Secrets in the Regency Ballroom. Joanna FulfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
would prefer someone young and attractive as a governess. What really mattered, of course, was competence. That would become evident soon enough. Three months would demonstrate whether his decision had been the right one or not.
Two days later he prepared to leave for London, having first taken his leave of his hosts and of Claire.
‘We shall meet again very soon, Miss Davenport. In the meantime is there anything I can bring you from the capital?’
It had never occurred to her that he would even ask and the question threw her.
‘I thank you, no, sir.’
‘You must be the first woman ever to say so,’ he replied, regarding her with the familiar cool appraisal that caused a fluttering sensation in her stomach. ‘I half expected a lengthy shopping list.’
‘Then you have been spared it.’
‘So it would seem. I suppose I should be grateful.’
Thinking of the little money remaining to her, she knew there was no possibility of indulging herself, even if she had thought of it.
‘I expect to be gone for two weeks or so,’ he went on. ‘I shall inform the housekeeper at Netherclough when to expect me. At that time I shall arrange for a carriage to collect you.’
It was an attention she had not expected.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘It is my wish that you should be there when I return so that you can become acquainted with my ward from the outset. I think we should start as we mean to go on.’
‘As you wish, sir.’
‘Until then, Miss Davenport.’
He favoured her with a bow and then was gone. Watching his departing figure, she was conscious of a strange sense of loss.
The feeling stayed with her in the days that followed. He was such a charismatic figure that when he was absent the house felt different, not less friendly or less welcoming exactly and yet still lacking. Although she made every attempt to keep busy, Claire found herself counting the days until she should be able to take up her new position. It represented a first step into a larger world, one that only a few short weeks ago she could never have thought of entering.
Eventually the day came, a fortnight later, when a carriage arrived to transport her to Netherclough Hall. With very real regret she said farewell to Ellen and George Greystoke and thanked them for their kindness. Like his sister, George seemed genuinely affected to see her go.
‘I wish you all good fortune in your new life, Miss Davenport,’ he said as they stood together by the gate.
Ellen smiled. ‘I hope you will be very happy, my dear.’
‘I’m sure I shall be,’ Claire replied. ‘I’ll write as soon as I can and tell you how I go on.’
‘I shall look forward to that.’ She took Claire’s hand for a moment and gazed very earnestly into her face. ‘You know that you can always come to me if you need to, my dear.’
‘Thank you.’
Claire gave her friend a last hug and climbed into the carriage. A liveried footman put up the steps and closed the door. As the vehicle pulled away she leaned from the window to wave. Only when her friends were out of sight did she settle back into her seat and look around her. The carriage was larger and more opulent than anything she had ever seen. Furthermore it was so well sprung that even the worst bumps in the road went almost unnoticed. The four bays that pulled it were spirited and swift, as different as could be from her uncle’s carriage horses. He could never have afforded any as fine as these. Never would she have expected to ride in such style or comfort.
Glancing at the valise beside her, she was forcefully reminded that it contained all her worldly possessions. If the footman had been surprised by the lack of baggage, he was too well trained to betray it. Perhaps he had assumed her trunks would be following later. She smiled ruefully. A governess had no need of fine gowns. As long as her appearance was clean and neat it would suffice. A new chapter of her life was beginning and for the first time she had a measure of control over how it would unfold.
For a while she was so wrapped in thought that she paid no heed to the country through which they were passing, but eventually it impinged on her consciousness again and she found herself curious to see Netherclough Hall. By repute it was a very grand old house and set in a large attractive park. That at least would afford long walks in the fresh air and some pleasant scenes to sketch. For all the Viscount’s doubts she had no fear of solitude and had never minded her own company.
The thought brought her employer to mind again. It seemed strange to think of him in those terms but she knew she must accustom herself to it. Mark Eden was gone. She was entering the service of Viscount Destermere. There could be no hint of earlier familiarity. That had belonged to a set of extraordinary circumstances—circumstances that must never be alluded to in any way. It was not to be supposed that she would see very much of her employer anyway. Probably their paths would cross but rarely. The knowledge gave her a strange pang.
She was drawn from her thoughts when, at length, the carriage turned in through large wrought-iron gates that gave onto a long driveway between mature chestnut trees. Beyond it, rolling green parkland stretched away to wooded hillsides. With excitement and trepidation Claire craned eagerly for a view of the house. When it came into view round a bend in the drive she drew in a sharp breath. Netherclough Hall was an imposing residence built of grey stone, nestled in a fold of the hills. From its numerous chimneys and crenellated walls to the stone mullions and ancient porch it was in every way a nobleman’s residence. Beneath its sloping grounds a river ran through trees among the water meadows.
The Viscount had not lied when he said his estate was remote, but far from feeling concerned Claire knew only a sense of satisfaction at the location. It was definitely the last place her uncle would ever think of looking for her.
Presently the carriage drew up outside the stone porch beyond which was a great iron-clamped door. Another footman admitted her to a flagged hallway hung with racks of antlers and ancient weapons. A great carved-oak staircase led to the upper floors. Claire looked round, trying to take it in, but just then footsteps announced the arrival of the housekeeper, a plump middle-aged woman in a neat grey gown and lace cap who introduced herself as Mrs Hughes. When the courtesies had been observed she offered to show Claire to her room.
This proved to be a light and pleasant chamber at the rear of the house, overlooking the gardens and the park. Comfortably furnished, it appeared to have been newly decorated. Elegant blue-and-gold hangings and thick rugs added a feeling of cosiness and luxury. A cheerful fire burned in the grate.
‘I hope everything is satisfactory,’ said Mrs Hughes.
‘It’s beautiful.’
The housekeeper smiled, clearly pleased by the reaction. ‘I hope you will be happy here, Miss Davenport.’
‘I’m sure I shall. Thank you.’
‘Is the rest of your luggage to follow, miss?’
Claire knew a moment of acute embarrassment. ‘No. Everything is here.’
The only indication of the older woman’s surprise was a brief silence. Then she smiled again.
‘Well, then, perhaps you would care to take some refreshment after your journey?’
‘That would be most kind.’
Having removed her bonnet and spencer, Claire followed the housekeeper to a small parlour. A footman appeared a short time later with a tray. Mrs Hughes poured the tea and offered her guest a slice of seed cake. Thus fortified, Claire began to relax.
‘This is a beautiful house,’ she observed. ‘Have you been here long, Mrs Hughes?’
‘Thirty-five years. I took up my post in Lord Destermere’s time. The older Viscount Destermere, I mean.’
‘I