The Extraordinary Tale of the Rebellious Governess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  “Bloom would have seen me throw Lady Henrietta down, and thus report that to his master,” she said slowly. “But as to the other, I do not know.”

  “You were not a target until after the poisoning attempt, is that not correct?”

  “I believe so, Your Grace. More to the point, your steward James believes it.”

  “If the staff did not know about the poisoned needle, then any possible spy in my household would not, either. Thus, he must be watching somehow.”

  “If I may suggest, Your Grace,” Lucretia said, “when the weather clears, send James out riding the surrounding hills. Ask him to seek out the best vantage point for watching the house with a clear view of the garden. Upon discovering the needle, I kept my movements hidden only from Lady Henrietta. A watcher with a spyglass might have seen me pluck it from the shrubs.”

  “A most excellent suggestion. I will certainly do so.” He smiled at her, his body backlit by the lightning flashing through the window. “I wish you to know two things, Miss Brent.”

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “First, I trust you absolutely. You have been a solid rock throughout this entire affair.”

  Lucretia stared down at her fingers in her lap, blushing furiously under his praise. “Thank you. I am not quite sure what to say.”

  “Then say yes to my other statement.”

  “What is that?” she asked, glancing up at him.

  “The second is that I would enjoy your company at supper tonight.”

  Her face flushing hotter, Lucretia smiled, her heart beating faster with pleasure and delight. “I would enjoy that very much.”

  “Most excellent,” he said, offering her a small bow. “I must leave you for the time being. But I will release my sister from her captivity and send her here for her afternoon lessons.”

  “Very good, Your Grace. Then I will see you at supper.”

  After he had gone, not giving her a chance to curtsey, Lucretia sat back in her chair, unable to halt the silly grin that his words and invitation plastered to her face. “Invited to supper,” she murmured, happiness filling her. He likes me enough to want my company even when he does not have to be in it. What does this mean?

  Lucretia did not have an answer to that, but she felt content to let time show her.

  * * *

  The thunderstorm moved on by the time Lucretia, freshly dressed for supper in her best gown of pale rose and accented in gold, walked down the stairs. Her hair, carefully brushed and coiffured, trailed ringlets down her slender neck. Her only piece of jewelry, an inheritance gift from the Foundling Hospital’s prior matron before she died, lay around her neck. It was a pearl pendant on a slender gold chain, and her most cherished possession.

  She encountered James while descending the staircase, on her way across the house to the dining room, as he walked toward the front doors with a pair of identical-looking footmen. He paused, mid-stride, gazing up at her with a slackened jaw. Lucretia smiled as she reached the ground level, and dropped into a curtsey. He dismissed the footmen, who bowed and continued on their way outside.

  “You look stunning, Miss Brent,” he said, bowing over her hand and kissing it lightly. “If I were not so old and set in my ways, I would be honored to court you.”

  “You flatter me, sir,” Lucretia said, smiling and feeling her cheeks heat under the admiration in his eyes.

  “Indeed, I do,” he replied, “but it is well deserved. Are you dining with His Grace?”

  “Yes. He invited me.”

  “I am most pleased to hear that.”

  Curious, she cocked her head to the side as she gazed up at him. “May I ask why that should please you?”

  He chuckled, and winked. “No, no, I will not answer that, Miss Brent. I will take my leave of you now, as I would not wish you to be late on my account.”

  After another quick bow, James followed the footmen, leaving Lucretia to stare after him in confusion. He was not the only one who stared as she continued on her way-—no fewer than six footmen, three housemaids, and the housekeeper all gaped while offering her bows and curtsies as she passed.

  They behave as though I were a lady. Why would they do that?

  Yet, the servants’ treatment of her gave her a giddy feeling, as though she floated on air rather than walked on tiled floors. Completing her journey to the doors of the dining room, she found the Duke waiting for her, watching her approach. He wore a tailed black coat over a snowy white shirt, light blue waistcoat, and dark grey trousers. She matched his smile before dipping low, her fingers holding her skirts wide even as he bowed, one hand behind his back.

  “Miss Brent.”

  “Your Grace.”

  To her shock, the Duke took her hand in his to formally escort her into the vast dining hall. The same admiration in James’ eyes lay in the Duke’s emerald gaze. “You honor me with your presence tonight,” he said, smiling down at her.

  “It is I who should be honored,” she replied, dazzled by not just his smile, but his dashing good looks and powerful aura.

  Thomas, ready to serve them, bowed as they entered, and it was the Duke who pulled her chair out for her and seated her at the candlelit table, not the butler. Thomas poured wine for them both before retreating, and Lucretia glanced around, observing an absent party.

  “Your Grace, where is Lady Henrietta?” she asked.

  The Duke grinned mischievously. “I tempted her with a rare opportunity,” he replied. “Supper in her rooms with Rosemary and Rosemary’s daughter, Celeste. The two girls are close to the same age.”

  “I did not know Rosemary had a daughter,” Lucretia said, astounded.

  “She is married to my gamekeeper,” he replied. “Thus, her husband and child reside in a cottage a few miles east of here, and Rosemary spends a few days off a month to be with them. Henrietta has so few opportunities to play with children her own age, I thought she might enjoy it.”

  “Why, Your Grace,” Lucretia said, smiling, “I do believe I have spotted a soft spot in your armor.”

  “Unfortunately for me,” he said, lifting his wineglass, “I have many of them. To you, Miss Brent.”

  Lifting her own glass, she clicked it against his, then took a sip. Though she had had wine on many occasions, this vintage tasted sweet with a faint smoky flavor that danced on her tongue long after she swallowed.

  “This is delicious.”

  “It is one of my favorites,” he said, sipping from his own crystal glass. “Imported from the south of France. Quite expensive.”

  “I believe I understand why it is your favorite.”

  They spoke easily and comfortably together as Thomas served them a succulent fish soup, followed by the main course of roasted hare, a pigeon pie, bread fresh from the ovens, watercress with nuts, and a haunch of fresh venison. Though she had often eaten what remained from the Duke’s table, to have it served to her fresh by Thomas seemed the height of taste and luxury. Not even the other few times she had dined with His Grace did the meal seem so lavish to Lucretia.

  Unable to eat another bite, she patted her lips with her napkin, watching as the Duke completely cleaned his once full plate. “That was delicious, Your Grace. You have an extraordinary cook.”

  “I do agree with you,” he replied, sitting back in his chair. “He is a rare treasure. Are you interested in dessert? I happen to know he made a very tasty bread pudding this day.”

  “No, thank you,” she said. “I have eaten far more than I am used to.”

  “Perhaps we might take a stroll around the garden, then.”

  “I would like that very much.”

  Once again, it was the Duke, not Thomas, who pulled her chair out for her, and he took her hand lightly in his. Thus escorted as though she were royalty, Lucretia walked beside him through the hall toward the doors that led to the garden. Over the hills, the storm clouds concealed the sun as it set, though a faint hint of red glowed upon its edge.

  The air smelled sweet and fresh after t
he rain, and they stayed to the cobbled paths to avoid getting their shoes and clothes damp as they walked. Evening crept in, casting the last shadows from the dying day into invisibility. Though there was no moon yet, stars glittered in the inky pool of the night sky. Insects chirped from the shrubbery while an owl floated low over their heads, roosting in the trees at the far end of the garden.

  “What was your mother like?” Lucretia asked.

  “A saint, in truth,” the Duke replied. “Kind, warm-hearted, would often feed poor peddlers who occasionally came by the house before sending them on their way with gifts of food and some coin.”

  “She sounds wonderful.”

  “Henrietta looks much like her,” he went on, smiling fondly. “Her hair and her eyes, while I take after my father.”

  “You are lucky to have known your parents,” she said. “I never knew mine.”

  “They died when you were a child?”

  “An infant. Their cottage caught fire. My father saved me at the expense of his own life.”

  “He sounds like a noble man.”

  Lucretia smiled. “I hope I can live up to his sacrifice.”

  The Duke stopped walking, and Lucretia paused with him, gazing up into his eyes. Though they lay in shadow, she saw a faint gleam in them from the distant lights of the house. His finger under her chin tilted her head up. “I believe you already have.”

  Lucretia did not move away as his face bent toward her.

  Chapter 28

  Tenderly, Sampson’s lips closed over Lucretia’s. Without any pressure, her mouth opened under his, welcoming his advances, encouraging him. He stepped closer, holding her shoulders lightly with his hands, deepening their kiss. She tasted of the wine and the spices the cook used in the venison, and smelled as fresh and clean as a new morning. He could not get enough of her, of the feel of her body against his own, of her mouth against his.

  Sampson did not want to break their kiss, but his body responded in a way he had not quite anticipated. If he did not, he might broach the boundary of propriety, and that he would not do. Gazing down into her eyes, he kissed her lightly again, but without the depth of the previous kiss. He recognized her innocence, her lack skill in the domain of lovers, and knew he could not take that from her.

  “I wanted to do that all evening,” he said.

  Miss Brent chuckled. “And I wanted you to.”

  Enclosing her hand in his, Sampson walked again, following the path toward the house. “You have never been kissed before.”

  “No. Never. Have you?”

  “A girl in the village,” Sampson replied with a laugh. “When I was a young swain. She was the miller’s daughter, and now married to an innkeeper’s son. I believe she has two children at her skirts.”

  “The boys in the orphanage were too frightened of me to ever kiss me,” Miss Brent admitted, a smile in her voice though he could not see it. “I was usually their teacher and disciplinarian, so they kissed other girls in corners and under the stairs.”

  “How romantic of them.”

  She laughed. “There is not much privacy in an orphanage. And too many eyes making sure boundaries were maintained.”

  Sampson walked on, silent, enjoying the feel of her hand in his, the sensation of her warmth next to him, the swish of her skirts as she strolled at his side. He recalled his conversation with James, and absently wondered if he had crossed the invisible line between social classes, and had begun his courtship of her. I am not like George. She may be a commoner without an ounce of blue blood in her veins, but she is more than worthy of me. Am I worthy of her?

  Though he wanted to formally ask her permission to court her, the words dried in his mouth and he could not speak them. However, he doubted she would reject his suit, as she warmly accepted his kisses. He felt their new relationship was too fresh, it was too soon for a formal courtship. Besides, she is a member of my household, and I can ask her to dinner and walk in the garden with me at any time.

  “The hour grows late, Miss Brent,” he said. “May I escort you to your chambers?”

  “Of course, Your Grace. Though I feel I should once again sleep in Lady Henrietta’s rooms with her.”

  “I would sleep better at night knowing you are there, protecting her.”

  The house was quiet and still as he walked her through the hallways to his sister’s suite, lit by lamps along the walls. Later, servants would walk through the huge house turning them down or extinguishing them. Their shadows played across the walls, huge and malformed. Upon arriving at Henrietta’s door, Sampson felt reluctant to release Miss Brent’s hand.

  He stared down at her and she up at him, their eyes locked. Sampson all but choked as he spoke, “Good night then, Miss Brent.”

  “Good night, Your Grace.”

  Forced to let her go when she dipped into a curtsey, he nonetheless kissed her quickly when she rose. Her lips curved into a smile before she ducked into the suite, leaving him to stand and stare at the blank door. “Women,” he muttered, but grinned as he walked back down the hallway.

  * * *

  Late the next morning, he watched as a pair of grooms walked the black geldings down the drive. Hearing footsteps approach from behind, Sampson turned, finding James walking toward him. James jerked his head at the now vanishing horses.

  “Are you sending them off to be broken?” he asked.

  Sampson nodded. “Jonas Overton is a master at training young horses. I can be certain they will return to me well broken to saddle and harness with their spirits intact. He cares for them as he might his own children.”

  “I agree, he is an excellent choice for you. I am almost wishing you had not gelded them. They would have made fine studs.”

  Sampson grimaced. “Myself, as well. But I thought they were to be sold to George. I will not sell any breeding animals.”

  “He is not going to buy them?” James asked, his brow up. “Why ever not?”

  “He says my price for them is too high,” Sampson replied with a shrug. “His loss, I suppose. Although anyone with a decent eye for horseflesh would pay almost any price for such a cleanly matched pair of their quality.”

  “Did you not breed the same stallion and mare again this year?”

  Grinning, Sampson nodded. “Expecting another like them might be expecting too much, eh?”

  “You have proved to be quite lucky, lad, when it comes to breeding horses. Now I hope you will do the same.”

  Sampson had half-turned to walk back toward the stable when James’ words struck him. Turning back, he asked, “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Time for you to beget an heir, lad,” James said. “Long past time. Miss Brent appears to suit quite well in that regard. I expect she would make beautiful babies.”

  “You are as nosy as an old woman,” Sampson complained. “I suppose you followed me around and witnessed me kiss her?”

  James guffawed with laughter, clapping Sampson on his shoulder. “Ah, did you? Most excellent, lad, most excellent. No, I am not given to following you around while you are entertaining ladies, although I probably should while this lunatic is still free.”

  “As it happens, Miss Brent had an excellent suggestion for you,” Sampson said, pausing in his stride to prevent anyone from overhearing what he needed James to do. “If this lunatic, as you call him, is watching the house, it might be beneficial to know what hill he watches from. I would like you to take a horse, and ride atop them and tell me which one it is. It must have an excellent view of the house and into the garden through a spyglass.”

  “This is her suggestion?” James asked, his brow raised. “Why, if that is the case, your children might actually be born with some intelligence.”

  Sampson scowled. “I should have you whipped for such insolence.”

  “Every man must do what he must,” James replied easily, unconcerned.

  “You are like a sharpening stone around my neck,” Sampson snapped. “Any moment I will find someone sharpening a knife o
n it and my throat is cut.”

  “So? Tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Are you going to pay court to Miss Brent?”

  Despite the annoyance his steward brought him with his unamusing quips, a silly grin spread across Sampson’s features. James nodded to himself, as though that was all the answer he expected to get. “Come, Your Grace, which horse do you want me to take?”

  After watching James canter across the fields and up into the hills, Sampson returned to the house. His first thought was to head to the solar and watch Miss Brent teach Henrietta, yet, he decided not to. I do not want to appear too eager. Though she may enjoy having me come watch as much as I would. Instead, he went to his study to review some reports and perhaps sit back with a book.