“I am sorry,” Lady Henrietta said, sitting up, wiping her wet cheeks on the sleeve of her gown.
“Do not be. Sometimes we need to just be alone to cry.”
“But I got you all wet.”
Lucretia glanced down at her damp bodice. “Quite all right, sweetling. His Grace has turned the house upside down searching for you.”
Lady Henrietta turned her face away. “I needed to be alone for a while.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” The girl peeped up at her, the faint light tossing shadows across her face.
“Indeed. That is how I found you. When I needed to be alone, I always went to the barn.”
Lady Henrietta once again clasped her arms around her knees, but did not hide her face away. “My mother died not long ago.”
“I know.”
This time, when Lucretia stroked her hair, the child did not pull from her hand.
“I miss her so much,” Lady Henrietta said. “Sampson is always away, is hardly ever home. The servants do not care about me.”
“This one does.”
Lady Henrietta glanced over at her. “Why?”
Lucretia stared at the flickering light. “Perhaps because I know what it is like to not have anyone. At the orphanage, I found so many children who had nothing, no parents, no home, no one to turn to except strangers. So I cared for them as though they were of my own blood.”
“And you will care for me as though I were your blood?”
Lucretia smiled. “If you will permit me.”
Tentative, Lady Henrietta reached for her hand, and clasped it. “I am afraid.”
“And there is nothing wrong with that. Soon, your fears will dissipate, and though your grief for your lost loved ones will never truly go away, you will learn how to carry the burden.”
“Do you believe that? Truly?”
“I do.”
“How old were you when you lost your loved ones?”
“They were my parents,” Lucretia answered, her voice soft. “I never knew them. I was only a few months old when they died.”
“What happened?”
“It was an accident,My Lady” Lucretia answered. “They burned to death. A lamp spilled in the night, igniting their cottage. I am told my father carried me out, even as he burned. He threw me out into the snow, thus saving me, while he died.”
“Oh, how dreadful.” Lady Henrietta pressed her knuckles against her mouth, her small face a mask of horror. “I cannot imagine.”
“I was taken to the Foundling Hospital,” Lucretia continued, still stroking the girl’s hair. “There I was raised, and educated. They are good people, if stern, and I learned what it means to care for others.”
“Like me.”
“Like you.”
“Do you want to be my friend?”
Smiling, Lucretia took Lady Henrietta into her arms again. “I hope I already am.”
“I would like you to be my friend.”
“Then I shall be. But, come, My Lady, your brother worries. We must return to the house.”
Rising, she took the little girl by the hand, and picked up the lantern. Hesitating, she glanced down. “By the way, My Lady, how did you get out here to the stable without anyone seeing you?”
Lady Henrietta shrugged. “I do it all the time. I sneak out, avoid the staff, and Rosemary, my abigail.”
“I certainly hope you do not avoid me, My Lady.”
“If we are going to be friends,” Lady Henrietta said, walking beside her as Lucretia picked up the light, “you should call me Henrietta.”
“And you call me Lucretia. Or even Luce.”
“Luce. I like that.”
At the stable’s doors, Lucretia turned the lantern wick down, then placed it back in its hook. In companionable silence, the two walked back to the house, hand in hand, just as the doors opened.
The Duke, several footmen behind him, watched them approach. With his face in shadow, Lucretia had no idea what his expression was.
“She was in the stable, Your Grace,” Lucretia said. “We had a nice talk.”
“Do not blame her, Brother,” Henrietta said, her tone firm. “I went there to be alone and cry.”
The Duke said nothing, but gestured to the men behind him. They bowed and retreated, and he stepped to the side to permit them entry. Henrietta passed him by without another word as Lucretia offered him a curtsey as she followed.
Her hand once more in the girl’s, she let Henrietta lead the way up the stairs and around several corridors before arriving at her private quarters. Henrietta’s personal maid, Rosemary, curtsied as they entered. Henrietta turned to Lucretia.
“I am sorry, Luce,” she said, “I am very tired. I wish to go to bed now.”
“I understand,” Lucretia replied, stifling a yawn. “I am also very weary. But I have no idea how to return to my rooms.”
“Rosemary will show you.”
“Sleep well, then.”
As the abigail showed her to her private rooms, Lucretia thanked her, then closed the door quietly behind her. With the lamps lit, her chambers appeared warm and inviting, her bed tempting.
Removing her now soiled gown, Lucretia sat in a comfortable armchair in her linen shift, leaning her head back against the chair’s rest.
Ah, look at me, in such wonderful luxury.
Closing her eyes, she contemplated how much her life had changed in such a short period of time. From a small cell with a narrow cot in the Hospital to luxurious quarters in the vast home of a wealthy, influential Duke.
And what a handsome Duke he is! Lucretia smiled to herself, and sighed dreamily.
As she relaxed, a vision of the Duke’s hard yet virile face entered her thoughts.
Those jade eyes…she pictured them smiling, warm and kind, and wondered what it might be like to kiss his lips. Knowing she should not have such thoughts about her employer, she daydreamed anyway. Lucretia had not known many men in her young, sheltered life, but even to her it seemed as though His Grace was extraordinarily attractive and masculine.
His body, so strong, powerful, wrapped around her…she giggled to herself.
At last exhaustion took a firm hold of her. When she almost drifted to sleep sitting up, Lucretia rose from the chair, yawning. After washing her face and scrubbing her teeth, she blew out all but one small lamp, and climbed into bed. Enclosed in its soft comfort, she fell asleep almost immediately.
* * *
A lone rider cantered to the top of a hill overlooking the Breckenridge manor. Reining in, he stared down at the house, watching as the lights winked out one by one. Inside, the Duke and his staff retired for the night, not knowing he watched. He bore a secret, a secret that his dying mother told him of years ago, and one he had never shared. A grim smile crossed his features.
“Someday, Breckenridge,” he said aloud to the darkness. “Someday, you will give me what I am owed. Of your own free will, or by your death, you will give it to me.”
Chapter 6
The days passed by quickly for Lucretia as she learned her new duties and her way around the huge house. Henrietta helped, but in spite of that, she often got lost and had to ask a servant for directions. She did not see much of the Duke, as he rose early to ride across his dukedom, seeing to the horses he bred at his stud farm, and often did not return until after she had retired for the evening. When he was at the manor house, he closeted himself into his study with his secretary. Though she missed the Hospital and the children with a desperate longing to see them again, Lucretia learned to enjoy her new life as a governess.
As she promised, she wrote letters about her new life in Gloucestershire, writing to Mrs. Marsh, Rose, and Willie. She smiled to herself as she wrote them, telling them about the sweet child Henrietta, and how much she wished they could meet her. I miss them terribly. Perhaps someday I can go back for a visit.
On a warm, sunny afternoon, Lucretia walked alone amid the apple orchard a short distance from the
house. After several hours of teaching Henrietta poetry, she gave the girl a little time to herself. Wanting to explore the manor, she discovered the orchard and reveled in walking amid the splendid trees, the warm breeze on her skin. She leaned against one of the trunks, thinking how an opportunity like this would not occur in London.
The thud of hooves alerted her to a rider approaching, and she straightened. A man on a grey horse trotted toward her, and immediately she knew it was not the Duke. For a moment, she considered the possibility a highwayman had come to rob or assault her, but then realized he was too finely clothed to be a robber. He dismounted and tied his horse to a tree, then walked toward her.
“You must be the new governess,” he said.
Not answering, Lucretia studied him, not knowing who or what he was. Good looking in a refined way, he had dark, almost black hair, and bright blue eyes that smiled in a friendly fashion. His white even teeth gleamed in a smile as he offered her a quick bow.
“Permit me to introduce myself,” he said. “I am George Carter, the Baron of Gillinghamshire. I am a friend of the Duke’s.”
Dipping into a quick curtsey, Lucretia’s heart fluttered, for here was a virile young aristocrat who seemed to find her interesting. She suddenly found the air a bit too warm, and wished she had a fan with which to cool herself.
“You are a lady of few words,” he said, drawing closer. “And very beautiful. Sampson did not elaborate on that aspect of you, Governess.”
“My name is Lucretia Brent,” she said. “My Lord.”
“Happy to meet you, Lucretia.”
“Miss Brent, My Lord.”
He chuckled. “Beautiful, with a touch of fire. I like that.”
Lucretia’s ardor cooled rapidly. She did not like his familiarity with her name or her person. He stood too close to her for her personal comfort. “If you will excuse me, My Lord, I must return to my charge.”
Lucretia turned away, intending to walk back to the house and Henrietta. She took only a few steps when he grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. Instantly, she cracked her hand against his cheek. “Unhand me, My Lord,” she snapped.
Letting her go, he rubbed his cheek, his upper lip curling in a snarl. “I am not used to having commoners turn their backs on me.”
“Then perhaps you should,” she replied, “get used to it, I mean.”
“Do you think it wise to make an enemy of me so quickly, Madam?” he asked, his tone hard. “I can make life very difficult for you.”
“I am under His Grace’s protection, My Lord,” she snapped. “And perhaps your manhandling of his sister’s governess will not endear you to him.”
“We have been friends since we were boys, woman,” he retorted, “he will forgive me anything.”
“I may not know him as well as you, My Lord,” Lucretia informed him stonily, “but somehow I do not see how he can forgive you accosting me. Now will you permit me to depart in peace? Or shall I scream for help?”
“Go. I will trouble you no longer.”
Not leaving immediately, Lucretia watched him stalk furiously toward his horse, mount up, and spur the beast into a gallop. Not until he vanished from sight did Lucretia make her way back to the house.
The incident bothered her so much that Henrietta, impatient with her, asked her what the matter was.Alone in the solar, the two sat in a window seat as Lucretia tried to explain to her charge how Geoffrey Chaucer created his poetry.
“Something is bothering you, Luce,” the girl said. “What is it?”
Nibbling her lip, Lucretia gazed at her, wondering if she should tell the little girl of the incident in the orchard. The two had become quite close since the night of the stable, and Henrietta had become Lucretia’s confidante as much as she was for the girl.
“I met the Baron of Gillinghamshire,” she began, staring out the window into the courtyard below.
“Oh. I know him.”
She glanced back at the girl. “What do you know of him?”
“I know he’s Sampson’s close friend,” she answered. “I know I do not like him.”
“Why ever not?”
Henrietta shrugged, closing the book. “Mostly because whenever he looks at me, or speaks to me, I feel as though I am sullied, soiled. He makes me afraid.”
“Strange,” Lucretia said, gazing out the window again, “that is exactly how I feel. But he grabbed my arm. His behavior – strange, menacing.”
“You should tell my brother.”
“He will not be pleased.”
“You must tell him anyway.”
Still, Lucretia hesitated. “I have no wish to be dismissed from his service, Henrietta.”
“He will not dismiss you,” Henrietta told her, leaning against the side of the window seat. “You are my governess and if he does, then I will beg him to bring you back.”
Torn between laughter and outrage that she should hide behind a child, Lucretia chose laughter. “I can just see you now, Henrietta,” she said, holding the girl’s hand. “Standing up to His Grace over me.”
“He likes you, Luce,” she replied, her hazel-green eyes turned up to hers. “I can tell.”
“He does, does he?” Lucretia replied, her belly fluttering at the thought of informing the Duke his good friend had treated her roughly. She did not know him well enough to know if he would side with her, or berate her for her obvious lack of manners and respect to his friend, who was still her social superior.
“My brother promised me he would return this evening for supper,” Henrietta said, opening the book of Chaucer’s poetry again. “I want you to eat with us. Please say you will.”
Lucretia bit her lip. “Perhaps I should not. It is not my place to dine with you and His Grace.”
“But I want you to.” Henrietta gazed at her with teary eyes, pleading. “I want you with me.”
“You are a precocious child.”
Henrietta scrubbed at her eyes. “What does ‘precocious’ mean? I have never been called such before.”
“That you are very smart and somewhat stubborn.”
“Yes, I am.”
The Duke did indeed return from his duties in time for a formal supper with Henrietta and gave his permission for Lucretia to join them. In the time she had been at the Breckenridge estate, she had learned that His Grace could never deny his sister anything. She also noticed, however, he had very little to say, and gave his sister no obvious sign of affection or attention.
Served by the household footmen, the three ate a delicious meal of turtle soup, broiled game hens stuffed with bacon and potatoes, spicy stewed apples, sweet tarts, and fried trout, without speaking much. Lucretia watched him closely without making it obvious, her belly still queasy from nervousness. She had learned over the past weeks that His Grace was often kind to his staff, and those she had met spoke warmly of him. That gave her some semblance of courage.
“Your Grace,” Lucretia said, tentative. “May I speak to you privately after supper?”
Surprised, the Duke raised his brows and gazed at her curiously. “I must meet with my secretary, Miss Brent. Is it important?”
When Lucretia might have shaken her head and retreated, Henrietta spoke up. “She has something to tell you.”
“Then if my sister knows about – whatever you must talk about, then please speak freely.”
“Your Grace,” Lucretia began, feeling quite nervous and unsettled. “I met your good friend, the Baron of Gillinghamshire.”
His Grace wiped his lips with his napkin and leaned back in his chair. “By your demeanor, Miss Brent, it was not an amiable meeting.”
“No, Your Grace, it was not.”
Slowly, she recounted the incident in the orchard, her words often stumbling over one another in her nervousness. The Duke’s brows closed together over his green eyes as his face darkened with each of her words. When she finished, Lucretia bowed her head, fearing his wrath, afraid he would denounce her as a commoner with ill manners and that she sh
ould apologize to the Baron.
At his lengthy silence, she glanced first at his sister, busy pushing her food around on her plate. She then flicked her eyes to the Duke.
He did not gaze at her, but rather down at his plate as he twirled the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. At last, he sighed heavily.
“On behalf of my friend,” he said, his tone quiet yet hard. “I will apologize to you, Miss Brent, for his abominable behavior. I promise you, I will speak to him regarding this matter. It will not happen again, I assure you.”
The Extraordinary Tale of the Rebellious Governess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 4