Mr. Gardiner and the Governess: A Regency Romance (Clairvoir Castle Romances Book 1)

by Sally Britton

  “I sincerely appreciate them, as a matter of fact.” He moved his chair a little closer. “Might I send you more sketches?”

  Alice’s heart dropped, and cold crept into her stomach. “Of course, sir.” Kind as his words were, she was only a means to an end for him. As she was to everyone else.

  Choose happiness.

  “The flowers are all so beautiful, and I do love painting.” She had enjoyed the diversion, as it had filled her evening hours after she took an early dinner with the children. As a governess, unwelcome belowstairs and in the dining room, her hours after the children went to bed were rather quiet.

  Alice put her hand to Geoffrey’s cheek. The little boy opened his eyes and looked up at her. “When will the doctor come, Miss Sharpe?”

  The boy’s voice quivered; his eyes were wide and anxious.

  “I imagine in another quarter hour, if he is not very busy.” She took away the cool cloth. “But you will have something to drink soon. How is your stomach? Is it upset at all?” She had seen several of her male cousins take tumbles over the years—out of trees, off horses, over furniture.

  “No, miss.” He shook his head a little and winced. “My head hurts a little is all.”

  To the best of her recollection, the injuries were never serious unless they included stomach aches and dizziness.

  “I imagine it is not enjoyable to lie in bed while we two grownups talk of boring things.” Mr. Gardiner chuckled and looked to Alice, a smirk upon his handsome face. He rose from his seat and crossed through the doorway to the principal part of the nursery, where the children’s toys and room for them to amuse themselves lay.

  Alice exchanged a bemused glance with the little boy. “Should you like to sit up a little?”

  Geoffrey nodded and she helped prop up his head and neck with his small pillow.

  Mr. Gardiner returned a moment later, a basket in hand. “Geoffrey, look what I’ve found.” He knelt beside the bed and overturned the basket next to Geoffrey. “Soldiers and horses. Do you like to play soldiers?”

  The boy gave the barest of nods.

  “Most excellent. I always thought it rather fun to set them up in rows and columns. Plan a charge or two.” He began to do that very thing, where Geoffrey could see, and handed the boy a mounted soldier. “Here is the general. He must command the troops.”

  With some relief, and more than a little surprise, Alice sat back in her chair and watched as Mr. Gardiner engaged the injured child in quiet play. He moved the soldiers wherever Geoffrey directed, and then began an entertaining dialogue between two of the foot soldiers.

  “Did the general say to go left or right?” said one soldier, in a high voice that made Geoffrey giggle.

  Mr. Gardiner gifted the other soldier with a comically deep voice. “What? But he’s facing us. If he said left, was it his left or ours?”

  A maid arrived with a tea tray, and instructions to give a small cup with willow bark tea and ginger to the boy, with cook’s assurances it would ease his headache.

  Until the doctor came, Mr. Gardiner remained, putting on quite the show with the little tin soldiers falling all over themselves to carry out their general’s orders. Only when the doctor had made his examination, and pronounced that Geoffrey needed only to rest for his recovery, did Mr. Gardiner take his leave.

  Alice wasn’t certain who was sorrier to see him go—Geoffrey, or her.

  Chapter 11

  The next day of the house party, the children and female guests were all gathered out in a patch of garden Her Grace called “the meadow.” Having seen many meadows in her life, Alice found the name more charming than accurate. Servants had perfectly mowed the grass here, and wildflowers grew in careful bunches at regular intervals along the outside of the green field. Benches strewn about a path provided comfortable seating, and the servants had brought out tables of refreshments for all to enjoy.

  Alice sat beneath one of the smaller trees, upon the ground rather than a cushion, keeping a weather eye on her charges. Lady Isabelle and Lady Rosalind sat in the shade of an old oak tree, surrounded by girls near their own ages, tittering and gossiping in the way of young girls pretending to be sophisticated.

  Lord James played cricket with other boys on the far side of the meadow, making up for his youth with his energy.

  And closer to where the groundskeeper had directed a small stream through one end of the meadow, little Geoffrey played with the youngest children under the watchful eye of nurses and governesses alike. Truly, the servants and governesses were only present in case some calamity befell a child that their mothers did not wish to worry over.

  Alice enjoyed the fresh air of the outdoors, and watching the children scamper about with their friends gave her joy as well. On beautiful afternoons such as this one, all seemed right with the world.

  A voice from behind Alice startled her.

  “Might we join you, Miss Sharpe?”

  It was Lady Josephine and her companion, Miss Arlen.

  Given that there were three other young ladies trailing behind the duke’s daughter, Alice had to quell her surprise at once. Instead, she gestured to the ground near her. “You are most welcome, my lady, if you do not mind making the earth your chair.”

  Lady Josephine sat at once, with hardly more than a single flounce to adjust her gown’s skirt, she was quite at home sitting upon the grass. The other ladies fretted a little more and appeared as bewildered as Alice was that the governess had been sought out.

  “I have wanted to speak to you more about my father’s project. Those flowers were beautiful, and last night at dinner, Mr. Gardiner told me how impressed he was with your skill.”

  One of the other women, eldest daughter to the baron, if Alice remembered correctly, gasped rather loudly. “Never say Mr. Gardiner meant the governess assisted him? I thought he meant some other lady of the neighborhood.”

  Given that “the governess” sat not five feet away, Alice wondered if the girl had ever been taught manners.

  “I am afraid he meant me.” Alice checked the ribbon of her straw sun bonnet, then leaned back a little more against the tree. “I am glad he found reason to be pleased with my work. I must admit, I have enjoyed the undertaking more than I thought I would.”

  Lady Josephine opened her mouth to speak, her eyes bright with questions, when another of the other women released a dramatic sigh.

  “Mr. Gardiner is ever so handsome. Do you get to spend much time with him?” Given the young lady’s rosy cheeks, and the way her two friends started giggling, Mr. Gardiner had to be a topic of interest to them.

  “Not very much at all. He sends me the sketches, and I paint in the color.” Alice glanced toward Miss Arlen who appeared rather amused. “He is rather busy, I think, with collecting his own subjects to study.”

  “Oh, yes. The insects,” the third young lady said, shuddering.

  “Do forgive me.” Lady Josephine snapped open her fan and gestured with her free hand to the three women who had followed her about the meadow. “I do not believe you have been properly introduced to my guests. This is Miss Finchley, Lord Addington’s daughter.” The baron’s daughter, all prim and rosy beneath her bonnet, nodded tightly. “Miss Maria Hepsworth and Miss Hannah Hepsworth. Their father is a part of my father’s political party, in the House of Commons.”

  The two Hepsworth sisters nodded rather proudly.

  “My friends, Miss Sharpe is the governess for my younger sisters and brother, but I am quite comfortable saying she is a lady whose acquaintance I enjoy.” Such a statement, from a duke’s daughter at that, was an unqualified recommendation. And, perhaps, a warning for the others to mind their manners.

  Alice did not hold back a smile of gratitude as she spoke. “You are most gracious, Lady Josephine.”

  Miss Arlen spoke before the ensuing silence, with the three guests appearing rather stunned, could grow awkward. “Your bonnet is most becoming, Miss Sharpe, and much more practical for the sun than my silly cov
ering.” She touched the insubstantial brim of her hat. “I do keep meaning to re-trim it. Perhaps that is something we ought to do tomorrow, my lady.”

  “We are looking for more amusements for ourselves,” Lady Josephine said to Alice, shrugging one shoulder. “But I do enjoy redressing bonnets. We have any number of supplies for it, too. Ribbons and silk flowers aplenty.”

  The conversation ebbed and flowed around Alice, with her contributing rarely. Perhaps Lady Josephine had meant it as a kindness to seek Alice out, but the Misses Hepsworths and Miss Finchley suffered no qualms in leaving Alice out of the conversation entirely.

  After a time, Miss Arlen spoke directly to Alice, her tone low to avoid notice. “I do apologize, Miss Sharpe. My lady truly wished to speak to you about your work. She is a fine artist, and I think she truly admires such skills in others.”

  “It is no matter,” Alice said softly. “If she wishes, Lady Josephine can visit me in the schoolroom. I am certain I will have more flowers and paintings very soon.”

  “Mr. Gardiner said many complimentary things about you,” Miss Arlen added. “After dinner, in the drawing room. He is most impressed with you.”

  Alice’s cheeks warmed. “With my painting, you mean.”

  Miss Arlen’s eyes flashed as she tilted her head to one side. “When he spoke of the little boy you rescued—”

  “Rescued?” Alice shook her head, denying the term. “Mr. Gardiner rescued him, if anyone did.”

  Lady Josephine had overheard their conversation and leaned in closer, leaving her friends to continue their argument over the best musician among them. “He made it sound as though you were rather essential to the child getting the care he needed.”

  Alice’s lips parted, another protest on her tongue—

  “Mr. Gardiner! Oh, do come join us.” Miss Finchley trilled her welcome across the meadow.

  Alice turned her gaze in that direction and saw him, tall and dark haired, wearing a brown coat and long trousers tucked into dark boots. His arms were full of a large basket, several long nets, and the hat that had apparently fallen off his head. He hesitated where he stood, staring at their gathering beneath the tree.

  Lowering her head, Alice hid beneath the brim of her bonnet, silently wishing he would walk on. Yet something in her chest fluttered rather like that green and white butterfly she had caught during their first meeting when she heard Miss Hepsworth hiss, “He is coming.”

  While Rupert much preferred to act as though he had not heard the summons of Miss Finchley, his glimpse of another person sitting beneath the tree gave him pause. Though she lowered her head at once, Rupert knew well the shape of her shoulders and the way she turned her head.

  Miss Sharpe.

  For her, he would cross the meadow.

  Curious. Until that moment, Rupert had not realized he knew her mannerisms well enough to identify her from afar, as easily as he might identify a honeybee among wasps in the heather. Perhaps his time spent with her in the nursery the day before had influenced that knowledge.

  His eyes sought the children down by the stream, and it took him a moment to identify the curly head of their former patient. But how did Miss Sharpe fare, now that the little boy jumped about happily with his fellows?

  Arms still laden with his supplies, and a basket for the gathering of more flowers for Miss Sharpe, Rupert barely avoided a stray cricket ball hurtling through the grass, then twisted about when several boys slightly taller than his elbow whisked by him with cricket bats. Apparently, there was a question as to whether it had gone out of bounds.

  "Ladies.” He greeted them with a bow before depositing his things upon the ground. “Might I join you a moment?”

  “Only a moment, Mr. Gardiner?” Miss Finchley asked, eyelashes fluttering more rapidly than a butterfly on the wing.

  Perhaps this hadn’t been a good idea.

  Lady Josephine spoke before he could retract the request. “Of course, sir. I am certain you welcome a moment’s respite from the task my father has set you.” She shared with him a familiar smile—the one she had used since girlhood to set others at ease. Though he was several years her senior, Rupert appreciated her efforts.

  All but one lady looked upon him with expressions varying from curious to openly flirtatious.

  Miss Sharpe kept her gaze down, ostensibly adjusting her gloves and the sketchbook in her lap.

  Had she grown shy? But why?

  Rupert tried a casual beginning to their conversation. “How is our patient today, Miss Sharpe? He appears quite merry by the stream.”

  Her chin barely lifted, just enough for her gaze to meet his before she glanced over to the stream where nurses watched the younger children play. “I do not think he even remembers the hurt, given how happily he is splashing the others around him.”

  “Children are resilient little beasts.” Rupert tilted his head to one side, studying her profile. She had delicate features he could not help but admire, and the frames of her spectacles highlighted the bright blue of her eyes rather nicely.

  “Mr. Gardiner,” Miss Hannah said, voice louder than strictly necessary given their proximity. “How much longer do you think your work will take? Will you still be here during the duchess’s summer ball in a week?”

  The accursed ball. He had nearly forgotten about that. Forcing a lightness to his tone, Rupert answered with a nod. “I believe I will be here long after the rest of you have left for home. I have cataloged approximately one-third of the area His Grace was most interested in. Of course, things should go somewhat faster now that I have Miss Sharpe’s talent added to my own efforts.”

  Miss Hepsworth spoke quickly, almost as though she wished to cover his words with her own. “Thank goodness you will be here, Mr. Gardiner. My sister and I were discussing how few people we know in this part of the country. I can scarcely believe there are enough people of good breeding to fill the ballroom.”

  Rupert caught the way Miss Sharpe lowered her head at this, and he sensed her quiet withdrawal from the conversation. As governess, she likely believed herself unable to contribute to the topic of balls.

  Lady Josephine’s light laugh dismissed whatever slight Miss Hepsworth may have meant. “I assure you, there are many gentlemen and ladies in our county who see my mother’s ball as the very height of summer festivities. People travel some hours to come and dance the evening away. Then they ride off in the morning, half-sleeping, to their homes.” She turned to Rupert, her dark eyes bright with something other than good humor. “Is it not so, Mr. Gardiner? You have attended several such balls in the past.”

  “The ball is always a grand occasion,” he admitted, still watching Miss Sharpe from the corner of his eye. “All the doors and windows are thrown open, the gardens are filled with lanterns and torchlight, and there is not room enough for every couple to dance every set. The midnight supper is a feast, and everyone stays until the sun creeps up over the horizon.”

  Still, Miss Sharpe did not look his way.

  “I am delighted we are guests in the castle this year,” Miss Finchley said, genuine excitement upon her face.

  Every year during the summer months, the duke and duchess hosted several house parties. Their guests varied from year to year, so it was no wonder the baron and Mr. Hepsworth’s families had never attended before. Their country seats were in different counties.

  “Will you tell us more about the flowers you are studying, Mr. Gardiner?” Miss Arlen, the companion to the duke’s daughter, shifted somewhat closer to the quiet governess as she spoke. “Miss Sharpe has not shared much detail with us yet, though I am fascinated by her part in your work.”

  Lady Josephine swiftly seconded her companion’s choice of topic. “Oh, yes. I have so many questions. Do you intend to give color to all the flowers you find? And illustrate them all?”

  Once more, Rupert looked away from studying the far-too-quiet governess. “For His Grace’s personal catalog, yes.” He gestured to Miss Sharpe. “For the publication
I will submit to the Royal Society, Miss Sharpe will have to help me pick the illustrations of the most interest.”

  Her gaze came up at that, and her eyebrows lifted above the rims of her spectacles. “I am certain you do not need my help for that, sir.”

  “You must have some say in it, given that your name will appear upon the publication, credited as the colorist.”

  Her cheeks pinked rather prettily. “But I hardly know what others in your field of study will find most interesting.”

  Rupert leaned slightly toward her, despite the five-foot gap between where they sat. “You have seen the sorts of flowers that are in scientific journals and pamphlets. You also know what level of skill is necessary to render certain plants perfectly. I will depend upon your eye and talent, Miss Sharpe.”

  One corner of her lips turned upward, but before a full smile appeared, Miss Finchley started chirping with all the tenacity of one of his father’s beloved parrots.

  “Mr. Gardiner, how wonderful that you will be published by the Royal Society. My father is a great admirer of their work, and indeed has considered becoming a patron, but then the Regent himself patronizes the Royal Society, does he not?” She spoke with a rapidity that allowed no one else to comment for several moments, going on at length about the sciences. Most of what she said was nonsense. But she finished with her eyelashes batting at him again. “I do so admire a man of intelligence, Mr. Gardiner. What first interested you in the sciences?”

  “My father is an ornithologist,” he said, mentally trying to find a way to extract himself from the conversation. “I grew up surrounded by his studies, and so began my own.”

  “Ornithology?” Miss Hepsworth exchanged a glance with her sister, then Miss Finchley. “What branch of study is that?”

  “The science of birds,” Miss Sharpe said. Nearly at the same moment Rupert gave that exact answer.

  She met his surprised gaze with her own, the barest smile touching her lips again.

  Miss Hepsworth looked from Rupert to Miss Sharpe, her nose wrinkling. “How fascinating.”