The Master's New Governess (HQR Historical)

by Eliza Redgold

  ‘What is it?’ she asked him, as they strolled back into the Hall after the butterflies had vanished into the sky. ‘I do believe you’re hiding something. I thought we promised to have no more secrets between us.’

  He smiled. ‘No more secrecy founded on mistrust and fear, certainly. But I never promised there would be no more surprises.’

  ‘There are more?’ He had already given her so much. They were to go on a honeymoon to the Continent, shortly, travelling by train, of course.

  Maud’s body tingled as Dominic leaned in and whispered in her ear, ‘You will have to wait until tonight.’

  * * *

  ‘Something old,’ said Maud. ‘Something new. Something borrowed and something blue...’

  Dominic grinned. ‘I hardly dare to hope.’

  She smoothed her hands over the lacy skirt of the white wedding dress that had transformed her into a fairy-tale bride when she slipped it on that morning. Even now she could not stop smoothing her hands over the hoops. They were as light as air compared to the layers of petticoats that used to weigh her down in the past. Now her whole body felt light and free. The dress itself was made of layers of lace and silk, one over the other, and drawn in at the waist to smooth over her corset, held together at the bodice with a row of tiny buttons shaped like butterfly wings. Her slippers were made of satin, too, with ribbon rosettes on them. She had been fitted for the gown by a dressmaker in London. Dominic and she had pored over a sheaf of designs in the shop and finally settled upon a mixture of two. But a picture on paper was quite a different beast to a fully fledged gown. She had hardly been able to believe that such a magical dress was hers when she drew it from its box upon delivery. The puffed sleeves, too, were so light and airy she felt as if she could float away.

  Across the room, Dominic was still dressed in his wedding attire. His dark morning suit with its long black-tailed coat and the crisp white shirt he wore underneath reminded her of the tailed dinner jacket he had worn when he had first invited her to dine in the grand dining room of Pendragon Hall. She had teased him by showing him, in the pages of a magazine, a new fashion for gentlemen in Europe. The fashion was to wear a cravat, or a bow tie, shaped like a butterfly. Some even had embroidered wings. She had pretended seriousness about such a bow tie’s suitability for his wedding attire until the sight of his horrified face had sent her into peals of laughter. She hadn’t known that such ease and amusement was possible between a man and a woman. His half-smile could barely be termed such these days—it had grown to at least a characteristic three-quarters and she had hopes for a full four.

  Now, with another laugh, she lifted her petticoat to reveal her blue stockings.

  ‘My dear Lady Jago,’ Dominic drawled, with his new three-quarter smile. ‘For a while I was concerned that you had lost your passion for education.’

  ‘Amid my passion for other things, do you mean?’

  He lifted an eyebrow. ‘What are your other passions?’

  She raised the petticoat a little higher and stepped closer to him in a rustle of silk. ‘Storytelling.’

  He placed his hand on what could be seen of the blue stocking, just inside her thigh.

  ‘And butterflies.’ She lifted her skirt a little higher.

  Again, he followed her lead, gliding his fingers further. A shiver like liquid honey rippled down her spine.

  ‘Anything else?’ he asked, as his fingers moved higher still.

  Maud quivered. ‘I am still discovering.’

  ‘As I am you.’ He ran a finger around her lips. ‘You were most elusive.’

  His lips went to her neck. ‘I wanted to kiss you here.’

  They moved upwards. ‘And here.’

  ‘And here.’

  His hard mouth had found hers again now.

  Then he pulled away, gliding his hands over her bodice.

  ‘Allow me to enlighten you. If I may.’ His hands released her. ‘But not yet. You must wait a little longer.’

  No! She craved his hands upon her thigh, her bodice, his mouth hard upon hers. A tiny part of her was still frightened, yes, but his hands negated all fear. She trusted him completely.

  Her husband smiled down at her almost mischievously, reminding her of Rosabel as the dent played in his cheek. She saw it more often now. Then he took her hand in his.

  ‘Come,’ Dominic said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Come into the garden, Maud,

  For the black bat, night, has flown,

  Come into the garden, Maud,

  I am here at the gate alone.

  —Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Maud (1855)

  ‘Where are we going?’ Maud asked in a whisper.

  Dominic chuckled. ‘You’ll see.’

  He took a hand as he led her through the woods.

  Owls hooted in darkness. The trees in the dim light appeared quite black, twisted monstrous shapes, but Maud was not afraid, not with Dominic holding her hand so snugly. The moon was full and he carried a lamp, too, as they made their way along the woodland path. Moths danced beside them, attracted by its glow.

  ‘We’re almost there,’ he told her. He stopped and raised her hand to his lips. He kissed her palm, then her inner wrist.

  Maud shivered.

  He drew her into his arms. ‘Are you cold?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she murmured against his chest. ‘Just a little impatient. It feels like I have waited for you for ever.’

  It was a relief, to have those feelings. She had been so afraid that her desires would have been tainted, ruined in some way. But they had not been stolen from her.

  Dominic tipped up her chin and claimed her lips. His mouth told her more clearly than words that he, too, was impatient. She wound her hands around his neck and told him in the same mode that she had been virtuously restrained long enough and that now was her wedding night.

  ‘I don’t want you to think I would treat you the way you were treated before,’ he’d told her on the day he’d given her an engagement ring.

  ‘I know you would never do that,’ she had replied. Yet there had been some nerves she’d been unable to deny to herself.

  But now the insidious fear Lord Melville had sown was quite swamped with desire for her husband. And he wanted her to wait, even now! Oh, it was enough to make a respectable governess develop all kinds of notions.

  He drew back, disentangling her hands from about his neck. His fingers brushed the ring. It was made of diamonds with an emerald in the centre. He’d said it reminded him of her eyes, save it could never be so beautiful. She wore a golden wedding band now, too. When he’d slipped it on to her finger in the village church, she knew she had never imagined such happiness. She hadn’t expected there to be more to follow.

  ‘Tell me where we are going,’ she pleaded again.

  His smile gleamed in the moonlight. ‘It’s a further adventure for Princess Swallowtail and the White Admiral.’

  She laughed.

  ‘You’re the one who is making up the stories now,’ she teased him.

  ‘Not far now.’ He took her hand. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a honeymoon in a distant land? It was your dream to be an explorer, after all.’

  ‘Cornwall proved to be adventure enough,’ she told him. ‘Does that count?’

  ‘I believe it does.’

  They walked on, in silence.

  Then he stopped. ‘We are almost at the place where we found the White Admiral. Do you remember?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I wanted to kiss you then,’ he told her.

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Indeed. That’s why I’ve brought you here tonight. To finish what we started.’

  Her pulse fluttered.

  He tightened his grip.

  ‘I can see a light. There, just by the path,’ she said, peering ah
ead.

  He let go of her hand and indicated the path. ‘Follow the fairy lanterns. They’ll guide your way.’

  She glanced up at him, trying to read his face, but it was in shadow.

  She took a step, then another. More tiny lanterns appeared, some set by the path, others hanging from trees. Their flames flickered slightly in the breeze, sending ripples of dim light through the forest, shifting shadows, bringing the woods to life as if touched by magic. Moths fluttered. Maud continued, hearing the tread of beloved footsteps behind her, her shoes sure on the leafy lamplit path.

  She had slipped off her satin slippers before she left the house and put on her walking shoes, but she still wore her blue stockings beneath her dress. She’d also thrown a shawl over her shoulders against the night air. Now it slid down. She let it fall over her elbows as she stepped onwards through the magic of the forest, not in the least cold.

  ‘Maud.’

  She paused at the low voice behind her, looked enquiringly over her shoulder.

  ‘Allow me.’ Dominic stepped a pace ahead and lifted a bough so that she could pass underneath.

  ‘Oh!’ Maud cried.

  A glade in the forest opened up before her, twinkling with a hundred little lanterns. She gasped again as she recognised it. It was the dell in which they had caught the elusive Admiral.

  But the glade looked quite different now and not just because of the lanterns in the night. Erected in the centre of the dell was a beautiful tented pavilion, made of white silk. Ribbons flowed from it.

  ‘It’s like a fairy tale,’ she whispered.

  ‘I wanted tonight to be a fairy tale for you,’ he said. ‘The beginning of your happily-ever-after.’

  ‘It is a fairy tale. It’s better than a fairy tale,’ she said. She could not believe he had thought of something so beautiful for her, he, a practical man who built railways.

  ‘You will have no nightmares, I trust, sleeping out of doors.’

  ‘I don’t think I will have nightmares ever again,’ she said, honestly. ‘Not with you sleeping beside me.’

  ‘Then I must always sleep beside you. And you’re safe here. I hope you know that.’

  ‘I do.’ It was a sanctuary within a sanctuary in Pendragon Woods. ‘This place has not been ruined for me.’

  She refused to allow it.

  ‘You don’t need any more time,’ he confirmed.

  ‘Only time with you.’

  The silence that she valued as much as words hung between them.

  ‘I want us to make new memories,’ he said at last. ‘Come inside.’

  He lifted the silken door.

  She ducked her head and entered.

  The ground, too, had been covered in silk. Downy mattresses and pillows had been heaped to make a snowy bed.

  Saffron was sprinkled over the covers. The tiny strands of orange-red stigma seemed to set the white counterpane alight. The whole bed seemed to glimmer with a strange fiery light, as if covered with fireflies.

  ‘Look up,’ he told her.

  She looked up to see that the roof of the silk pavilion was made of netting. Through it, she could see stars winking down between stirring leaves. Moths of brown, white and grey, their wings silvered, danced over the sheer rooftop.

  ‘I didn’t bring my butterfly net!’ she exclaimed with a soft laugh.

  His grin flashed.

  ‘That’s most remiss of a governess,’ he drawled. ‘We shall have to explore other pastimes.’

  ‘Shall we?’

  ‘Indeed.’ He took her in his arms.

  ‘They’re drawn to the light,’ he murmured. ‘Shall I put out the lamp?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘You want to see the moths?’

  She twined her hands around him. ‘I want you to see me. I want to see you.’

  He studied her face.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Then I shall release you from your cocoon.’

  His smile gleamed in the low light and his lips descended upon hers. Then his fingers were upon the butterfly buttons. One by one, she felt them give way.

  Maud shivered—not with fear.

  With love.

  And she was free.

  Epilogue

  Come hither, the dances are done.

  —Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Maud (1855)

  Rosabel leaned over the wooden cradle. ‘Oh, the baby looks like my doll Polly!’

  Dominic chuckled. ‘This is a real-life baby, not a porcelain doll.’

  ‘And even better than that, she’s your new sister,’ said Maud.

  ‘She’s so tiny,’ said Rosabel in awe. She reached out and touched the miniature hand. As the tiny fingers latched around her thumb, Rosabel giggled. ‘Look, she likes me!’

  ‘And she’ll grow,’ said Dominic. ‘Before long she will be as beautiful as her sister and her mother.’

  From her place propped up in the four-poster bed, Maud gazed at Dominic. Her husband.

  She still couldn’t quite believe it. She had never imagined it was possible to be so happy. Her family were all together now at Pendragon Hall, their home: she, her husband, her daughter Rosabel—for that was how Maud thought of her—and now their new baby daughter.

  After having looked after other people’s children for so many years, she realised that it had been a dream she had never dared to dream: a family of her own.

  She remembered how Dominic had asked her if she hoped for a family and children of her own. She had thought then that even her capacity to dream of a future for herself had been lost. But it had not. From the ruins, they had built a new future. Even with her gift for storytelling, she had never imagined such a happily-ever-after was possible. But now she had a family, a home: that undreamed-of dream.

  A tear rolled down her cheek.

  Dominic leaned over and with one finger wiped the tear away. ‘What’s the matter? Why are you crying?’

  ‘They’re tears of joy,’ Maud said in wonderment. Such happy tears were something that she had heard of, but never really believed could exist. She had cried so many other kinds of tears in her life. Tears of exhaustion. Tears of shame. Tears of heartbreak. But these tears now were nothing like those.

  ‘So, you’re happy, then,’ he asked, as he crooked a smile so full of love and intimacy that it made her heart race.

  ‘How can you ask?’ she whispered. ‘Happy doesn’t begin to describe it.’

  In the cradle the baby gave a cry. Gently Dominic leaned over and picked her up and handed her to Maud.

  Maud nestled the tiny soft bundle against her silk bed jacket and the crying ceased. She was wrapped in the finest flannel and a little cotton-and-lace gown, with a trimmed cap on her head to keep her warm.

  Rosabel leaned against the bed. Dominic reached out to put an arm around her; drew her closer in.

  ‘What’s my new sister’s name?’ she asked.

  ‘The right names are very important,’ Dominic said, with a glance at Maud.

  She bit her lip. It still pained her that they had met under such clouded circumstances.

  ‘How about...Mergetrude?’ Dominic went on, with a grin.

  In relief, Maud laughed aloud. ‘That’s what I thought Polly was called. Do you remember, Rosabel?’

  The dimple appeared in Rosabel’s cheek. ‘Then you said Polly’s name might be Dorothea-Millicent-Margaret-Anne. You made it up.’

  ‘I don’t make things up any more,’ Maud said, her eyes welling again.

  Dominic leaned in and whispered in her ear, ‘Not unless you want to.’

  He straightened and smiled at Rosabel. ‘We have decided to call her Vanessa.’

  ‘It means “butterfly”,’ Maud added.

  ‘Butterfly,’ said Rosabel,
with a sigh. ‘Oh, look, Polly. I have a sister called Butterfly.’

  ‘She’s the newest butterfly in our collection,’ Dominic said.

  The baby opened her eyes as if she knew she were being discussed. They were a grey-blue colour now, but Maud suspected they would change in time. Perhaps they would be green, like hers. Dominic had said he would like that. Or perhaps a deep chocolate brown like Dominic’s.

  ‘She can open her eyes,’ said Rosabel. ‘My doll Polly can’t do that.’

  Dominic chuckled. ‘No, indeed, and she’ll be able to do many more things with you in the future. It won’t be long before she’s running through the woods with you, chasing butterflies.’

  ‘She might like trains more than butterflies,’ Maud put in, with a teasing smile.

  Dominic’s chuckle turned to a laugh, making the dimple appear in his cheek. It played there more often now. ‘Indeed.’

  He whispered again in her ear, ‘I’m torn between the two myself.’

  After Rosabel had gone and Vanessa was tucked back into the cradle, sleeping peacefully again, Dominic climbed on to the bed and took Maud in his arms.

  ‘I have something for you,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve given me so very much already, Dominic.’ She raised herself on her elbows against the pillow. ‘What is it?’

  He passed her a parcel, wrapped in brown paper. ‘It came from London today. Open it.’

  The paper slipped off easily to reveal a leather-bound volume, in dark green. On the spine and the cover, embossed in gold, were the words: The Butterfly Fables: Moral Tales for Children by Lady Maud Jago.

  The title shimmered on the leather, green as leaves.

  ‘My stories.’ She had been writing more of them during her confinement, using the fountain pen Dominic had given her.

  He smiled. ‘I sent them to a printer in London. This is the first of many volumes for our children, I hope.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered.

  ‘You must never give up your stories,’ he murmured. ‘They brought us together.’

  Maud grimaced. ‘They nearly kept us apart.’

  Dominic shook his head. ‘I’d have caught you anyway. Somewhere. Somehow.’