Glancing down the sheet, more doodles than answers, it was quite clear Archibald had taken in almost nothing. There were two half-hearted attempts to answer the first question, a complete guess for the second. The third had little stick people running around it. The fourth had not yet been reached.
Meredith tried to hide her smile. It was hardly the most riveting of subjects, true, and in this heat, it was difficult to complain.
Archibald said nervously, “Have…have I got it all wrong?”
Meredith looked up. “And why do you say that?”
The boy looked even more upset, fingers fidgeting in a ball before him. “Alfred says math is important for a future politician, to understand the budget and…and the impact on the economy of our decisions,” Archibald said in a rush, as though reciting what he had been told. “Father always said I had to be the best I could be. I never knew my mother, so I do not know if she was any good at sums. Did…did I get the answers wrong?”
There was such genuine concern in his face, Meredith could not bring herself to discuss where he had gone wrong.
The poor lad. What a household to grow up in, what an example his brother was leading for him.
As a governess, one met so many different children, but they generally fell into one of two types. Either they needed to feel the weight of their mistakes before they felt any incentivization to learn and do better, or they were driven internally by a sense of fear or joy to excel.
Archibald was the latter. Punishment would not work on him, nor would the manipulation so beloved by governesses of making him feel small and powerless in her presence.
That was not Meredith’s way. Archibald already had the weight of the Carmichael name on his shoulders, his life already planned for him, as it was for his brother.
How had Alfred—the duke—put it?
“I cannot play in the dirt with a child. I need to win this election, Archibald, you know that.”
Archibald’s gaze had dropped to his shoes, his fingers still tightly knitted together.
Meredith sighed. The duke clearly understood his weight of responsibility was too much for him to carry, so why on earth he believed it was appropriate to put that same weight on an eight-year-old boy was beyond her.
Still, she was not here to raise young Archibald. She was here to teach him.
Her gaze drifted to the window. The trees were moving now, a gentle breeze starting to bring some relief to the baking air.
“Archibald,” she said gently. “I think we are finished in the schoolroom for today. It is time to get your body moving, rather than your brain.”
The boy looked up, but with none of the enthusiasm Meredith had expected.
“Move? Outside?” he said plaintively. “I do not want to go outside, it is too hot!”
Meredith smiled. “You will not feel so hot when you are on a horse, riding at speed, creating your own breeze! Come on.”
She rose and placed the worksheet on her desk, ready for a cooler day, but she had not even reached the door to the corridor before Archibald ran forward and grabbed her arm.
“But—but I am not allowed to ride alone!”
Meredith looked down into the innocent boy’s face and felt a rush of affection for him. Rules, regulations, and restrictions; that was all Archibald had ever known. When was he to be a child?
“You are not alone,” she said smartly as she opened the door and started striding down the corridor. “I will be with you.”
Archibald did not look overly convinced as they approached the backstairs, and Meredith almost laughed. There was something so familiar in that look of distrust.
“Archibald Carmichael, I am in charge of your education,” she said in a mock severe tone, finally getting a smile out of him, “and not all the education you require can be achieved in the schoolroom. Come on, keep up.”
Her feet were taking her quickly down the backstairs and along the corridor that led to the backdoor. Archibald’s eyes were wide, and it was only then that Meredith realized he had probably never taken the backstairs before. Of course, he hadn’t; he was the heir to the Duchy of Rochdale!
Her thoughts were confirmed as they turned a corner and almost ran headlong into Mrs. Martin, arms full of clean bed linens.
“My lord!” the housekeeper said as she stared at Archibald. “What in heaven—what are you doing here? Miss Hubert, I did not think I would have to tell you that a Rochdale never takes the backstairs!”
Meredith attempted to keep her face straight. It was difficult not to smile at the look of outrage and indignation on the woman’s face.
“I quite understand your concerns, Mrs. Martin,” said Meredith smoothly, “but as this part of the house is so much cooler than the rest, I wanted to consider my lord’s temperature. I know that you, as well as I, would hate for him to catch a heat fever.”
Mrs. Martin’s eyes snapped to Archibald, raking over his flushed cheeks and slightly sweaty brow. She bit her lip and carefully weighed up, from what Meredith could see, her desire to berate the governess and her devotion to the young master.
“Fine,” she snapped irritably, shifting the heavy weight of the bed linens in her arms, herself flushed. “But do not let the master see, for pity’s sake!”
Without another word, she hurried up the stairs they had just come down. The poor woman was still very busy, Meredith thought as she watched her go. Why was it the undermaid—Butters, wasn’t it?—had not been replaced? It could not be clearer that Mrs. Martin was doing far too much.
A tug on her sleeve. “Are we really going to the stables?”
Meredith nodded. “I said we would, so that is where we are going. Come on.”
The stables were easily accessible from the back door, and as Meredith and Archibald stepped out, she felt that warm breeze on her face. It was better than nothing, she supposed, but as she walked forward, Archibald held back.
She paused. “Are you quite well, Archibald?”
The boy hesitated. “I…I am not usually allowed in the stables. Only when Alfred says I can.”
Meredith tried not to allow her irritation to surface. For all of Alfred’s—the duke’s—impressive words about how the Carmichael boys had their futures, their duties mapped out for them, he was not doing very much to help Archibald achieve them.
He was a full eight years old and was never permitted to be around horses?
Madness!
“Archibald, I repeat—I am in charge of your education,” she said calmly. “Your bother has entrusted you to me in this regard, and so that is precisely what I am going to do. We will start with tack, and a little riding experience. I will not push you to do anything you do not want to do.”
She watched the sense of her words sink into Archibald’s mind, watched him weigh them as only a boy could, and then he nodded.
“Come on, then,” she said gently.
Henderson, the head of the Carmichael stables, gave her a knowing smile as she appeared in the doorway with Archibald’s hand in hers.
“Afternoon, Miss Meredith,” he said.
There were few people Meredith would have permitted to call her that. She had a position of respectability in the household and really should be addressed as Miss Hubert.
But Henderson was a man in his fifties, perhaps older, and knew horses like no one else did. He had a way with them even she did not, and Meredith had no false modesty when it came to horses. She knew them well. Better than most.
“I thought you might be coming down here today,” Henderson continued with a smile, “but I did not expect you to bring young master with you.”
His wrinkled face smiled at the boy, and Meredith felt Archibald step into her instinctively.
Did…did he not know Henderson? How was a boy supposed to be raised to lead if he did not even know his own servants?
“Ah, I never seen a natural like your governess, boy,” said Henderson gently. “You are in good hands with her, I think.”
Meredith s
miled and squeezed Archibald’s hand. “Practice makes perfect. That is what I always say. Now, Archibald, we are going to start with tack. Come over here and sit on a hay bale for me.”
He nodded mutely and dropped onto the hay bale. Henderson winked at Meredith, who smiled as she pulled out a variety of tack from the rack on the wall.
“What do you think this is used for?” she said quietly.
Archibald’s eyes lit up. “Well, I would guess, something to do with…with the horse’s mouth?”
He came alive in the cool of the stables as he picked up the metal grip, staring at it in fascination.
“How do you think it would be used?” asked Meredith, seating herself opposite him. It was incredible, watching the sleepy, uninterested child perk up and engage once more.
Archibald frowned. “Well…well it looks like…”
Their conversation moved to other pieces of tack, exploring how they worked together, how they were crafted, what materials were used. Archibald took in everything she said, asking questions, becoming more intrigued as they talked.
Meredith smiled as she showed him how two parts interlocked together. She would have to remember to use more physical movement in learning when they returned to the schoolroom. He had learned more in the last fifteen minutes than all morning.
She placed the last piece of tack down on the hay bale beside her. “Well done, Archibald. That was very impressive—though I will test you in a week to see how much you have retained.”
“And can I ride now?” Archibald looked eagerly down the stables, the stalls hiding the horses within but the smell surrounding them.
Meredith could not begrudge his eagerness. Anyone who loved horses had a place in her heart.
“Henderson,” she said quietly, and the man appeared as though by magic. He must have been close, keeping a careful eye on them as interlopers. “Would you mind us tacking up the smallest pony you have, and my mare?”
Henderson’s eyes twinkled. “You can do your own tacking, I think, Miss Meredith, but I will help young master with Polly, our pony.”
“You have a pony called Polly?” said Archibald, standing in his excitement.
Henderson chuckled. “You have, master! ’Twas your brother who named him, young sir, so if you have a problem with it, you can take it up with him! But we have a new foal due any day now, and I am sure if you have a better name, we can try it out on that’n.”
Wide-eyed and no longer afraid of the older man, Archibald wandered off with Henderson to go and find Polly the pony.
Meredith grinned. There was something so special about horses and the people who loved them. You could always find a friend in a stable, that was what…
Her stomach lurched. That was what her father had always said. And he would know. Best thief she had ever known, and horses had been his specialty. Theirs.
She shook herself and moved to Beauty, the horse whinnied in greeting. She had put that life behind her. She was not going to even dwell on it, not for one moment.
“Look, Miss Hubert, look!”
Meredith had just finished tacking Beauty when she turned to see Archibald on Polly, the smallest pony she had ever seen, with Henderson right behind him with a careful hand on Polly’s behind to steer her.
“Very good, Archibald,” she said warmly. “Give me one moment, and I shall join you.”
“Polly is a good one,” said Henderson quietly to her as she mounted her horse. “She’ll follow you as you go. The lad won’t need to do much.”
It was clear Archibald could barely contain his excitement as they walked slowly out of the stables. Henderson had been right; Polly simply followed in Beauty’s wake, giving Archibald all his powers of concentration for sitting correctly.
Meredith watched him. He was gentle with Polly, not tugging at the reins or pulling her mouth. Always a good sign.
“Now, we will not go too far,” she said as she guided Beauty around the stables toward the sweeping lawn. “If it is a mile to that big oak tree, and we ride at one mile an hour, I wonder how long it will take us to get there.”
Archibald giggled, his hand on Polly’s mane. “An hour, of course!”
Meredith grinned. The very first question from his worksheet. Archibald had struggled to even concentrate sufficiently on what the problem was asking him when they were in the schoolroom. The stuffy, stifling schoolroom.
Yet out here, on Polly’s back and with a gentle though warm breeze in the air, it had seemed laughably easy.
Onto the second question, then…
“Alright, clever clogs,” she said good-naturedly. “How about if we rode at sixty miles an hour?”
“Will we?” Archibald asked eagerly.
Meredith laughed. “Not anywhere close, Archibald, but humor me. How long will it take?”
She watched him think, watched the adjustments he was making to stay steady on Polly. He was a natural.
“Why, one minute, I think,” he said eventually.
“Well done, that is clever of you,” she said, nudging Beauty a little to the left, so they kept along the fence at the edge of the garden. She did not want to go too close to the house. She would not want to be accused of distracting the master, not like last time. “And what about if we were riding at one hundred miles per hour?”
This one took Archibald a little longer, and Meredith waited patiently as she watched him concentrate. Seeing a child learn, watching them work it out for themselves, the sense of achievement they had when they finally battled through to the correct answer…
It was why being a governess was so rewarding.
“Good afternoon.”
Meredith jumped. So focused had she been on Archibald and his mathematical problems, she had not realized that on the other side of the fence was a footpath—a public footpath. A gentleman was riding on a stallion at least a few hands taller than her Beauty.
He looked familiar. She recognized him from somewhere, though it was hard to place him. She had been to St. Matthews since she had arrived at Rochdale Abbey. He had to be someone from the church.
Archibald had fallen silent, and as Meredith looked at him, his cheeks flushed.
“Good afternoon,” she replied quietly, in a tone that was polite and yet did not invite further conversation.
The last thing she needed was a reputation for speaking with strange gentlemen she met on public pathways—she would lose her place!
The gentleman, however, did not appear to notice her reticence. “Miss Meredith Hubert, I presume? The governess?”
Meredith watched Archibald’s face turn away. He knew the gentleman, then. Why would he not look at him? Was this a man to avoid, or was this just the shyness of a child?
“You presume correctly,” she said stiffly.
The gentleman smirked, a look that made her skin prickle. It was the look a hunter gave his prey. It was cruel to think of him in that way, she was sure, but he gave her little cause to consider him well.
“John Talbot,” he said with a bow of his head.
Meredith inclined her own but said nothing. John Talbot. The competitor to Alfred Carmichael. But she had no reason to leave, no reason to hide. She had done nothing wrong, and her stubborn streak told her that to do so would be to retreat.
Still, she felt grateful for the thin wooden fence that stood between them.
“I am glad to see young Master Archibald out on this fine day, enjoying nature,” declared Mr. Talbot.
Meredith nodded. She had nothing to say to him. Surely, he would take the hint eventually and go away?
“I do so enjoy nature,” said Mr. Talbot with a grin. “What say you, Miss Hubert?”
“Yes, indeed, very pleasant.”
He made a few more attempts to draw her into a conversation, but Meredith was determined. Short, sharp answers and no smiles. That would force him to leave, wouldn’t it?
It felt like an age until he said, “Well, I will not keep you any longer, Miss Hubert, Master Archibald.�
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Mr. Talbot set his horse into a canter and had soon disappeared from sight.
Meredith shivered. There was something about that man, something she did not like. Her shoulders relaxed, and her breathing slowed. What a strange reaction to a man she barely knew.
Glancing at Archibald, she saw he was glaring in the direction Mr. Talbot had disappeared.
“That man,” he declared in a voice that appeared far older than his years, “is my brother’s enemy.”
Meredith could not help but smile as she nudged Beauty to take the left path before them. “No one has enemies, not really.”
“We do,” said Archibald seriously. “Mr. Talbot is standing against Alfred in the election, and I overheard Roberts say he was a…a blaggard. Is that a rude word?”
It was all she could do to keep a straight face. “I am afraid so, Archibald, and so I will have to ask you not to use it.”
“That’s all right,” Archibald said happily. “I know lots of others.”
Meredith laughed and was about to say he should not really be using any language like that, but the words died in her throat as she saw a horse rider approach in the distance.
If that was Mr. Talbot again, she would simply turn around and take Archibald back to the stables. The last thing she wanted was for an altercation between…
And then she blinked. It was not Mr. Talbot. It was Alfred—the Duke of Rochdale.
Heat seared her cheeks. Not only were her encounters with him rather discomforting, but she was not entirely sure whether he would consider it an impertinence to take Archibald out. What had the child said? That he wasn’t permitted without Alfred?
Archibald obviously sensed he might be in trouble, for his shoulders slumped, and his gaze fell onto the reins he was clutching. Meredith sat up a little straighter. She would not be reprimanded for this. She had done nothing wrong.
“My God, it’s Archie!”
The duke’s words were said in surprise rather than censure, and Meredith was pleasantly surprised to hear that there was a pet name between them, even if he almost never used it.
“Hallo, Alfred,” said Archibald, not looking up.
A Governess of Great Talents Page 9