“Miss Tumblebumpkin,” Giles said irrepressibly.
“Raspberry,” Lizzie insisted.
The stranger’s gaze flickered to the children, his scowl fading into something that might have been amusement. “Christopher Halland,” he said, “at your service…ma’am.”
“Dismount and walk with us,” Sir Edmund invited. “The poor beast looks as if he could do with the rest.”
“But sadly, I could not,” Mr. Halland said shortly. The frown was back. “I am unfit for company and must wish you a pleasant stroll without me. Good day.”
With that, he clapped his hat back on his head and maneuvered the horse past everyone on the path. Almost immediately, the horse broke into a canter, then jumped the hedge into the field beyond, and galloped off into the distance.
“What a strange, abrupt young man,” Deborah’s mother observed. “He seemed much more pleasant when we dined at Coggleton House last week.”
“Ah, well, I suspect his hopes have been dashed,” Sir Edmund excused. “Gosmere Hall is his, you know, held in trust for him, along with a small fortune, by his grandfather.”
“Lord Hawfield?” Lucy asked, perhaps to show Deborah the noble circles to which the family now aspired.
“Yes. They’re always at loggerheads over something, and Halland has been chafing for years to have the trust relaxed.”
“Why?” Deborah’s mother asked. “He does not live there, does he? No one has since we arrived in Coggleton three years ago.”
“Oh, he has plans for the place,” Sir Edmund said vaguely. “He arranged for his lordship to meet him at Gosmere to explain them, hoping to extract his inheritance early, but clearly the old gentleman has not bitten. May I escort you ladies wherever you are going?”
“Oh, we were just walking,” Lucy said.
“I think we’ve come far enough,” their mother said. “But walk with us, by all means, Sir Edmund. Perhaps you could join us for tea?”
Sir Edmund glanced at his fob timepiece. “Sadly, I have an appointment.” He wrinkled his nose. “Dull estate business, you understand, but has to be done. However, I shall be glad if I may walk back to the village with you.”
Deborah had plenty of opportunities to observe Sir Edmund and Lucy during the walk home. Without neglecting their mother and with frequent remarks cast at one or other of the children, he still found plenty of opportunities to stroll with Lucy, a little distance in front of the main party. They appeared to enjoy these more private conversations, and by the time they bade him goodbye, Deborah began to feel much more hopeful.
“Only, why on earth did you tell him I’m the governess?” she demanded of Lucy as they sat down in the parlor once more.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Lucy said carelessly. “It just slipped out.”
“Well, you had better tell him the truth, or it will create a very odd impression of you,” their mother said severely, although she had hardly disputed the claim at the time.
“It will create an odder impression if I change the story now,” Lucy retorted. “Besides, Deb will be gone again soon to another position, will she not? He need not see her again for ages, and when he does, he will not remember her, for no one notices the governess.”
“It could take me weeks to find a suitable position,” Deborah pointed out when she could speak. “And I am hardly unknown in the neighborhood. The entire village knows we do not employ a governess. Apart from Miss Figgis now and again.”
“Besides,” their mother said crossly, “one of the points of your marrying Sir Edmund, Lucy, is that she need not take any more positions.”
“You will have to tell him the truth,” Deborah urged. “Otherwise, the silly lie will come back and bite you.”
“I would not have to lie if you were not ruined!” Lucy snapped.
Deborah fell back against the cushions as though she had been struck.
Lucy’s gaze fell. “I shouldn’t have said it, but how can I possibly take it back again now?”
Deborah swallowed. “Make a joke of it. The children clearly did. You were only going along with their nonsense and never expected him to take you seriously.”
Lucy raised her gaze once more and gave a twisted smile. “You’re a better liar than I am, Deb. You should be able to come up with something equally good to justify your scandal.”
“If there is any scandal,” their mother said firmly. “I am still hopeful nothing will come of it. The papers will be too full of the princess going abroad to even mention her lades.”
Deborah hoped so, too, though somehow, she didn’t believe it would be quite that simple.
Chapter Two
Christopher Halland slowed his horse, breathing deeply to calm the storm within. His rage now was more with himself than with his grandfather. Nearly riding down the young lady and the child had pierced his selfish temper too acutely.
He could not deny he had been careering across the country like a lunatic, furiously vowing to marry the first unwed female he came across, whether she was a milkmaid or a middle-aged spinster.
And of course, it had been the governess.
That he had so nearly injured her and the child appalled him. He could have killed them. His gut twisted with shame and fresh anger.
The governess had been trying to save the child. Then she had tried to hide her fear, facing down his no doubt maniacal stare with a calm relief that was curiously free of judgment. She seemed…different to the females he normally encountered, absorbing without offense, the ridiculous name bestowed upon her by her charge. Miss Tumblebumpkin indeed.
He smiled reluctantly. His grandfather would be well-served if he really did marry a governess. Immediately. Then Gosmere Hall would be his, along with his maternal grandfather’s fortune, and he could begin his educational experiment and the more independent life he craved. Even without seeing the old man’s face, the marriage would be worth it for so many reasons.
And damn it, what governess would not prefer to be the mistress of a fine house and estate than to be a mere drudge in someone else’s family?
Reluctantly, he turned the horse’s head back toward the hall. With luck, his grandfather would be gone by the time he returned. Fury surged again. What difference could two years make to the old man? He just took delight in thwarting him, refusing to believe he was serious when the merit of his plan was clear to everyone else. And even if the experiment failed, then at least it would have been tried. At least some children would have choices not previously open to them…
Damn it, I will marry the governess. If she’ll have me, and I don’t see any reason she wouldn’t.
Except that I just behaved like a madman.
Well, she hadn’t seemed upset… In fact, she had rather pleasing gray eyes, soothing to a man’s ill-temper. And she was pretty enough, with a few locks of honey-blonde hair escaping her bonnet, those fine eyes and an expressive mouth that seemed to want to smile but wasn’t quite sure if such a thing was allowed. An intriguing girl, uncommon…and if she was a governess, it was probable she came of good family.
He frowned suddenly. In fact, now he thought of it, she looked rather like Lucy Shelby, whom Edmund Letchworth wished to marry. And like the child, she had seized out of his way. The name-calling and her reaction were suddenly much understandable.
She’s no more the governess than I am.
So why pretend she is?
The mystery engaged him until he found himself on the drive up to Gosmere Hall. His grandfather’s carriage was rumbling toward him. He doubted it would stop, and it didn’t. But Christopher swept off his hat and bowed ironically. His grandfather nodded in return, gracious in victory.
Well, the old man hadn’t won. Not yet.
*
Christopher woke, still resolved to call that day at the Shelbys’ house. Despite desiring a marriage of convenience, he had no intention of saddling himself with an ill-natured, vulgar, or stupid woman. Which was why any old milkmaid wouldn’t do. Or, God help him, the g
rasping Nell, who had a body to delight the senses and conversation to dull the soul. Only at his very angriest had he considered marrying Nell.
But no, a wife who would annoy him was hardly a convenience. So, he resolved to talk to the Shelby girl at least once more before deciding whether or not to marry her.
As he threw open the shutters of his bedchamber, it came to him that although his life was in London, he rather liked this house. He had always known it would be his, and on his rare visits, he had always been rather proud of the fact. Of course, it needed to be lived in, to be whipped into shape by a mistress’s touch.
Washed and dressed, he ran downstairs and found several letters awaiting him. One from Andrew Gates, his radical teacher friend, asked eagerly for news of his interview with Lord Hawfield. Christopher sighed and laid it aside.
Another epistle, from Lady Letchworth, asked him to come for tea and to tell her anything his people had discovered about the Shelby family, who would also be invited to tea. He tossed that aside, too, in favor of the third letter from Ludovic Dunne, an unusual friend with a knack of discovering whatever one needed to know. This had proved useful to Christopher in several political matters. So when Lady Letchworth had asked him what he knew of the girl Edmund Letchworth wished to marry, he had invoked Dunne’s help again. It seemed he finally had an answer.
A short note enclosed a scrap of newspaper—some lurid scandal sheet judging by the headline Orgy at C. Place. The letter merely stated that Mrs. Emily Shelby was the widow of the Reverend Mr. Francis Shelby, a respected vicar who seemed to have lived an exemplary life before dying unexpectedly. His impecunious family had subsequently moved to the Cheshire village of Coggleton. And through the intervention of Shelby’s bishop, a family friend, his eldest daughter, Miss Lucy’s sister Deborah, had managed to get a place in the Princess of Wales’s household.
Which had most recently resided at Connaught Place in London. Frowning, Christopher picked up the scrap of newspaper. Orgy at C. Place.
Undaunted by the absence of either propriety or their royal mistress… Lady M.W., Lady J.L., Miss D.S., and Miss H.C. lurk in the midst of the night’s debauchery…
Oh, yes, the Shelbys had every reason to hide the presence of the eldest daughter from Letchworth, and Miss D. S. had every reason to be married quickly.
Letchworth was less likely to offer for Lucy if such a revelation reached him, and the Shelbys only just kept their heads above water. They were respectable by birth, but they would add nothing to the Letchworth estate or consequence. The tide would turn against Lucy.
And as for Deborah, surely the girl he had almost ridden down… The only possible way out for her was a respectable marriage.
Well, few people would have called Christopher respectable, but surely any port in a storm…
Fortunately, Christopher didn’t actually care whether or not she was guilty. Her calm countenance swam before his eyes, a brief spark of laughter catching at her mouth. Not exactly the face of a wanton, though it was true appearances could be deceptive.
*
Deborah slept a little later than normal, enjoying her long slumber in a familiar bed. The previous two nights had been more or less sleepless, one spent traveling, and the one before listening to the alarming revelry in the princess’s house.
Her sisters, with whom she shared the bedchamber, were not present when she woke. She found her family in the breakfast room, delighted by an invitation to tea at Coggleton House that afternoon. However, Lucy’s face fell as Deborah sat down to eat.
“You don’t like meeting new people,” Lucy reminded her.
“And I am quite happy to stay at home,” Deborah agreed. “If you find a time to tell Sir Edmund the truth.”
“I will try,” Lucy promised.
In the afternoon, the Letchworth carriage arrived to take Mrs. and Miss Shelby to tea at the House.
“Every attention!” Mrs. Shelby whispered to Deborah on her way out of the front door. “You see how they favor Lucy?”
“They do,” Deborah agreed.
“Actually,” Giles said thoughtfully as he closed the door behind them. “You are Miss Shelby. She is only Miss Lucy Shelby, so it was really you they invited.”
Deborah shrugged. “Well, we have never stood much by such etiquette. And we all know they meant Lucy.”
Giles scowled. “But it’s as if you are being…erased.”
“Well, maybe that is a good thing for now,” she said lightly. “Where are the others? I told Cook I would bring some things from the village.”
“They’re in the village with some other children. I’ll go and keep an eye on them if you like.”
Recognizing this as I want to go, too, but I need a more adult reason, Deborah smiled. “I would be grateful,” she said gravely.
Giles grinned and slouched off.
“Giles?” she called after him as a sudden thought struck her. He turned back expectantly. “Do none of you have any schooling anymore?” Miss Figgis, a retired governess who lived in the village, had used to give them lessons.
Giles shrugged. “No money,” he said.
This was not good, she reflected as she donned her pelisse and bonnet. They needed education to be equipped for the world, particularly Giles and Stephen, but Lizzie, too, would suffer.
She must begin at once to find a new position, though she doubted it would be enough to send the boys to school or even hire a governess. Her salary would be needed for the house.
Unless Lucy marries Sir Edmund. She felt guilty even thinking anything so venal. It was more important for Lucy to be happy, and she should not marry for money. Only, of course, she seemed to want this, and surely only part of it was a desire to be Lady Letchworth and live in a big house with lots of servants and go to London for the Season.
The thought occupied her mind as she walked into the village. She waved to the children in the square, noting her siblings among them, and walked on to the shop to buy the supplies Cook had asked for. There, she bought everything required, except the sherry her mother had requested. The shopkeeper did not sell wines but kindly directed her to the inn.
With her basket almost full, Deborah walked on to the inn at the end of the street. Here, she was welcomed by the friendly innkeeper’s wife, Mrs. Briggs, who went off immediately to fetch her a bottle of the “good” sherry.
As she stood in the entrance hall waiting, a gentleman strode out of the coffee room on her left. She glanced at him and saw with embarrassed alarm that it was the angry horseman from yesterday.
He didn’t seem inclined to stop, fortunately, merely inclining his head in a curt but civil manner as he walked on. But he took only one more pace before he glanced back at her and halted, a smile of recognition banishing the severity in his face.
“Why, Miss Tumblebumpkin.”
Deborah flushed. “Sir. You must know I now answer only to Miss Raspberry.”
His eyes had a rather attractive way of crinkling at the corners when he smiled. “Forgive me, Miss Raspberry. You are a very good-natured governess. Or very put-upon.”
“Oh, it is only fun,” she said uncomfortably.
He considered her. His clear blue eyes still looked stormy today, but the rage of yesterday had fortunately faded. “Actually, I was just on my way to call upon Mrs. Shelby, to apologize again for riding so recklessly among you yesterday. Especially to you and the little girl. It was unforgivable.”
“No harm was done.”
“Which I think was your doing rather than mine.”
“We all do foolish things without intent sometimes,” she murmured.
His head tilted to one side. “What is your story, Miss…?”
“Here it is, Miss Shelby!” the innkeeper’s wife said, rounding the corner with a beaming smile. “Will it go in your basket?”
“Yes, of course,” Deborah said, wishing the ground would open and swallow her. “Thank you.”
“Miss Shelby,” Mr. Halland repeated, only faint mocke
ry in his voice. “Now, I have to hear that story. Mrs. Briggs, a pot of fresh coffee, if you please. Will you join me, Miss Shelby?”
“Thank you, no,” she said hastily. “I can satisfy your curiosity immediately. It was a joke my siblings were playing before we even left the house. Of course, I am not the governess, and we never expected anyone to believe I was. Good afternoon, sir.”
“I’ve offended you,” he said.
“Indeed, no, sir. I have every intention of becoming a governess in the near future, so it would be a foolish offense for me to take.”
He regarded her with a gleam of speculation she could not understand. Then he glanced at the avidly watching Mrs. Briggs, who, almost as though silently instructed, smiled at Deborah.
“You’ll be perfectly safe in here, Miss. No one will disturb you but myself and the maid, and we’ll leave the door open to keep everything right. You look as if you could do with a rest and a drink.”
Deborah hesitated. Her instinct was to flee. But it struck her that this man was a friend of Sir Edmund’s, and she should make sure he did not think badly of the governess nonsense. Besides, in spite of her natural reserve, which made her uncomfortable with new people, he intrigued her, dangerous temper and all.
Seeing her indecision, he reached out and closed his fingers around the handle of the basket. Startled, she let it go.
“You look like a hunted gazelle,” he observed. “Poised for flight but not quite sure if it’s necessary.”
“I suppose I am unlikely to be ridden over in a public inn,” she managed and walked past him into the coffee room.
“Touché,” he murmured behind her.
Choosing the corner table, he placed the basket on one of the wooden chairs and held the one next to it for Deborah. She sat, and to her relief, he took the bench against the wall, opposite her, leaving plenty distance between them.
“So, Miss Shelby, explain to me why you seek to become a governess.”
“It is a simple matter of necessity, sir. My previous position ended.” Idiot! Why did you bring that up?
“Ended?”
Married to the Rogue Page 2
