A Governess of Great Talents

by Murdoch, Emily E K

  Alfred almost laughed. Mr. Walker spoke as though that was to be celebrated rather than mourned! Rochdale Abbey was his home, but it was his duty to leave it.

  “Yes, yes,” he said with a nod. “Something like that.”

  Mr. Walker looked at him carefully, the noisy chatter masking their more intimate conversation. “You know, Your Grace, we are very proud of you. I can see in your heart that you fear some of the responsibility your father gave you, but you bear it well. I believe he would have been very proud of you.”

  “You are too kind, Mr. Walker.”

  The older man rose stiffly and bowed. “I am minded to think that many people around you give you false praise, Rochdale, if you pardon the informality. I think you, like your father, despise it. So I will say only this. You are a credit to him. Good day, Your Grace.”

  Alfred’s respect, already high for the veteran campaigner, rose as he stood to bow in turn. Mr. Walker certainly saw more than he gave him credit for, and as Alfred bowed to each of the gentlemen in turn as they left the abbey, it was with a strange sense of sadness.

  Mr. Walker had guided him through the maze of campaign rules and regulations the first time he had run, five years ago now. Alfred could not have guessed then just how complex the whole damned thing was. As he watched the man get into his carriage and back to Rochdale Town, he sighed heavily. In the next election, Mr. Walker would undoubtedly bring his son with him to start him off on his own journey of commitment to the Rochdale cause.

  And around and around it went…

  As Roberts stepped forward to close the door, Alfred put out a hand to stop him. “What is that?”

  What had caught his eye was certainly not something he would have expected to see in Rochdale Abbey grounds.

  At least, not for years.

  “Is…is that a kite, Roberts?”

  The butler peered out of the front door with a serious expression and examined the sky where the duke was pointing. “I do believe it is, Your Grace.”

  Alfred blinked against the bright blue sky. The autumnal winds were moving it about so quickly, it was hard to see it clearly, but it was a kite. Flapping about in the air and with ribbons pouring off from all sides, it had that rather careworn feeling of a kite made by a child, rather than one of those impressive silk ones, which could be purchased in London.

  A long string, barely visible against the sky, trailed down from the kite as it fluttered, twisting around the side of the house.

  “How curious,” Alfred said quietly as he stepped outside for a better look.

  “Your Grace, I have some important papers for your review,” said Roberts hastily. “Up in your study, you will find them—”

  “There will always be important papers for my review,” Alfred said. Who had the end of that kite? He was prepared to bet it was Meredith. “I am sure they can wait.”

  “They cannot wait, Your Grace, one of them in particular—”

  “Good, good,” said Alfred vaguely, taking another step forward.

  Meredith. After that row in the library two days ago, she had assiduously avoided him. He had gone to the schoolroom and been made to feel so entirely unwelcome that he had backed out immediately.

  “Your Grace!”

  Alfred turned to see Roberts frowning. “I am sorry, Roberts, but I need to go outside for a bit. All that sitting down in the drawing room, very stuffy. I need…I need fresh air.”

  He strode away before his butler could say another word. He did not wish to be reminded just how many papers there were piling up on his desk in the study. Contracts, bills, disagreements, requests for his judicial input…

  The whole of Rochdale assumed he would be disappearing to London in a few weeks, and was desperate to get his input—or at the very least, his seal and signature—before then.

  They had no interest in him. On the other hand, neither did Meredith.

  Alfred’s footsteps crunched on the gravel as he walked around the house, silently chastising himself for this fool’s errand. As he turned the corner of the drawing room and a new vista of lawn came into view, a smile crept over his face.

  It was not Meredith but Archibald who had ahold of the string, eyes brightly shining with excitement as he looked up at the kite. The cheeky, mischievous nature was still there, but the rambunctious, destructive elements were gone. What stood before him, facing away so unaware of his older brother’s presence, was a Carmichael, a future Duke of Rochdale, and Alfred beamed with pride to see him.

  “A little more slack, and watch the wind!” Meredith’s voice rang out in the blustery day, and Alfred’s gaze flickered to her. She was seated underneath the wide oak tree, watching her pupil carefully. “Remember what we learned about wind and currents!”

  Archibald nodded and tugged a little at the string in his hands, giving it more slack.

  Alfred could not help but smile. Meredith was a fine woman, something his body could not forget, but she was first and foremost an outstanding educator. What other woman—what other tutor would use flying a kite a way to teach a child about the vagaries of the wind?

  He had never known a governess to take this much interest in a child before. Certainly, none of his had. They had never worked to draw him out of himself, to find ways of engaging him beyond the dreaded textbook.

  He really must reply to that letter from Miss Clarke at some point. She had been desirous of understanding how Miss Hubert was progressing about two weeks ago, but Alfred had ignored the letter. It was probably half-buried on his desk by now.

  “I’m doing it. I’m doing it!” Archibald’s cry of joy was almost lost on the wind as a particularly strong gust whirled past Alfred, but he did not need to hear the precise words.

  The boy was starting to become a rather interesting character, Alfred thought. The more he came out of his shell, the more he liked him. The more Carmichael he saw.

  Not wishing to disturb them, and mindful Meredith was not interested in discussing anything with him beyond the purchase of string—which, Alfred realized in the haze of hindsight, now made sense—he stepped along the side of the house and sat on a bench just to the left of the French windows of the ballroom. From here, he had a perfect view of his brother and his governess.

  Truth be told, Alfred’s gaze was more often drawn to the lady than the child. She sat supremely comfortably, like an empress. Her blanket was adorned with a few cushions, and she sat regally with her legs tucked to the side.

  Alfred’s heart twisted. The conflict between them was crushing him slowly. His stomach lurched as she laughed, watching Archibald closely.

  He loved her. Though he could only admit this within the quiet of his heart, Alfred knew it to be true like he knew the moors out beyond Rochdale Abbey. They were there, and he could take or leave them, but he could not ignore them.

  Everything about Meredith was what he would have looked for in a partner if he had been so inclined to marry. Caring, intelligent, far wittier than he was. An ethic of strong, hard work, even when unappreciated or unthanked. And beauty. Christ alive, she was beautiful.

  And here she was, most disobligingly slotting into his life, his family, demonstrating just what a wonderful wife she would be.

  Alfred’s hair was ruffled by the wind. It felt as though she had been made for him.

  He had never given much thought to the woman he would marry. Miss Wilhelmina Talbot had been mentioned a few times when he had been growing up, but he had never considered her seriously.

  When he had been in London, the title of duke had opened doors for him, including Almack’s, but when ladies heard his duchy was not only in the north, but tiny compared to that of Lancaster, Cornwall, or Axwick, they had turned their noses up at it. At him.

  Besides, he had always had other things to do. He was young, and the duchy already had an heir. Finding a wife had never been a priority.

  But he knew what would be required of him. As Alfred watched Archibald skip about in pure joy, watching his kite sp
iral up in the air under his careful maneuvering, he knew he would one day choose a wife. A woman of good breeding, good education, beauty if possible, but most importantly, a partner, someone he could go through life with, who would make each day better simply because she was within it.

  Alfred’s gaze was drawn once again toward Meredith. She fitted the bill, of course. He knew nothing of her family, but it could not be more obvious they were gentlefolk. How else could they afford such travel as Meredith had mentioned?

  His jaw tightened. Yet she was a servant, by definition below him—worse, a servant in his household. She was supposed to be protected by all the social niceties a female servant could expect in the house of a great gentleman like himself.

  Alfred swallowed. The voting for this damned election had not started yet. It was still his to win—or lose. If he was foolish enough to announce he had engaged himself to a servant…

  It would be the end of him. Not just his career in Parliament, that he could not care two figs for. No, it would be the end of the Carmichael reputation. Who would associate with a gentleman who, it would be assumed, had seduced his own brother’s governess?

  No, it could not be done. Yet Alfred could not help the way he felt about her.

  At that moment, a sudden gust of wind blew past him and hurtled upward, pulling the kite in an unexpected direction.

  “No!” Archibald’s cry of frustration was almost lost in the wind as his kite spiraled out of control—until it became lodged in the oak tree under which Meredith was sitting.

  “Careful, Archibald!” Meredith warned as the child hurtled toward the trunk.

  The kite was entirely tangled in the branches near the uppermost of the oak tree. Even from this distance, Alfred could see Archibald’s face had fallen, though he had not succumbed to tears.

  Alfred sighed. Why was it that there always needed to be a man to sort things out? For all Meredith’s talk about women voting, it was quite clear men were needed to solve half the problems that women and children—

  He had been halfway out of his seat, but he fell back onto the bench in shock at what he saw. It didn’t make any sense. What on earth was she doing?

  Meredith had risen from her blanket. She had not looked around for a gardener nor stepped toward the house to ask a footman for his assistance.

  All of these responses would have been acceptable, and Alfred would not have been surprised by any of them. What had shocked him, however, was the strange thing she was doing with her skirts. Meredith seemed to be…well, pulling them up in a very odd way. It almost looked like…well, like she was tucking her skirts into her…

  Alfred swallowed. It was very odd behavior at the best of times, but how it was supposed to help with—and then he gasped.

  Meredith had reached out a hand to touch the trunk of the old oak, examined it for a moment, and then lightly, as though it was as simple as taking a walk down the lane, clambered up to the first branch.

  She did not stop there. Not looking down and advancing upward with no fear, the governess ascended the tree.

  Alfred’s jaw dropped. Archibald was laughing and clapping as she rose higher.

  Alfred rubbed his eyes, half thinking the vision of the young lady climbing a tree like a ten-year-old boy would disappear—but no. When he looked again, Meredith had reached the kite and was gently starting to untangle the string.

  “—not as high as before,” Archibald was saying. “Higher, Miss Hubert, higher!”

  Alfred could barely contain his astonishment. Higher—she had done this before? Was this a regular occurrence, his governess climbing up trees? If he had not heard Archibald’s words, he would still have wondered whether he was seeing things.

  But instead, he watched. Meredith eventually had the entire kite string untangled from the branches and dropped the kite down into the waiting arms of Archibald at the foot of the tree.

  “Now you mind…wind it up careful…not tangled,” she said.

  A swell of wind moved across the lawn, and Alfred’s stomach lurched. Meredith—she was still in the tree!

  It swayed most alarmingly, but she merely clung on until the swell was over and then carefully climbed down.

  “No, like this,” Alfred heard her say as she dropped lightly onto the ground, untucked her skirts without any ceremony, and moved to the child to show him how to wind up the string.

  Alfred was surprised he could hear her at all over the thundering of his pulse in his ears. Partly from shock, partly with relief that she had come to no harm, but partly in anger.

  What on earth was going on? Tucking up skirts to show her legs, climbing up trees, so easily able to jump down what must have been almost ten feet…

  English ladies simply did not do such things! They could not do it; it wasn’t in their nature!

  What sort of life had Meredith had before she had come to him?

  “No one should do what they don’t want to do. Even if it is because of family. Even if one feels a duty.”

  Alfred swallowed, eyes not moving from the giggling child and his governess but seeing them no longer.

  Now he saw the pattern. Meredith had utterly avoided telling him anything about her family, or indeed herself. What did he know of her? She was a governess. She liked riding. That was all.

  Alfred tried to calm himself, but the evidence—or lack thereof—was there now he came to think about it. He had assumed her father was a gentleman because he traveed, but it meant nothing!

  What she could do was astonishing and certainly not something a gentlewoman did. Great talents indeed! Alfred was sure he could not climb up that tree, so how could she?

  And then a terrible thought swept through his mind as the words of Mrs. Martin echoed in his memory.

  “I am trying to tell you I think they have been stolen! There is a thief in the house or coming into the house and—”

  Items were going missing in Rochdale Abbey. He had dismissed Mrs. Martin’s fears, considered her foolish to worry so—but what if she was right? What if…

  It was awful to even think it, but what if it was…Meredith?

  Alfred hated himself for even allowing the thought to enter his head.

  What if the thief was Meredith?

  A twinge of fear crept around Alfred’s heart. The very thought sickened him, but he would have to raise it with her. There was nothing else for it. This could not continue, this questioning within his mind.

  A seed of doubt about her had been planted in his heart, and he had to root it out—if it was false.

  Chapter Nineteen

  October 5, 1812

  Meredith’s hand moved slowly and carefully over the blackboard, removing all evidence of the Latin lesson which had ended the afternoon. Not one of Archibald’s favorites, and not one in which he excelled.

  I wonder, mused Meredith. He has such an aptitude with history—perhaps there was a link there, a way we could make Latin itself more palatable.

  She resolved to consider this later. It was only a Monday, after all, and she would need to ensure they got through a few more days before she started changing the way the lessons were planned out.

  Her careful eye swept over the schoolroom. Archibald had been obedient enough, she supposed when she asked him to carefully put away his schoolbooks. Well, they were put away. The haphazard pile of books in the corner was no longer on his desk, but it could not be said that they had been stacked neatly. Far from it.

  With a small sigh, she stepped over and started straightening them. She knew the cost of books, and some of these had gold leaf. Only the best for the heir of a duke.

  A gentle cough, accidentally ignored for she knew not how long, only disturbed her when Meredith straightened up to consider her handiwork—books now neat and tidy.

  She turned and saw, to her surprise, Roberts in the doorway, looking uncomfortable.

  “Why, Roberts,” Meredith smiled. “Come to brush up on your geography?”

  The butler did not return her
smile. He was certainly a man who kept to himself. In truth, Meredith had hardly seen him since she had joined the Rochdale Abbey household.

  Still, there was no reason to be suspicious of him—other than she had never seen him anywhere near the schoolroom in that time, and on the rare occasion that he had a message for her, it typically came to her through Mrs. Martin.

  “No, I have not come to…ah, brush up on my geography,” said the butler stiffly. “I have a message for you.”

  Meredith waited, but Roberts seemed unwilling to continue. She folded her hands demurely before her, as Miss Clarke had taught all governesses.

  “When speaking to a butler, or at times, a steward,” she had drilled her governesses, “it always does to look a little more retiring than one actually feels. No one wishes for the gentleman to feel inferior, does one?”

  Meredith had never understood those words until now. Roberts certainly did look as though he felt on the back foot, not quite meeting her gaze.

  “A message?” she ventured after another minutes of silence. Really, it was most odd. If he had a message for her, why not give it?

  But the butler’s gaze was moving around the schoolroom searching for something—as though assuming something would be here and finding, to his surprise, it was not.

  Well, rude butlers were not a new phenomenon to Meredith. As the Egertons had grown, she had become part governess, part chaperone really, and the Right Honorable Miss Egerton had taken tea with a number of notables in London. Many of those butlers did not consider a governess a worthwhile companion to the daughter of an earl.

  Meredith was overwhelmed with the sudden panic that the butler would be able to see a difference in her because of…well. What she and the master had shared in the kitchen all those nights ago.

  She waited. She had attempted to draw out the message from the man, and he had not permitted it. All she could do in the meantime was wait.

  It felt like an age, but eventually, Roberts said stiffly, “You are formally requested to attend to the master in his study.”