Governess for a Week
Barbara Miller
Dedication
For my longtime fan, Constance McKenna: teacher, reader and friend.
Chapter One
London, March 1814
Marian Greenway pulled her old gray cloak tighter and gazed out the window of the hired carriage as it wove its way down a crowded Oxford Street that Saturday evening. It was still light enough for her to recognize familiar houses where she had once been a guest. She turned her face away when they drew near the house her parents used to lease. That was in the past and she had best forget it. She had not wanted to take a position in London because she had known so many people here but she was not likely to encounter them while walking her charges in the square, not wearing a gown of somber gray. Even if she did, they would never recognize her. Governesses were as good as invisible. It was as though the pretty young heiress had died four years ago and the real Marian was a different person altogether.
There was one problem. Even though she was twenty-two, old for the marriage mart, she still looked far too young to be a governess. She dashed away the stray tear that threatened to bring a deluge. She could not appear to her new employer with red eyes. She had to think about the children to be cared for. She felt the letter in her reticule. It was too dark now to read it again but she did not need to. After reciting back to her all her accomplishments which he wanted her to pass on to her charges, her new employer’s secretary had said she would do, much in the manner of her father speaking about a new hunter.
She wondered how it would be working for a man with no wife in residence. He was not a widower but had divorced his French-bred wife when she returned to Paris. She’d heard all about Captain David Armstead, Earl of Wyle, during her come out year. He was a soldier, an artillery officer. Her father had taught her how to deal with that type up to a point.
By the time the carriage turned into Grosvernor Square she was composed again and had a coin ready for the coachman. The house was three times the width of most of the town residences with a floor below street level for the kitchens and four floors towering above. Years before Marian had been a guest here when she and her mother had attended a musical given by one of the aunts. The earl had been at war so would not remember her from that event though she had met him in Spain. Still she thought the moment remote enough to slip from a man’s memory.
She was surprised when no less than two footmen dashed out of the house to let down the steps and help her descend. Her trunks were in the antechamber almost before she knew what was happening and she was confronting the freezing disapproval of the portly butler.
“Lord Wyle is expecting me,” she said, trying to banish the mist of tears with precise enunciation but still hearing the milky evidence of their threat in her voice.
The butler turned ponderously and led her to a door down the main hall on the left but just then it sprang open and a tall man in evening dress stepped out. “Where the devil have you been?” He limped over to stare intently into her face, his blue gaze slicing through her like a knife. He was dressed for a formal evening and she supposed her arrival would now permit him to go out on the town.
Their faces were only inches apart and she had the oddest notion he was going to kiss her. She resisted the impulse to back away. It wasn’t that he was repulsive even with the scar near his hairline. Far from it. That gunmetal black hair and those compelling blue eyes made him all too appealing. There was also those dents at the corners of his firm mouth that hinted his smile would be heartwrenching if he ever gave it. Was he shortsighted or merely rude?
“I said I would arrive at—”
“Very well, never mind,” he said as he grabbed her hand. “You will do but there isn’t a moment to lose.” He then dragged her back toward the front of the house, up the grand stairs and into a room on the second floor that was far too elaborate to belong to a governess. She was amazed at the alacrity of their ascent since he seemed to suffer from a stiff knee.
“Here is the dress you are to wear tonight.” He gestured toward a sleek gray satin gown on the bed. “I see you’ve brought your trunks but I want you to wear what I chose.”
“Tonight? But what—”
“There is no time to rehearse anything. Just act naturally. The first guests will be arriving in a moment. Ah, here is your maid Susan to help you. Change now or I will help you as well.”
He was gone then, leaving her to stare open-mouthed at the girl still bent in a deep curtsey. The slight maid stood up, her brown eyes concerned.
“What is going on?” Marian asked.
“A dinner party, miss, with just a few of his lordships particular friends and his relatives.” The maid smiled, then came to help Marian off with her cloak.
“But, I mean, a woman in my position is not expecting to attend a dinner party.”
The girl now shook out the shimmer of gray silk that passed for a dress as though to tempt her. “Please, miss, if you are not ready in time he will blame me and I can’t stand it when he is in a rage with me.”
“Oh, very well but Lord Wyle has made a grave error.” She unbuttoned her cuffs and let the maid undo the back of her black wool dress.
“I know, miss. Mr. Trumby, the butler, tried to tell him so but he never listens, not even to his secretary, Mr. Hill.”
“But it is Mr. Hill who hired me.”
“Indeed, miss? That is a shocker. But Lord Wyle does take these starts into his head and there is no dissuading him.”
So Wyle was delusional. Perhaps the head wound. Glad to have her assessment of the situation confirmed, Marian quickly discarded her shift and washed up. Mr. Hill’s letter had been so stuffy about her requirements she had assumed him to be a serious man but it now came home to her that she didn’t know if she could trust Hill either. Clearly he was expecting to turn her into some sort of hostess and she doubted the propriety of the whole situation. Still he had other women servants in the house. Well, she was too tired to fight with him tonight. That could wait until morning. But she would make him sorry for trampling over her with such an assumption.
The maid dumped a gauze shift and then the shimmer of silk over her head and Marian gasped when she looked at herself in the mirror.
“You are that lovely, miss.”
“Is there a fichu with this dress?”
“No, miss, only what his lordship laid out.”
“I cannot wear this,” Marian said. She caught a panicky look on the maid’s face and felt sorry for the girl who would be blamed if Marian backed out. Then she thought back to her come out and she had worn a dress cut almost as low. She’d been such a young fool in those days.
“Perhaps a shawl?” she asked, mesmerized by the sheen of the fabric as it revealed a figure perhaps too thin.
Marian grabbed the jacquard silk shawl Susan unearthed from the wardrobe. It wasn’t much help but it would have to do. She must be insane to accede to Lord Wyle’s wishes. She should simply leave. But it was nearly seven, she had no money to hire a room for the night and she was tired. Then her stomach growled. Hungry too. She might get nothing more from the man than a decent dinner and a night’s rest but she would have that, by God.
The maid seemed to have some talent with a brush and comb and helped her arrange her hair into a simple fall that would curl around her neck and make the lack of her pearls not so noticeable. A single white rosebud plucked from a vase was enough ornament for her hair. But the girl then produced a necklace that she could swear contained real diamonds. What was going on? She felt like someone in a poorly written fairy tale.
When she swept down the stairs she could feel the heightened color in her cheeks. A footman with a stony face conducted her to the room from which Wyle had com
e at the back of the first floor. As she recalled it was the drawing room and music room. She entered and all eyes turned toward her. Just such an entrance as she had always wanted to make. She had not garnered this much attention since her presentation. Wondering if she still had her old poise, she tilted her head up and smiled. The curious looks softened and then Wyle was striding across the floor to take her arm. She could almost imagine he was her escort and was delighted to see her. Wyle did look pleased—no—relieved. But why?
“Are you cold?” he whispered as though it were an intimate question.
“No, in fact it seems excessively warm in here.”
“Then you won’t be needing this,” he said, slipping the wrap off her shoulders and tossing it behind a chair. She felt as though he had exposed her and barely managed not to flinch.
“Come and meet my family. By the way, what is your name again?”
“Marian Greenway.”
“Aunt Flora, Aunt Alva. Everyone, this is Mary Green, my fiancée.”
For a moment she thought she had not heard Wyle correctly. He had surely not heard her. Perhaps he was deaf. He was an artillery officer, so might be hard of hearing from the constant shelling. But there could be no excuse for the second half of his statement other than insanity. As the congratulations poured over her from his aunts and cousins she must have looked confused. She wondered what game he was playing, introducing her to his family in this absurd manner. They were tall, all of them, the women robust and the men jovial. Most were dark-haired and blue-eyed like Wyle. Even though part of her wanted to slap him and demand an explanation, she simply could not be rude to them. Perhaps he was insane and they were all there to humor him. Yet their well wishes seemed genuine except for Cousin Isabelle, a slight blonde, who hung back and scrutinized her with cold green eyes.
“Now, let us go in to dinner.” He snatched her arm back from his cousin Edward, Alva’s son and conducted her into the large dining room across the hall.
Marian found herself seated on Wyle’s left. “What the devil is this all about?” she whispered.
“Had you arrived on time I might have been able to fill you in.”
“So this is my fault?” She draped her napkin over her lap but had difficulty keeping it there on the silk.
“No it is mine for letting Frobisher arrange anything for me. I should have made a way to meet you ahead of time.”
“Who is Frobisher?”
“The man who hired you.”
She felt as though his insanity was infectious. “But Mr. Hill did.”
He gave her an impatient look and she thought he had not heard her again. “Can this wait? We have an engagement dinner to get through.”
“But—”
“Then we will discuss your fee later if you give satisfaction.”
“Satisfaction?” Anger now added to the flush in her cheeks. How dare he say such a thing to her?
“Come now, it’s only for an evening. I mean to pay you well.”
“You are mad, absolutely mad.”
“So my men always told me. Then humor me.”
By then the aunts and cousins had resolved the seating and Marian’s attention was claimed by Wyle’s cousin Morris, Isabelle’s son, who seemed such a polite young man he sapped the ire she was beginning to feel for her employer. And why was she bothering to learn their names if this was only for a night? More to the point, what did Wyle mean by calling her his fiancée and then saying it was only for an evening? Morris asked her where she was from and Wyle grimaced at her as though trying to silence her.
“From Northampton. My father’s estate is near Sudbury.”
Now Wyle positively glared at her but she shrugged as though it did not matter. He had discomposed her and she meant to have her revenge. Flora nodded with approval and Marian recalled she had met both Flora and Alva at the musicale. The earl’s wife had still been there and had played the harp.
The dinner was excellent and she let no dish get past her, not from the salmon in wine sauce to the buttered new peas. She would have wished to linger over the fruit and nut dishes as she studied the still lifes that decorated the mint green walls. For she could see that once the ladies moved into the drawing room she would have to run a gantlet of female relatives while the men chased dinner with a glass of port. And they were not all smiling. Cousin Isabelle was assessing the cost of her gown and comparing it unfavorably the one her own daughter Sophie wore.
After they paraded across the hall again and found seats in the wood paneled drawing room Marian studied the gilt-framed portraits on the walls as she reflected on how much less convenient the house was for family gatherings than for crowds. Except for the dining room the entire first floor was intended for large entertainments. Presumably the drawing room opened onto a ballroom or other large salon on the same side of the house but for a family party there was too much traveling to suit her. What did it matter?
Wyle’s Aunt Flora sailed toward her like a frigate about to do battle and took the seat next to her. “How wonderful to see you again. Is your acquaintance with my nephew of long standing?”
Marian took a moment to compose herself and was determined to stick as close to the thin fabric of truth as she could. “You remember me after all these years? Wyle and I met in Spain.”
“So it was love at first sight!” Flora seemed genuinely entranced.
Marian smiled sadly at her own plight but said, “More a matter of him needing a keeper.”
“That is so true. Just how did you meet?”
“We were introduced by a mutual acquaintance. Let me think who it was.” She tapped her fan against her hand.”
“Lieutenant Frobisher, no doubt.” Flora shook her head.
“Yes, Frobisher. Do you know him?”
“Unfortunately, yes. No matter. I know your mother and your father. Major Greenway is he not?”
Marian jumped. “You know them well?”
“Yes, there are those who said your mother could have done better but she was in love. Your father was quite a handsome man in his day. David got your name wrong. Did you know he is slightly deaf in one ear from the war?”
“That explains so much. Was he badly wounded?”
“Yes, in the head, also his leg and hand. No more than usual for an artillery officer.”
Aunt Flora saw someone at the pianoforte and got up to see what was happening, leaving Marian feeling instant sympathy for Wyle. She must stop this. She always felt sorry for people and it got her in trouble all the time.
Sophie was about to give an impromptu recital at her mother’s urging. How odd that Isabelle should be the one to inadvertently rescue her. The girl played quite well and Marian applauded each piece along with the other ladies. She was attending so closely she must not have noticed the entrance of the men for she jumped when Wyle said, ”How goes it?” over her shoulder.
To her credit she did not turn at the question whispered in her ear. “Do you realize your Aunt Flora knows my parents?”
“How is that possible?” he whispered fiercely.
“We were in society.”
“Well, no mending that now. Who is your family?”
“Major John Greenway and Lady Elizabeth Parkening.”
Wyle’s faced clouded. “Greenway from the Peninsula?”
“Yes but he is reported missing now. I presume he’s been captured by the French.”
“How could his daughter have come to this?”
She pulled back and looked sideways at him. “That is a very impertinent question.”
“But I want to know.”
“And I want to know why it is so important for you to be engaged just for one evening.”
“Simple. I must convince my relatives I am getting on with my life or they—especially Aunt Alva—will spend all their time matching me with eligible women.”
“That scarcely seems reason enough for such a charade,” she whispered. “What will they think when you announce the end of the engagemen
t?”
“Well, I won’t. At least not for a good long time. I suppose you will expect some consideration for that.”
“I am in the habit of earning my keep.”
“Oh, really?” He arched his right eyebrow.
“I mean it is absurd that you would pay for… This whole situation is absurd.”
“But you agreed to it.”
“Never,” she said as Sophie finished with a flourish and Marian applauded.
He held a finger to his lips even though he had been the one talking over Sophie’s playing and attracting Isabelle’s glare. The girl was garbed in a bronze silk too old for her tender years but she had her mother’s flaxen hair and beautiful green eyes, so much could be forgiven the dress. Now Marian had to bear the scrutiny of all the people she had just met. To do them credit, they sent her mostly good-natured glances, especially the men. Aunt Flora seemed content but Aunt Alva looked puzzled. Cousin Isabelle was picking Marian apart with needle sharp looks.
When Sophie returned to her seat, Aunt Flora vowed she was in the mood for more music and asked Marian if she would oblige them. When she stood up Wyle gave a start as though to protect her or perhaps hold her back. Didn’t he realize anything would be easier for her than conversing with relatives about him when she didn’t know the slightest thing? Or did he expect her not to know proper music? It was in her credentials. Had he not even read them?
She found some suitable pieces in the music portfolio and was surprised when Cousin Bertram volunteered to come and turn pages for her. She knew he was Flora’s son by his smiling good looks. Even though Wyle seemed insane, most of his family were nice, especially to an interloper they did not even know. If she really was engaged to Wyle she might be cutting a distant relative out of a position as his wife. Ah, so that was Isabelle’s problem. She wanted Wyle for Sophie who must be through several generations a second cousin. As Marian played she constructed the family tree in her mind. It was not unlike the military rosters her father used to have her copy out.
Finally the tea tray arrived and Marian brought a foreshortened end to her current piece with a sigh of relief. She thought she had accredited herself well but Wyle had a definite dent between his eyebrows. Some men were never happy. Of course if he had trouble hearing, he would have no way of knowing how good or bad her playing was. It might have sounded like a great cacophony to him.
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