A Governess of Great Talents

by Murdoch, Emily E K

  “I wish I had known them,” she said gently. “Perhaps Alfred will speak with you about them when you are older. Until then…”

  She looked pointedly at his desk, and Archibald lowered his head over his worksheet.

  Meredith let out a breath slowly. She would have to be careful around Archibald. It was clear he picked up a lot more about his brother than she had expected. It was frequently the children of the house who noticed these things, but the last thing she needed was for him to start noticing how she felt about Alfred.

  The Duke of Rochdale. She had to remember to call him by his proper title—, particularly in her report. She glanced back at where she had got to.

  In accordance with the guidelines established by the Governess Bureau, I have sought ways of rewarding my pupil without spoiling him (NB: horse riding and future attendance at family events), which have been approved by the master (Alfred Carmichael, Duke of Rochdale)

  Meredith picked up her quill and continued.

  …which have been approved by the master (Alfred Carmichael, Duke of Rochdale), who is very busy with election matters. I see the duke approx. once a week and have been informed he is pleased with my progress with his half-brother.

  She examined the words carefully, trying to think whether they could be misconstrued—or taken as a lie. She did not think so. Every syllable there was true; she did not see Alfred often, and he had praised her for her attentions to Archibald.

  No guilt rose in her stomach. She had not lied.

  Meredith knew there was a pile of marking still to be completed, and if she was going to introduce music in a few weeks, she would need to brush up on her sightreading. There was a piano somewhere in the house, wasn’t there?

  She had taken Beauty for a long ride only the day before and did not wish to overly tire her, so Meredith decided to descend downstairs and hunt down the pianoforte. If it was not tuned, she would need to speak to Mrs. Martin about securing someone to see to it.

  The house was quiet, and so she was surprised to hear the gentle murmur of voices coming from the drawing room as she stepped past the door.

  Meredith hesitated. If it had been Roberts, or Mrs. Martin, or even Mr. Walker, Mr. Hemming, Mr. Shaw, or Mr. Brown, gentlemen who were frequently at the house as the election grew closer, she would not have bothered to listen, but this was quite different.

  A quiet medley of several voices emanated from the door, which was slightly ajar.

  “—taxes do not make any sense no how, if they knew anything about cattle—”

  “—will help us, won’t you, Your Grace?”

  There was a moment of silence, and Meredith stepped silently closer to the door.

  “I will do what I can for you, as I always do,” came Alfred’s voice, sounding to Meredith’s mind a little tired. “But I cannot pretend to have the power here, Mr. Johnson, Mr. Hastings. You must remember that Westminster is a complicated beast, and I am running to be a member of Parliament, not Head of—”

  “I expect better from our elected representatives,” a man said gruffly.

  A spike of irritation pierced Meredith’s heart. What was Alfred supposed to do? He had just explained he had little power at Parliament. She would not have been surprised if Alfred had responded just as irritably as she felt, but instead…

  “I quite understand your frustration, Mr. Hastings, and I wish I could do more,” said Alfred. “And let us not get ahead of ourselves. There are still several weeks between now and the election, and I am by no means guaranteed to win. What we must consider is—”

  “You will win, though, won’t you?” It was a woman’s voice who spoke this time. “You’re a Carmichael. We always have a Carmichael.”

  Meredith stepped forward. She could make out a group of townsfolk who were surrounding Alfred with their well-meaning questions and desperate requests.

  He looked tired. The silver around his temples gleamed in the afternoon light, and there were a few lines around his eyes that had not been there before.

  “I have always done what I can to serve the people of Rochdale,” came his quiet reply. “I am fighting this election to the best of my ability, Mrs. Hastings, and I am sure you will support me in any way you can. But you must consider that John Talbot may end up being—”

  “John Talbot?” A man’s voice sounded outraged. “We cannot have the likes of him representing us in Parliament, Y’Grace, you have to do something!”

  “Due process will out, Mr. Johnson, and we will know in a few weeks just who will be taking the concerns of Rochdale to London,” came the weary response from the duke. “Now, explain to me again just what the problem is with your cattle and the new restrictions about movement. Perhaps I can find a solution as magistrate.”

  The conversation continued on, but Meredith had little interest in the vagaries of cattle management. No, it was Alfred she cared about.

  Poor man. Despite having no interest whatsoever in being a member of Parliament, from the little he had said, he still did all he could to protect and serve the people in his care.

  It was madness, really. The one person who would excel at being a member of Parliament, and he had no wish to do so!

  “—must thank you, Your Grace,” was the next snatch of wording she heard, and Meredith blinked. Was the conversation over? Were they leaving? “We appreciate your time and your expertise.”

  There were murmurs of thanks and a few scuffling footsteps as they bowed. Meredith stepped back quickly, entering the library. It would never do to be caught eavesdropping!

  As the drawing room door opened and people poured out, Meredith stepped forward.

  “Ah, good afternoon,” she said pleasantly.

  A few of the farmers nodded as their wives stared curiously, but none spoke. As the last one disappeared out of the front door, Alfred stepped out of the drawing room.

  “Just listening to the people,” he said almost apologetically.

  Meredith smiled. “I know,” she said quietly. “I mean…I overheard a little. When I was going to the library.”

  She pointed as though that would convince him of the veracity of her words.

  Alfred nodded. “They are good people. I am fortunate to have them as my tenants.”

  “And your constituents,” added Meredith with a sense of mischief. “But I think, in reality, they are the fortunate ones. You were so good with them, so kind. I was surprised, after all your talk of not wishing to enter Parliament. I think you would be rather good at it.”

  Had she gone too far? It was rather forward to offer an opinion, but it was a wonder she was able to speak at all; her body was tingling all over at being just a few feet from him.

  Alfred laughed. “Yes, so they tell me. I think ’tis bred into you, something that comes down in the blood. Once Archibald is older, you’ll see. It will be the same for him, and we will help him prepare for this life.”

  We will help him prepare for this life…

  Meredith swallowed. This was not a partnership; this was business. She was a governess. It was expected that she would help Archibald prepare for his future.

  “Won’t…won’t he go to school?” Meredith said, grasping at something to say.

  Alfred stepped toward her. “Perhaps. At some point. But that is so far away. I do not wish to think about you leaving.”

  He was very close. Almost as close as he had been when they had almost kissed after their dinner.

  “Then,” she breathed, trying to make her voice stronger. “Then yes, I will help him prepare. If I am still here.”

  Was that a look of pain across Alfred’s face? “You are thinking of leaving?”

  “No, no,” said Meredith hastily. “But…Alfred, you know that kiss cannot be repeated. We cannot allow…we must not.”

  Her words were inadequate to explain the pain within her, but she had to speak. She had to show him she knew that door was closed.

  The fact that she wished to kiss him right now, in the hallway of hi
s own home, where anyone could come across them, was neither here nor there. She had to do the right thing. She had to protect herself, her name, and her reputation.

  “Even if I wish it?” Alfred’s voice was low, passionate, and he took another step toward her.

  Meredith backed away. “Especially then.”

  Alfred’s jaw tightened, and she saw his self-control reassert itself. He nodded curtly and walked away, up the main staircase and out of sight.

  Meredith leaned against the wall, heart fluttering. Well, it was over with. She had said her piece, and now she did not have to worry about kissing Alfred Carmichael ever again.

  Chapter Twelve

  September 12, 1812

  If there was one skill every politician needed to learn, Alfred thought as he attempted to subdue another yawn, it was preventing oneself from yawning at inopportune moments.

  Far more important than the wheeling and dealing of Parliament, he thought lazily as he tried to attend to Mr. Hemming.

  “…each neighborhood in turn, as though attempting to make it clear he has any care for them whatsoever,” droned on Mr. Hemming in his slow manner. “The cheek of it all! To think John Talbot believes he can convince all he truly has their best wishes in his heart—”

  “Was that not what we did during the last election?” Alfred interrupted, looking at Mr. Walker. “I seem to remember walking an inordinate distance meeting several hundred people.”

  Mr. Hemming looked outraged. “That’s as may be, Your Grace, but this is completely different! When you met with the people of Rochdale, you did so because you actually cared about them, their hurts, their hopes, their welfare! You wished to ensure they were happy, and you did so!”

  Mr. Walker nodded impressively, and Alfred smiled. You knew something had been said well when Mr. Walker had nothing further to add.

  “You all believe in me so strongly,” Alfred said quietly. “Your devotion to me, to my family, to this election campaign is admirable. You know I take this responsibility upon myself. But…” His voice hesitated. How could he best explain this? He had attempted it so many times. “But gentlemen, you must remember that there is a chance I will not win this election.”

  “I don’t want to hear that sort of talk,” said Mr. Hemming. “That breeds panic.”

  Alfred tried not to roll his eyes at the older gentleman. “’Tis hardly panic, sir, to speak of what may be.”

  “The chances are so small, Your Grace, there seems no point in discussing them,” said Mr. Walker in his matter-of-fact tone. “I worry about storms, yes, but I do not concern myself with bandits stealing my corn.”

  There were murmured nods around the dining room table, where their current meeting was being held. The town hall, Alfred had been amused to hear, had been reserved. For John Talbot and his election committee.

  “Besides, there are far more important and pressing things to review,” said Mr. Hemming, scrabbling away in his notes. “The ball, for instance.”

  Alfred’s heart sank. The ball. He had managed to avoid the topic for over a week, but it appeared he would not be so fortunate today.

  “Is it really essential we discuss it now?” he tried, playing for more time.

  Mr. Walker’s heavy eyebrows met in a frown. “I know ’tis not your favorite pastime, Your Grace, but it is a very useful campaign tool and a great way to ensure people’s votes. I do not believe a Rochdale Ball has been held for months. Is that correct, Mrs. Martin?”

  Mrs. Martin nodded, and Alfred was astonished to find he had not noticed she was there. The dining room was packed, as it always was, with well-wishers, campaign experts, and a few of the house staff, who were serving tea and bringing fresh platters of biscuits to the table, which was why Alfred suspected Mrs. Walker was in attendance.

  It was she who spoke next, cup of tea in one hand, biscuit in the other. “Oh yes, you must hold a ball, Your Grace, you know you must. Everyone who is anyone must be invited.”

  “It would do the place good to be shown off,” said Mrs. Martin with a nod. “Though before that, we must identify what exactly is going on here.”

  Alfred’s heart skipped a beat. His housekeeper was looking stern, as though she had caught him out—which of course, to some, he could have been. Kissing one’s brother’s governess was, after all, hardly encouraged.

  “What is going on here?” Mr. Hemming in confusion. “I do not follow.”

  Mrs. Martin drew herself up in a manner reminiscent of a robin preparing for winter and looked around the room impressively before speaking. “I mean, Your Grace, things are being mislaid. Precious things. Two portraits of your parents, the golden pocket watch. There used to be an ivory figurine on that table there,” she pointed, and everyone turned to look at the empty table, “which your dear mother purchased while on honeymoon in Rome. That’s gone.”

  Alfred sighed, leaning back in his chair. For a moment, he had been convinced she had discovered his illicit assignation with Meredith.

  “Ah, I see,” he said vaguely. “Right, well, of course, let’s look into it. And this ball, the one we must have. Let us name the date next week, get the damned thing over with—oh, my apologies, Mrs. Martin, Mrs. Walker.”

  Christ in his heavens, he had forgotten they had women present!

  “Yes, we can decide on the date next week,” said Mr. Hemming, making a note. “The guest list—”

  “You misunderstand me, sir,” said Alfred quickly. “I mean to say that the ball itself will be next week. Mrs. Martin, choose a day.”

  “Next…next week?” Mrs. Martin was staring as though he were mad. “One cannot simply organize a ball in a week! These things take months to plan, there is food to source, musicians to book, I will need to polish the ballroom floor at least…”

  Alfred allowed her to chatter on. There was no point in attempting to slow her down when Mrs. Martin got herself into motion. A ball! God’s teeth, he could think of few things worse than hundreds of bodies pouring into his home, his ballroom, the noise and chatter, the expense, needing to speak to each and every person to keep Walker happy…

  Well, he could think of something worse. Parliament. It really was a dammed shame it looked as though he would win the election.

  “It will be next week,” he snapped. “Next week, Mrs. Martin. I give you full reign over the house and expenses. Bring in girls from the town if you need pairs of hands.”

  Mrs. Martin’s mouth fell open, but no words came out.

  Mr. Walker cleared this throat instead. “Is it so urgent it must be rushed, Your Grace?”

  Alfred nodded. “The election isn’t that far away now—only eight weeks. The sooner we can host this ball, and everyone can come here and see how I am such a wonderful member of Parliament, then they can be convinced to vote for me, and that’s all that matters.”

  He had not managed to remove all the sarcasm from his tones. There were flushed faces around the dining table, though that may have been because of the heat of the day.

  “You still have not replaced my undermaid,” said Mrs. Martin hotly. “I am run off my feet already, Your Grace, and there will be no let-up as we go into winter, with half the house to put to sleep and the laundry taking twice as long!”

  Was that a titter of laughter coming from one of the gentlemen? Alfred felt greatly discomforted. This meeting was not intended to air his dirty laundry, even metaphorically.

  “No, I am sorry, Your Grace,” said Mrs. Martin dramatically. “It cannot be done.”

  Silence rang out across the dining room with a few awkward looks exchanged. Alfred swallowed. How was he supposed to reply to that?

  “I can help.”

  Everyone turned to the doorway. The door was open, and there stood…Meredith.

  Alfred stared and then hastily rose to his feet, which he regretted immediately. Why was he rising for a governess?

  It was impossible to ignore the wave of heat spreading across his chest. Dressed plainly in a cotton day gown, Me
redith was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  This was foolishness, idiocy! Alfred warned himself. You are fixating on this woman because she is here, because she is available. Nothing more.

  However, he had, at her request, attempted to prevent another kiss, which had necessitated drastic action on his part. Namely, staying entirely away from her.

  Yet his waking thoughts and sleeping dreams were full of her. Meredith. What he felt was not mere lust, though there was certainly a flavor of that in his thoughts. But it was more than that. What it was, exactly…

  “I do not believe we have met, Miss…?” Mr. Hemming had also risen to his feet, and Alfred was relieved to see this prompted the other gentlemen in the room to do likewise.

  “This is the governess,” Mrs. Martin said in clipped tones.

  Alfred frowned. It was not like her to be so unfriendly to another. Roberts and Mrs. Martin had always managed to get along quite swimmingly.

  Alfred opened his mouth to say something in Meredith’s defense.

  “Yes, I am the governess to Master Archibald,” Meredith said, curtseying and stepping into the room. “I was also the governess for the Earl of Marnmouth and helped organize his daughter’s coming out ball.”

  There were looks of surprise around the room, Alfred saw to his satisfaction, but none so impressed as Mrs. Martin.

  He tried not to laugh. Rivalry was always something pleasant to watch at the sidelines. He had heard the tales of Mrs. Martin and Roberts’s disagreements in the past, but they had a respect for each other. This was something entirely different.

  “The Earl of Marnmouth?” repeated Mr. Hemming.

  Meredith’s smile broadened. “I have excellent references, if you would like to have them examined.”

  “I suppose it was the earl’s housekeeper who did the work,” Mrs. Martin said icily.

  Meredith, instead of arguing as Alfred expected, nodded. “Of course, and I was not suggesting that I do that here. But you have said you require help, and I am offering my services. The question is, will you accept them?”