What on earth was she doing? She should be with Archibald—was that not what he was paying her for, to take control of his brother, the child most likely to do damage to his reputation in the election, and teach him both manners and his kings and queens?
Alfred bristled. And what gave her the right to just take one of his horses and ride it? How dare she?
Blood roared through his veins, and Alfred stood there, fuming, at the window through which heat poured, aggravating him further. He had never been faced with such reckless behavior, such insubordination! How did she think she was going to get away with it?
Abandoning his paperwork and storming out of the study, Alfred was almost immediately accosted by Roberts.
“Ah, Your Grace, there are a number of letters which require additional clarification. If a bill is due, but there is no—”
“Not now, Roberts!” Alfred barked. Miss Hubert had so incensed him, he knew no other course of action but to confront her.
He stepped through the hallway into the drawing room, then out of the large French windows overlooking the prettiest of the gardens, bringing Miss Hubert and the horse she had taken right into view. She was clearly exercising the horse a little, trotting around in a circle.
Alfred’s head buzzed with irritation. So she thought one of his mares needed exercising, did she? Did she not think he and his stable hands could care for his stables? As if one of his men could not do the job admirably well!
Words had not precisely formed in his mind before Alfred found himself shouting. “You there!”
Miss Hubert pulled the horse to a stop and turned it around with gentle expertise. A small smile appeared on her face as she shielded her eyes from the sun.
“Ah, Your Grace,” she said. “What a lovely day! I just had to take advantage of it while young Master Archibald had his nap.”
It was a perfectly reasonable explanation to why his brother was not here in her care, but Alfred had moved far beyond reasonable. Three days—three days was all it had taken for this woman to arrive in his own home, and already she was taking liberties!
“I believe I was quite clear with the rules that all have to live by when in my house and employ, Miss Hubert,” he said sternly now he was closer to her, now only a few feet from the damned horse. “Yet I evidently need to list a few more because many of those I would consider obvious have passed you by!”
The smile on Miss Hubert’s face faltered, and a look of curiosity replaced it. “Goodness, Your Grace, you seem rather angry for some reason. Please, explain yourself.”
“Explain—explain myself!” Alfred exploded. This was too much. “Explain…explain yourself! The barefaced cheek of it!”
There was definitely coldness in her looks now, and Miss Hubert allowed the horse she was riding to take a step backward in its shock at his bellowing.
“As soon as you are able to use your words to explain why you are so upset,” she said coldly, “I will be able to help you.”
Alfred took a deep breath. She was right, in a way. This was beneath him, all this shouting. He had a perfectly just complaint, and he would not lose his moral high ground by shouting about it.
“My brother will be awake soon,” he said curtly.
Miss Hubert nodded. “Indeed. It is generally encouraged that children have at least one afternoon off to practice sports or athletics of some kind. I thought we would play hide and seek to assess his endurance and—”
Alfred waved away her words, damned logical though they were. “That is beside the point, Miss Hubert, and you know that.”
She looked as though he was speaking a foreign language. “Then you have lost me, Your Grace. I do not understand why I cannot ride after I have finished teaching for the day.”
Alfred leaned forward and grabbed the reins, patting the mare’s neck to comfort her from this strange woman’s attentions, as he said in his most ducal and aloof voice, “Miss Hubert, please add this to your list of rules—you are not to touch my horses.”
Why did she not look abashed at his words? Why, more importantly, did she raise a haughty eyebrow and look down her nose at him?
“Thank you for the suggestion,” she said stonily. “And I will ask you to pay me the same courtesy.”
Alfred’s eyes met hers, and then the connection was broken as he looked quickly at the horse. Now he was closer and had a little oxygen in his brain, he could see quite clearly that this was not one of his horses.
He dropped the reins and took a step back, the mare nickering, as if to prove her point.
Christ alive, he had made a fool of himself. No wonder she was looking at him like that, as though he had barely enough sense to stand upright.
“I cannot bear these distractions,” Alfred blustered. “I am working very hard for the election.”
Miss Hubert laughed. “Why? You do not want to win the election.”
Without another word, she nudged her mare into a trot and disappeared across the lawn.
Alfred stared after her, standing in the baking heat for far too long before he collected himself.
How on earth did she know that?
Chapter Five
August 6, 1812
It was the second huge sigh from Meredith that made the chalk fly up in the air, coating her carefully pinned hair and the sleeves of her gown. She coughed, only making the entire situation worse as her hands moved across the blackboard with a damp cloth, wiping away the timeline Archibald had drawn of the kings and queens of England.
Well, she certainly could not complain about the facilities which the Duke of Rochdale had procured for the schoolroom. It was exactly how she needed it, with all the little details she had come to associate with the mistress of a house.
There was no mistress here, but there were plenty of books; the blackboard; which spanned almost the entire wall; plenty of chalk, which wrote very smoothly; and a supply of paper and pencils in a box by the door. It would take a great many lessons for them to run out of that.
There was even a pair of globes near her desk at the front of the room. One showed the earth, far more detailed than any Meredith had seen before, and the second was one which had taken her breath away when she had first examined it.
A celestial globe. Carefully depicting the night sky, it was beautiful.
There could be absolutely no complaints on the tools she had been given to teach the younger Carmichael brother, but none of it could balance the fact she had not seemed to make a good impression.
Here she was, putting the schoolroom to bed on Friday at the end of her first week, and what had she managed to do?
Teach Archibald a little. That was true. He was not a dull child, just a disinterested one, and she was already starting to find little tricks to engage him in actual study.
She had taken Beauty for a ride. That had not ended well—being accosted by the master of the house for what he evidently thought was stealing, despite the fact that she was riding her own horse!
Other than that, she had taken breakfast and luncheon in the schoolroom, and dinner in her own room. She had ventured down to the kitchens once, felt the inherent awkwardness of the place as the room felt silent, eyes turned to stare in wide-eyed, unhidden curiosity, and returned to her own room within twenty minutes.
And that was all. She had not seen hide nor hair of Alfred. Other than Mrs. Martin and Archibald, she had not spoken to a soul.
Meredith placed the rag down on her desk and stood back to examine the blackboard. It was ready for a new lesson next week.
She had wished to be left alone by her new master. Why should she complain now she had been entirely unheeded by the Duke of Rochdale since their altercation over her horse?
Besides, being a governess was a lonely life. Miss Clarke had warned her, had warned every lady who applied to join the Governess Bureau. One did not make friends as a governess, and one certainly made no attachments. One moved through the house like a breeze, gently ruffling some, but having no real last
ing impact.
After the life she had come from, she was due a bit of peace and quiet. What she wouldn’t have given for this sort of loneliness five years ago…
Meredith forced herself into action as she moved about the schoolroom, placing scraps of paper in the wastepaper bin, picking up a pencil where it had dropped to the floor.
She wasn’t alone, was she? Archibald was her companion, but it was strange, only having a child for company. One could not confide in a child the way you could an adult. There were things she wished to share, thoughts she would like to express, jokes she would like to make—all which would be inappropriate for a child, let alone one under her charge.
She looked out through one of the large windows and saw sunshine beating down on the thirsty lawns. Yes, Archibald was not the right sort of friend for her, but who else was there?
Few servants reached the equivalent social standing of a governess. It placed her in a strange, in-between world. A servant to the family of the house, not that there was much of one here. A superior to the maids, the footmen, the boot boys, and stable lads.
It was only Mrs. Martin and Mr. Roberts who were her equals. She saw no more of one than the other. The housekeeper appeared to be rushed off her feet at the moment, with that undermaid gone and not yet replaced.
Moving over to the single desk where Archibald sat, Meredith picked up his workbook and flicked through it with a smile. His handwriting really was atrocious. They would have to spend some time on that next week, or she would never be able to mark any of his work.
He was behind for his age, but she had expected that. Most children were, without a mother in the house, and few people hired a governess for a child who was excelling.
“The Romans really were here?” he had said with a look of absolute wonder only yesterday. “Even up here, in Rochdale? Could the Carmichaels, could my father be a distant descendent?”
And Meredith had returned to her bedchamber for a moment and retrieved a favorite book from her small collection and read some of the stories from the Roman Empire, and Archibald had sat there, transfixed.
Meredith smiled. Still, there were moments of brilliance, even for an eight-year-old. He had a hunger to learn and a genuine surprise at the world, and those were two things that could not be taught.
And when he attempted to defy her…
Well, that was when she could see his older brother in him.
Alfred. Alfred Carmichael, Duke of Rochdale. He was an enigma to her, a gentleman with fury and passion but who had directed absolutely none of that into this election he kept talking about.
Meredith’s smile broadened. It was clear to anyone who looked at him that the duke was no more interested in running for a member of Parliament again than taking up Mandarin.
Though perhaps it was not so obvious to everyone else. When she looked at him, the lines of worry, the frustration, the utter disinterest were written across his face like a book.
Yet from something Mrs. Martin had said when she had brought up luncheon for herself and Archibald one day, it was greatly expected that the master would win the election once more and return to London.
The duke return to London? It would certainly mean she would no longer be subjected to altercations as she had experienced already.
It had been rather wonderful, Meredith had to admit, to see him so unsettled. Yet, there was something about him. Something that made her wish to see him more often.
She and the Earl and Countess of Marnmouth had grown quite cordial to each other. The countess Sophia was so much younger than her husband, and the two ladies were able to read together, even jest together occasionally.
Meredith would never have described them as friends. She would never have taken that sort of liberty. But still, she had seen them almost every day, dined with them once a week, and been included in their decisions for their children.
Was it too much to hope she could be so treated here?
The memory of that moment when their eyes had locked the very first day she had arrived seared her heart. There was something about Alfred, though she would never call him that to his face, naturally.
She liked him. She could appreciate a man like that, and the fact that there was no mistress at Rochdale Abbey certainly made her interactions with him a little more complicated. There could never be any accusations of impropriety when the lady of the house was present.
Meredith’s smile disappeared as she returned to her tidying. She liked Archibald, which was undoubtedly the most important thing. If she was going to be here for years caring for the child, it was always easier if one liked them.
He was wild and struggled to concentrate, but it was perfectly possible to train those bad habits out of him, even if they had never been trained out of his older brother.
After another ten minutes of intense work, Meredith looked at the schoolroom with a decisive nod. The place had been put to rights, and the first week—the most difficult week in a new situation—was over. She had managed it.
It was always the hardest. To start with, one was learning your way around a new house. It was easy to get turned around with the number of corridors and rooms, especially in a place like this, where some parts of the upstairs were only accessible by the second staircase.
For now, Meredith had certainly earned her Saturday and Sunday off—something she had negotiated with Miss Clarke.
“Both Saturday and Sunday?” Miss Clarke had said, a frown appearing across her face. “How unusual. How very particular.”
And Meredith had held her gaze and nodded. “Yes, a full weekend, thank you, Miss Clarke.”
It had been an uncomfortable moment between them, but there had been no chance of Meredith backing down on this item of her contract. How else was she to find the time to take Beauty out as often as she wished?
Meredith’s heartstrings tugged. She had not ridden Beauty since that rather awkward altercation with the duke, but she was too tired to ride today. Her bones ached in that rather pleasant way after a long day of standing up and moving about the schoolroom. She had earned a little rest, but August sunlight was still streaming through the windows.
Perhaps it was time she had a wander around the house itself. Rochdale Abbey was, from what she saw from the gardens, a large manor house, and she had seen only a few of its rooms.
And, Meredith reminded herself, the duke had left hours ago. She had noticed him depart on his horse as she had taken Archibald through the finer points of the Elizabeth succession crisis, and she had not seen the figure return.
It would be her first chance to explore her new home. Meredith smoothed down the skirts of her gown, ensured she brushed off as much chalk as possible from her sleeves, and stepped outside of the schoolroom to breathe the cooler air of the corridor.
She looked left and right. To her right were the main family bedchambers and, eventually, the main sweeping staircase, carved from marble and decked in red velvet carpet that finished spectacularly in the hallway. To the left was just a few yards of the corridor and then the door to the servants’ staircase—the one she had been using.
Meredith was not entirely sure why. At the Marnmouths’, she had used the main staircase like the family.
Old habits died hard, she thought wryly. In her old life, when she had been…well, it would never have done for someone like her to take the main staircase.
She swept down it now, pretending for a moment that Rochdale Abbey was hers. Her skirts were not as fine, true, but as she looked around the hallway, Meredith was filled with a warm sense of peace.
A new place to call home. She could use her talents here, make something of herself. Perhaps over time, she could even befriend some of the servants.
There was a corridor leading to the greater part of the house, and three doors, other than the front door, led off from the hallway. One of them was the breakfast room, she was almost sure of it—she had heard Mrs. Martin mention it when she had been left awkwardly in the hallway f
or twenty minutes while someone went looking for the absent duke.
Stepping over lightly, Meredith opened the door and peeked her head through.
Her gaze fell on a delightful room. Wide windows let in the sun, a little shaded now it was late afternoon, but still gloriously bright. Decorated in light blue, there were false Grecian columns all along the walls, with cherubs flying amongst rose blossoms painted on the ceiling. The place was spotless—Mrs. Martin encouraged sufficient terror in the maids, she thought dryly.
Meredith was almost afraid to step inside and disturb the quiet beauty of it all. Only when she turned to leave did she notice a set of three wooden tables, each with pretty ornaments on them. There was a mark on one of the tables, as though something had been removed from it after standing there for a long time. The sun mark was quite distinct.
Closing the door quietly, Meredith looked across the hallway. There was the drawing room, which she only peered into for a minute. It was a room, after all, that she had spent an inordinate amount of time in, the duke being so late.
Meredith smiled. He had not expected her to be so…well, direct, she could tell. Perhaps that was why she had seen nothing of him the last few days?
Returning to the hallway, she stepped across to the third door, her mouth falling open as she took in the sight.
A library.
Meredith had always believed every home should have a library—or at least, any home with the funds to secure a governess.
But this? This was incredible. It was beyond anything she could have ever imagined. Books lined the walls, floor to ceiling, in beautiful wooden bookcases with delicate filigree grills protecting them. A pair of mullioned windows at the other end of the room were the only walls without books, and even then, someone had cleverly designed window seats comprising of bookshelves. Several armchairs were scattered about the room, some leather, some a rich fabric with embroidery on the arms. Cushions adorned each one of them. Everything, in fact, one needed for a delightful reading experience.
Meredith stepped inside and closed the door, leaning against it to take it all in.
A Governess of Great Talents Page 6