Harlequin Historical May 2020--Box Set 2 of 2

by Harper St. George

  He bowed slightly as he passed the globe to Maud.

  She made sure her fingers did not touch his as she took it. ‘Thank you.’

  He gave a glimmer of a smile before pulling up a chair on the other side of Rosabel’s bed.

  So, he did intend to stay and listen to the bedtime story.

  ‘Tonight’s story is about Little Swallowtail.’ Maud fought down her unexpected anxiety. She was never nervous when storytelling, but Sir Dominic Jago’s presence had an unsettling effect. He had said nothing at all since he came back with the globe, yet she could not help being aware of him.

  ‘Little Swallowtail is a fairy—a butterfly fairy, in fact. She is tiny and delicate, so tiny that from a distance you might mistake her for a butterfly herself.’ Maud leaned forward and whispered to Rosabel, ‘I think some of them might live in your garden.’

  Rosabel’s eyes became saucers.

  A fleeting smile passed across Sir Dominic’s face.

  Maud settled back in the chair. Her nerves were abating now. ‘Once upon a time, there was a young butterfly fairy called Little Swallowtail. Though she wasn’t quite a butterfly fairy, not yet. You see, she didn’t want to grow her wings.’

  Rosabel’s eyes were wide. ‘Don’t all fairies have wings?’

  ‘Not when they’re little fairies,’ said Maud. ‘At the beginning, they don’t have wings when they are born. They have lovely black-and-white-striped caterpillar bodies with yellow spots, and they stay on the ground.’

  ‘Ugh.’ Rosabel shuddered and hugged Polly tighter. ‘I don’t like caterpillars.’

  ‘Perhaps you haven’t met the right ones,’ said Maud. ‘Little Swallowtail is friendly, though the Red Admiral can be a rather unpleasant caterpillar, at times, and Speckled Wood can be a crosspatch in bad weather. But I’ve never met a Small Tortoiseshell I didn’t like.’

  A muffled cough came from Sir Dominic.

  Maud glanced up. His face, however, was expressionless.

  She went on with the story. ‘Now, let me tell you about Little Swallowtail. She was born into a beautiful garden. Her family had settled in Cornwall long ago, though long ago, they came from tropical climes.’

  Maud held up the globe so that Rosabel could see it.

  ‘Swallowtail’s family came from North Africa…’ she put her finger on the map ‘…and Asia.’ She showed Rosabel the landmass before spinning the globe. ‘And this is where we are, in Cornwall.’

  She turned the globe again to show Rosabel the long distance between the two countries and held it steady so that Rosabel could spin it around.

  Sir Dominic smiled. He leaned in. ‘Is that a little girl I see in Cornwall?’ He pointed to the location on the globe.

  Rosabel giggled.

  Maud almost dropped the globe on to the eiderdown. She hadn’t expected him to join in the fun of storytelling.

  He reached out and steadied the globe with his long fingers.

  His lips curved. ‘Shall I hold the world for you, Miss Wilmot?’

  Maud quickly removed her own hand. ‘We have almost finished with it.’

  His half-smile remained as he laid the globe on the bedside table next to him.

  ‘The Swallowtails liked the weather here in Cornwall,’ Maud went on. She had to focus. She refused to be perturbed by his presence as she continued the story, all about how Little Swallowtail didn’t want to fly like the other butterflies and how she found her courage, and her wings.

  Rosabel listened with her doll gripped tight. Sir Dominic Jago, too, appeared to take in every word, as Maud described Little Swallowtail’s adventures as a caterpillar: how she got lost in the jungle of long grass by the meadow near the river and found her way home.

  ‘Finally…’ Maud got to the end of the story ‘…Little Swallowtail saw the vegetable patch and knew she was home. Her mother wrapped Little Swallowtail in her wings. “We thought we had lost you for ever!”

  ‘“I want to grow my wings,” said Little Swallowtail, “so I don’t ever get lost again.” So, she was wrapped up in her soft white cocoon, that is like the most comfortable of featherbeds, and when she came out of the cocoon, she had become Princess Swallowtail, with wings of pale yellow veined with black, a pretty blue frill and two scarlet spots.’

  Rosabel had been listening eagerly. ‘Have you ever seen Princess Swallowtail?’

  Maud smiled. ‘The butterflies are all asleep now and you must go to sleep, too. But one day, if you can show me the vegetable patch, we can try to find Princess Swallowtail, or perhaps one of her cousins.’

  Rosabel drew back. ‘I don’t like to go out of doors.’

  Maud clasped her hands together. ‘Why, that is just how some of the butterflies feel, about coming indoors.’

  ‘They do?’ Rosabel asked.

  Maud sensed Sir Dominic’s hidden chuckle.

  ‘Indeed,’ Maud said. ‘I wonder if you can help. It would be most useful if you could allow some of the butterflies to visit you, indoors. They are used to the outdoors, you see, and if you would allow them to make a morning call on you, they might become more used to the environment.’

  Rosabel thought for a moment. ‘How will they come indoors?’

  ‘I will bring them,’ said Maud, ‘in a large jar, with plenty of holes for air. Some might be bold enough to go free in the schoolroom, but we will have to see.’

  ‘Might I also be present for this morning visit?’ Sir Dominic asked.

  ‘Of course.’ Maud inclined her head without enthusiasm.

  She stood and smoothed out her skirt. ‘I will say goodnight now, Rosabel.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight, Sir Dominic.’

  Idly, he spun the globe with his finger. ‘Goodnight, Miss Wilmot. Until tomorrow.’

  Maud hurried through the schoolroom and into her own bedroom. She shut the door and leaned against it. She had no intention of lingering.

  Sir Dominic’s presence during the storytelling had been more enjoyable than she had anticipated. She had to admit, as her heart gave another thud, he was the most disturbing man she had ever met. Most disturbing, indeed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It leads me forth at evening;

  —Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Maud (1855)

  ‘Good morning, Miss Wilmot.’

  Maud entered the schoolroom to find Sir Dominic standing by the window. The sunlight streamed in, putting his face half in profile. It emphasised the set of his jaw.

  She stepped back, then raised her own chin as she crossed the room and placed on the table the large jars she had borrowed from the kitchen earlier that morning. The glass glistened in the sunlight, making the foliage she had gathered inside them appear even more vivid green.

  ‘Good morning,’ she replied, unsmiling, with the slightest nod of her head. Overnight, for she had struggled to sleep as usual, her indignation at the master of the house had not abated. She had resolved to display the utmost propriety towards him at all times.

  ‘I thought I would come and see that you have what you need here in the schoolroom for today’s lesson. But I see you have already been busy,’ he said.

  ‘Since just after dawn,’ she admitted. ‘I was fortunate to find what I needed around the vegetable patch.’

  He frowned slightly as he studied the contents of the jars. ‘Are these of sufficient size for your purposes?’

  She ran her finger over the lid of one of the jars, where she had made the holes for air. She’d not only caught caterpillars, but a butterfly, too. ‘These jars are large enough for insect homes.’ She couldn’t suppress a sigh. ‘Ideally, of course, I’d have a vivarium.’

  His raised eyebrow met the other in a slight frown. ‘You are already teaching me something, Miss Wilmot. I’m not familiar with the word. What is a vivarium?’

  ‘It’s a Latin t
erm,’ she told him eagerly, unable to hold back her enthusiasm. She picked up one of the glass jars. ‘It’s a most innovative idea. Imagine this insect home being four or five times the size. That is the size of a vivarium. They are big glass cases or domes, with ventilation, where caterpillars and butterflies can be observed alive, without harm. Mr Ward of London has made some marvellous ones that are being used on long sea voyages to collect specimens, I believe. But we can make do.’

  ‘Thank you for enlightening me.’

  Maud stiffened as she put the jar back with the others on the table. She wondered, for a moment, if he was mocking her enthusiasm, but she could discern no trace of mockery on his face. Instead, he was studying the insect homes with increased interest.

  The door from the nursery opened.

  Maud smiled. ‘Good morning, Rosabel.’

  Rosabel edged towards the table, her doll Polly clutched against her ruffled pinafore.

  Sir Dominic reached out and put his arm around her, drawing the little girl close to him. He pointed to the insect homes. ‘Come and see what Miss Wilmot has found.’

  Rosabel peered cautiously at the jars. ‘Is that Princess Swallowtail?’

  Maud shook her head. ‘I couldn’t find her this morning. She must be off on one of her adventures. Some of her friends have come to call instead. Would you like to meet them?’

  Rosabel leaned further into her papa’s side, but she nodded.

  Maud pointed at the brown-and-yellow butterfly fluttering against the glass. ‘This is Mr Speckled Wood come to say how do you do. I’m sure he is very pleased to make your and Polly’s acquaintance.’

  ‘How do you do,’ Sir Dominic murmured.

  Rosabel giggled. ‘How do you do.’

  ‘I trust Mr Wood has found adequate refreshment,’ said Sir Dominic.

  ‘Indeed he has,’ Maud replied, repressing another smile. She hadn’t expected the master of the house to play along. ‘Long grass is his preference, so I have put plenty in the jar.’

  ‘We aim to please at Pendragon Hall.’ Sir Dominic leaned in. ‘I see there are leaves, also. Are they to Mr Wood’s taste?’

  Maud couldn’t repress a chuckle. ‘I hope not.’

  ‘Can you see what is on one of the leaves in the other jar, Rosabel?’ Sir Dominic asked.

  Rosabel cringed. ‘Is that a caterpillar?’

  ‘Indeed it is.’ Maud turned the glass around so that the little green creature was more visible.

  ‘Will it come out of the jar?’ Rosabel’s voice was high with fear.

  Maud was quick to reassure her. ‘Oh, no, not unless you invite it to do so specifically. Caterpillars are extremely shy. They like to stay on their leaves. It is not a good idea to move them too quickly. They also get very, very hungry. We shall have to feed it lots of grass, in its new home.’

  Maud moved the jar aside and took up the other. ‘And here is someone who likes to stay in bed.’

  Sir Dominic leaned in. After a moment, Rosabel followed her father’s example.

  ‘This is a cocoon,’ Maud explained. ‘A more proper name for it is chrysalis.’ It was a little early in the year, but she’d found it on a loose piece of bark, near the scullery door. She never liked to disturb a cocoon unnecessarily and often they were attached to walls or fences. This one had transferred easily.

  Rosabel’s shoulders were hunched, but Maud was pleased to see she couldn’t restrain a closer look at the hard white case that was stuck to the bark. It was only a couple of inches long. ‘Is there a caterpillar inside?’

  ‘It was a caterpillar,’ Maud went on. ‘Now it is sleeping on its pillow. But while it is sleeping, safe and sound, it is changing into a beautiful butterfly. A white-and-pale-green one, I think. When it is ready, it will come out.’

  Sir Dominic glanced at her over the top of Rosabel’s head. ‘How long do you think it will take?’

  ‘A week,’ Maud told him. ‘Maybe two.’

  His face was still, but he drew his daughter closer to him. ‘I hope I am there to see it.’

  ‘I can assure you, Sir Dominic,’ Maud said softly. ‘It will happen. The butterfly will emerge.’

  * * *

  Dominic slid the engraved card out of the envelope and sighed. Another dinner invitation.

  He dropped the white card on the mantelpiece. He was not an unfriendly man, far from it, but at the end of a day’s work running the railway, let alone Pendragon Hall and the surrounding estate, he never particularly looked forward to idle banter around a dinner table.

  Strange, how a mere piece of card could bring back so many memories.

  The arguments. The misunderstandings. The complaints. The tears.

  He returned to his desk, gritted his teeth and opened the book of railway accounts.

  As he did so, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed.

  He didn’t need to look at a timetable to know that a West Cornish Railway train would be arriving at a Cornish station at that very moment. Over the past few years, he’d memorised the train timetable almost without realising it. Every time a train arrived or pulled out, he knew it.

  His challenge in the future would be to keep them running.

  At least he’d been able to focus more easily on his work for the last few days, since the new governess had arrived. It was hard to put his finger on exactly what had altered, but one of the burdens he’d been carrying alone had been eased, at least.

  Not that he had too much contact with the new governess. When he did, she was most stern in her manner. Even so, something had shifted in the house; some tension had disappeared. The change was almost imperceptible, but it was there.

  Yet his other burdens remained. He squared his shoulders, took up his fountain pen and went over the figures again.

  They didn’t add up any differently.

  He exhaled as he dropped the pen on to the desk. For a moment he rested his elbows on the leather, put his head in his hands and pressed his fingers into his scalp, as if different numbers would emerge if he pressed hard enough.

  Mentally, he calculated again. He’d trimmed back costs by taking on even more of the financial responsibility. It was a risk, but he had to take it, at least until he could find an alternative. He was not only a major investor, he also managed much of the line himself. No detail escaped him. He wanted the line to be the best in Britain, if not in Europe. Cornwall had lagged behind for so long. His county deserved to thrive in the new railway age. He must do everything possible to ensure it did.

  The study door flung open.

  ‘Papa!’

  Dominic leapt to his feet. ‘What is it, Rosabel?’

  His daughter’s black ringlets flew around her head as she rushed into the room. ‘The butterfly has come out!’

  Behind her came Miss Wilmot, carrying one of the insect homes. ‘Forgive the interruption, Sir Dominic.’

  ‘Not at all, Miss Wilmot.’

  ‘Butterflies often come out in the morning,’ she explained. ‘Rosabel and I were fortunate enough to see it in time, just after breakfast. It has occurred much earlier than I expected. The new butterfly had just begun to break free.’

  Rosabel clapped her hands together. ‘We watched it come out, Papa! And now we’re going to let it out of the jar. Come out and watch it with us!’

  Dominic turned away and cleared his suddenly choked throat. He’d barely realised how much Rosabel’s nervousness had been preying on his mind and heart.

  He’d tried to convince himself that it was merely his young daughter’s temperament, that she took after him more than her mama. Sarah had been pretty, friendly and gregarious. She’d been sociable, loving to attend dinners and parties, to go and stay with acquaintances, to host a stream of guests at Pendragon Hall. Rosabel was more reserved. But he’d known, deep down, it was something else than temperament that had kept her
indoors for so long.

  He’d been more worried about his daughter than he’d ever been able to acknowledge.

  Dominic turned and met the gaze of Miss Wilmot. Her face was grave, but in her eyes, he saw her relief.

  His throat choked again. Until the new governess had come along, he had struggled alone with his fears for his daughter. Now he saw that she had shared his concern. An understanding, more profound than sympathy, emanated from every aspect of her being.

  ‘Papa! Didn’t you hear me?’ Rosabel came around the desk and tugged at his sleeve. ‘We’re going to let the butterfly into the garden.’

  Under the guise of adjusting his cravat, Dominic cleared his throat.

  ‘Is it ready to fly?’ he asked Miss Wilmot, his voice rasping. He was unable to say more. ‘It is not too soon?’

  That deep understanding flared in her eyes.

  ‘Not at all,’ she assured him quietly. ‘It is time to test its wings.’

  Rosabel tugged his sleeve again. ‘Come with us, Papa!’

  He tousled his daughter’s curls. ‘Of course.’

  She half ran out of the study.

  Dominic came out from behind his desk. As he did so, he caught Miss Wilmot’s fresh, clean scent—pure and natural, like the outdoors.

  She held out the jar. The empty chrysalis lay on the bottom of the glass and a white butterfly was fluttering within. ‘Perhaps you would care to do the honours, Sir Dominic.’

  She wore no gloves. As he took it, their fingers touched. Hers were warm before she quickly withdrew them.

  ‘Miss Wilmot! Papa!’ Rosabel called from the hall.

  ‘We’re coming, Rosabel,’ she replied.

  Her grey skirt swished over the smooth wooden boards as he followed her into the hall.

  He blinked as the new governess stepped forward and opened the front door. The morning sun streamed in. It turned the hall to gold, sending coppery glints into her hair.