in his hand. The girls were playing chess, and Octavia sat by the fire, keeping an eye on their progress and sewing.

  ‘Are you cross, Edward?’ Lisette asked.

  ‘No, I’m curious, that’s all.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘This house. I’ve been looking through every paper connected with our tenancy, but nowhere can I find the owner’s name.’

  ‘Isn’t it Mr Walters?’

  ‘No, he is merely the agent. The house was left to a niece of Mrs Carstairs, but I have no idea what she is called. All our dealings have been with Walters, and his signature is on every single document. I think Miss Carstairs, or whatever her name is, must be very shy. It’s a pity. I should have liked to talk to her about her aunt. Perhaps I’ll write to Walters to ask him if she would meet me.’

  Octavia jumped. She knew that Walters would never divulge her name without her permission, but this sudden announcement had been a shock.

  ‘Is something wrong, Miss Petrie?’

  ‘Nothing, Mr Barraclough. I pricked my finger, that’s all. It’s nothing.’ He regarded her closely, and Octavia was glad of the excuse to keep her head bent.