Temptation of a Governess

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘What, no straw damsels?’ asked Mr Wollerton, a note of regret in his voice. ‘No opera dancers?’

  ‘I’d have thought you get enough of your dancers here,’ retorted Alex, grinning in spite of himself. ‘Why, have you taken a fancy to one of the little beauties currently parading her wares before us?’

  He raised his quizzing glass and ran his eye over the line of dancers performing on the stage, their diaphanous skirts scandalously short.

  ‘Certainly not,’ retorted Mr Wollerton, affronted. ‘I’ll have you know we are watching a celebrated French ballet troupe. They have performed at the Paris Opera and are noted for their artistic interpretation.’

  Alex gave a crack of laughter. ‘Looking at the audience, I doubt many of them are here to admire the artistic interpretation.’

  ‘These young ladies are extremely talented,’ said his friend, spoiling the effect by adding, ‘and extremely expensive.’

  ‘Are they, now?’ murmured Alex. He watched two of the female dancers leap and twirl across the stage, his mind racing.

  ‘Yes, they are,’ affirmed Wollerton. ‘As you would know if you ever bothered to come backstage with me.’

  ‘Well, Gervase, you have convinced me.’ Alex grinned. ‘When the performance ends tonight I will come backstage with you!’

  * * *

  ‘Diana, Diana, there is a carriage coming towards the house!’

  Meggie’s excited voice brought Diana and Florence to the schoolroom window to see an elegant travelling chaise bowling along the drive.

  ‘Could it be Madame Francot with our dresses?’ asked Florence, her nose pressed against the glass.

  ‘Not unless she has employed an army to finish them all in so short a time,’ remarked Diana.

  She smiled at the memory of the exuberant little Frenchwoman who had arrived at Chantreys with her entourage just over a week ago. Lord Davenport had given the lady quite the wrong idea of the kind of clothes required—quite deliberately, Diana suspected—but once they had resolved the misunderstanding Diana found Madame Francot most obliging. Madame was also enchanted by Meggie and Florence, said they reminded her of her own darling grandchildren and went out of her way to produce the most delightful sketches of gowns that would suit them. Diana had to check the voluble modiste only a couple of times for her rather colourful language and after that they proceeded very well indeed.

  Madame had stayed two nights, entertained Diana with tales of her flight from France during the Terror, taught the children a little French as well as the secret of attaching a flounced hem to a gown, and left Chantreys in a cloud of perfumed silks and the promise to return tout de suite with all the gowns, cloaks, habits and dresses made up as they discussed.

  Surely not even the indomitable Madame Francot would produce everything in so short a time? thought Diana as she ran down the stairs. A female voice talking rapidly in French floated up to her from the hall and she thought for a moment that she was wrong, but when she descended the last few stairs she found herself confronted by two young women she had never seen before in her life. They were both very pretty, very petite and wearing high-waisted walking-out dresses of the latest fashion. Fingle was goggling at them and when Diana arrived he cast an agonised appeal in her direction.

  Before Diana could speak one of the young ladies came tripping over to her, taking off her bonnet and shaking out her golden curls as she said in her pretty, musical voice with a strong French accent, ‘Ah, you must be Mademoiselle Grensham. Milord told us all about you and the jolies filles.’

  ‘Did he?’ said Diana warily.

  ‘Mais oui.’ The girl gave her a dazzling smile. ‘He sent us ’ere to teach your leetle girls to dance!’

  Chapter Ten

  Diana blinked.

  ‘Are you...’ she paused, then continued slowly ‘...are you, perhaps, opera dancers?’

  The second young lady approached. She was as dark as her companion was fair, but equally pretty.

  ‘Non, non, mademoiselle. We are from ze Ballet de l’Opéra de Paris. They ’ave only the finest dancers in ze world, je vous assure. Monsieur Reynard, he brought us to Londres where Milord Davenport, he saw us perform, and he...er...il a organisé avec Monsieur Reynard that we should be...er...’ She waved her little hands and looked to her companion for assistance.

  ‘Zat we should come ’ere for two weeks to ’elp you with ze ballet your leetle girls are to perform.’

  ‘Bon.’ The brunette smiled and made a deep and graceful curtsy to Diana. ‘I am Chantal, à votre service, mademoiselle.’

  ‘Et moi—Suzanne.’ The blonde twirled about, as if to demonstrate her ability.

  How dare he?

  The two girls stood before Diana, smiling expectantly. She bit her lip. It was not their fault. Alex had sent them on purpose to outrage her. So far she had managed to turn to advantage his every attempt to put her out of countenance, but opera dancers!

  I see you as an opponent worthy of my mettle.

  Diana heard his words as clearly as if Alex was standing at her shoulder and it calmed her. She must not react in anger, that was what Alex expected. She took a deep, steadying breath and coolly invited Chantal and Suzanne to accompany her to the drawing room, where Fingle would bring them refreshments. They went before her, exclaiming at the view from the window, the pretty furnishings, the paintings on the wall.

  ‘Thank you. Will you not sit down, ladies?’

  As they made themselves comfortable she observed them. They were very young, not yet twenty, she suspected, and brimming with friendly good humour. One could not dislike them, there was no malice in their attitude, they were genuinely happy to be at Chantreys and seemed unaware of Alex’s motive in sending them here. She waited until Fingle had brought in wines and sweetmeats before questioning them. She decided it would be easier if the conversation was conducted in French, then they could have no excuse for thinking she did not understand them.

  ‘Lord Davenport sent you here to teach his wards to dance, is that not so?’

  ‘But, yes, mademoiselle. He says they are to perform for his guests at the party he is arranging.’

  ‘Are you well acquainted with Lord Davenport?’ she asked them. ‘The truth, if you please.’

  ‘He came backstage, with his friend, Monsieur Wollerton.’ Chantal’s big brown eyes looked at her with not a hint of guile. ‘Monsieur Reynard, he is very strict about the gentlemen he allows to visit us after the performance.’

  ‘No doubt they have to be very rich.’

  ‘Certainly, mademoiselle.’

  ‘And Lord Davenport is exceedingly rich,’ Diana continued. ‘He is able to...er...pay Monsieur Reynard very well for your services.’

  ‘But, yes, of a certainty. It is not at all convenient for us to leave the ballet at such a time, but milord, he was very exact about the dancers he required.’

  ‘Ah.’ Diana felt an inordinate amount of relief. ‘So you are not...’

  ‘We are not his lovers,’ finished Suzanne with a frankness Diana wished she could emulate.

  Suzanne clapped her hands and gave a little trill of laughter. ‘I wish it might be so, mademoiselle, but, no. Milord Davenport, he comes to watch us dance, yes, but he has been backstage but rarely and he has never taken any of us for his mistress.’ She looked at her companion and they sighed in unison. ‘It is a great pity, for he is very ’andsome, do you not think?’

  ‘No, I do not,’ retorted Diana, rattled. ‘His countenance is too rugged and his nose is not straight.’

  ‘But he is so very big, mademoiselle,’ murmured Chantal dreamily. ‘Such a strong, shapely body. And when he smiles...’

  Yes, well, Diana did not want to think about that. She rose abruptly.

  ‘Very well. If Lord Davenport has gone to the trouble of sen
ding you here then we must make use of you. I shall have rooms prepared for you immediately. And I shall take you upstairs to meet the children. It will be beneficial for you to converse with them in French, I think. They know enough now to follow you and it will improve their ability considerably. Now, shall we go?’

  * * *

  Lincoln delivered Diana’s next letter to Alex when he brought up his hot water a few mornings later. The missive had been sitting on a silver tray in the hall and the valet recognised the neat, sloping writing. He had become familiar with it over the past few months and was intrigued to see its effect upon his master. So far the lady’s correspondence had elicited a variety of responses. Sometimes the earl would burst out laughing as he scanned the lines, other times he would scowl and mutter ominously under his breath.

  With his face devoid of all emotion, Lincoln handed the letter to Lord Davenport and then busied himself at the washstand. He heard a bark of laughter. That augured well.

  ‘The little minx.’

  Lincoln turned, a look of innocent enquiry upon his face.

  ‘My lord?’

  But the earl was in no mood to expand upon his utterance.

  ‘Nothing.’

  He waved Lincoln away, declaring he would shave himself. This was nothing unusual, but the valet would have dearly liked to remain a little longer in the bedchamber and try if he could see just what it was that Miss Grensham had written. However, his master had put the letter under his reading book and was even now preparing to get out of bed. Lincoln tenderly draped the folded towel over the rail and took his leave.

  ‘So she is delighted with my choice of dancing teachers, is she?’

  Alex brushed the soap liberally over his face and picked up the razor. He had really thought that Diana would take one look at those two little charmers and send them packing. Instead, her letter informed him that Meggie and Florence were not only enjoying the ballet steps they were learning, but they were also becoming most proficient in the French language. His eyes narrowed. He would wager Diana’s first reaction was not as sanguine as her letter implied.

  He had been most careful in his choice of dancers. Reynard had assured him that Chantal and Suzanne had been strictly reared and that he looked after them like his own daughters. Alex was not so sure about that, but he had interviewed them both and satisfied himself that they could be trusted to behave well during their stay at Chantreys. Indeed, if they wished to earn the enormous sum he had agreed with Reynard, they would make sure there was no hint of impropriety attached to their visit. Perhaps he should take a trip down there, just to make sure.

  The idea took root. There was also his secretary to consider. He had sent John Timothy to Chantreys to deal with arrangements for the forthcoming ball, but it would do no harm for him to go and see for himself just how things were progressing. He cast his mind over his engagements. His great-aunt was bearing up well, despite her worries over her granddaughter’s incarceration in France, and he need not dance attendance upon her and her protégée every day. Lady Frances would expect him to attend her party that evening, but he could send his apologies for that. No one would wonder at it if he wished to assure himself that everything at Chantreys was in readiness for his guests.

  His ablutions complete, Alex dried his face and considered the matter. He was honest enough to admit that none of these points was the real reason he wanted to drive into Essex. It had cost him no little effort to keep away from Chantreys these past weeks and with every letter he received from Diana the temptation grew. He wanted to see her, to talk to her. He wanted to know what she really thought of Madame Francot and if she was truly pleased to have the dancers at Chantreys or if she was merely trying to pay him back in kind.

  She haunted his thoughts, with her stubborn refusal to move out, her continuous opposition to his plan to find her and the children a new home. And why had he challenged her in that foolish way? He enjoyed teasing her, but there was little enjoyment in remaining in London, unable to see for himself just how she was reacting to his taunts. A smile tugged at his mouth. Her countenance was so expressive, he could read it like a book. That is what he missed. Her letters amused him, but it was not the same as a face-to-face confrontation. His duties to his great-aunt had filled most of his summer, but even when he had got away from town for a short time the horse-racing had failed to divert him.

  With sudden decision he threw down the towel and set the bell pealing for Lincoln. Within minutes a message had been sent to the stables to prepare his curricle and he was changing his town dress for something more suited to a drive into the country.

  * * *

  ‘My lord, this is a pleasant surprise. Miss Grensham and the young ladies are in the orangery, taking a dancing lesson.’

  There was a twinkle in the butler’s eyes as he welcomed Alex into the house.

  As if the old man had detected a blossoming romance, thought Alex in alarm.

  ‘I have come to see my secretary.’ Alex stripped off his gloves and put them on the hall table beside his hat. ‘Is Timothy in the office?’

  His cold tone had its effect. Immediately Fingle became the perfect butler, inclining his head a little as he answered in the affirmative. Good, thought Alex, as he strode away. He didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about his visit here today. Diana was co-guardian of his wards. He would have to see her in that capacity, naturally, but he had no interest in her as a woman. She was small, thin, freckled and confrontational. A nuisance. She had no place in his hedonistic, well-ordered life. None at all.

  * * *

  His business with John Timothy was soon concluded. Arrangements for his visit were well in hand, the south pavilion was cleaned out and all the rooms made fit for guests while the orangery roof had been repaired and extra staff from the village would be recruited in time for the arrival of the earl and his guests in two weeks’ time.

  ‘I have ordered a covering over the path from the house to the orangery, my lord, just in case the weather should be inclement for the ball.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Alex nodded absently, wondering how Diana would react when she saw him. Would she be pleased, or would she rip up at him for his high-handed behaviour?

  ‘Miss Grensham thought of it, my lord,’ said John Timothy, tidying the papers on his desk. ‘She is an excellent manager, if I may say so.’ He smiled. ‘She really has left me very little to do.’

  ‘I had hoped your being here would take some of the work from her shoulders, John.’

  ‘And I have, my lord, but she had most of it organised before I even arrived. She knew exactly what was required and how to obtain it. I suppose it comes from living in the house for several years, she is well acquainted with all the local tradespeople. Very efficient, she is, but in no way managing, if you know what I mean, sir. It has been a pleasure to work with her.’

  ‘I am glad you have got on so well.’ Alex was a little taken aback by this fulsome praise from his usually laconic secretary. He spent a few more minutes discussing business before going off to find Diana.

  * * *

  The orangery was situated at some distance from the house itself, behind the south pavilion. It was a large structure, its southern wall consisting entirely of glass and was built originally to house and protect citrus fruits during the winter. It had been enlarged considerably during the early years of the last century in an unsuccessful attempt to cultivate the highly fashionable pineapple, but the very size of the building had made it impossible to heat successfully. Since then the building had returned to its original function, with a few pieces of furniture added so that guests might take their ease on sunny days, and on rare occasions it was used as a ballroom.

  As Alex followed the path to the south front of the orangery he saw that the long windows had been opened and sounds of much merriment and childish laughter drifted out to him, overlaid by
the melodic sounds of a pianoforte. He remembered Diana writing to tell him that she had asked John Timothy to hire an instrument for the musicians to use at the ball. Perhaps she thought he would baulk at the expense. Perhaps that was her way of paying him back in some measure. Well, let her think that. He had been considering replacing the old harpsichord at Chantreys with a more fashionable keyboard, so if she thought to upset him with her extravagance she would be disappointed.

  Alex entered by the side door that led into a small anteroom. It was filled with the odd pieces of furniture that had somehow accumulated in the orangery over the years. They had obviously been moved in preparation for the ball and were swathed in new holland covers. He smiled. That would be Diana’s doing, no one else would have thought it worthwhile to protect the old sofa that had been relegated to the orangery in his father’s day. He slipped quietly into the main room and stood for a moment, enjoying the scene. The orangery had been emptied of all but a few decorative citrus trees in their pots. The walls were freshly painted and the candle sconces had been polished until they shone. The hired pianoforte stood in one corner of the dais at the far end and a woman he had not seen before was playing a lively tune that echoed around the large room, but Alex paid scant heed to the music or the pianist, for it was the little group in the centre of the dais who held his attention. The two French girls, his wards and Diana were all dressed in gowns of gossamer-thin white muslin that stopped well short of the ankle.

  He was immediately aware that of the three ladies, Diana’s ankles were by far the most shapely. Meggie and Florence were sitting on the edge of the dais with their backs to him, watching as the two dancers helped Diana to rise on tiptoe. There was a great deal of giggling and laughter as she wobbled and collapsed and tried again, encouraged by her companions. On her last attempt she achieved a very creditable attitude.

  Alex could not help himself.

  ‘Well done,’ he declared, coming forward.