“Yes, ma’am! Thank you, Miss Rose!”
Almost instantly, Rose found her tactic worked, and when Harry did return to classes, he was more at ease, not fidgeting about nor looking forlornly out the window. After lessons, they would find Betsey and go for long walks through Buford Woods, chasing after bunnies and squirrels or out for rides on the horses.
Supper was a formal affair, each night requiring a gown. To Rose’s utter shock, she had been bequeathed a wardrobe of fine garments although when she asked from where they came, Peter seemed confused.
“The attire is standard,” he explained, his brows knitting.
“Everyone is fitted for silk and lace garments when employed by the duke and duchess? Or is it for charitable members only?” Rose replied, her face crimson with humiliation.
“You are a member of this family, Miss Rose,” the secretary explained. “You must not think of this as extravagance or charity. You are a part of a noble house now and you must look accordingly.”
Rose waited for the caveat, for there to be terms attached, but as the days slipped by, she saw nothing but decent people treating their staff with respect. The pay was also substantial and as Rose peered at her earnings, she wondered again how she had become so blessed. She would send money to the Boyles and write them, but at another moment.
For the time, she could not focus on stringing a sentence together and she feared that writing in her state would create a false note on the page.
Tonight. I will finish it after supper, she vowed, rising to dress for the occasion.
She selected a flowing gown of coral, the puff sleeves jutting from the tops of her slender arms. It seemed to bring forth the translucency in her skin and her blue eyes almost teal in the fading afternoon light. A knock on the door distracted her from finishing her hair.
“Yes?”
The heavy wooden door swung inward slowly, and Rose stood in surprise as Nicholas remained in the doorway. She had seen very little of him throughout the estate, even at suppertime. He frequently traveled with his father on business and other times, the duchess explained. He had a full social card.
I imagine that is his mother’s way of saying he is a Lothario, she mused but it was a translation she kept to herself.
“Lord Buford,” she said hastily. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She turned to face him fully and noted that he remained in the open door, unmoving.
“Forgive me for the intrusion, Miss Rose but I hoped to get you alone for a few moments. I realize this is unorthodox, but I fear I will be overheard if we speak anywhere else. May I enter?”
A shiver of nervousness slid through her body and her instinct was to refuse. It was improper to have a man—especially a nobleman—in her bedchambers. What if someone was to see? Yet what if she did refuse? Would he grow angry? Threaten her job? Perhaps there would be no threatening whatsoever and she would merely be on the snow-capped lawn within the hour.
This is it. I have felt darkness coming and now it has manifested itself. I am so fond, so gullible.
“I assure you, this will not take but a minute,” he added, studying her face. “Please?”
Rose swallowed, nodding slowly and reluctantly.
“Of course, Lord Buford,” she breathed. “How may I assist you?”
She had no choice but to do as he asked, but no matter what it was, she would not stay at Rosecliff in the aftermath. She would take her wages and return to Dartford to live out her days with John and Bridget Boyle. Rose watched warily as he closed the door gently behind him, but he remained precisely where he was, a sheepish smile appearing on his lips.
“You will think me foolish,” he told her.
“Of course not, my lord,” she assured him. “Whatever it is, I will not think you foolish.”
“I would like to take the children tobogganing this Sunday after church and I was hoping you would accompany us.”
Rose blinked twice, uncomprehendingly.
“Tobogganing?”
“Yes. I realize it is your off day, but if you haven’t other plans, I believe they would enjoy it immensely.”
She gaped at him, her mind whirling.
“I – I am afraid I do not understand,” was all she could manage to say, and he laughed uncomfortably.
“It is somewhat of a sad tale,” he sighed. “I forewarn you.”
“I am a collector of sad tales,” she replied.
“My cousins lost their parents two years ago in a terrible accident. It was a queer thing which left them orphaned and in our guardianship.”
Rose nodded, her hands firmly clenched across the waist of her flaring skirt. They were slick with sweat as she waited to see where this conversation was leading.
“They had a Yuletide tradition with their parents,” the marquess continued. “Tobogganing in Buford Park and caroling in the evening. I continued the tradition by taking them to the park in the daytime and my parents took them with the church choir caroling in the evening.”
Rose’s heart grew heavy and full as she understood, and she dropped her head.
“The children have taken to you in such a short time,” Lord Buford continued. “I think they would like for you to join us.”
Rose gulped and shook her blonde tresses.
“It does not seem right infringing on a family affair, a tradition,” she said. “Thank you for considering me, Lord Buford but I do not think it appropriate.”
He exhaled deeply.
“There is more,” he muttered, averting his gaze as her head rose.
“Such as?”
“Last year, Harry grew quite upset with me on our toboggan trip.”
“Why?”
“He claimed that it wasn’t the same as when he went with his parents because his mother was missing, and he did not want to do this again.”
The words pierced through Rose like a quick-bladed cleaver.
Lord Buford has been trying to be their father in any way he can, but he cannot be their mother too. That is why he is asking me to accompany them.
She did not know for whom she ached more, Harry who missed his mother or Lord Buford who attempted to alleviate the pain that the children felt.
“So, you see why I have come to you with this rueful expression on my face and ask for your help?”
“Yes,” Rose breathed, her pulse racing at the injustice of it all.
“I understand that you find this odd, but I assure you, it is for the children.”
“Of course. Forgive me, my lord, of course I would be overjoyed to come. Thank you for extending the invitation.”
“Thank you, Miss Rose!”
He spun back, a relieved look on his handsome features as he pulled the door open.
“We will leave after services on Sunday,” he explained again, and she nodded, watching as he stepped over the threshold.
Just minutes ago, I thought he might be here to attack me. Now he leaves me with my heart thudding with compassion.
“Miss Rose,” Lord Buford called, abruptly spinning back around to look at her speculatively.
“Yes, my lord?”
“You are a vision in coral,” he replied, smiling disarmingly before vanishing into the shadows of the corridor. Rose stared after him for the longest moment, willing her heart to beat normally once more.
Slowly, she closed the cumbersome door, pulling her skirt up to hurry through the bedchambers. She slipped off her dress quickly, casting it aside on the bed before sitting at the writing desk, donning only her corset and drawers. Suddenly she knew precisely what she wanted to say to the Boyles, and she did not wish to blot ink on her fine dress.
After all, I am a vision in coral, she chuckled to herself.
Chapter 10
Nicholas was already quite late for church that Sunday morn when the Duke and Duchess left him behind in his tardiness to join them at his leisure. Nicholas knew it was not truly at his leisure for his mother was discontent and made no secret about it.
Yet it was not Nicholas’ fault per se. He’d had a terrible time putting his mind to rest as he prepared for the day ahead. To say he was excited was putting it mildly. The tobogganing excursions with his cousins were the brightest aspect of the yule season since the Arlingtons had arrived at Rosecliff. He had not realized that he had grown so attached to the event and the pleasure it seemed to bring them.
Before Betsey and Harry had arrived, the Duchess had explained the importance of maintaining some semblance of normalcy in the household, despite the glaring differences the children faced under the Frampton’s roof. It had not occurred to Nicholas at the time, but the more he considered what his cousins had endured, the more he saw how important his mother’s words were.
I cannot fathom being so young and losing not only one, but both of my parents, he oft thought, staring at the siblings with admiration. He could barely fathom the thought of losing his parents at the age of thirty and one, the thought oft keeping him awake at night. It was why he had so much admiration for his cousins. They had much to overcome and were thriving considering such an immense loss.
Nicholas liked to believe that he had a key role in their continued development by maintaining traditions like the sledding at the nearby dales and for the past three years, the snow had cooperated, ensuring for white days and red cheeks. It had not always but it was as if God knew the Arlingtons needed the snow at Christmas to feel somewhat secure.
Yet that morning, as the marquess hurried to dress himself for services, he knew he was filled with anticipation for another reason also. It would be the first opportunity he had to spend with Rose Parsons away from the silent eyes of Rosecliff.
It was not as if Nicholas felt conspicuous in his home. His life was filled with comfort after all, his parents liberal and forgiving. However, since the governess had arrived, he found himself wishing that there was more privacy in the grand estate.
What nonsense, he chided himself with exasperation. You behave as if Peter or Theodore consort with father about your comings and goings. And if they did, what of it? You have done nothing worthy of shame.
Perhaps it was the lingering thoughts in the back of his mind which occasionally sparked him with flashes of guilt. He could not deny that he found the fair maid desirable in most all aspects.
I fib. I find her desirable in all aspects, not merely most.
Nicholas watched her with the children when she did not notice him in the shadows, stunned that she had such a natural way with them, as if she was inherently connected to them on a plane only they understood. Nicholas considered that he might harbor a mild, appreciative jealousy of their relationship.
They certainly never responded to Eloise in such a fashion.
Harry clearly adored her, and even unruly Betsey was charmed by Miss Rose and her gentle way. Yet there was more than her appealing nature and radiant beauty which captured him. She possessed a quiet sadness which reflected in her cobalt eyes, a sorrow which seemed almost tangible. If he was close enough, it swept toward him and touched his face like a cold finger, reaching out for warmth.
She longs for her husband, he realized, and the idea kept him safely in the corners of her life, appreciating her way from a distance, despite his yen to grow closer. That did not mean that they could not formulate a friendship, especially when they shared a common interest—the children.
Nicholas would never admit it, but he had slightly exaggerated the incident which had occurred with Harry the previous year to Rose. While his cousin had mentioned his mother being absent from their annual sledding adventure, it had been little more than a passing comment, filled with nothing more than wistful nostalgia. There had been no threat of cancelling upcoming tobogganing trips as Nicholas had suggested to Rose, but he was certain she would never learn the truth. It was much too delicate a matter for her to ever arouse.
A smidgen of shame tickled Nicholas but he silenced it instantly. It was for the good of the children, after all.
And for your own good also, he reminded himself, staring at his reflection blankly in the glass. He could not recall a time when he had been dishonest to win the affections of a lady.
“Lord Buford, the carriage awaits you,” Theodore intoned, startling him slightly. “Service will be commencing shortly.”
Nicholas nodded curtly, embarrassed at being caught daydreaming about the governess. He turned his head away from the mirror, lest his manservant catch his expression.
“I am ready, Theodore,” he replied, pulling the gold pocket clock from his waist coat. It was a thing of beauty, a gift from his father on his five and twenty birthday and it was never far from his body.
“Inform the coachman,” Nicholas told Theodore, flipping open the delicate cover of the watch. Indeed, it was nearing the hour and Nicholas doubted that he would make it inside the church without causing attention to himself and for a sinful moment, he contemplated forsaking service. If not for the fact that Rose Parsons would be in attendance, he likely would have done precisely that.
What example would that set for the children? He asked himself, striding toward the door, his freshly polished boots squeaking against the wood of the floor. Once more, he was grateful that no one could read the transparency of his thoughts.
The butler had already vanished into the vastness of the house, presumably to inform the driver of his impending arrival. Nicholas paused in the anteroom for his thick overcoat, foreseeing the bitter winds which awaited him beyond the secure walls of the house.
To his surprise, he noted Harry’s coat still hanging on a wooden peg and his brow furrowed in confusion. It seemed unlikely that Miss Rose would have permitted the boy outdoors in such weather without it. She cared much too deeply for his welfare for such an oversight. Moreover, the duchess would never allow it.
“Good morrow, my lord,” Andrew, the coachman said formally, reaching for the door as Nicholas appeared. “There is quite a cold front coming in this morning.”
“Indeed,” the marquess murmured, his mind still on the oddity of the coat in the anteroom. Before he could open his mouth again to question Andrew, the coachman latched the door securely and resumed his spot on the bench, casting the horses forward with a skilful flick of his wrist.
Nicholas could not help but notice the speed in which the coach and six travelled, as if Andrew was attempting to recoup lost time. He chuckled to himself, realizing that should he arrived past the allotted time for worship, his coachman would be blamed.
Should I arrive late, I will speak with mother so she does not fault Andrew for my tardiness. Tis not his doing that I overslept.
Nicholas settled back against the soft but cold seat to peer into the serene beauty of the Buford landscape. Even in the early morning light, the rays of the sun cast prisms against the pristine snow, the weight of the flakes weighing on the majestic coniferous trees.
He watched closely as they passed, his eyes determined to locate the ideal yule tree for the front room. There were always so many from which to choose in the glens. Mid-week, in between interviews, he, his father and Harry would venture through the woodlands and find just the right one together and a log to burn on Christmas Eve. Then, they would bring it back to Rosecliff where the duchess and Betsey would decorate with garlands and pinecones while the men sang carols, and all drank fresh cider.
It was truly Nicholas’ favorite time of year and it seemed to be more alive this December than any other he could recall in the past.
This year, it will be mother, Betsey and Rose decorating the tree, he reminded himself, a warm flush sweeping through him as he envisioned it in his mind’s eye. He hoped that Rose felt the same sense of solace in the season which he found.
St. Aldhelm appeared just beyond a crisp clearing of trees and Nicholas straightened himself, smoothing his clothing almost nervously as the coach drew to a stop near the entranceway.
Buggies and carriages lined the field, the coachman waiting in the chilly temperatures for their masters wi
th gloved hands and dull expressions.
The Duke and Duchess of Buford insisted the servants who wished to worship, attended services but no one was ever to remain standing outside in wait during the winter months, no matter what church they chose.
I never realized precisely how much kinder mother and father are to their servants than their peers. Look at the men and Abigails standing like statues when there is plenty of room inside. Shame on their masters.
The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor_A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 8