She gaped at him. ‘That is treating them like criminals. They aren’t stupid. They are not going to try climbing out of the windows.’
He set his jaw. ‘Can you guarantee they will not, Lady Marguerite?’
She shook her head. ‘But—’
‘Well, then, there is no more to be said.’
For a moment, he thought she would argue further. But he knew he was right and he would not let a pretty face convince him otherwise. A man needed to be in control. If he had been less easy-going, given in less, his wife would be alive.
Chapter Five
At any moment, Lord Compton was going to change his mind about letting the girls have drawing lessons. She could see it in his face.
Before he could do so, she marched past him and headed downstairs. It was time to begin the second hour of their lesson anyway.
He followed behind, his step heavy on the stairs. She tried to ignore his presence, but she could not.
She willed him to continue on downstairs, but he followed her into the nursery, where they found the girls sitting on the sofa with their hands folded in their laps as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. Marguerite repressed the urge to smile. She could only imagine what mischief they had been up to until they heard their approach.
Their father eyed them closely. ‘Are you feeling well, Lizzie?’
The little girl looked puzzled. ‘Yes, Papa.’
Lord Compton sent a narrow-eyed glare Marguerite’s way. ‘And you, Janey—are you well?’
‘Oh, yes, Papa,’ Janey said. She glanced anxiously at her sister, before beaming at her father.
‘Good. Good. Now run along with Lady Marguerite while I visit your sister and Nanny.’
‘Nanny and Netty are having a nap,’ Lizzie said.
He looked puzzled.
‘Netty always naps in the afternoons Lady Marguerite is here,’ Lizzie explained.
‘Oh. I see. Well, perhaps I will see her at bedtime. Run along to the schoolroom, Lady Marguerite will join you shortly.’
Marguerite froze. Was he going to dismiss her?
The girls jumped up and ran out of the room.
Compton looked worried. And even a little vulnerable. As if he had somehow let his guard down and he didn’t quite know how it had happened. She schooled her face into pleasant interest instead of reaching out a comforting hand. He was a man, he did not need comfort from her or any woman.
He glanced at the window. ‘About the long gallery.’
‘Yes, my lord?’
‘I will have it made more suitable for the children. I am sure, with the windows open....’
‘It will certainly be better than nothing.’
He smiled tersely. ‘Good. I am glad you agree. You will, of course, ensure they do not sit in a draught, and that the windows are closed when you leave. In case of rain.’
Good lord, he must think she had the brain of a peahen if he thought she needed such instructions. ‘I will, my lord.’
‘Very well. I will prepare some rules for the proper use of the space, then we shall be sure there are no misunderstandings.’
The man was obsessed with rules. It must be something to do with being a magistrate.
‘I will look at your rules, my lord, and if they are practicable and sensible, then I shall agree to them. Otherwise, we may need to have further discussion. Now if you will excuse me, the girls are waiting.’ Heavens knew what they would do with no one there to oversee them. Besides, she could not wait to tell them the good news.
‘Ah, yes. One more moment, if you please.’
‘Yes?’
‘You cannot drive home in this rain. I will send you in my carriage.’
The man really was trying to take over her life. Yet again. ‘I shall be perfectly fine in the trap. Thank you.’
‘Well, you may be, but Peter’s mother would not thank me if the boy came down with the ague from getting soaked.’
‘Then Peter may stay here.’
‘No. He will go home in the carriage, if you insist on driving the trap. Which means my coachman will be required to suffer a dousing.’
He was making her out to be completely unreasonable about his servants’ well-being. ‘Peter would get wet if he drove me home and I would be without my trap if I take your carriage. I need to go to Oxted on the morrow for supplies. I thank you for your concern, but I prefer to drive myself home and I do not need your carriage following me. You will have the villagers wondering what on earth is going on.’
‘I have another alternative to offer.’
‘Which is?’
‘Stay the night. Be my guest. In the morning, you can depart for Oxted with Peter and the trap, provided the weather is fine, that is.’
A chill ran down her spine. ‘Stay overnight?’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘No. Thank you.’
Why was she even thanking him for such a terrible proposition?
He frowned. ‘I do not see—’ A look of comprehension crossed his face. His back stiffened. His expression became dark. ‘Lady Marguerite, I am not suggesting anything except that you have dinner in comfort and a bed for the night in weather so foul one would not send a dog outside. You may, you can avail yourself of the governess’s suite of rooms next to the nursery. The doors have bolts on the inside.’
He looked so irritated, so shocked, she almost giggled. Until she was overtaken by sadness. Yes, she had entertained the thought, however briefly, that he might have an ulterior motive in asking her to stay, but she was far too long in the tooth for that to happen. And she should be glad of it, too. She was glad. Wasn’t she?
Then why did she have this odd feeling of disappointment, a sense that a hope had been dashed?
Nonsense.
Yes, he was handsome, but he also ruled his household with an iron hand. An ill omen for any woman.
She went to the window and looked out. He was right, it was pouring and the wind had picked up. Driving home in an open trap would be unpleasant and also foolish. She turned to face him. ‘Why don’t we see how it is when it is time for me to go home?’ With Neville, procrastination had often worked in her favour. Half the time he would forget all about his demand. The other half, she simply had to grin and bear whatever it was he had insisted upon.
Fortunately, Lord Compton did not have the authority to make her do as he bid.
Still, she did not want to seem too intransigent. There had been enough of those sorts of discussions already. Push him too far and he might well cancel the girls’ lessons.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘If that is what you wish, I will agree. But, believe me, I will not permit you to go home in a downpour.’
Permit? Her temper flared. All her good intentions flew out of the window. ‘I do not believe I answer to you with regard to what I do in my personal hours, Lord Compton.’
He glared at her. ‘Why do women have to be so...irrational?’
He stomped off.
Coward. He might at least have allowed her to reply to that bit of nonsense.
She glanced out of the window again. All she could hope was for the weather to clear up in an hour or two. At least it wasn’t a thunderstorm or she might find herself unable to fulfil her duties or drive herself home.
* * *
Why not let her drive home in the rain? Why the devil was he bothering? The woman was nothing to him. The only reason he was concerned at all was because if she became ill, or, heaven forbid, suffered some sort of accident, his girls would be sad.
What other reason could he have? He didn’t like the woman. She was far too combative. If she wasn’t so dashed pretty... And that hair of hers...
Devil take it, he did not want to think about the way she had looked when she met him at her door.
He marched into his study. He’d much rather be out riding
his estate than stuck in here.
He stilled, staring down at his desk. Lady Marguerite had said that about his girls, hadn’t she? He had never been confined to the house as a lad, but after losing his wife and so close to home, too, he hadn’t been able to bear the idea that something might happen to them. On the other hand, how would they learn about the world if they never experienced it?
Restlessness filled him, memories of his wife flashing across his mind. An urge to ride off to distant parts and never return struck him hard. Some days, he found his regrets so all-consuming that he found himself miles from home and in the opposite direction from his original destination. He understood why. No matter how often he relived their last few conversations, changed them in his head, the past remained cast in stone. Amanda had lied to him and like some bumpkin he had believed everything she told him. He also knew he could never leave his guilt behind, no matter how far he rode.
He forced his mind back to the present. The estate provided plenty of work to keep him busy. For one thing he had not yet sent an advertisement to the newspaper for a governess. He picked up the most recent copy of The Times. Perhaps he’d find one looking for a position and save himself the trouble.
He glanced idly through the first few pages, running his eye down the headlines, most of which held little interest. Balls and routs and fashion and a lot of politicking. And news of deaths in Wellington’s latest battle. No one he knew, thank God.
The page of advertisements contained nothing useful. A few house rentals, the odd gentleman’s gentleman seeking a position and a carriage for sale. There was a notice about a new sort of corset for ladies and a tailor touting his wares. He flung the newspaper aside and began crafting a letter to the employment agency he’d used before. He listed the attributes he expected to find in a suitable candidate to teach his daughters. Sobriety. Intellect. A good speaking voice. Someone with connections to society. Ability to teach painting and drawing as well as reading and needlework. Able to conduct sensible conversations on suitable topics. Someone who would care about the welfare of his children’s bodies as well as their minds...
He frowned. It seemed he’d described Lady Marguerite to a T, apart from her physical attributes, of course, like a slender figure, a luxurious mane of red hair and a face that was not only pretty, but also held kindness. Green eyes would also be perfect.
He sat back in his chair and shook his head. This was so unlike him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken notice of a woman’s attributes. He’d been far too busy looking after his estate and his children. To be honest, he’d been far too wary of getting involved. The pain of losing Amanda and knowing he was partially at fault was something he never wanted to repeat.
When he married, as he eventually must, he would choose someone he could trust to do exactly as he asked. As long as they were kind to his girls and were content to give him his heir, there was nothing more he would need from a wife.
He signed the letter, franked it and addressed it. He put it on the tray his butler would collect later and have taken to the post office. He moved on to answer his correspondence. The pile on the tray grew as the hour wore on.
The next time he looked up it was because of the clock striking four. Rain beat against the window and from the look of the trees the wind had worsened.
He straightened his shoulders. This was one battle Lady Marguerite would not win.
* * *
The housekeeper entered the schoolroom a few minutes after the children had finished their lessons and returned to the nursery. Marguerite closed the cupboard door and smiled at the woman. ‘Mrs York, how may I help you?’
The woman dipped a curtsy. ‘The weather being so terrible, Lord Compton thought you might prefer to spend the night. He said he would be pleased to see you at dinner after the children are put to bed. I am to show you to your suite of rooms.’
Marguerite’s heart gave an odd little jolt. Her breathing quickened. He could not make her stay against her will.
Yet it all sounded so very ordinary. So normal. It was exactly what she would have done in the same circumstances. And the fact that it was the housekeeper delivering the message proved there was nothing underhanded about the invitation. Didn’t it?
‘I’ve assigned Lucy, the parlourmaid, to serve you, my lady,’ the housekeeper continued. ‘I hope that meets with your approval.’
It wasn’t quite ordinary. It wasn’t usual for a paid employee to be addressed in such formal terms by the housekeeper. Under normal circumstances they would have been equals, though certainly governesses tended to be treated more like guests than other servants. But they were not treated like family, nor did they usually have titles.
She could either refuse and have Lord Compton up here making a fuss, which would be noted, remarked upon and gossiped about until it had travelled all over the county and likely beyond, or she could simply take the offer at face value. His Lordship knew this, of course. He had engineered her acceptance very nicely.
But he had asked, not demanded or insisted. That had to count for something.
‘The weather is terrible, is it not? Unfortunately, I did not come prepared to spend the night and have no change of clothing.’ Nor any night attire for that matter. Or her brushes. Well, what could not be cured must be endured. ‘It might be better if I took dinner in my room, if it would not be too much trouble for the household.’ She smiled sweetly at the woman.
‘Oh, you do not need to worry about that, my lady. His Lordship’s aunt left some of her wardrobe here last time she visited. You are close to her in size, I should think. I have had them moved into your chamber. The rooms are just at the other end of this corridor, if I may show you the way?’
Her heart gave an odd little thump. Her stomach churned. Was she really going to do this? It was only one night. And she really did not fancy getting soaked to the skin. So, yes, she was not going to be missish. She would stay.
Marguerite picked up the slates and put them on her desk. ‘Lead the way, Mrs York.’
In the rooms she had been assigned, everything was ready for her arrival. The maid, a plump, pleasant-faced girl with mousy-brown hair and freckles on her snub nose, dipped a curtsy as Marguerite entered. The suite was beautifully appointed at the end of the nursery corridor. There was a sitting room and a bedchamber and a small dressing room with a chest of drawers. While modestly furnished, the items were of good quality and the bed looked soft and inviting.
The windows looked out over the park, though with the rain coming down in sheets, she could see little more than the formal garden directly below. Whoever had assigned this suite of rooms to a mere governess had been generous indeed.
The gown laid out on the bed seemed perfectly suitable for dinner in the country. Well made, of good cloth, it was modest and sensible. There was nothing about it she could object to, even if the neck was cut a little lower across the bosom than her own gowns and the flounces at the hem just a little more flamboyant than her normal style.
‘If there is anything you need,’ Mrs York said, ‘tell Lucy or me and I shall be pleased to see to it.’
‘Thank you,’ Marguerite said. ‘Please tell His Lordship I accept his invitation to join him for dinner.’ She smiled at Lucy. ‘Thank you for agreeing to assist me.’
The maid smiled cheerfully. ‘Happy to do it, I am, my lady.’
Mrs York left them to it.
‘Shall I dress your hair, my lady?’ Lucy asked.
Marguerite seated herself before the mirror. A worried reflection stared back at her. It had been ages since she’d had dinner with a gentleman who was not family. Not since she and Petra had entertained Lord Longhurst, now her brother-in-law, when Petra had been plotting to get him to hire Mrs Stone as his cook.
That had been a different situation. She and her sister had served as each other’s chaperon. On the other hand, Lord Compton seemed be
nt on observing the proprieties, so where was the harm? She was a widow, after all. And not subject to the same rules as a single lady. It would also be a very pleasant change to have some company with her meal. ‘I think only a pin or two is required,’ she said.
The young woman nodded and set to work. ‘What beautiful hair you have, my lady. Such a colour it is.’
‘I don’t know about beautiful. It is difficult to manage.’
‘Thick and curly. My next sister down says the same thing about hers. Mine is as straight as a yard of pump water.’ She chuckled.
‘Do you have many siblings, Lucy?’
‘Seventeen of us, my lady, not counting the ones who died.’
Marguerite’s jaw dropped. ‘Seventeen.’
‘Yes, my lady. All younger. Spent a lot of time helping me ma, I did. I was glad to get employment here, I was. Maisie took over at home.’
Seventeen! Marguerite could not imagine it. ‘Is your mother still living?’
‘Oh, yes, my lady.’ Lucy beamed. ‘Healthy as a horse, she is. And happy to get money from me every week.’
Having fastened her cap over her neatly pinned hair, Marguerite headed downstairs.
Passing the schoolroom, she paused. But, no. Nanny would likely not appreciate the interruption if the girls were at dinner. She could recall her own nanny, who liked everything just so and who considered the nursery her private fiefdom.
Once her siblings were too old for the nursery, she had quickly learned why it was necessary to keep strict order among a bunch of unruly children, for the task of mother had been left to her. It was one reason why she was glad she and Neville had not had any children. She’d already served her duty in that regard.
Which reminded her, first thing tomorrow she would write to Petra and explain that she had decided to give drawing lessons to supplement her income. Petra and her husband lived in Westram. Marguerite’s visits to Lord Compton would come to her attention the moment she returned from Bath. It was impossible to hide much from the residents of such a small village and she certainly didn’t want ill-informed gossip coming to her sister’s ears. Thank goodness her sister would not be as judgemental as the rest of the world.
A Family for the Widowed Governess Page 6