by Georgie Lee
Huntford Place was not very large and neither was the house party. Judging by the women in attendance, Lady Huntford had chosen the plainest ladies of Frances’s age to give Frances the advantage. A smile crept over Joanna’s lips. If Lady Huntford knew how little regard Major Preston held for her daughter, she wouldn’t have gone to so much expense or bother, but Joanna wasn’t about to tell her. The woman was cutting enough in her censure without Joanna voluntarily risking more.
She rubbed the back of her stiff neck, trying to drive away her exhaustion. All night she’d lain awake in her attic room, staring at the slanted and water-stained ceiling and thinking of Major Preston and his impending arrival. The memory of his firm chest against her back had bothered her more than the lumps in the mattress. She dropped her arm and tried to recollect their conversation and not the more physical aspects of their meeting the other day. He’d considered her opinions as though they’d mattered, despite the difference in their stations, making her feel valued for the first time in a long time. Her desire to experience it again, and the frustration of knowing she couldn’t, had kept her awake until the darkness outside her window had begun to lighten.
She’d risen before the sun and set out into the Huntford Place garden for a walk, determined to settle her tumbling thoughts. Any hope of dealing with the girls or continuing to implement Vicar Carlson’s ideas had depended on her regaining control over herself, and she had, until the Inghams’ carriage rolled into view.
They were the last to arrive and, as their black carriage came to a stop at the front door, the top of it almost brown with road dust, the crowd waiting to greet them swelled. All the eligible young ladies and their mothers clustered around the front entrance while their fathers and brothers remained cloistered in Sir Rodger’s study, probably drinking port and listening to him complain about the expense of the weekend party.
Joanna touched the cold glass separating her from the outside and held her breath as the door to the carriage opened. Lady Ingham stepped out first and Joanna near groaned in disappointment. Lady Ingham was followed by Lord Ingham, then Lord and Lady Pensum, and they all made for their hostess. Major Preston was the last to appear.
He didn’t look at the swooning crowd of young ladies on the front steps. With one hand, he shaded his eyes against the late morning sun cresting the roof and gazed up the long front of the Stuart-era house.
He’s searching for me.
The voices of the girls reciting their French at the table behind Joanna faded. She stared down at him, not sure if he could see her. She wanted to push open the window and call out to him, or at the very least wave, but she remained still, her fingers stiff on the sill. He was here and she was trapped away like a fairy princess in a tower. Except she wasn’t a damsel a man of his rank might fight for, but a servant.
Lady Huntford stepped forward, eager to pull Major Preston into the circle of her influence. She flicked a quick glance up, trying to see what he did. Joanna jumped back from the window before her employer could notice her. It was a warning to Joanna to mind herself while he was here. Major Preston was not for her.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Catherine asked from the schoolroom table. The commencement of the house party had increased the girl’s petulance and made Joanna’s job even more difficult today. ‘You act as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘Perhaps, I did. Mrs Winston tells me there are all sorts of spirits in this house, especially close to your room.’ Joanna tapped Catherine playfully on her long nose.
Catherine’s eyes widened in horror before she brushed Joanna’s hand away. ‘That’s just the nurse’s excuses for not coming up here to make sure the maids have cleaned.’
‘I hope you’re right. Now finish, it’s almost time for our botany lesson in the garden.’
She strode around the table to check the twins’ French grammar, doing her best to put Major Preston out of her head. Unless Lady Huntford asked Joanna to be Frances’s chaperon during some event, there would be very little interaction between Joanna and any of the guests. As she leaned over to correct Ava’s verb conjugation, bringing an irritated wrinkle to the girl’s forehead, Joanna prayed she’d be called on to chaperon.
* * *
Luke climbed the stairs, following the footmen carrying the portmanteaus for him and the other three bachelors who’d been invited to the weekend party. They were the brothers of the young ladies being trotted out for Luke’s inspection. These men were welcome to them. Unless one of the ladies demonstrated more character than they had in the front drive, Luke wasn’t likely to find a wife here. The weekend had barely begun and already it felt like a waste, except for the chance to encounter Miss Radcliff.
Despite reaching each corner of Huntford Place and expecting to find her on the other side, he’d convinced himself her presence in the house made no difference to him. He was wrong. She was the entire reason he was here and it was a mistake. His family needed him to marry a woman with money, not be distracted by the governess.
He paused on the stairs to take in the house. The wooden banister beneath his hand was rough from too much use and too few polishes while the sun coming in through the leaded diamond windows along the staircase highlighted the faded carpet beneath his boots. With parts of Pensum Manor in need of refurbishing, Luke couldn’t complain too much about the lack of upkeep in Huntford Place. What he could complain about was the lazy footmen commanded by the indifferent butler. The lanky men in their tired livery dumped his and the other gentlemen’s things in each room as Gruger with his bent shoulders, pointed nose and sprouting head of grey hair, unceremoniously threw open the four bedroom doors at the end of the hall near the stairs leading to the upper floors.
‘I’ve seen better accommodations in an Army camp,’ Luke grumbled aloud at the doorway to his room, his hands on his hips in disapproval of his portmanteau lying on its side in front of the narrow bed.
‘Wait until dinner.’ A light female voice carried over him. ‘I’m sure your camp cooks provided better food, too.’
He turned to find Miss Radcliff standing on the landing behind him in a most proper governess attitude. She held her hands tight in front of her, back straight, shoulders set, ready to rebuke anyone who dared to step out of line. The seriousness of her stance was betrayed by the impish smile softening her face which echoed with the sprightliness he’d enjoyed in the woods. It undermined her stern control as much as the twins behind her tugging at one another in an argument while their elder sister made moon eyes at Mr Chilton.
She turned and let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Girls, mind your manners.’
The twins took one last swipe at each other before settling into their line. Even the older girl wandered back to her place, tearing her besotted gaze off Mr Chilton as he closed the door, his grumbling about his room as audible as Luke’s.
‘Out to the garden, girls,’ Miss Radcliff instructed, leading her charges to the stairs like a mother hen does her brood, except the girls were far more wayward than compliant chicks.
‘I’m not a girl,’ the oldest one complained.
‘Stop pulling my bow,’ one of the twins whined before hitting her sister hard on the arm.
‘Good luck,’ Luke called after her, stepping up to the banister and leaning over it.
She peered at him over one shoulder, her eyes highlighted by her dark lashes and white skin. She mouthed ‘Thank you’ with her pretty lips before she ran out the door after her wild pupils.
Luke thumped the creaking railing, pondering a walk in the garden instead of setting his things to right in his room. He hadn’t brought a valet. After seeing to himself in the Army, he didn’t see the need to bother or to incur the expense. With the younger Huntford girls present and the excuse of exploring the grounds, Luke might enjoy a few moments of conversation with Miss Radcliff.
Luke turned to fetch his redingote, th
en stopped. Mr Selton leaned against the door frame to his room with a smirk of congratulations as if he’d surprised Luke in the pantry with a comely maid. Luke’s experience with the tall young man with a face as pocked as a church carving was limited, but it was clear he’d noticed the exchange with Miss Radcliff and taken it for more than a friendly greeting. Luke silently dared him to say something about either him or Miss Radcliff. Mr Selton didn’t meet the challenge, but pushed away from the wood, strolled into his room and closed the door.
Luke strode into his room and to the one long window on the far side with a view of the barren front drive. His frustration with coming here was beginning to rival that of his coming home. The one woman whose time he wanted the most was the one woman he must avoid. If a brief exchange could capture the attention of Mr Selton, Luke being seen with her in the garden might create a scandal. In the future, he’d have to better mind himself in her presence.
* * *
‘Why must Frances have all the fun while I’m stuck here?’ Catherine flung a stone in the algae-filled goldfish pond in the centre of the garden.
The twins were busy pulling up long weeds and whacking each other with them. Joanna didn’t stop them, hoping they’d wear themselves out and be a little more compliant when they returned to the schoolroom.
‘When you come out next year, you’ll be able to enjoy things like house parties.’ Joanna glanced again at the French doors leading into the back sitting room, hoping to see Major Preston emerge from the house, but there was no one there. With the twins screaming like banshees, no adult was likely to venture into the garden. She should be glad. No matter how jovial he was, or how handsome he appeared in his dark blue coat, it wasn’t her position to speak with him.
‘Father isn’t likely to spend the money on a Season for me. He’s never done anything for me, only for Frances,’ Catherine despaired, her head lowered in defeat. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to be ignored. No one will ever love me.’
I know exactly what it’s like. But this wasn’t about her and her troubles, but those of her charge.
‘Keep your chin up,’ Joanna encouraged, using her fingers to lift the girl’s crestfallen head. She pitied the young woman. Unlike her sister, Catherine’s petulance was not from being spoiled, but from a lack of attention. ‘Remember, a kind word and a pleasant personality will attract a gentleman as much as beauty.’
‘How can you be sure?’
The image of Major Preston at the ball came to her. He’d had so many ladies to choose from for conversation, yet he’d singled her out. It wasn’t because of money, or looks, but for a much deeper and more meaningful reason she’d caught in the holding of his breath as he’d cradled her over the stream. ‘I’ve seen it happen more than once. Besides, when Frances finally finds a husband, your mother will have no one to dote on except you.’
‘Mother doesn’t dote, at least not on me.’
‘But she’ll help you find a husband. It’s a mother’s duty to do so.’ Joanna smiled, encouraging Catherine to do the same. Deep inside, Joanna wanted to mope as much as the girl. As dismissive as Lady Huntford was to Catherine, she would guide her through a Season, arrange her marriage and show at least the minimal amount of concern. There was no one to do the same for Joanna. Her parents had abandoned her and Madame Dubois had sent her out in the world to make her way the best as she could. Her headmistress might offer advice and suggestions, but it wasn’t her place to help Joanna find a worthy gentleman. Hidden away in schoolrooms, Joanna wasn’t likely to do it on her own. Over time, her pupils would change, as well as the attic rooms she occupied and she would grow old and withered along with the one dream she’d carried with her since childhood, to have a family of her own. It made her want to complain as much as Catherine, but she couldn’t. The young lady needed her comfort and encouragement as much as the new pupils at the school used to. It was her duty to help her and she would.
* * *
Luke and the other gentlemen entered the sitting room with the faint scent of tobacco and port still clinging to their coats. The evening meal had been more painful and tedious than a long march. He’d sat between the vapid Miss Carlton and the almost-hostile Miss Huntford, trying to choke down the overcooked venison until Lady Huntford and the other ladies had taken their leave. The male camaraderie after dinner had been a fortifying respite from the sea of hungry sharks which was the ladies, and now it was over.
Every female eye fell on the arriving gentlemen and there was a notable dip in the conversation before the men fanned into the room to revive it. Luke wanted to retreat to his bedroom, but he pressed forward. He was a guest and he must be polite to his host and hostess. It was yet another of the new constraints wrapping around him and trying to choke the life from him.
He approached a group of gentlemen discussing hunting, resigned to another tiresome hour or two before he could retire. Then, a sight as cherished as a breath of fresh air after hours in the hold of a transport ship greeted him. Miss Radcliff stood at the back of the room, almost hidden by the shadows cast from the large plant stand supporting a drooping fern. She remained outside the circle of guests, ignored and quiet, but watching with intelligent eyes which took in everything, including him. The faint flicker of the candles on a nearby table caressed her face, giving her skin a creamy glow. Even in the dim light, she was as beautiful as she’d been beneath the trees. He opened and closed his hand, the weight of her body in his arms as fresh now as when he’d left her. He shifted forward, ready to make for her, then stopped. Showing her favour would draw the ire of the other guests, especially his hostess. He would have to be more subtle in his engagement.
He began to weave his way to her. It took more effort to slide past the mamas in their bergère chairs without being waylaid than it did to get his regiment through a steep mountain pass. He was just beyond them when the ladies began their assault.
‘Major Preston, would you like to turn my music?’ Miss Bell asked from where she sat at the pianoforte as he squeezed between it and a side table.
‘My inability to read music would ruin your beautiful playing,’ he answered with a bow before continuing on. He was barely two feet away before the voluptuous Miss Selton stepped in front of him.
‘Might I draw you? I’ve saved my sharpest pencil for you.’ She leaned close to him and her generous breasts nearly spilled out of the top of her bodice brushing his arm.
‘I’m not much of a subject for portraiture,’ he answered. ‘Mr Chilton has a much more classical profile.’
He motioned to the sturdy gentleman sitting in the chair beside them.
Mr Chilton rose, more interested in Miss Selton’s talent than Luke. ‘I’d be happy to sit for you.’
Miss Selton wasn’t as enthusiastic. She threw Luke a disapproving frown before leading Mr Chilton to the table near the fireplace with better light and her drawing things spread out across the top of it.
Luke left them to dodge Lord Selton and Sir Rodger, stepping over Sir Rodger’s large, black hunting dog which snored on the hearthrug in front of the fire.
‘Major Preston, what do you think of the Luddite uprisings?’ Lord Selton asked.
‘We must see these men have other work if they’re losing their positions to machines,’ he answered before continuing on.
He hadn’t done this much manoeuvring since the last time he’d drilled his troops. It seemed like a full half-hour passed before he casually came up beside the fern stand, the plant between him and Miss Radcliff. By then, the husband-hunting ladies had taken to colluding together by the fireplace to devise some amusement for the weekend while their mamas resumed their gossip or sat at the whist table to partake in the play.
Luke perched his elbow on the high wood and surveyed the room as if Miss Radcliff held no interest for him. In fact, he was aware of every shift of her dress, the faint inhale and exhale of h
er breath, and the clean scent of soap and lavender surrounding her.
‘I see they let you out of the garret,’ he joked in a low voice.
She shifted on her feet and glanced from Lady Huntford to Frances whose attention was fixed on the red-haired Mr Winborn sitting beside her. ‘Lady Huntford would rather speak with her friends than chaperon her daughter. It’s why I’m here.’
‘A monumental task if I remember.’ He didn’t face her as he spoke, careful not to draw attention to their conversation.
‘Such as you escaping those mamas. They almost had you captured.’
‘Like a French patrol once did, but I outflanked them, too.’
Miss Radcliff smothered a smile. This small show of delight intrigued him more than anything else in the room. ‘Your battle plans are very impressive.’
‘Not so much as the sight of you.’ Or his ability to stop offering her the most inappropriate compliments. ‘I’m sorry, I spoke out of turn.’
‘It must not happen again.’ She clasped her hands in front of her as she had on the stairs, the joking young lady replaced by the stern governess.
‘It won’t,’ he promised, though he couldn’t bring himself to abandon her enticing humour for any of the droll conversation taking place around them. ‘Is Miss Huntford keeping her end of the bargain?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good, because I’ve been worried about you.’
She trilled her fingers over her other hand, but didn’t soften her stance. ‘There’s no need to be. I’m perfectly fine.’
He didn’t believe her. He’d led enough men from a number of different backgrounds to recognise when they were settling in with the regiment and when they weren’t. ‘I want you to know that, should you need any additional assistance, you can call on me, as a friend.’
She unclasped her hands and fingered a feathery leaf of the fern, trying to appear as if it, and not him, held her attention. ‘A very kind offer, Major Preston, but you know it’s impossible.’