After all, in all other respects, he had simply spoken to her as a member of staff, nothing more.
As she entered the schoolroom and saw the two little girls sitting in silence as their nurse gazed out of one of the great windows, she put the whole thing to the back of her mind. Clearly, Mrs Wells had given up the pretense of teaching the children and had reverted to doing what it was she likely had done day in day out since the last governess had left them.
As Georgette silently surveyed her, she thought Mrs Wells to be of a type. She was a jaded servant at the top end of the scale who was keen to make mischief and deliver spite merely for the sake of it. Perhaps such amusements were the only thing which stopped a person of low intellect from growing most terribly bored.
Suddenly feeling her assessment of the older woman to be a little harsh, Georgette let out a sigh and rather wished that things could be different. When she closed the door, the nurse spun around, clearly forced out of her reverie by the sound.
“Forgive me, Mrs Wells,” Georgette said although, in truth, she rather thought she was apologizing for her unkind thoughts rather than for startling the woman.
“His Grace is finished with you, then?” she said, her surprise seeming to make her a little more agreeable if only for a moment.
“Yes, it was rather a short meeting,” Georgette said and attempted a warmer smile than any she had treated the woman to thus far.
“And he made it plain that no Welsh words are to be spoken?” she said, with a little sneer which made Georgette regret her moment of weak magnanimity.
“No, it was not mentioned,” Georgette said and told herself she was not lying.
After all, the Duke had said nothing about Welsh words. He had not mentioned the Welsh language at all; rather, he had simply spoken of the English language spoken in a Welsh accent.
Of course, Georgette knew by instinct that the surly Duke was intent upon eradicating Welsh in all its forms from the little girls’ voices and vocabulary, but she was not yet keen to give the dreadful nurse an inch.
“That is unusual. He is normally most keen to see that his will is done in that respect,” the nurse said, and the spiteful set of her face let Georgette know that the woman did not believe her for a moment.
“Well, perhaps that is a conversation for another day,” Georgette responded, keeping her voice calm and hoping that Mrs Wells would not seek to cause her some trouble on account of it all.
“Oh, I am sure of it,” she said, looking ever more self-satisfied.
“Indeed,” Georgette said lightly. “Well, if there is nothing else, Mrs Wells, perhaps the children and I ought to set about our studies for the day. After all, it is now half past ten, and it really is time that we were doing something constructive.”
“Very well,” the nurse said and began to march across the room towards the door, clearly not keen on the idea of having just been dismissed by the new governess. However, since the children were very much in Georgette’s charge at that hour of the day, there was little that Mrs Wells could do about it.
Mrs Wells opened the door and walked through it without another word, pulling it rather sharply closed behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, Georgette saw little Ffion jump at the noise and wondered just how much these two little children had gone through since they had arrived at Draycott Hall.
She had yet to discover exactly what the children were to the Duke and knew only that they were not his own children. In truth, the Duke being based in Oxfordshire meant that she knew very little about him. Undoubtedly, he would be a regular visitor to London, presumably keeping a home there also as most titled aristocracy of his standing did. However, it was clear that they would not have known the same people nor mixed in the same circles, and the fact that she knew so little about him was hardly surprising.
“Well, girls, since we do not have very much time until luncheon arrives, perhaps we should just settle down and get to know a little about each other,” Georgette said with a big smile as she sat down at the table with the little blonde girls. When neither of them responded, Georgette continued, “And perhaps it would be better if we simply began our lessons tomorrow, instead.”
Neither of the girls spoke, but Eleri nodded vigorously.
“So, you told me before that you come from Beddgelert,” Georgette said, careful to pronounce it Bethgelert, just as Eleri had done earlier.
The little girls smiled, and Georgette knew she had found a way to gain their trust. Also, she thought it might help her to establish exactly who the little girls were and why it was they had been left in the care of a taciturn Duke who clearly did not want them in his home.
“Yes, Miss Darrington,” Eleri said, and Ffion nodded.
“And, Ffion, is it pretty there?” Georgette said, smiling at the quiet twin and hoping to draw her out just a little.
“Oh, it is verrry pretty, Miss.” Ffion’s voice was so tiny and her accent so pronounced that Georgette smiled. To hear so small a girl roll her Rs was a joy to listen to, and Georgette felt a sudden wish to gather Ffion up and hold her tightly.
“It is near a big mountain, is it not?” Georgette had never been to Wales but hoped that her reading on the country would be enough to hold the girls’ interest.
“It is near Mount Snowdon, Miss Darrington,” Eleri said, clearly finding herself at ease just a little before her sister.
“And have you walked all the way to the top of Mount Snowdon?” Georgette said, her eyes wide and her face bright and interested.
“No, Miss Darrington. Ffion and I are too little yet, for it is such a big mountain. You can see it from our house in Beddgelert!”
“How wonderful. What a lovely sight that must be to see every day.” Georgette almost laughed as she thought of the view from her old bedroom window in the heart of Mayfair.
“Beautiful,” Ffion said so quietly that Georgette could hardly hear her.
“And should you like to walk up the mountain when you are bigger?” Georgette wanted to keep their little conversation flowing.
“Yes, but I do not think we are going back,” Eleri said sadly. “And we need to be much bigger to walk up it. Our mama walked up it before we were born, she said, but she was grown up then. She walked up it with our Nain and Taid when she first arrived. That is what she told us.”
“Nain and Taid?” Georgette said, never having heard the words before.
“Our grandparents,” Eleri said and Ffion nodded.
“Grandmother is Nain and Grandfather is Taid,” Ffion said, and Georgette was pleased to see that she seemed to be growing in confidence.
“What lovely words. I have never heard them before.” Georgette smiled and found herself captivated by the adorable little girls.
What a dreadful thing it would be for them to have their heritage stolen from them by an uncaring guardian and a nurse who was all too quick to agree to his unreasonable demands. Already, Georgette was wondering how she would manage to bring a book of Welsh words and phrases into Draycott Hall without being caught out.
She was also wondering where the children’s mother was; the woman who had walked up Mount Snowdon with the children’s grandparents before the little girls were born. In truth, she could do no other than fear that the woman was deceased, for why else would the children be living in a Duke’s mansion in England and not in Beddgelert where they could see the beautiful mountain from their house?
And were their Nain and Taid the parents of their mother or their father? If their mother was, indeed, deceased, what had become of their father? And why could they not have stayed in Wales with him or their grandparents?
The tiny girls were so young and fragile that Georgette knew she could not press them any further in an attempt to discover more. She would simply have to find out the rest of their story by other means.
“So, are you pleased to have a governess again so that your lessons can begin properly?” Georgette changed the subject altogether and did so in a bright and cheer
ful manner.
“Yes, we were sad when Miss Quentin left,” Eleri said, and both girls looked down at the top of the great table.
“Did you like Miss Quentin very much?”
“Yes.” Eleri nodded.
“She was nice,” Ffion said, her voice a little tremulous. “But she went away.”
“I am very sorry to hear that. Was Miss Quentin here with you for long?”
“Not really, Miss Darrington. Just a little while, but it was nice,” Eleri said.
“And there was another governess here before Miss Quentin?” Georgette knew that she was digging for information again but rather thought talk of the previous governesses put her on much safer ground than talk of the children’s parents might.
“Yes, that was Miss Erskine,” Eleri said, squinting in her effort to draw the memory of the woman to mind.
“She was nice too,” Ffion said, looking sad once again.
“Was Miss Erskine here with you for long?”
“I think it was a shorter time than Miss Quentin was,” Eleri said. “And the lady before was here an even shorter time than that.” She paused for a moment, her chubby face wrinkled in concentration. “But I cannot remember her name.” She looked at Ffion who shook her head. Clearly, Ffion could not bring her to mind either.
Georgette, despite not having all the facts, was forming something of a picture in her mind. Owing to the childish insecurities of the servants and the bullish dismissal of any complaints by a guardian so detached from his charges that he ought to be ashamed, three governesses had come and gone in quick succession, and the tiny girls had suffered for it.
With just a few words and their sad little countenances, Eleri and Ffion had told her quite clearly that they had liked and grown close to each of the governesses, only to have them disappear suddenly and without explanation.
Georgette could not help thinking how dreadfully unsettling it must be for two little girls, no longer in their own country, never mind their own home. If they had lost their own parents, the continual loss of young women they had formed rather instant attachments to would likely have been not only upsetting but must also have made them a little afraid—as if nothing was safe or solid in their little world.
The very thought of it brought sudden and unexpected tears into Georgette’s eyes, and she had to blink rapidly to disperse them before they fell. The idea that the nurse, the dreadful Mrs Wells, was the only constant in the lives of the girls was quite insupportable to Georgette, and she determined at that moment that she would not willingly leave them.
As hard as it was going to be, and as spiteful as many of the servants had proved themselves, Georgette was a grown woman, and she knew she must do everything in her power to make Eleri and Ffion feel safe and loved.
Chapter 9
“I had not expected to see you quite so soon, Aunt,” Hamilton Whitehall said, immediately regretting his tone.
Whilst he had not particularly wanted to see Lady Cynthia Lyndon on that day, still he knew that he had no cause to be quite so ungracious. After all, his Aunt Cynthia was his only living relative.
For a moment, Hamilton stopped in his tracks. He had been making his way over to the drinks table to pour himself and his aunt a rather modest sherry when the idea assailed him that Lady Cynthia Lyndon was not, in truth, his only living relative. There were, of course, the children. Eleri and Ffion were his relatives also, even if he could not bear to look upon them.
“Is that your indelicate way of telling me that you had not wished to see me today, Hamilton?” Lady Cynthia was so very much like his mother.
His mother and Cynthia had been sisters; twins, in fact. Of course, Hamilton’s own mother had not lived long enough for him to have truly known quite how she would turn out in middle-age but, in truth, he rather thought that his Aunt Cynthia was a very fair indication.
Lady Cynthia, now beyond her sixtieth year, had the sort of hair that one could never truly tell if it was still blonde or if it had, indeed, finally turned grey. It rather seemed to him to be somewhere in between, and he wondered at the fairness of colouring of the females in his family. Hamilton could not help thinking of their very fairness as wholly feminine.
“Forgive me, Aunt. I daresay I am a little out of sorts today, and I am rather afraid that when I find myself in such low humour, I am very much better left to follow my day in solitude.”
“As an apology, Hamilton, I shall accept what you say. However, I cannot pretend to be at all happy with the idea that you find yourself in such low humour for so much of the time. I do not particularly enjoy the fact that you seem to spend so much of your time in solitude. I do wish that you could find some way to overcome all of this.”
“Aunt, there is nothing to overcome,” Hamilton said, feeling the familiar annoyance and frustration begin to rise. If only she would simply take him at his word and let him be. “And I am becoming a little tired of your attempts to fix me when, in truth, there is nothing to fix. I am quite well and make no apology for the fact that I much prefer to spend a good deal of my time in my own company.”
“I do not seek to fix you nor insult you, Nephew. Rather, I should quite like to let you know how much I care, and that is all. But I see that you are quite determined to have nobody care about you in all the world, for that is the only explanation I can find for your taciturn behaviour.” From the tone of her voice, Hamilton could sense that his aunt was becoming equally annoyed.
However, his mood had become such that he no longer sought to silently chastise himself for his attitude. Rather, he was beginning to feel increasingly justified in his manner.
“And is that what you have come all this way to tell me, Aunt?” he said shortly.
“I had no idea that I could only attend your home if I had specific cause. Perhaps you would simply like me to leave, Hamilton?”
“Aunt Cynthia, you do not need to leave,” he said with only the merest hint of a conciliatory tone. “And of course, you do not need a reason to attend Draycott Hall. Forgive me.” He shrugged in such a way as he hoped that she would recognize that he was in no way genuinely asking for forgiveness. In truth, he did not think he needed to.
His position was, and not for the first time, becoming entrenched. Hamilton Whitehall would not be told how to behave, when to smile, and when not to smile. If he chose to forego company for a good deal of the time, then he would do so without explanation.
“Perhaps we ought to have that sherry, my dear,” Lady Cynthia said with an attempt at a warm smile.
“Oh yes, of course.” Hamilton returned her smile before continuing to the drinks table and pouring them both a much larger sherry than he had originally intended.
When he turned back to his aunt with a full glass of sherry in each hand, he was both pleased and a little dismayed to note that Lady Cynthia had made herself comfortable in one of the couches set out around the largest of the fireplaces in the drawing room.
Despite enjoying the current warmth of summer, the drawing room at Draycott Hall was so very large, with such inordinately high ceilings, that it had been necessary to request a small fire be set in the enormous hearth.
Hamilton could not help thinking that the very colour of the walls rather made the room feel somewhat cool, whatever the time of year. Every wall was painted in the palest blue and, despite the numerous and extremely large portraits which hung on every available space, still, the blue seemed to permeate. Whilst it was a pleasing shade, Hamilton rather thought that he might soon decide to have it changed for something which felt a little warmer.
Hamilton strode over to his aunt and placed the glass of sherry down on the walnut table beside her before taking a seat in the dark blue velvet covered armchair opposite. He turned his eyes towards the ceiling and gave himself a few moments to study the ornate plasterwork which had so fascinated him as a child.
Hamilton remembered asking his own father when it was done and finding himself surprised that the old Duke had not known th
e answer. He had always taken that to mean that the work had been undertaken many generations ago by craftsmen who were now, quite likely, long dead. The idea had always given him the most curious feeling, despite the fact that Draycott Hall itself must surely have been built by people who had long ago departed this world. Quite why the ceiling in the drawing-room elicited such a response from him, Hamilton could not say. It was almost a sense of the ornate plasterwork representing a great moment of creation trapped in time, destined to remain there forever. Hamilton never dissuaded himself in his activity and always rather enjoyed staring at the beautiful and intricate plasterwork patterns, all of which had been gloriously painted in white, the pale blue of the walls, and the richest gold. He had always thought it the most beautiful work of art in all of Draycott Hall and quite wondered why guests and servants alike never seemed to regard it at all.
“You are keeping well, Hamilton?” Lady Cynthia said, clearly looking for another opening line.
A Governess for the Brooding Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 7