“Yes, Mrs. Martin?” Meredith said in a quavering voice. She swallowed. She must not allow anyone to think that anything was amiss.
Her bedchamber door opened to show a stern Mrs. Martin. “You are up, then?”
“Almost,” said Meredith hastily, stepping toward her wardrobe. “If you let me know where you are starting, I will endeavor to be downstairs helping you in—”
“You have been a great help to me this last week.” Mrs. Martin hesitated, and Meredith stared. Had she really heard that correctly? “I was mistaken in you, and for that, I apologize. Always happy to admit when I was wrong, as it happens so infrequently.”
Meredith stifled a smile. It was exactly the sort of apology Mrs. Martin would give.
“That is very gracious of you, Mrs. Martin,” she said. “I am always happy to be useful, and I am glad I could help on this occasion.”
“Hmm,” said Mrs. Martin gruffly. “I came up here especial to find you, Miss Hubert, to say that and one other thing. You should stop here, if you please, or elsewhere if it takes your fancy, but relax, is what I am saying. ’Tis much easier to tidy up after a party than prepare for one, and you’ve done your bit. The undermaids and I can take it from here.”
Meredith blinked. Had she really heard such words of gratitude and, most importantly, leisure from Mrs. Martin’s mouth?
The older woman smiled. “The master is pleased, and therefore so am I. You are a credit to the Rochdales. I would have you rest today.”
Meredith hardly knew where to begin. “Right, well, thank you. Thank you for telling me, and thank you for saying you do not require help this morning.”
“Aye, you look a little pale,” said Mrs. Martin. “I dare say a day of relaxation would do you good.”
Meredith smiled. “Thank you.”
The housekeeper nodded and then left, shutting the door behind her and leaving Meredith to sag against the window.
She took a deep breath. Whenever the world became too confusing, and she wished to quit it, she went for a ride. Beauty had been sorely ignored these last few days during the preparations for the ball. She could do with the exercise just as much as Meredith could.
Dressing quickly in her riding habit, Meredith glanced at the gown she had laid out on the chair by her desk. It was her only evening gown. The one she had worn to dine with Alfred, and more recently, the one she had been wearing when…
But she could not think this way. Riding Beauty was the easiest way to clear her head. Hurrying down the main staircase and smiling at the two footmen carefully looking through the coats and pelisses left at Rochdale Abbey after the ball in an attempt to ascertain who their owners were, Meredith stepped into the servants’ corridor and along to the stables.
Other than the footmen, she did not see a soul. A man was tacking up Parker.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully.
The man turned around, and Meredith almost fell over in surprise. It was Alfred!
“Meredith,” he breathed.
They were alone, and the instinct to run into his arms and allow him to kiss her utterly overwhelmed her.
“Alfred,” she smiled, stepping toward him, her arms out.
She was a fool, and she knew that. Where was this going? But the temptation was too great, and it was clear Alfred had the same instinct. He pulled her into his arms willingly and bestowed a kiss on her lips which rapidly became far more passionate.
Meredith lost herself in the kiss, throwing caution to the wind and daring the world to stop her. When she was with him like this, the path ahead seemed clear.
When they finally broke apart, Alfred’s breathing was heavy, and his eyes were wide with desire. And something else. Something Meredith did not recognize.
Pressed up against him as she was, she could feel the desire between his legs. Meredith shivered. He had such power over her, could say whatever he wanted to her, even order her to allow him into her bed—not that she would agree.
But she had power over him, too.
“I want you,” Alfred breathed.
Meredith smiled. “I know.”
What she could not bring herself to say was that she wanted him, too.
“I…” Alfred swallowed, arms tight around her. “I do not know where this is going.”
This was dangerous territory, and Meredith knew she had to forestall him somehow. He could not be permitted to think about this too much.
“I do,” she said lightly with a smile. “I am going down toward the lake.”
Alfred laughed, finally releasing her and looking at her wryly. “I suppose I deserved that. Here, would you like me to help you up onto—”
His voice halted as Meredith leaped elegantly onto the back of Beauty—without stirrups, reins, nor saddle.
She smiled as she turned Beauty with a gentle nudge of her foot. “You were saying, Your Grace?”
“B-But…how did you…?” Alfred stared in disbelief. “I knew you were a good horsewoman, but this is beyond anything I could have expected! How did you do that?”
Meredith flushed. She was always so careful at hiding any hints of her past. It had become easier over time. Even the accent had become second nature, clipped consonants and elongated vowels now the way she spoke naturally.
But there were still parts of her background she wished would stay right there—in the background—yet they resurfaced just when she least expected.
There were still some of her great talents she did not wish the world to know.
“Practice,” she said lightly. “Come on, let’s go before the rest of the world wakes up.”
She could tell Alfred wanted to ask further questions about her ability to ride bareback without even reins to inform Beauty of her wishes, but as she encouraged her mare out of the stables, Alfred had to hurry to finish tacking up Parker.
By the time he joined her, there were a few people moving about in the gardens. The head gardener was an early riser, and so those beneath him had learned to rise early.
None of them, however, were close enough to speak to either of them as they trotted out on the path to the lake. Meredith glanced at Alfred and saw him visibly relax. The further he was from people and their expectations of him, the calmer he seemed to be.
They rode in silence. Meredith did not wish to break the companionable quiet between them, not when she had the impression that there were few times Alfred could simply be, without having to answer questions from those around him.
Besides, what would she say? The only thing she could think of, as she guided Beauty to take the right-hand fork, was about last night—and that was hardly a safe topic.
She did not even have the words for it. How could she ask Alfred what it meant, now this was no longer an attraction they had not acted on, but a true and deep connection?
Did the duke ever marry the governess?
Meredith felt her cheeks color at the mere thought. It must occur sometimes, she was sure, although she could not think of any examples. Perhaps they kept it quiet. Perhaps it was easier if such a scandalous thing did occur, to disappear quietly into their happiness.
Could they do that? Meredith bit her lip. It seemed a bit much to hope for—
“Careful now.”
Alfred’s words cut across her thoughts, and she whipped around to look at him. How had he managed to guess what she was thinking?
But he was pointing to a fallen tree across the path.
Meredith nodded. She was getting ahead of herself. Thoughts of matrimony, of hiding their feelings—she was not even sure what their feelings were.
Could this not just be a flirtation on his side?
“You should watch out for old Rochdale there,” had been the words of John Talbot. “Can’t have a woman in the house, but he wants to bed her. Achieves it most of the time, too. Did you ever meet Molly Butters?”
“The ball seemed to have been a success,” she said aloud, partly for something to distract herself from her wild thoughts.
Alfred laughed. “Yes, even Talbot was impressed by the decorations and pageantry, although that won’t help me much.”
Yes, the election. That was a safe topic, Meredith thought. If they could just keep to that, everything would be fine.
“And did…did you get a sense of how the people will vote?”
Alfred shrugged. “Sometimes I feel as though my win is inevitable. There does not appear to be anything I can do to prevent it.”
His voice was tired, despondent. It did seem most unfair that a gentleman with such intelligence, such concern to do what’s right for his people, was simply not interested in the path before him that would empower him to do just that.
“The thought fills me with sadness and regret,” he said briskly. “The idea of having to return to London, of leaving Rochdale… Yet, I believe I would be even more devastated if I disappointed my father and his legacy and did not win.”
Meredith swallowed. It was an impossible situation for him, and there was nothing she could say that would bring any comfort. What did she know about the world of politics?
“I am sure your father would not be disappointed,” she said gently.
Alfred laughed as they turned the corner, and the lake came into view. “You never knew him. My father’s parliamentary career was what he was most proud of in the world. Far more than his sons.”
“I cannot believe that to be true,” Meredith said automatically.
“Do not concern yourself. I am quite reconciled to it. I think he only had children based on what he said to me in the past so that there would be someone who could take over his legacy after he died.”
He sounded so bitter that his father had not truly cared for him. Meredith nudged Beauty to walk closer to Parker.
She touched his arm gently. “You speak with such sadness, Alfred. Why run for Parliament at all if it is only going to bring you unhappiness?”
Her words had not been intended as a joke, but Alfred laughed. Then his eyes widened.
“Oh, you meant it,” he said blankly.
Meredith laughed herself. “I may not be an expert in these things—as I said before, I lack the one defining quality in this whole discussion, which is that I am not a gentleman. But surely there are other things you can do with your time, with your passions, that would bring just as much comfort to the people of Rochdale?”
And to me, she thought silently. The idea of him disappearing down the London road to misery and loneliness, hundreds of miles away from her…
It was abhorrent. She could not permit it to occur.
“Paperwork is already filled out,” said Alfred in a strange sort of false cheerfulness. “Filled out from birth, almost. No, I will be running for Parliament on the fifteenth of October, and if I do not win, I shall be very much surprised.”
Meredith looked out over the lake. It was beautiful.
To think, he had all of this—owned all of this—and was forced to leave it.
“Well then,” she said quietly, “I suppose you will have to wait and see.”
“Yes, I suppose I will,” Alfred said, watching her closely. “But it would be a lot easier with you by my side.”
“I am by your side.”
But Alfred was not smiling now, his gaze focused on her with such fierceness, she almost looked away. “I did not mean it like that,” he said softly.
Meredith blinked. She could not understand what he meant. What else could he possibly…
She gasped. No. No, he could not possibly mean—this did not happen!
The Duke of Rochdale was asking her to marry him—or at the very least, hinting at it! Marry him! Cease to be governess to his brother and become the Duchess of Rochdale?
It was madness. He should not even be suggesting such a thing!
Alfred was still watching her closely, and Meredith remembered to breathe. Perhaps she had misheard him. She had made a guess, a leap at his words, and her assumption could be utterly wrong!
“I-I am just a governess,” she stammered, equilibrium gone. “I teach—”
“You could still teach Archibald,” he said gently. “If you wanted to.”
“But I cannot be y-your…” Her voice faded away. She would not even say the word. It had to come from him.
Bride.
“I know, ’tis madness.”
Meredith swallowed. No, she was losing her head. This would not work; it would never work! There was an attraction between them, yes, that could not be denied.
But love, matrimony, was built on far more.
You must never fall in love…
She had to put a stop to this.
“You need to take your words back,” she whispered. “You cannot mean it.”
“I most certainly do,” Alfred said fiercely. “Right now, in this moment, I want you. I want you not just for an evening in the library but for the rest of my life.”
Before Meredith could respond, he had leaned forward and captured her lips with his own. The kiss was passionate, yes, but it was different from the others. Softer. More devout. As though he was attempting, with his body, to persuade her in a way his words simply could not.
The kiss ended, and Meredith wondered how she had managed to stay on her horse.
Alfred’s eyes searched hers. “I cannot deny this feeling I have for you.”
Meredith hesitated. The rules of the Governess Bureau were clear. One must not fall in love; it was absolutely forbidden!
But was this one of those rules meant to be broken? She could not deny the sensations she felt for him, either, and they were not just of the body, but of mind, too.
“I know,” she breathed. “I feel it, too.”
Succumbing to the kiss she knew would immediately follow her words, Meredith and Alfred spent time at the lake talking, sharing hopes, dreams, and kisses, though never succumbing to more, though it was clear what they wanted.
And in all that time, two words were never spoken. Meredith knew she could never be the first to speak them.
Love. Matrimony.
It was only as the sun moved across the sky that Alfred looked up at it ruefully.
“We have to go back,” he said, confirming his suspicion with a glance at his pocket watch. “I was supposed to be meeting Mr. Walker and Mr. Brown for a debrief after last night’s ball an hour ago.”
Meredith nodded. He had requested no promises, and she had given no assurances. But something had changed between them. There was an understanding, something that had not existed before.
Before she knew it, they had returned to the stable.
“Ah, Your Grace,” said Henderson with a jovial air. “Did you enjoy your ride, Miss Meredith?”
Meredith refused to catch Alfred’s eye as she dismounted. “Yes, thank you, Henderson. The lake path is very pleasant.”
“That it is,” Henderson agreed. “And yourself, Your Grace?”
“Very pleasant,” echoed Alfred with a grin. “We will up to the house now, Henderson. I have an election meeting to attend. You do not mind brushing down—”
“You leave them to us. We’ll be happy to take care of them for you,” said Henderson placidly, not stirring an inch from his seat and clicking his fingers at two stable lads, who immediately stepped forward.
“King of his own domain,” whispered Meredith as she and Alfred left the stables to go back into the house.
“As I wish I was of mine,” said Alfred in a low voice, capturing her hand in his.
They walked up to the house, Meredith’s heart fluttering at the shameful display of affection between them, but it felt natural.
This was what she wanted. This was how it was supposed to be.
Chapter Fourteen
September 18, 1812
Alfred closed his book and looked around for the small golden carriage clock. It had been on the library mantelpiece for…goodness, as long as he could remember. A smile crept over his face. Somewhere in his mind, there was a memory of his mother smoothing down hi
s hair and telling him that his father had purchased the clock on one of their journeys to London, so he could always tell what time it was.
The clock was gone. Alfred looked around the room vaguely. Perhaps Mrs. Martin had put it elsewhere for cleaning. Perhaps Roberts had taken it to the clockmaker to be mended. He could not keep up with these household changes.
When he was in London, he would not have to.
Sighing heavily, Alfred pulled his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and groaned. Just past ten o’clock in the evening.
It would be considered early in London, particularly when forced to entertain people, try to sweet talk them into supporting whatever bill the party was leaning on him for.
But here, in the country? When the day started with cockcrow? Time for bed.
He was starting to feel old. Not yet thirty, but he could feel each and every one of those years in his back if he sat down too long. Alfred stretched and felt something click—not painfully, but it was a shock to hear that from his bones. It must be all the riding he was doing.
Perhaps it was the campaigning. He was certainly on his feet more these days instead of stuck in an old stuffy building with hundreds of others.
Today had certainly been tiring. Alfred shook his head as he carefully placed the book he had been reading back on the shelf. Every farmer, every tenant, even a few gentlemen from Rochdale Town, each one of them had to be spoken to, had to be listened to.
It was not that he minded. Alfred had always considered that his role when his father had been in government. The old duke had gone to London, and his son had remained at the abbey to care for the people. He had enjoyed it, then. When it had been a choice.
He would always have checked on them, ensured tenants had what they needed, that tools were replaced as they should—but it felt so false now.
“Not false,” Mr. Walker had said as they had left the house, and Alfred had shared some of his misgivings. “Just…carefully timed.”
Alfred picked up the lamp on the table and blew out the others, leaving the library in darkness as he stepped into the hallway. Only then did he realize he was thirsty.
A quick trip to the kitchen, he thought, rather than disturbing Roberts for such a trifle. A glass of water would not be difficult, he was sure—though admittedly, it had been many years since he had last been down to the kitchen.
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