The Governess (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  Dalton’s lips quirked in a half smile. “Are you seeking my permission to pay your addresses, Brackenwood? You do not need it, as I am sure you are aware. If you want my blessing, then you have it, certainly, for it would be an excellent match for her. I am well aware of her many admirable qualities, which render her perfectly able to grace any position, even that of countess. Between ourselves, however, you surprise me, I confess. You are an earl in full possession of both title and fortune, and still young enough to be a very desirable match for any young lady. You could aim a little higher than your governess.”

  “I do not see her as my governess,” Allan said, a little affronted on her behalf. “She is Miss Winterton of Woodside, and every inch a lady, who would grace any position. But the devil of it is that she is a governess, and my employee, and it would not be honourable to court her openly. It might give rise to unpleasant gossip. I do not even know if I wish to court her, only that she intrigues me and I should like to get to know her better and I have no idea how to do it.”

  “Then turn her off,” Dalton said easily. “Send her here to me, and you may court her freely. If you decide against it, or she will not have you, then this is also the best place to find her another position.”

  Allan’s stomach flip-flopped painfully. Not have him? Find another position? Lose her once and for all? It was unthinkable. He decided on the spot that he would do everything in his power to keep her at Charlsby. Was that love? Did he truly want to marry her? He had no idea, only sure of one thing — that he wanted her to be a part of his life. He turned the subject, therefore, and they talked on indifferent matters for the remainder of his visit.

  As he rose to leave and they moved out into the hall, the sounds of the harp drifted down from an upstairs room.

  “Ah, the harp! Such a beautiful instrument,” Allan said. “Your wife plays?”

  “Rather expertly,” he said with a smug smile. “Mrs Dalton is a talented musician. We are to hold a musical soirée here tonight. Should you like to attend? Your cousin is to be here.”

  “George? A musical soirée?” It seemed rather unlikely, knowing George’s proclivities.

  “Oh yes, he comes regularly to our little evenings. Do come — it is very informal. An hour or two of music and a light supper.”

  And Allan set off to walk home with the puzzle of George’s sudden interest in music filling his head.

  The instant he walked into the Daltons’ music room that evening, he understood. She must have been eighteen or nineteen, as pretty as paint, with dark hair that curled about her face, and huge blue eyes the colour of cornflowers. George’s intake of breath was audible as he caught sight of her. Yet Allan knew at a glance that she was far, far out of George’s reach. Her gown was shimmering silk with a spangled overtunic and the hand of an expert modiste in every tuck and stitch and delicately embroidered flower on the bodice and sleeves. There were diamonds at her throat, about her wrists and even in her hair. Her assured manner, and her obvious intimacy with the high-ranking ladies surrounding her made it plain that she was noble born. Poor George! He would need more than the distant possibility of an earldom to secure such a catch.

  As Allan made his greetings to Mr and Mrs Dalton, he asked his host quietly, “Who is she, the beauty in the ice-blue gown?”

  “Ah! Lady Grace Bucknell, youngest daughter of the Duke of Camberley. Thirty thousand at least,” he added in a whisper. “You could not do better, Brackenwood. Very eligible.”

  Allan laughed, and made no attempt to explain that his interest was not on his own behalf. But his heart sank when he saw the young lady’s face light up when she saw George crossing the room towards her. If George were to suffer the pangs of unrequited love, it would do him no harm at all, but if the lady returned his regard, he foresaw nothing but trouble.

  Most musical soirées during the season were no more than an elegant attempt at matchmaking without the expense of a ball, but this one was of a higher standard than most. Mrs Dalton opened with a delightful performance on the harp, then Lady Grace on the pianoforte, then a succession of others, all chosen for their ability rather than their marriageability. Lady Grace was the only single lady to perform, although there were several in the audience. Allan was amused to note how many of these turned their eyes rather often in George’s direction. He, however, had eyes only for one person.

  As they walked home through the quiet streets later, they were both silent for most of the way, but eventually a heavier than usual sigh from George prompted Allan to say, “She is quite above your touch, I am afraid.”

  “Oh, I know it,” he said, not pretending to misunderstand. “Nothing can come of it. Well… that is, unless you should be so obliging as to drop down dead soon, and frankly I prefer you alive.”

  “Thank you for that!”

  “Well, it is true!” George said indignantly. “I would not for the world have anything happen to you, and the sooner you marry again and produce a son to supplant me, the better for my peace of mind. No, I dare not even think of Lady Grace. But she is such a darling, and she likes me, too, I flatter myself.”

  Allan grunted. “In which case, the honourable course is to withdraw from her society.”

  “I know it,” he said, and the heaviness of his tone tore at Allan’s heart. “I met her briefly last year, and she hardly noticed me in the crowds thronging around her. But we met again in Bath over the winter, and there were so few acquaintances of our own age that we were thrown together somewhat and she… she seemed to take pleasure in my company. And then, when we met again last month… but I did nothing to encourage her, I swear. I never danced with her more than once, or invited her to drive out in my curricle or anything so particular. But it will not do, and I must leave town, for her sake, if not for my own. May I travel back with you, when you go?”

  “Of course. I shall be glad of your company, although sorry for the circumstances. And I apologise profoundly for my continued good health. I would not for the world deprive you of your delightful young lady by my protracted existence, but I cannot help it, you know.”

  George burst out laughing. “That is what I like about you, cousin — you are not stuffy, and nothing offends you.”

  “I should point out that Mr Dalton described Lady Grace as a suitable match for me. He informed me with great directness that she has thirty thousand pounds at least, and he thinks me not too decrepit to be a desirable match. But be not alarmed, cousin, for I am not minded to cut you out.”

  “No, for you are in love with Miss Winterton,” George said smugly.

  “Am I?”

  “You can see at once how I feel, can you not? You see the way I look at Lady Grace. Well, that is how you look at Miss Winterton.”

  “Is it, now?” Allan said pensively. “And I thought I was being so discreet.”

  Oddly, this conversation settled Allan’s mind wonderfully. If George could see love in his eyes when he looked at Annabelle, then love it must be. It was not the tongue-tying, stomach-churning calf-love he had once endured for Marisa, it was more a gentle happiness whenever he looked at Annabelle, or thought of her, or enjoyed her company. She was so much the sort of woman he liked, or perhaps he should say, she was very far from the sort of woman he strongly disliked. She was not a head-turning beauty or a cutting wit or an interfering manipulator. She was a sensible woman who would make him an admirable countess, and he would be happy for the rest of his life if he could have her by his side. But the tricky question, the one he could not answer no matter how much he wrestled with it, was whether he could ever make her forget Mr Keeling and be happy too.

  13: The Lawyer

  Allan accompanied George to the ball given by the Marquess and Marchioness of Carrbridge at Marford House the following evening. He was not an enthusiast for such events, but it was the easiest way of meeting the few people he felt obliged to see while he was in town. He had no invitation, but he was an old school friend of Lord Carrbridge’s and the butler recognised him
on sight. He was greeted with easy familiarity by the host and his wife, and moved into the body of the room. He was unfashionably early, so the room was still pleasantly uncrowded and fresh. He procured a glass of champagne from a footman passing with a tray, and took up a position beside a pillar to watch the dancing.

  George knew everybody, was on friendly terms with everyone and headed straight for the wallflowers’ bench to rescue some poor girl from humiliation. He was soon dancing energetically, while regaling his partner with some story that kept her in fits of laughter. Lucky George, Allan thought, to be so charming and amusing and flirtatious in the lightest possible way. He was so like Duncan, yet without Duncan’s darker side, that left ruined housemaids and disappointed debutantes in his wake.

  “Allan! How like you to turn up here, quite the thing, when I waited in all morning for you.”

  His sister Mary, in a strikingly fashionable ensemble, apart from an appallingly tasteless pearl choker.

  “Did you so? Then I am sorry for it, but I never said that I would call at any particular time, you know, only that I had arrived in town and would see you before I left. Which I am now doing.”

  “How disappointingly logical you are, but it is just as Mal thought. ‘Depend upon it,’ he said when your letter was delivered, ‘he will want his hair cut before anything, for they have no barbers worth the mention in Cheshire. Therefore you need not stay in on his account.’ Did you have your hair cut?”

  “No, I was replenishing my supply of neckcloths.”

  She laughed out loud at that. “Oh, Allan, how mortifying to be considered lower in importance than neckcloths. But you look very well.” She smoothed the sleeve of his coat. “Yes, you look remarkably well. I like to see you in your London finery, like the nobleman you are. Although do not stand anywhere near the exquisite Mr Brummell, for the comparison would not be favourable to you.”

  “I have no ambition whatsoever to stand comparison with Mr Brummell,” he said. “Is Lizzie here too?”

  “No, Matlock is ill again, and she will not leave him, so you will have to call upon her. She is increasing again, did you know?”

  “Good heavens, has she not done her duty by him in that regard? Three sons already, and I know not how many daughters.”

  “Four. But Mother tells me that your thoughts are turning in that direction. Well, you look conscious, so I will not tease you about it, although I am dying to know more, for there are mysterious hints about the governess — you know what Mother is like! But I am sure it cannot be true.”

  “Is Mal in the card room?”

  “Yes, but I am not going to let you escape so easily. Let me at least have the pleasure of seeing you dance, brother dear. There is a young lady that I should like you to meet…”

  Meekly, Allan let her lead him round the room, and introduce him to a Miss Cantwell, who was not a day above sixteen, timid as a mouse, and, he soon discovered, somewhat muddled as to the matter of left and right, a strong handicap in the dance. Allan was not the man to mind a partner who bumped into him or trod on his feet, however, so he kept up a stream of trivial conversation and after a while she began to settle down.

  “I am so sorry, my lord,” she said as he took her back to her party. “I am not very good at remembering the movements yet.”

  “You will get the hang of it soon enough,” he said. “We have all had to endure the pain of learning the steps.”

  “Oh, you are so obliging to say such things! I was so nervous, because you are an earl, you see,” she said, smiling artlessly up at him. “But you are so kind to me.”

  “When you have been out in society a little longer, Miss Cantwell, you will discover that earls are just men like any other.”

  “Oh, no! That cannot be so! You are noble.”

  “I am only noble because some scapegrace ancestor served Henry IV with ale at a timely moment, and was made a baron for it. One can only suppose that His Majesty was excessively thirsty at the time. The baron’s sons and grandsons managed to keep their noses clean long enough to be made up to viscount and then earl. The King may hold the throne by the grace of God, but the peers hold their places by the grace of the King, and have no greater claim to virtue than any other man. I certainly do not.”

  She looked up at him with wide eyes, and he sighed. His tolerance for innocent ingenues was somewhat limited.

  After that, there was another young lady and then a third, after which he begged to be relieved of his role as dance partner and was allowed to escape to the card room. There he found Mary’s husband, Mal. Viscount Falkness was the sort of large, blustering man who made Allan feel inadequate. Despite his widening girth and features coarsened by over-indulgence, Falkness was effortlessly stylish. He was too well-built for elegance, but his neckcloth was tied in some complicated manner that made Allan’s carefully contrived knot look positively rustic.

  “Brackenwood! Dear boy, so glad to see you. Shall I cut you in on the game? Waterbury and Latheron will not mind.” His two companions murmured their agreement.

  “Thank you, gentlemen, but no. I am only here to give you this.” He handed the viscount the letter he had written earlier. “It explains some family business that Mary needs to know about. No cause for alarm, but it will come best from you. And if you would be so good as to show it to Matlock, so that he may tell Lizzie.”

  “Very well, dear boy. But what is this I hear about you eyeing up the governess, eh? Is she tasty? We had one once who was the meekest little creature imaginable by day, but at night—”

  “There is nothing of that sort going on,” Allan put in quickly. “Nor will there be.”

  “Aye, that is just like you, Brackenwood,” Falkness said, with a laugh. “Never knew a more straight-laced fellow. If ever you bedded the wench, you would likely feel obliged to marry her at once.” The three men laughed at the absurdity of the idea, but then Falkness raised his eyebrows and poked Allan in the chest. “Aha! You look conscious! I shall tell Mary to expect an announcement then, shall I?”

  “Shouldn’t marry the governess, Brackenwood,” Latheron said. “Not done. Not done at all. Marry some dull stick of a duke’s daughter, and keep the governess for sport, that’s the way to do it.”

  “I thank you for your advice,” Allan said, bowing stiffly. “You will excuse me, gentlemen. I will not keep you from your play any longer.”

  And, seething, he made his way back to the ballroom, and before too long made his escape.

  ~~~~~

  Two days later, Allan was at breakfast when the housekeeper came in. “Beg pardon, my lord, but there are three gentlemen to see you, sent by the lawyers, they say. I’ve put them in the study, for now.”

  Allan read the letter of introduction and then, puzzled, the cards, before making his way to the tiny room designated as his study. It was barely big enough for the four of them, containing only a desk and chair, a single bookcase and a sofa squeezed against one wall.

  “Gentlemen, I am Lord Brackenwood.”

  A man of around thirty, ostentatiously attired in the style favoured by pinks of the ton, stepped forwards a little. “My lord, I am Pettigrew Willerton-Forbes, from the chambers of Markham, Willerton-Forbes and Browning. You may be acquainted with my father, the Earl of Morpeth.”

  “I know him a little,” Allan said, having no memory at all of Lord Morpeth, but assuming that he must have bumped into a fellow earl at some point.

  “May I present my esteemed colleagues? This is Captain Michael Edgerton, formerly of the East India Company Army. And this is James Neate, who will act as my junior and secretary in this matter, should your lordship be so gracious as to engage us.”

  Edgerton was a very small man, flamboyantly dressed in the garish blue and yellow striped waistcoat of the Four-Horse Club. Neate was the exact opposite, tall and thin, wearing the sober black of a lawyer, the only sensibly dressed one of the three.

  “Gentlemen, you are very welcome,” Allan said. “However, I fear there has been som
e misunderstanding. I did not expect three of you, not for such a delicate matter as this, and certainly not an army man. There will be no need for swords or pistols in this business, I sincerely trust.”

  “The Captain is retired now,” Willerton-Forbes said. “However, his particular skills may be useful to us. For instance, if there is any question of an intruder finding his way into a building, Edgerton can advise on likely points of ingress. As to Mr Neate, it is very helpful when interviewing to have some third party taking notes, so that the interviewer — myself, in this case — may look the interviewee in the eye and thus assess the likelihood that he may be concealing information. Or lying outright. Since this is potentially a hanging matter, there will be strong pressure to lie. And Captain Edgerton has a role in this regard also, for we have found in previous cases that a man with a sword striding about the room has a powerful effect on the lower orders. They become quite garrulous, in fact.”

  “You have done this sort of thing before, then?” Allan said.

  “We have a little experience, my lord, yes. Captain Edgerton and I met when I was working on a tricky ownership question for the Duke of Dunmorton, and we got on well enough to work together on several subsequent occasions. Mostly inheritance questions, but one or two thefts. A possible murder is a new experience, but I flatter myself that we are well placed to assist you. It is, naturally, your lordship’s decision.”

  “You propose to interview people, then?”

  “That would be my preferred starting point, yes. Everyone who was in the house at the time in question, initially.”

  “Initially!”

  “It might be necessary to talk to one or two outsiders who have relevant information, such as the physician attending the late Lady Brackenwood.”