"I think you will be very happy in Chiltern," said the Duchess. It sounded as though she needed to persuade herself as much as Julia. "The Marquess is such a serious fellow! I wonder what you can do to liven him up."
Julia smiled. "I'll do my best."
"Dear child." The Duchess cupped her face again as though she could hardly bear to let go. "Let me kiss you and leave you."
Julia obediently offered her cheek. She knew that she had not quite earned all this affection. When the Duchess looked at Julia with that soft mist in her old eyes, it was not really Julia's face she saw, but the near-identical features of her lost son. The half-brother Julia never had the chance to know.
Much as Julia would miss her, she was glad when the Duchess finally took her leave. She needed a moment alone to gather her thoughts. Left alone in the Marquess's impeccably furnished drawing room, she poured herself another glass of water and went to the window where she watched the busy Mayfair traffic bustling by.
A new start. Wasn't that exactly what she wanted?
Well, even if it wasn't, she couldn't back out now.
"Miss Mallory?" said the butler, sliding into the room so smoothly he might have been on wheels. Clearly, the Marquess's staff were all exquisitely trained. Julia wondered where she would fit in amongst them. "Are you ready for me to show you to your room?"
"Quite ready," said Julia, with a decisive smile.
Whether she was ready or not, her new life had already begun.
CHAPTER TWO
The dream always began the same way.
A pair of arms embraced him, warm and lovely. The honeysuckle-scent of a woman lulled him as delicate fingers scratched tingles of pleasure across his scalp.
Try as he might – and he struggled as bitterly as he knew how – he could never see the woman's face. Whichever way he craned his neck or fought with her loving arms, she was always looking away from him. Turning towards an open window, through which sunshine streamed bright enough to blind him.
But he struggled with her all the same, for the moment he gave up his fight was the moment the pain began. The arms dissolved around him. The light vanished.
Sometimes, the dream was merciful, and he awoke before the screams. Other times, it was cruel, and he found himself standing once again in that candlelit hallway, pounding on the door as Sarah wailed in agony behind it. He found himself once again alone in a sea of red confusion, a tiny, pink, squalling thing clutched in his arms, and a dreadful silence spreading from behind the doorway like a plague.
Charles awoke, finally, mercifully, sweating. For a moment his hands scrambled to catch a babe who was no longer there. A baby who had long since grown to girlhood. He blinked, slowly coming to understand where he was.
Not in the hallway on the east wing. Beside his own bed in London, on the floor, where the tumult of his nightmares had tipped him out. Wrapped in a counterpane so tightly that his left arm was pinned to his chest.
No wonder he hadn't been able to turn her face towards him.
Charles struggled upright, throwing off the counterpane, and lit a candle with shaking hands. He went to the window, tossing the curtains open, and pressed his head against the glass. The candlelight illuminated nothing but his own reflection, shadowed and blurry against the blackness of night. It was early morning, judging by the chill in the air. Too soon for dawn.
"Sarah," Charles whispered. The night made no answer. "Sarah, when will you leave me alone?"
CHAPTER THREE
The journey to Harding Hall was a peculiar form of torture.
Charles was well-accustomed to the mix of pleasure and pain he endured on returning home. The knowledge that Annabelle was waiting for him, nose pressed up against the window to watch for his carriage – surely it should bring him nothing but joy? But tangled up in it were his own private miseries, secrets he kept hidden as closely as a smuggler hides his stash in the dark. Annabelle was waiting motherless, robbed of the happy childhood he once dreamed for her. And, even so, business would call him away from her too soon.
Even worse, hidden still more deeply, was the guilty secret that he would be happy to leave. Happier even than he arrived.
Harding Hall, with all the memories and responsibilities that came with it, was too much for him.
All the same, he usually made the journey home to Annabelle with a smile on his face, a sweetmeat in his pocket, a kiss waiting ready for her chubby child's cheek on his lips. Charles was the image of the perfect father – if anyone so absent could be perfect.
Today was different. Today, Miss Julia Mallory was sitting in the carriage opposite him. Julia with her primly pinned-up hair, with the pinched roses of a blush permanently staining her pale cheeks, and with that guarded expression that spoke of hidden depths he itched to plunder.
The moment she appeared in his drawing room, a vision of nervous loveliness, he knew he would employ her. How could any man resist the chance to be close to such an exquisite example of the female sex?
Yes, at first, it was only her looks, and the familiar twinge of self-loathing Charles always felt when he noticed a pretty woman. In another world, another life, such admiration was reserved for his wife. Now that fate had ripped Sarah from his arms, was it really such a sin to admire Miss Mallory's striking green eyes? Charles had never seen such intensity of colour before. It was all he could do to conduct the interview as propriety demanded while that emerald gaze struck awe into his soul.
And then she spoke. Clear and calm despite her obvious nerves. Honest to a fault, even when it caused her pain.
And then she sang...
Yes, it was a new and interesting form of torture to share a carriage for hours on end with Miss Julia Mallory. Charles's tongue tangled in his mouth every time he tried to speak, and so he remained silent. As the sky outside darkened to evening, he felt every so often the prickle of that green gaze as it studied him, curiously and furtively, from head to toe.
"We are just entering Harding estate," he ventured, as the carriage rattled over a stone bridge. Julia jumped when he spoke. It must have been a shock after so many hours of silence.
He watched the changing expression of her face as she took in the forest's autumnal wildness. The leaves on the beech trees were the same glowing orange as the setting sun. No-one could deny that his lands were beautiful. Charles saw the beginnings of excitement in Julia – a joy in his home which had long since been lost to him. He was almost jealous.
"You will enjoy living here," he said. "The grounds are yours to explore. I want Annabelle to spend a few hours outdoors every day."
Julia looked at him quizzically. "Is that proper, for a young lady?"
"I think it is essential." Charles remembered that Julia was a Londoner, born and bred. "Did you never visit the countryside as a child?"
He regretted asking immediately. He had embarrassed her.
"We did not have the means when I was young," Julia admitted. "And later..."
Her sentence left hanging, unfinished, she turned back to the window. Charles felt a wall coming down between them. Ah. In spite of all her honesty, Julia was hiding something.
What he wouldn't give, to uncover all this woman's secrets...
The trees cleared, revealing the twin square turrets rising from the centre of Harding Hall. Julia gasped, and Charles felt an unfamiliar flicker of pride. The sight of the great house he'd grown up in, half a palace in truth, no longer filled him with the awe it deserved. It was simply home – and a home which he avoided more often than not.
The towering sandstone walls looked best at this time of day, at sunset. He was pleased that Julia was seeing it for the first time in this golden light.
Perhaps that would be enough to stop her seeing the darkness which too often lay within.
"This is your home?" she asked, turning those green eyes to him.
"Yours now, too," Charles reminded her. He wished he knew what she was thinking. What emotion lay behind that rose-lipped and wide-eyed
expression – fear, perhaps? Gratitude? He chided himself for wasting so much of their journey in silence. Despite the ever-present guilt, Julia was a mystery he wanted to uncover.
The carriage juddered to a halt, the driver calling fondly to the horses, and Charles let the footman open his door. He turned as he descended to offer Julia a hand down from the carriage.
You are not treating her like staff, he realised, as he wondered at the strength in her grip. Be careful, Charles. The last thing you need is to let an infatuation get out of hand.
Julia's feet had barely touched the ground when Charles was stuck from behind by a curly-headed cannonball travelling at considerable speed.
"Papa! Papa, Papa, Papa!"
Charles swung Annabelle into the air, hearing her whoop of joy, and buried his face in her hair, covering her in huge smacking kisses. "Hello there, little snowdrop," he laughed, as Annabelle giggled and wriggled her legs in his arms. "Did you miss me?"
"So much, Papa, I missed you so, so, so much!"
Julia was watching them with an odd, strained expression on her face. Perhaps she disapproved of such improper displays of affection?
No, it was not quite that. Something else was stirring inside her. Charles wondered whether she was missing her own family.
He set Annabelle down. "Lady Annabelle, let me present Miss Julia Mallory. Your new governess."
Annabelle realised suddenly that there was a stranger present, and hid her face behind Charles's leg. He gently nudged her back out. "Now, now. Remember your manners."
Annabelle's tiny black shoe toed the ground nervously. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Governess."
"Miss Mallory."
"Miss...Mally?"
Julia knelt down to bring her face level with Annabelle's. "The pleasure is mine, Lady Annabelle. I'm sure we're going to be great friends."
Annabelle's eyes widened. "I haven't ever had a governess before," she confessed in a whisper.
"That's alright. I have never been a governess before. We shall work it out together." Julia held out a hand. Annabelle stared at it for a moment, considering her options.
"She won't bite," said Charles fondly.
Annabelle made her decision. Slowly and with great ceremony, she placed her hand on top of Julia's. Julia gave it a squeeze, which made Annabelle jump.
"How old are you, Lady Annabelle?"
"Six and two months."
"My goodness! You are so grown up I thought you must be at least seven."
Annabelle glowed with pleasure. "I'm tall for my age."
"And you have such nice manners, too." Julia stood up, keeping Annabelle's hand in hers.
"Annabelle, why don't you give Miss Mallory a tour of the house," Charles suggested. "Introduce her to Mrs Potter – that's our housekeeper – and take care that she finds the dining room, your schoolroom, and her bedroom."
Julia caught Charles's eye before Annabelle tugged her away. "My lord, if I may..."
"Yes, Miss Mallory?"
Julia lowered her eyes, cautious once more. "You have employed me knowing that I have no experience of this role, and so I trust you will not find my question impertinent..."
"Ask anything you like."
"I do not know which parts of the house I will be welcome in. Am I to consider myself one of the servants, and keep myself below stairs?"
Charles was struck by how strange the position of governess must be, to be caught between one world and the other – neither a servant nor one of the gentry. "You will be one of the family," he said decisively.
A flush of pleasure crept across Julia's cheeks. "Thank you, my lord."
Annabelle tugged at her hand impatiently. "Please come on, Miss Mally. You must come see my rocking horse! It has a mane just like a real pony."
Charles watched Julia follow his daughter into the house with a sense of pride. He might be biased, certainly, but surely no-one could meet Annabelle and not be charmed.
Yes, he was quite certain that Julia and Annabelle were in good hands with each other.
"She will be happy here," he said to himself. He only recalled that he was not alone when he heard a quiet cough from the man standing respectfully beside the carriage.
"Ah. Stevens. Let's get on with it."
Charles's steward was a tall, thin man with a greyish complexion and a total lack of any sense of humour. He fulfilled his job admirably well, but Charles could never shake the feeling of impending doom he had whenever he sat down with the man to go over his accounts.
On this occasion, Mr Stevens looked gloomier than ever.
"I'm afraid, my lord, there is ill news from Cornwall..."
Charles dragged back his mind, which was running along beside Annabelle and her pretty new governess, and let the shadow of Harding Hall envelop him as he went with Stevens into the house.
CHAPTER FOUR
Julia sat down on her new bed, finally alone, and glad of it.
Once Annabelle overcame her initial shyness, she had turned into a whirlwind of childish energy that left Julia struggling to keep up. They had covered most of the large house in an hour, with Julia allowed no more than a swift glimpse inside every room. Julia was certain she would never be able to find her way back through the winding corridors to the schoolroom.
Luckily, Mrs Potter was a warm and sensible woman, who promised Julia a maid would be sent to escort her from one place to the other until she was confident in making her own way.
"You just get yourself nicely settled, and pop on down to the kitchen if you need anything, dear. You'll always find someone there," the housekeeper said, before leaving Julia to unpack in her neat little room.
It was a far cry from Amberley House, where Julia had been able to ring for a servant to satisfy every whim, but it was a far better prospect than the poverty she'd grown up with. Julia knew, despite her nerves, that she had landed on her feet here at Harding Hall. A friendly housekeeper and a lively, intelligent child – what more could a governess want?
Now she was sitting on a bed in the corner of a brightly-lit room, small and sparsely-furnished, with a valise full of new dresses at her side and a stack of letters in her hand from her friends in London, which she had been given with strict instructions to open when she was in Chiltern and missed them.
There was one from the Dowager Duchess, full of good wishes and un-asked for advice about how she should comport herself in the Marquess's home. One from Catherine, the current Duchess of Westbourne, who gave Julia an update on the progress of the new nursery in their country residence, Westbourne Hall. Catherine and the Duke had recently announced that they were expecting a baby.
A third letter came from Alice, the Duchess's younger sister, who had just married and was journeying north with her new husband to join his regiment of the militia. Julia felt a pang as she read Alice's excitement over her new life. Julia was starting a new life, too, and she wished she could be as cheerful about it as Alice was.
The fourth letter, surprisingly, came from the Duke himself. Julia's cousin – though of course, no-one but the family knew that. As an illegitimate daughter of the previous Duke, Julia had always been hidden from society. Harry Marsden, Duke of Westbourne, had treated Julia like family from the moment he met her, but she was too much in awe of his position to receive his welcome comfortably.
Dearest Julia, wrote Harry.
So, you are beginning a new life in Chiltern! I know the Marquess a little and I consider him one of the finest men of my acquaintance; I know he will treat you well. It is strange to me to think that, so shortly after we found you, you are leaving us, but I understand your reasons well. Remember that I myself have suffered for the sins of my relations. I will never hold your brother's wrongdoing against you. You will always be welcome at Amberley House and Westbourne Hall, and Cathy and I will receive you again gladly if you ever need to return. We are family by blood, if not by name. I do not wish you to forget it.
Speaking of family, there is a matter which I did not h
ave time to raise with you before you left. The Duke of Rawly has gifted me a parcel of letters written by the late Duke of Westbourne, my uncle and your father. I know you never met him, but I feel that you have more of a right to his letters than I do. I offered them to the Dowager Duchess, who asked me to read them for her. It will cause the dear lady too much pain to look at them herself.
Therefore, with your permission, I will read through the letters and relay anything of importance to the Duchess and to you.
Your friend,
Harry
Julia folded the letter back into its envelope. It was a sweet thought of Harry's, but really she had no desire to know more about a father who had abandoned her before she was born. The old Duke had never claimed Julia as his natural daughter, but had left her mother to eke out a painful existence on the streets of Seven Dials. She could not imagine that his letters would interest her now.
She would have to write her replies the next morning. Julia was not in the habit of wasting candles when a task could be done just as well by daylight. She busied herself unpacking her clothes, hanging them in a tall oak wardrobe which must have been moved to this little room from a nicer part of the house, and acquainting herself with the moonlit view from her bedroom window.
Would she be happy here at Harding Hall? The letters lying on her leather-topped desk all carried such good wishes with them that it would be churlish not to approach her new life with a heart full of hopes.
Julia allowed herself a single moment to sigh over what she had left behind. She spent a few moments thinking of her brother, Edmund, miserable and alone in the house they'd grown up in, with only himself to blame. Then she changed into her nightgown, blew out the candle, and slept a dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
Charles was no fool. He was aware of the dangers a pretty young governess posed a man in his position: honourable, titled, widowed and forsworn from future romance. He fully intended to spend as little time in the vicinity of Julia's alluring green eyes as possible.
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