‘Thank goodness it didn’t come to that.’
‘I thank God for it every day. It must have been divine providence brought you to us.’
More like Ellen Greystoke, thought Claire. Her friend was subtle in achieving her ends.
‘I beg you will not mention it, Mrs Dobson. My part in the matter was very small. Lord Destermere must take all the credit.’
‘We’re beholden to His Lordship and no mistake, but I want you to know that I and my family won’t forget what you did. Not ever.’
*
After they parted Claire returned to her room to divest herself of bonnet and gloves. However, she had not taken two paces into the room when she stopped short with a gasp of surprise. Lying on the bed was the most beautiful ball gown she had ever seen. Made of spangled white sarsnet, it was trimmed with silver ribbons. On the floor lay a pair of white satin slippers. For a moment she could only stare. Then she realised how it had come there and her hand stole to her cheek. If a necklace was an inappropriate gift from a gentleman, how much more was this gown? And yet it was so lovely.
Reverentially she lifted it off the bed and held it up against her. The fabric shimmered with every movement. It needed only a glance to see it became her well. For a few more seconds she wrestled with temptation. Then she was struggling out of her muslin gown. The ball dress was a perfect fit, almost as if it had been made for her. It fitted close to the waist, but was cut low to reveal her shoulders and the soft swell of her breasts. The dress floated away in graceful folds to her feet. It was altogether a more daring gown than any she had ever worn in her life, shocking and wonderful together. The slippers fitted perfectly, too. For a moment or two she pirouetted in front of the glass, turning this way and that to gauge the effect. It was glorious, a gown fit for a queen. Yes, said an inner voice, but not for a governess. Claire went hot and cold by turns as the implications of the scene dawned on her. She could not accept this gown any more than she could have accepted the amethyst necklace, and Marcus knew it. They must have this out, and soon.
*
Dressed again in her plain muslin frock she felt more equal to the task of confronting him. Enquiries as to his whereabouts led her to the library. He was sitting at a small table, apparently studying some ledgers, but he rose as she entered. Ignoring the offer of a chair, she stood instead.
‘You should not have done it, sir.’
‘Done what?’ he asked.
‘I refer to the new gown.’
‘Ah. It seemed necessary.’
‘How so?’
‘You said you had not got a ball gown.’
‘I may have said so, but that did not mean I wished you to buy me one.’
‘No, I wished to do that.’
‘It’s all wrong, sir.’
‘Oh? I rather thought the style would suit you very well. Perhaps the gown does not fit?’
Claire controlled herself with an effort. ‘There is nothing wrong with the style or the fit.’
The grey eyes gleamed. ‘Ah, you tried it on, then? Good.’
‘I said I wasn’t going to the ball.’
‘Yes, I heard you,’ he replied, unperturbed. ‘However, it is my wish that you should attend.’
For a moment she was speechless, but only for a moment. ‘You have no right to insist.’
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘It’s a total abuse of power.’
‘And knowing that you will still do it?’
‘Absolutely. It’s one of the great advantages of position.’
‘Sometimes, you are quite odious!’
His lips twitched. ‘I wonder that you can bear with me at all.’
‘Now you are roasting me.’
‘You look even more attractive when you are annoyed, you see.’
‘Will you be serious for a moment?’
‘If you insist.’
She made a vague gesture with her hand. ‘How can I make you understand?’
‘All I understand is that I want you to be present. It is a ball, not a punishment.’
‘I do not think of it as a punishment. You know my reasons for refusing.’
‘Yes, just as I know they are groundless. I want you to come and enjoy yourself. Please say you will.’
He paused, his gaze searching her face. She sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to yield on this.
‘All right, I’ll come, but it is for this once only.’
‘Thank you.’ He rose then and took her shoulders in a gentle clasp. ‘It makes me happy to hear you say that.’
‘Sir, I…’
‘You know my feelings for you, Claire.’
It was so tempting to take the words at face value. How much she would have liked to believe them. The warmth of his hands through her gown, his nearness, filled her with a deep longing, but it was a feeling she didn’t dare give in to. Apart from the impossibility of it leading to anything but pain and disaster, she would never accept second place in any man’s affections. With an effort of will she detached herself from his hold.
The dark brows drew together. ‘What is it, Claire? What’s wrong?’
‘Why are you doing this? Why pretend you care for me when we both know you love another?’
He stared at her, thunderstruck. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Lakshmi,’ she replied.
There followed a moment of complete silence in which the hawk-like gaze searched her face. Then, very steadily, he said, ‘How do you come to know that name?’
‘You spoke it in delirium. Not once, but several times.’
‘I see.’
She watched him turn away as though wrestling with some powerful emotion, and she felt her throat tighten. It was as she had suspected. Lakshmi ruled his heart still. The knowledge hurt, but it was better than pretence. At least now the matter was out in the open.
‘It is something I have never discussed with anyone,’ he said then. ‘Not even George Greystoke, but you deserve the truth if anyone does.’ He turned again to face her. ‘Do you want my story, Claire? I warn you now it is not pleasant.’
Her heart beat a little faster for there was an expression on his face that she had not seen there before. It sent a shiver down her spine. Feeling suddenly in need of support, she sank into a chair. Nevertheless, she knew she must listen.
‘I will hear it, if you are willing to tell me.’
‘Very well.’ He paused, eyeing her keenly. ‘The events I am about to relate took place some eight years ago. Lakshmi was an Indian princess, a young woman of extraordinary beauty and goodness. We met by chance when I was able to do her a trifling service. From the first there was a powerful alchemy between us. Our time together was brief, a matter of days only, but I knew then that she was the woman I wanted to marry and spend the rest of my life with. My feelings were returned. However, because of our respective positions there were obstacles to our being together. I should have followed my instinct and taken her away while I had the chance. There would have been all manner of trouble, but we could have surmounted it. Instead I hesitated, fearing to embroil her in a major scandal.
‘While I hesitated, her father married her off to the rajah of a neighbouring state, a man old enough to be her grandfather. My despair at losing her was equalled only by the rage I felt for my earlier procrastination. So I threw myself into my work in an attempt to forget her. However, about a year later I had news of her again. Her elderly husband had sickened and died. In accordance with the traditions of that country the old prince’s body was to be cremated. His widow was to commit suttee. In other words, she must go to the fire with her husband.’
Claire regarded him in horror. She had heard of the custom. Until now it had seemed unreal, part of the exotic fabric of a foreign culture. Seeing her expression, Marcus nodded.
‘You may imagine my feelings on learning that. At any rate I was determined to save her and, taking a detachment of men, left immediately for Kathor. It was three days’ ride away, but we travelled fast, pausing
only to rest the horses when we had to. We cut half a day off the time but, even so, we came too late. When we reached the burning ground the ceremony had already begun.’ He paused, taking a deep breath, seeing again the pyre and the flames. ‘I tried to fight my way through the crowd, but it was too dense and prevented me. It also got ugly, for the people of that place believe the custom to be holy and resent interference. I was dragged from my horse and would have died too had my men not intervened and got me away.’ One hand went to the scar on his cheek. ‘I carry this as a permanent reminder of that day.’
Claire paled, appalled, for this calm relation of events was worse than any deliberate dramatisation could ever have been.
‘Oh, Marcus. I’m so sorry. What a terrible thing.’
He was struck less by her evident sympathy than by the use of his name. It was the first time she had ever done so and was all the more telling for being entirely unconscious. In that moment he felt as though a barrier had come down.
‘As I said, it was a long time ago.’
‘I think it would not matter how many years passed by. Such a thing could never be forgotten.’
‘No, we just learn to live with the memories.’
Claire was very still. Suddenly a lot of things had become clear. She was both honoured and moved by his confidence, for she could never have supposed he would open up to her in that way. At the same time it raised other questions. Almost as if he heard the thought, Marcus regarded her steadily.
‘I shall never forget her, but one cannot cling to the past, Claire. Life goes on and time lessens the intensity of pain. Lakshmi is not your rival.’
‘I see that now.’
‘I hope you do.’
She returned his gaze. ‘Besides, there are newer hurts to salve, are there not?’
‘If by that you mean my brother, then, yes.’
‘Can hurts be salved in blood?’
‘This one will be, I promise you.’
Looking at the expression in the grey eyes, Claire shivered. This was a side to his character that she had only glimpsed before, but there could be no mistaking its deadly intensity. He would do what he set out to do, no matter how long it took, and his enemies could expect no quarter.
*
Much later, as she lay in bed, she reflected on that conversation and the story he had told her, unable to sleep for the images it evoked. She could only imagine the horror of it, the horror and the terror. Such things left an indelible impression upon the memory. No wonder Marcus had been so reluctant to speak of it. And yet perversely it was a part of him, a part of who he was. Having been afforded a glimpse of his past and the events that had shaped him, she found herself eager to know more. For all that air of quiet strength and invincibility there was also a hidden vulnerability about him, the person who all his life had wanted to be loved—and to love in return. Yet through some malign fate he had always lost those he cared for. How much she would have liked to be the woman who made him whole, the woman who had his heart. What he had offered her was passion, but she knew it was not enough and never could be. Without love there could be nothing.
*
As Marcus had intimated, Lucy was able to leave her room the next day and she and Claire re-established their usual routine soon after. In the meantime preparations were in train for the forthcoming ball and an endless stream of carts and wagons arrived at Netherclough Hall delivering everything from candles to chalk. Mrs Hughes spent several hours closeted with the Viscount while the arrangements were discussed in detail. Everyone who had been invited had returned an acceptance. Clearly it was to be the social event of the year in Yorkshire.
As the day came closer Claire found herself looking forward to the occasion and became caught up in the excitement around her. Though she had attended various social functions when she lived at her uncle’s house, none had been as splendid as this promised to be. In all probability this was the only chance she would ever have to experience such a glittering event. The thought of the spangled sarsnet gown filled her with guilty pleasure. It would be perfect for the occasion, as Marcus had known when he ordered it. Would he still approve his choice when he saw her wearing it? The thought of his approbation brought a glow of warmth.
Lucy begged to be allowed to attend the ball, but to no avail. Marcus was adamant. However, he did promise that he and Claire would come and say goodnight before the guests arrived that evening. With that she had to be content. Meanwhile she was making excellent progress in the schoolroom, for she was a keen and conscientious pupil, soaking up information like a sponge. In teaching Lucy, Claire had followed similar principles to the ones that had been used in her own early education, before the stifling regime she had endured in her teens. She wanted the child to learn to think for herself and to be able to apply her knowledge. Along with the basic school work were the practical lessons in music and art, dancing and deportment. Where possible Claire tried to make the lessons fun, and devised all manner of different strategies until she found the ones that suited her pupil. She was devoutly thankful that the task was rendered much easier by having an able and willing mind to deal with.
Marcus, watching it all in his quietly observant manner, was impressed. He had taken a gamble when he had hired Claire, but it had paid off. The three-month probationary period had been a safety clause, but he knew now he wouldn’t need to apply it. He couldn’t visualise anyone else in the role. Though he had met her only three months earlier, it seemed in many ways a lot longer. She had become such a part of everyday life that he felt as though she had always been there. Somehow he couldn’t imagine life without her, a future without her.
However, before he could contemplate the long-term there were matters closer to hand that must be attended to. The ball would be a pleasant interlude, but more importantly it would announce to the world that a new master was in residence at Netherclough. It would emphasise his presence and the role he intended to play in local affairs. All the main players would be present. It behoved him to know them better for they would also have an influence on what would follow.
After his travels abroad he had come to see the importance of every section of society, not merely the aristocracy. Men like John Harlston, with his association in trade, might be viewed with disdain by the upper classes, but they created the wealth that made the country strong. When trade resumed its normal levels again Marcus knew that the mills would come into their own, like the mines and the iron foundries. They were fundamental to the life of the county and of the country. As he told Claire, he could not isolate himself from them in an ivory tower of privilege.
They had gone out riding and, while Lucy trotted on ahead a little way, he had reined his horse alongside Claire’s. It seemed entirely natural to him now that he should talk to her about his ideas for the future. Unlike many of the women he had met in the past, she had a sharp mind that was concerned with more than fashion and lap dogs. She was quick to assimilate ideas and was a good listener too, but she could also hold her own in conversation and he often used her now as a sounding board for ideas he wanted to explore.
‘Netherclough is at the heart of things,’ he said. ‘I want this gathering to reflect that, for the county families to rub shoulders with professional men. Society is changing, Claire. We must change with it or be left behind like so many fossils in the social bedrock.’
She returned him a wry smile. ‘If the French had understood that they might never have had a revolution.’
‘We have our revolution too, though it might be termed industrial.’
‘It is proving bloody, too, in its way.’
‘Blood will have blood, Claire.’ He turned his head to meet her gaze. ‘I am coming to understand how the lure of profit may turn ordinary men into killers.’
She frowned. ‘I don’t follow.’
‘It is my belief that Greville was killed because of something he learned, not only because he was a government agent.’
‘You think he knew the identities o
f the wrecker gang?’
‘Possibly, though they are just the tools employed to do a job. I think he may have discovered who they worked for.’
‘Then you think someone is orchestrating the attacks?’
‘I’m certain of it. Just as I’m certain that the wrecking of machines in this locality is about more than workers’ wages.’
‘But what else is there?’
‘I told you—profit.’ He paused. ‘When one cannot make progress in an investigation a good rule is to follow the money.’
‘That’s a rather cynical philosophy, is it not?’
‘Cynical but accurate. Someone stands to make a great deal out of the misery of others and he has manipulated events to suit his purpose.’
‘But who would do such a thing?’
‘A ruthless and dangerous man.’
‘Have you proof?’
‘Not yet, but I will get it.’ He regarded her steadily for a moment. ‘Not just for Greville, but for all those other poor fellows who have been murdered in the name of greed and ambition.’
‘And so you will spring your trap.’
‘Yes. When the sprats are caught I’ll find out what I want to know. Then I’ll go after the big fish.’
As the ramifications dawned, she paled a little. Seeing it, he surveyed her shrewdly. ‘I cannot watch from the sidelines while others take the risks on my behalf, Claire. I knew the danger when I undertook this mission, and I must see it through. Besides, soldiering is my business.’
‘Even so…’ she began.
‘There is only one way to lead, Claire, and that is from the front.’
Chapter Eleven
‘You look beautiful, Miss Davenport!’ Lucy’s gaze took in every detail of the white sarsnet gown with unqualified approval.
Claire smiled. ‘Thank you. I’m glad you like it.’
In truth she had taken a lot of time and trouble over her appearance this evening. One of the maids had helped to dress her hair so that the dark curls were piled high before falling in graceful ringlets over her shoulders. The white gown was a perfect foil for her warm colouring. Around her neck she wore the silver locket. Long gloves and satin slippers completed the outfit.
The Wayward Governess Page 16