“I am sorry, Miss Darrington, but I do not think that would be good for either you or the girls. It can only upset you further, and I would not wish it, really I would not.”
“That is appalling,” Georgette said miserably.
“I shall have my driver take you to wherever it is you wish to go. And I shall pay you well enough that you might keep yourself whilst you are waiting to secure your next position.”
“I do not want your money,” Georgette said fiercely and turned to leave the room.
“Wait,” he said and was suddenly behind her, his hand on her shoulder. “It is not my money, Miss Darrington. It is your pay, and you have earned it.”
He turned her and led her back into the room. Georgette stood miserably as he counted out the money that she knew was more than her wages due to that date. When he pressed it into her hand, finally their eyes met. Georgette felt sure she saw emotion in his and refused to look away; she wanted more than anything for him to change his mind.
Finally, he walked around her to the door and opened it. With his head bowed, he simply waited in silence for her to leave.
Chapter 27
Georgette had been staying in the small room at the inn for two days. She had made no move to get herself back to London to Mr Winstanley’s employment registry. She simply could not leave, and she knew it. Georgette had spent hour after hour thinking what she could do to change things.
The Duke’s driver, a quiet and rather kindly man, had been entirely surprised when Georgette had asked him to simply take her to the nearest coaching inn.
“But that is only two miles away, Miss,” he said with his eyebrows raised. “The Duke said that I might take you wherever it is you wish to go.”
“I do not yet wish to go far; in truth, I do not. But I thank you for your kindness.”
“You are welcome, Miss. I just do not know how you are going to get back to London when the time comes. It’s not cheap travelling by post-chaise.”
“No, indeed it is not,” she said a little wistfully. “But I shall be quite alright, I promise.”
“Have it your own way,” he said and smiled.
The driver had waited for her to secure a room at the inn and had carried her small trunk of belongings upstairs for her. He left with nothing more than a kindly nod, and yet it was enough to make her feel greatly emotional again. That nod seemed to be the final word from Draycott Hall, and she wondered if she would ever be inside that place again.
For as much as she had found it too large and too isolating from the first, as she sat in the little room at the inn, Georgette realized quite how she would miss the place. Not simply for the place itself but rather the children, and, yes, the Duke himself.
She knew in her heart that they were simply a family in distress, despite their great status and wealth. And she knew it was not simply the idea of losing the girls that was holding her back, but rather the idea of never seeing the Duke of Draycott again. And not only that, but the idea that he would suffer for the rest of his life thinking that his beloved sister despised him.
As Georgette sat down on the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room save for a small wardrobe and washstand, she remembered just how desperately sad he had been on the day that she had put her arms around him. He really had loved his sister so very dearly, and it was the idea that, in the end, she no longer loved him in return which caused him the greatest pain of all. And not only did it cause him great pain, but it left him to cause great pain in the lives of others.
If only he could see it, then maybe things would have been very different. For one thing, she might not have found herself alone in the world spending her last shreds of money on shabby accommodations as she wondered what to do next.
And that was the key to it; the Duke could think no further than his own pain, and so it was for her to do what she could to help them. Whilst Georgette did not yet know what that might be, she knew that she must try. If she simply turned on her heels and made her way back to London and into the home of a new family, everything she had suffered thus far would have been in vain.
The struggling with the very worst of the servants, the cold water and the dreadful meals, the spite and the mischief created by the cynical, doughy-faced nurse. It would all have been for naught. Not only that, but the progress she had made with the Duke. His small conversation with the children, and the fact that he had twice come into the schoolroom.
It was only as she sat on the bed and stared at the wall that she realized that the Duke had, on both occasions, been making an attempt to take part in the lives of his nieces. He had put his head around the door of the schoolroom with a smile on his face, only to be confronted with the thing which hurt him the most.
At that moment, Georgette realized quite how badly she had erred. After all, perhaps if she had simply let things be, let him get to know the children first, then their own language could have been returned to at a later date. But of course, hindsight was the most exacting of all the sciences, and she knew it.
The thing was done now, and there was no going back to change the outcome. The only thing that was left to do was to move forward to find a solution that lie in the future, not in the past.
Georgette rose to her feet with purpose and crossed the bare little room to take her cloak from the wardrobe. Autumn very definitely had the countryside in its grip, and she would not be able to walk all the way to Winterbourne without a thick cloak to protect her from the cool air.
By the time she arrived at Winterbourne, it was mid-afternoon, and Georgette felt tired and emotional.
“Miss Darrington,” Mr Benson, the butler, opened the door to her with a smile. “Is Her Ladyship expecting you?” he said, ushering her in.
“I am afraid not, Mr Benson. I have come quite without invitation.”
“Well, I am quite sure that Her Ladyship will be ready to see you. You just wait here a moment, Miss Darrington, and I will go and see.”
As the kindly man hurried off, Georgette rather thought that she might cry. How wonderful it would have been to have been so fortunate at Draycott Hall to have so kindly a man acting as butler.
“She is very keen to see you, Miss Darrington.” Benson returned with a warm smile. “My Lady is in the drawing-room if you’ll follow me.”
“Thank you kindly, Mr Benson,” Georgette said and meant it.
“What a wonderful surprise, my dear.” Lady Cynthia, already on her feet, smiled broadly. “Have you brought the little ones with you?”
“No, I am afraid not.” Georgette could barely contain herself for long enough for the butler to leave the room before she began to cry.
“Oh, goodness me, whatever has happened?” Lady Cynthia strode across the drawing-room and immediately took Georgette’s arm. “Do come with me, my dear, and sit yourself down. Tell me, what has he done?”
It rather warmed Georgette to know that Lady Cynthia was immediately on her side. She had quite rightly assumed that the Duke had done something to bring about her emotional state, and Georgette was greatly relieved to have somebody believe her before she had even started to speak. “Lady Lyndon, your nephew has dismissed me,” Georgette said, hurriedly dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.
“Oh, my dear girl. Tell me what happened.” Lady Cynthia put an arm around Georgette as the two sat on the pale pink couch.
Georgette told Lady Cynthia everything that had passed between herself and the Duke on that dreadful morning. When she told her of Ffion’s immediate regret, and how the child had cried so terribly, she rather wondered if she would be able to finish her account. She could not begin to imagine what the children were going through, not having seen her face once again from the moment she had left them in the care of Daisy. And she had promised that she would be back.
“I do not know what else to do about my nephew, Miss Darrington,” Lady Cynthia said sadly. “It appears that he will never listen to reason and will never let go of his anger. If only he could find some w
ay to forgive Josephine. You see, I rather fear that if he does not, all is lost for him. He shall never enjoy the family that he still has, nor have any hope for a happy future.”
“But My Lady, he no longer blames his sister,” Georgette said miserably.
“He does not?” Lady Lyndon said, her eyes wide with interest.
“The only person that your nephew is angry with, My Lady, is himself. I think he has long come to realize that the only person to blame for his losses these last years is himself. But it is not his anger which so assails him, My Lady, but rather such a terrible sadness and the pain of knowing that his sister despised him in the end.”
“Despised him?” Lady Cynthia sat up a little straighter and reached out to take Georgette’s hand.
In truth, Georgette rather thought that the older woman was taking her hand to comfort herself as much as Georgette.
“Yes, he is quite convinced.”
“But why?”
“Because Lady Josephine did not call for him at the end. When she knew that she was dying, I mean, she did not send for her brother. And His Grace has taken that to mean that she did not want him there because she despised him for his actions. He is heartbroken, My Lady; in truth, he is.”
“And he told you this?” Lady Lyndon seemed hardly able to believe it.
“He did My Lady. Truthfully, he was most dreadfully upset.”
“And when did this happen?”
“But days ago, My Lady. Your nephew had happened upon us in the schoolroom, and Eleri was singing a Welsh folk song to me. If only you could have seen the look on his face; it was the purest sadness I have ever seen.”
“Oh, dear me,” Lady Lyndon said sadly.
“The song that Eleri was singing to me was, apparently, one that Lady Josephine would sing all the time after she had first met Mr Carwyn Thomas. At least that is what His Grace told me.”
“He has spoken to you in a way I have never been able to tempt him to do with me, Miss Darrington,” Lady Lyndon said quietly.
“My Lady, I am so very sorry; I did not mean to …”
“Oh, no, my dear Miss Darrington. I am not chastising you for your efforts; rather, I am so glad that you have come here, my dear. More glad than I could have ever have known.
“And yet it would seem that I have done as much harm as I have done good, My Lady.”
“I do not believe that is the case for a moment, Miss Darrington. Rather, you have unmasked the monster.”
“I beg your pardon?” Georgette said, entirely confused.
“There has been a monster living inside my nephew’s breast. It has caused him great pain and anguish, and yet it has never once shown its face. But you have seen its face now; you know what the monster is. You know what it is that hurts him so greatly. Now that you can see the monster’s face, Miss Darrington, you shall find a way to fight it.”
“You mean, find a way to convince His Grace that his sister did not despise him?” Georgette said a little unsure.
“That is precisely my meaning, Miss Darrington. You are the one person who has been able to get to the truth of it all, and I believe, because of that, you are the only person who can find a way to make things right for my poor, dear Hamilton.”
“I see what you mean, My Lady,” Georgette said, one moment wondering how on earth such a thing would be achieved and, in the next, thinking it the most sensible suggestion she had ever heard.
“And you will not give up, Miss Darrington?” Lady Cynthia said, her lined and pretty face full of hope.
“I should never give up, My Lady,” Georgette said sincerely. “But I simply do not know what move I am to make next. I cannot return to Draycott Hall for your nephew will not have me there. He was not unkind, you must understand, but he really was most insistent that I go. So insistent, in fact, that he did not even allow me time to explain it all out to the children. And I cannot believe that he would have done such a thing lightly. He is not as cruel as I once thought him. He is not cruel at all, My Lady. He is simply lost.”
“And it is you who shall find him, Miss Darrington,” Lady Lyndon said and suddenly tipped her head back to look up at the ceiling, almost as if she were appealing to the heavens. “And I was too foolish to see it.”
“I do not understand,” Georgette said truthfully.
“These last weeks, I have been trying, quite forcefully, to throw dear Lady Louisa Wimborne under the wheels of my nephew’s carriage, so to speak.”
“Oh, I see,” Georgette said, feeling the familiar dull feeling attack her at the very thought of the Duke and Lady Louisa together.
“And I have been becoming more and more frustrated, knowing all the while that he felt nothing for the woman.”
“Oh dear, poor Lady Wimborne,” Georgette said, trying hard to feel sorry for the beautiful young woman despite the fact her heart rejoiced at the idea that the man she loved did not love another.
“Oh, she is not so poor, my dear. She is a very nice young lady but intent upon marrying a very good title. I hold nothing against her in that regard; it is simply the way of things. But you must not waste a moment on her poor dear feelings, Miss Darrington, for they are not as fine or as sensitive as you might think them to be.” Lady Lyndon gave a little chuckle for the first time since their conversation had begun.
“Then it is a mercy.”
“Indeed, it is,” Lady Lyndon went on. “But it does not change the fact that I made the gravest error. I should have seen what was right under my nose all along.”
“What was that?”
“That Lady Louisa Wimborne is not the woman who shall open my nephew’s heart and find the man he used to be locked up tight within.”
“She is not?”
“She is not, my dear because you are.”
“I am?”
“You look as if you do not believe me, Miss Darrington, but you must. Or, at least, you must trust me at any rate.”
“Of course, I trust you, my lady.”
“You love him, do you not?” Lady Cynthia smiled but held Georgette’s gaze very firmly.
“I … I …” Georgette said a little helplessly.
“I shall take your stuttering as confirmation, my dear,” Lady Lyndon said and laughed once more. “So now you see what a great responsibility you have upon your shoulders. You must find him, Miss Darrington. You must release my nephew from the prison of his own heart.”
Chapter 28
As the carriage rolled northwest out of Oxfordshire, Georgette could hardly believe how quickly things had happened. The very moment she had decided that she must go to Wales to find the answer, Lady Lyndon had suddenly become the most productive and efficient ally she could ever have imagined.
“Wales?” Lady Lyndon had said somewhat confused when Georgette had first mentioned it.
“Yes, I see it now most clearly, Lady Lyndon.” Georgette, once the idea had come to her, had known instantly it was the right thing to do. “You and I both know, My Lady, that I shall not be granted admittance into Draycott Hall and, therefore, have no opportunity to beg an audience with your nephew. There is nothing I can do that I have not already tried, and I have nothing to say to His Grace which could possibly convince him that his sister did not despise him after all. All I can do is go to Wales myself, go to Beddgelert and see what truth I can find there. I realize that there may be nothing for me to find, but I cannot see what else there is for me to try.”
“Then you shall take my driver and my carriage, my dear,” Lady Lyndon said in a brusque and suddenly businesslike manner. “And I shall write off immediately to the housekeeper there to let her know that you are coming and to beg that she help you in any way she can in your endeavours.”
Without further ado, Lady Lyndon walked across the room to a small bureau and sat down to immediately write the letter. For a moment, Georgette was painfully reminded of the Duke writing her character reference before dismissing her from his home.
But she knew she must not all
ow herself to be waylaid by such feelings; after all, it was for him that she was doing all of this.
“I thank you, My Lady, but how should you manage? I shall be gone for some time for it is such a great distance, is it not?”
“It is more than two hundred miles, my dear, but I shall manage perfectly well. And I shall not see you paying out to cross the country by post-chaise, my dear.” Lady Lyndon continued to write as she spoke. “Now then, Mrs Evans, the housekeeper, is rather a nice sort of a woman as I remember. Of course, I have only attended Beddgelert once in my life, and that was when the children were not long born. Anyway, Mrs Evans was really rather pleasant to me, and I daresay that nothing has changed.”
“Then she lives in the house, My Lady?”
A Governess for the Brooding Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 22