Was she an orphan, then? Alfred had to assume she was. From his little knowledge of these things, any young lady who could read Latin would surely come from a genteel family—and would she not be with them if she had anyone else to support her?
She supported herself, and that must mean she was alone in the world. What other option did she have, other than to be in a stranger’s house?
“Your Grace!”
There was a clattering and a shout. Alfred looked up hurriedly. His gaze had fallen to his hands in his lap as he had considered the enigma that was Miss Hubert, but it appeared his inattention had once again been noticed.
Mr. Walker had dropped his notebook onto the table and rubbed his eyes as he faced his duke. “This is getting us nowhere if you cannot concentrate.”
Alfred looked hastily at Mr. Hemming, who unusually was nodding in agreement with Mr. Walker. A twist of guilt turned his stomach. He was better than this; he knew he was.
“I really will try my hardest, Mr. Walker, Mr. Hemming,” he said quietly. “It is just…so many other concerns on my mind. I am sure you understand.”
Mr. Hemming was nodding appreciatively, as though he could in any way comprehend the responsibilities of a duke.
Mr. Walker, on the other hand, did not look so impressed. “I do not doubt you want to, Your Grace, that is not in question. But today, you evidently cannot!”
Alfred opened his mouth but closed it again.
“Humph.” Mr. Walker sat heavily down into an armchair. “I think it best to leave you, Your Grace, but before we depart, there is one decision you must make. The ball.”
Alfred blinked. “Ball?”
Ball? He could not remember any of their conversation mentioning a ball.
Mr. Hemming exchanged a glance with Mr. Walker, who said, “Your Grace, it is almost as though you do not wish to be reelected!”
Guilt swam over Alfred’s heart. Those were words he had never expected to hear from Mr. Walker.
The fact that this particular Rochdale had absolutely no joy in the prospect was neither here nor there, and he was certainly not going to mention it. Be the first Rochdale who did not hold onto the family seat? Never!
“A ball,” Alfred said slowly. “A ball—here?”
Mr. Walker nodded. “An excellent way to endear yourself with the nobility and gentry in the area, Your Grace. Think of it as a way to encourage people to think well of you.”
Alfred could not help but grin at this statement. “My my, you do not believe they have sufficient reasons yet?”
A flush colored Mr. Walker’s cheeks, and that blasted guilt that never seemed too far away bit at Alfred’s heart again. He should not tease Mr. Walker, not at his age.
“Yes, yes, a ball,” he said hastily. “I will speak to Roberts and Mrs. Martin about it. A ball. I am sure that will be just the thing.”
Alfred rose, a genteel signal to the two visitors that their time was over. Mr. Hemming rose quickly and bowed, but Mr. Walker took a little time to get out of his seat—partly, Alfred thought, to demonstrate that he could just as easily decide to stay if he wanted to.
“I wish we had discussed a little more this afternoon,” he said, not bothering to hide his disappointment. “But there it is. Balls have been used for decades, Your Grace, to encourage people to vote for the incumbent Rochdale. It is the way things have always been done. Your father did it, and his father, and—”
“And I suppose my sons will do it, too,” interrupted Alfred with a wry smile. “Fine, fine, a ball. As I said, I will leave the particulars to Mrs. Martin. As to the guest list—”
“I suppose we will have no choice but to invite the Talbots, too,” said Mr. Hemming with a frown.
Alfred did balk at this suggestion. “Really? Talbots, in my house? I would rather not have that brigand over my threshold, if at all possible.”
It was difficult to say why he had such a poor reaction to John Talbot. If the man had been any different, Alfred would feel guilty for taking such an instant dislike to him all those years ago—but then, perhaps if he had been different, he would not have been so easy to dislike in the first place.
Alfred’s knuckles whitened as his hands unconsciously clenched. He had seen that damned man recently, riding past him that day he had accompanied Meredith—Miss Hubert—on a ride.
Talbot had smirked without saying a word, and Alfred had found his dislike for the man increase once again.
“I quite understand your reticence, Your Grace,” said Mr. Hemming smoothly, “but it would be bad form indeed not to invite them. To leave them the only ones not invited to a Rochdale Ball? No, it simply would not be done.”
Alfred glanced instinctively at Mr. Walker, but the older man was nodding.
“Besides,” said Mr. Walker, “we will also invite his sister, Miss Wilhelmina Talbot, and I hear she is quite beautiful.”
There was a hint there if Alfred chose to see it. He did not.
“Not now, Walker,” he said, forcefully but with goodwill. “A conversation for another day, if we have to have it at all.”
“Well, then, we have no more to discuss today,” said Mr. Walker with a much better attempt at goodwill. “I will take my leave of you, Your Grace.”
He bowed to Alfred, who returned the courtesy, and after Mr. Hemming had also given the room his bow, the two gentlemen started walking to the door.
Mr. Walker paused. “There used to be such a lovely golden pocket watch there, on the side. Where did you put it?”
Alfred glanced over but could not recall there being anything different.
“A gold pocket watch with a long chain,” added Mr. Walker helpfully.
“Ah, my father’s,” said Alfred, the memory surfacing. “Yes, I recall it. You know, I do not know where it is. I imagine Mrs. Martin has taken it for cleaning, an excellent woman.”
Mr. Walker nodded, and within another few moments, the door closed behind them, and Alfred was left alone.
In peace. Dropping onto the sofa and closing his eyes with a groan, Alfred sighed with relief and wondered whether he would be able to keep going with this sort of nonsense forever. The election was supposed to be only a month or so away, but it appeared to have taken years to get through the last fortnight.
If only he could escape. He had considered it once before, what felt now like an age ago, but it had been his duty which had kept him here. He would not abandon the family name.
And now…now there was an additional incentive to remain at Rochdale Abbey. Miss Meredith Hubert.
Alfred’s eyes snapped open. What was he thinking? This was madness! She was his half-brother’s governess, for pity’s sake. The last thing he needed was to fool himself into thinking there was some sort of connection there!
No, he had been cooped up too long, that was his problem. He needed some fresh air. Rising decisively and moving toward the door, Alfred breathed in as he stepped into the hallway. The front door was still open, allowing a pleasant breeze to wash into the house. All he needed to do was distract himself. Do something else. Go somewhere else.
Then all thoughts of Miss Hubert could be rid from his mind.
“Ah, Your Grace.” Roberts stepped forward out of nowhere, from what Alfred could tell. “I hoped to catch you.”
“Roberts, what can I help you with?”
The butler sighed. “’Tis the post I am afraid, Your Grace.”
Alfred blinked. “The post?”
“Yes, your letters from London. They have got as far as Peterborough, I am informed, but do not have sufficient postage to make their way up to Rochdale,” said Roberts smoothly. “I require your permission to send three guineas to the Postmaster at—”
“No need,” said Alfred hurriedly. Peterborough, yes, good. Any excuse to leave Rochdale for a few days and get Miss Hubert out of his head. “I will go myself. That way, I can deal with some of the letters there, reduce the time for replies back to London.”
If Roberts was surprised that the Duke of Rochd
ale was happily taking such an errand upon himself, he did not show it.
“Very good, Your Grace,” he said quietly. “I shall inform your valet of your trip. Leaving today?”
Alfred nodded. “Before supper, I think. I’ll dine on the road.”
The butler bowed and disappeared down into the servants’ corridor.
Just a few hours to while away before he would be gone, Meredith out of his mind. It was only after allowing his feet to meander and take them wherever they wanted did Alfred realize the problem. They had brought him, unconsciously, right to the door of the schoolroom.
Christ and all his saints! Was he really so easily led? Was his manhood doing the thinking for him now?
The door to the schoolroom was once again slightly ajar, and Alfred could just make out the boy through the crack. He appeared to be paying close attention to the lesson, which was rather surprising. Alfred and Archibald had always been cut from the same cloth in that regard. Attention was something paid to oneself, not to others.
But look at him now.
“…the hypotenuse, here, you see?”
“Yes, Miss Hubert,” said Archibald obediently, writing something down with a scratchy pencil.
Hypotenuse? That was not a word Alfred had heard in a long time.
“And so geometrically, what can we now calculate?”
Archibald looked up from his worksheet. “We…we can calculate the angle of the opposing corner, Miss Hubert.”
A noise—a scraping noise of chalk against blackboard. “Well done, Archibald. So, if we take this triangle here and assume that side c is the hypotenuse…”
Alfred’s mouth fell open. If he was not mistaken, and it was quite possible that he could be, this was rather advanced mathematics for a child!
Shifting to see whether he could catch a glimpse of the governess who had been intruding on his thoughts overly much that afternoon, he saw her.
Miss Hubert. She was standing by the blackboard covered in triangles of all shapes and sizes. Most of them had numbers scrawled along the lines. It was utter gibberish to him, but Archibald was replying to Miss Hubert as though he could understand all that nonsense!
A sudden warmth rushed over him. Meredith. He liked her.
He could not help it! Anyone would like the polite miss who had taken such pains with his brother over the last few weeks and encouraged such a change in him. The warmth spread from his stomach and up his chest, into his heart. He had never expected such impact from the mere hiring of a governess.
But these were not merely the feelings of gratitude for a pleasant and obedient servant, Alfred knew that. These were…well. The feelings a gentleman had for a lady.
And he had to ignore them. The instinct to pull her out of the schoolroom and into his arms, for example, was one best left alone. As was the one where they were alone, and suddenly all her clothes were…
No! If he knew what was good for him, and for Meredith—Miss Hubert—he would stay away from her. For her own good.
“If you would like to join the class, Rochdale, you will need to find a desk.”
Alfred started. Meredith had spoken with some amusement and was now smiling—right at him!
The door had evidently moved slightly to reveal him standing outside. Damn.
“What are you doing out there, Alfred?” giggled Archibald as Alfred stepped into the room. “Are you joining us for algebra today? I don’t think it’s very useful for real life or politics, do you? Can I go riding tomorrow?”
Alfred raised an eyebrow at Meredith. The boy had a point, even if he did not wish to admit it. How was she going to explain that one?
Meredith smiled, and Alfred’s heart skipped a beat.
“Actually, Master Archibald, I disagree,” said the governess. “We have spent the day understanding how to calculate unknowns based on the knowledge we have. When you are in politics, you will experience many unknowns around you. Just like in geometry, you will have to attempt to decode them one at a time to see what you are left with.”
Alfred had to work to keep his face straight. The last thing he needed was for Meredith to realize just how impressed he was with her.
Good God, this Governess Bureau really did send the most extraordinary women.
“Oh, I see,” said Archibald, nodding. “Thank you, Miss Hubert.”
Now Alfred could see the blackboard properly, he was surprised to see how complex the problems were. How was it possible the boy was learning something so challenging? Why, he was not even sure whether he could solve them!
“Listen to your governess,” he said quietly, “and finish your sums while I talk with her for a moment.”
“Then can I take Polly the pony and—”
“Finish your sums.”
Archibald nodded happily and leaned over his worksheet once more as Alfred stepped forward and pulled Meredith into a corner.
What he wouldn’t give for the boy to be gone, leaving them alone to—
“Miss Hubert,” he said hastily. “May I ask why you are bothering to teach this sort of geometry to an eight-year-old? They are much too challenging!”
Despite his disapproval, Meredith smiled. “Really? Well, do not tell Archibald that. If he doesn’t know he is too young to learn it, I find he just learns it.”
Alfred smiled, despite himself. Meredith had an entirely different outlook on the world, one he had never encountered before. What was it that they said about different perspectives in politics? That they would always help to win elections?
Win elections…
“Miss Hubert,” Alfred found himself saying impulsively, “will you dine with me?”
Meredith looked astonished, and Alfred found his stomach twisting in a most discomforting way. Was this…embarrassment?
“Not today,” he added hastily, remembering the damned Peterborough visit he had just organized. “I must be away for a few days. But when I get back. Will you dine with me?”
Why did she hesitate? Could she sense his desire, the not altogether innocent reason for his invitation?
“To discuss Archibald, naturally,” Alfred added.
Only then did Meredith smile. “Ah, I see. Of course, Your Gr—I mean, Rochdale. I will dine with you.”
Alfred smiled. “Good. Good.”
It took almost a full minute for him to realize he was now just standing in a corner with the governess, staring at her. After a hurried goodbye to Archibald, Alfred found himself in the corridor, and he leaned against the wall in a daze.
What was this woman doing to him?
Chapter Nine
August 26, 1812
Meredith examined herself carefully in the small looking glass Mrs. Martin had deigned to give her after a third request. It was cracked down one side, had some spotting in the corners, and Meredith could only see herself properly if she stepped backward and moved from side to side, seeing half of herself at a time.
It did not matter. Even with this tiny looking glass, she could see she was not sufficiently attired for dinner with a duke.
If only she had thought about it while in London, but it had not even occurred to her that she would need to provide herself with fashion for these occasions.
The Earl and Countess of Marnmouth had not ever stood upon ceremony. They were just as likely to join her and the children in the nursery dining room.
A clean day gown had been sufficient in their dining room. Meredith bit her lip. She had no idea what to expect from this duke, and the one evening gown she owned now appeared pathetically plain.
She smoothed down the silk with her fingertips. Not anything like the best silk to be had, and the style itself was a little out of date. By some miracle, it was almost the right shade of Carmichael blue, which the footmen wore. But what if Alfred considered it an attempt to impress in a rather coquettish manner?
And what if he invited her to dine again? She could not simply wear the same gown over and over again; he would notice!
This was
a mistake. She should never have accepted his invitation.
“Miss Hubert, will you dine with me?”
A smile crept over Meredith’s face. She was thinking about this as though it were some sort of punishment. As though she was being forced to dine with him.
As though spending time alone with the handsome Duke of Rochdale was something to avoid.
Meredith swallowed down those thoughts and tried to ensure her sleeves were equally smooth. If only she had thought to purchase an evening gown of the latest fashion while in London. She doubted Rochdale Town had yet to see the style of gown she was wearing now, they were likely so behind with the fashions.
But what did it matter? As Meredith stepped out of the looking glass’ reflection and put on the only earbobs she owned, she told herself calmly she was being ridiculous.
She had never come out into society—she had never been a part of society to begin with. Getting herself into a state about this dinner was foolish. It was quite natural for a master and his governess to discuss the charges under her care. Really, it should have occurred in the first few weeks, not after a month of service.
Meredith smiled. She had dined with the Countess of Marnmouth once a week to discuss the young Egertons. This was much the same as that.
Except it wasn’t. Because she wasn’t about to dine with a woman in her early forties about her children. She was dining with a gentleman who was far more handsome than any other she had known, whose jaw tightened when he thought she was not looking, who made her feel…
Meredith straightened up and stared at herself in the looking glass. A woman with dark hair and no other beauty stared back.
She sighed. This was all wrong. Her employer wished to know more about Archibald’s education, and that was all.
“May I ask why you are bothering to teach this sort of geometry to an eight-year-old? They are much too challenging!”
Meredith recalled the way Alfred had looked in that moment. Possessive. Intrigued. As though he wished to…
“No!” Meredith found she had spoken aloud.
No, this was ridiculous. She was seeing something that wasn’t there; why, she had no idea. She could never…she would not…
A Governess of Great Talents Page 11