Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna FulfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
only way they knew how.
‘They got up to enough mischief as boys, but that was nothing compared to what happened once they came down from Cambridge and went to London. They got in with a very fast set indeed. Gaming, drinking, horse racing, opera dancers. You name it.’
‘That must have grieved their father.’
‘There were some terrible rows, believe me,’ replied Mrs Hughes. ‘However, Master Greville calmed down a great deal when he married. In fact, it was the making of him.’
‘Was his wife very beautiful?’
‘Oh, yes, and so accomplished. The toast of London. He was very much in love with her.’
‘How sad that she should have died so young.’
‘Yes, indeed. He was almost distracted by her loss. For some time he couldn’t even bear to look at his infant daughter.’
Hearing those words, Claire felt a sudden chill. Had history repeated itself? Her heart went out to Lucy, and for the first time the burden of her new responsibility was brought home to her.
‘I really thought all would be well again after he inherited the title, but first there was the business of his wife’s untimely demise and then the dreadful news of his own death.’
‘But now Lord Destermere is returned. Perhaps all may yet be well,’ replied Claire.
‘I truly hope so.’ Mrs Hughes set down her cup and saucer. ‘And now perhaps you would like me to show you around the house?’
‘Indeed I should, if it is no trouble.’
‘No trouble at all, miss. Besides, it’s such a rambling old place that it’s easy to get lost.’
And so there followed a guided tour. The reception rooms were beautiful, and there was a library, which Claire made a mental note to revisit as soon as possible, as well as the private apartments and a long gallery lined with family portraits. The last room they visited was the schoolroom. It was spacious and light and it too had been recently redecorated. Moreover, it was supplied with rugs, table and chairs, two small desks and a blackboard and easel. A shelf held a selection of old books and toys and an ancient rocking horse stood in one corner. There was also a fireplace with logs ready laid. Claire saw it with some relief, recalling the chilly room where she and her cousins had taken their lessons under Miss Hardcastle’s exacting eye. This was cosy in comparison, though a glance at the books revealed they were too advanced, and thus unsuitable for a young child.
‘We expect His Lordship tomorrow,’ said Mrs Hughes.
Claire’s heart gave a peculiar lurch. Tomorrow. She regarded the prospect with mingled excitement and trepidation. When she had told the Viscount that she liked children it had been the truth, but her experience of them was limited. Could she do the job? Could she give an orphaned child the care needed? Then she thought back to her own childhood and the benevolent influence of Ellen Greystoke. Surely those precepts would be good ones to follow, comprised as they were of firmness and kindness, always backed by sincere interest. Please God, she thought, let me get it right.
It was therefore with mixed feelings that Claire awaited the Viscount’s return the following day. In the event, it was late afternoon when a large and handsome carriage drew up before the house. From the resulting bustle among the servants it was clear who had arrived. Hastily smoothing her skirts she hurried to the hallway where Mrs Hughes was already waiting. Uncertain of what to expect and unwilling to push herself forward Claire remained in the background. And then he was there, a tall elegant figure in a travelling cape and high-crowned beaver hat. At the sight of him her heart began to beat a little faster. His presence seemed to fill the room somehow as though the house had been waiting only for his arrival to seem complete. In that moment she knew how much she had missed him. The realisation was disturbing, the sentiment inappropriate. Forcing her expression into what she hoped was a becoming calm she drew in a deep breath. Marcus, looking round the hallway, perceived her at once, the grey eyes missing no detail of her appearance from the dark curls to the simple sprigged muslin gown. She looked as neat as wax, he thought, favouring her with a bow.
‘Well met, Miss Davenport. May I introduce your new charge?’ He glanced down at the small figure at his side. ‘This is my ward, the Honourable Lucy Eden-bridge. Lucy, this is Miss Davenport who is to be your new governess.’
The child dropped a polite curtsy and stared at Claire with big blue eyes. She was clad in a blue cloak, and a straw bonnet partially concealed light brown curls. In one small hand she was clutching a toy. She looked lost somehow, and a little timid.
Claire smiled at her. ‘Hello, Lucy. What a lovely doll.’
The child made no reply and lowered her eyes. Marcus glanced down and surveyed her keenly.
‘You should answer, child, when you are spoken to.’
Lucy’s cheeks reddened, but still she remained silent. Marcus raised an eyebrow. Fearing that the scene would escalate, Claire cut in.
‘It’s all right. This has been a big change and it will take her a while to find her feet and grow accustomed to all the new faces around her.’
‘You may be right,’ he replied.
Claire bent down so that she was on Lucy’s level. ‘What do you call your doll?’
There followed another silence. Then, very quietly, ‘Susan.’
‘That’s a good name. It suits her very well. Shall we take Susan upstairs and show her where her room is? She must be feeling tired after such a long journey.’
After a moment the child nodded. Claire held out her hand.
‘Come, then.’
Lucy looked up at her uncle and he nodded.
‘That’s right. You go along with Miss Davenport.’
A small hand stole tentatively into Claire’s. The Viscount caught her eye.
‘I will speak with you later, Miss Davenport. There are various points we need to discuss.’ He paused. ‘In the meantime, Mrs Hughes will send up a tray for Lucy. It has indeed been a long journey and she is tired. An early night is in order, I think.’
‘Yes, sir.’
As Claire led the child away she was conscious of the penetrating gaze that followed them to the stairs.
In fact, he had been quite right. By the time Lucy was ensconced in her room and had eaten some supper she was pale with fatigue so Claire undressed her and put her to bed. As she tucked the sheet in she was aware that the child watched her with solemn, sleepy eyes.
Claire smiled. ‘Would you like to have Susan with you?’
This elicited a nod. Retrieving the doll from a nearby chair, Claire handed it over and watched as it was tucked carefully under the covers. Then she gently brushed the child’s face with her hand.
‘Goodnight, dear. Sleep well.’
Within a very short time Lucy was asleep, clearly worn out by the journey and perhaps too by the anxiety of altered circumstances. As she looked at the forlorn little figure in the big bed her heart went out to Lucy. How lonely and frightened the child must be. She knew how it felt to be alone in the world and cast on the mercy of others, and that was at thirteen, not six years of age.
She remained in the room until she was quite certain that Lucy was fast asleep, and instructed the maid to leave a night light burning. If by some chance the child did wake up, at least she wouldn’t be on her own in a strange place in the dark.
Having seen to her charge’s immediate needs, Claire made her way to the drawing room, mindful that her employer had asked to speak to her. When she entered he was standing by