The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor_A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

Tears of frustration and pain iced upon his cheeks, but he refused to give up his relentless fight with the tree when suddenly, it budged ever so slightly.

  Nicholas yelped in shock, jumping up as if he believed he had imagined it but when he did try again, the snow helped to shift the otherwise impossible obstacle off the duke’s crushed legs.

  With supernatural strength, Nicholas slung his sturdy but stiff father over his shoulder and managed to prop him atop Victor. As he mounted the saddle at his father’s back, he dug his heels into the beast’s ribs and ordered him home.

  “Oh, father,” he muttered, draping his body over the duke’s protectively. “I have failed you. I should have been here sooner, I should have been in your group.”

  The regrets and shame sickened him and as they galloped toward Rosecliff, Victor suddenly surefooted and determined, Nicholas wondered how he would ever go on without his father’s guidance?

  What will I tell mother? What will I tell Betsey and Harry?

  Inexplicably, he thought of Rose and how she had also lost her parents. So young, left among orphans and so strong.

  They are much braver than me. Rose, Betsey, Harry. I am not sure I can go on without him.

  Yet Nicholas knew he must.

  I never learned everything he wished for me to know. I cannot even stomach being in a hunting party with a man who is surly.

  The most shocking understanding hit him in that moment and Nicholas gasped aloud, his fingers curling into his father’s arms.

  I am the Duke of Buford now.

  The notion would have been laughable if the situation was not so dire. He was to embrace his father’s place, to handle affairs of which he had only a vague understanding.

  I will shame him! I am not ready for such a thing!

  The emotions were conflicting and overwhelming, creating a shroud of haze over Nicholas. The cold had seeped into his soul like the fingers of death had grasped his father and the marquess was certain he would never again be warm, no matter if he stepped directly into hot coals.

  “Oh father!” he bemoaned. “Why has this happened? Why have you forsaken us?”

  He buried his frozen face into the duke’s back, inhaling the scent of his father’s pipe through the cloth but as they rode in silence, another foreign sensation began to seep into Nicholas’ body and he slowly rose.

  How could they simply leave him there? There was no need for three men to leave him hurt and unattended. Why would they do such a cruel thing? They made no attempt to tend to his wounds. What in God’s name were they thinking?

  He exhaled slowly as the distant lights of the manor appeared, candles flickering in every window and as he approached, his anger had taken over all else.

  Again, he kicked into the horse and Victor sprinted the last feet toward the entranceway. Instantly, the door flew inward and Rose appeared, her face white with worry.

  “Nicholas!” she choked, running toward him as he dismounted. “You – you – “

  She burst into tears as she stopped before him.

  “I was terribly worried,” she gasped, wiping her eyes. “Forgive me for being informal. Come, we have tea and hot stew for you.”

  Nicholas barely heard her as he reached up to pull his father’s corpse from the horse. Rose screamed in surprise, not having seen it upon his arrival and her gloved hand flew to her mouth.

  “Oh no…!” she whispered. “No!”

  “Where are they?” Nicholas growled.

  “Who, my lord?” Her blue eyes were shadowed with horror as she backed away from Nicholas as if to ward the scene away.

  “Preston, Balfour and Peter.”

  “Inside, Lord Buford.”

  She gestured behind her where the household had gathered to watch in a murmur of shocked voices.

  “Nicholas!” Betsey screamed, breaking free of the crowd and running toward her cousin, tears streaking her fair cheeks. “Duke Buford!”

  Rose grabbed the girl before she could get closer, bringing her dark head to her bosom as Betsey sobbed in anguish but Nicholas had eyes only for the men in the party.

  “You!” he spat at the trio. “You left him there to die!”

  “No!” Peter cried, his eyes darting about, seeking assistance from the other men. “We went in search of assistance, Lord Buford. He was trapped. He sent us all.”

  Nicholas’ face contorted into a mask of confusion and he advanced on the group, his lifeless father still sprawled in his arms.

  “He was conscious when you left him?” he demanded.

  “Yes!” all three men chorused.

  “He was jesting with us, Buford. He was in no pain,” Lord Preston insisted. “We would never have left him if…”

  “You abandoned him, bleeding and alone!” Nicholas yelled, his eyes flashing with malice. “Look what you have done! For shame!”

  “No, Lord Buford,” Peter cried, rushing forward to stare at the duke’s white face with perplexity. “He was not bleeding when we left. I swear it!”

  Nicholas eyed the man uncomprehendingly.

  “How can that be?” he demanded. “Look!”

  “I see, my lord, but I assure you, he was not in such a state when we went for help.”

  Nicholas looked at Balfour and Preston who nodded vehemently in agreement.

  “Tis occurred after we went,” Peter muttered and the marquess heard the deep remorse in his voice.

  The wind was suddenly knocked from him, Nicholas sank to his knees and placed his father on the stoop before the door.

  How can that be? It was only a few hours. What could have happened?

  As quickly as it had come, the anger dissolved and a deep, gut-wrenching sense of loss replaced it. He bowed his head as the crowd surged toward him, taking the duke inside and wrapping him in blankets.

  “You must come inside,” Rose breathed to him. “You have been in the cold much too long.”

  “I will never be warm again,” he mumbled, raising his head to stare at her face. “All the warmth has died with my father.”

  “No,” she replied, trying to smile through her tears. “It only seems that way now but the pain you feel will lessen in time.”

  “How can you say such a thing?” Nicholas gasped, knowing that her words were empty. He felt a tightness in his chest, blocking the air from entering his body.

  “I say it because I will help you,” Rose answered quietly. “The way you have helped me.”

  Through his sorrow, Nicholas met her eyes and she offered him a sad, wistful smile.

  “Thank you, Rose.”

  “You are most welcome…Nicholas.”

  He knew that this time, her informality had not been a mere slip of the tongue. In the wake of such a devastating tragedy, something good had manifested—a bond between the new duke and the governess.

  Chapter 23

  Two Months Later

  “Harry, please cast your eyes this way,” Rose said with exasperation. “What has your attention this afternoon?”

  “Miss Rose, may I be excused?” the boy asked, and she was filled with a familiar sense of concern.

  “Harry, you cannot cut our lessons short with such frequency. I understand that you are coping with…” she faltered, unsure of how to word what she wished to say. “Harry, we must continue to live our lives as conventionally as possible. The late duke would not want you wallowing in his absence.”

  Rose regretted that her words seemed harsh, but she could think of no other way to reach the child. The past months had been dreadful for all involved, but none seemed harder affected than young Lord Arlington. He had retreated into a shell of his former self, drifting through the days as if he was a specter.

  Sometimes, Rose felt as if half the household had perished that dreadful snowy night. Harry had flittered away somewhere she could not find him, Betsey seemed sassier with each day and Nicholas was consumed with his father’s duties. She rarely saw him, his business taking him into the towns and Cambridge with such frequency, s
he wondered if he considered Rosecliff his official residence.

  When they did manage to see one another, there was barely a chance for a smile or a mere moment to chat before Nicholas was whisked away to another interview.

  The Boyles had returned to Dartford in the weeks following Duke Grayson Buford’s wake with promises to return but Rose knew that they had already taken much time from their land. They would not return for a long while, she was certain.

  That left Rose with the matter of Duchess Buford and Captain Balfour.

  “Please, Miss Rose, I am feeling unwell,” Harry pleaded, and she sighed heavily.

  “Shall I send for the physician, Harry?”

  “No!” he declared, his face waning at the idea. “I – I only need rest.”

  “Lord Arlington.” Rose’s voice was sharp, and Harry knew that being referred to by his title could not be a fair sign of what was to come next.

  “You cannot hide in your chambers until you reach maturity,” she told him sternly. “I have exhausted every manner I know to speak with you and yet you refuse. What shall I do when you will not focus nor explain why you are drifting away?”

  “What will you do?” he gasped. “Do not tell Her Grace!”

  Rose’s brow furrowed slightly, and she studied his face with concern.

  “What have you to fear of Duchess Buford, Harry? She is your aunt after all. She cares about your well-being as do I. What has you troubled?”

  Harry dropped his eyes and squirmed in his chair uncomfortably.

  “I have nothing to say,” he mumbled.

  “I am afraid that is not good enough!” she snapped. “Harry, I am at the end of my wits with you. I have tried to be patient and kind, but you are overextending my good humor.”

  Sullenly, Harry looked down and Rose could see she would get nothing further from the young lord.

  “Shall we continue with our maths?” she said crisply, turning back to the board.

  “Why has he not gone?” Harry blurted out and Rose turned back to face him, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

  “Who?” she asked, genuine confusion in her voice. Harry scoffed slightly and folded his arms under his chest in defiance.

  “Captain Balfour. Why does he remain here?”

  Rose blinked at the stunningly profound observation by the youngest member of the household. While it was certainly a question she had asked herself many times over the past weeks, she had not expected that Harry would be sensitive to his presence.

  “He has been quite an assistance to Duke Buford during this time,” Rose answered slowly. “He has stayed at the duchess’ insistence.”

  “He is a naval captain!” Harry protested. “What does he know of parliament matters? He only knows about the navy and–”

  He cut himself off, presumably to think of another subject the captain might be versed in but he did not finish his thought.

  Rose swallowed a sardonic smile. It was a valid inquiry, one for which she did not have the answer. It seemed that Captain Balfour had made himself rather comfortable inside Rosecliff after the death of the senior duke. While it was not her place to ask about his overstay, she could not resist wondering what he could offer Nicholas. After all, the man was not even from Buford. He hadn’t any way of knowing the workings of the area, not in any meaningful sense and yet the duchess seemed to appreciate his company.

  It was one of the many things which Rose wished to discuss with Nicholas, should she ever get a moment alone with him but the opportunities that had easily presented themselves before were fleeting and elusive.

  Some nights, she wandered the halls, hoping that she would encounter him in the corridors or galley as she had that night. She thought about that eve often, the unmistakable energy between them, and with that on her mind, the guilt would flow.

  Rose couldn’t deny that Captain Balfour’s presence cast a shadow over all Rosecliff but there was little anyone could say, not when the death of Duke Grayson Buford was so fresh. If his company gave the duchess a semblance of security, no one dared object.

  And who could object but Nicholas himself?

  “I do not like him,” Harry announced, a slight growl in his tone.

  “Why not?”

  The boy’s head lifted and he met her curious gaze suspiciously as if gaging whether she mocked him. What he saw seemed to encourage him to speak freely.

  “There is something unsavory about him,” he replied slowly. “I cannot say.”

  “Harry, I have no need to tease but what could you possibly know about unsavory men?” Rose chuckled, even though she felt a pang of alarm over his words.

  “My father knew many,” Harry replied quietly and Rose’s mouth parted in surprise.

  “Your father?” she echoed. “How would you know which men were acquainted with your father?”

  “He thought I was too young to understand,” Harry mumbled, his face flushing red. “He brought me along to his interviews and I heard much more than I should have. Captain Balfour reminds me of some of these men with whom my father did business.”

  A tingle of fear brushed through her and Rose sank down to meet his eyes, her long skirts sweeping against the dirty floor of the attic schoolroom.

  “You needn’t worry about Rosecliff, Harry,” she told him softly. “Duke Buford may be learning the ways of dukedom, but he will always protect his house. You must know that.”

  Harry returned her stare with scared eyes.

  “I believe that he wants to,” he whispered. “Yet I do not think he can fight against evil influence.”

  “Harry! Whatever do you mean?” she gasped, shocked that a child would have such dark thoughts. “What have you seen that makes you believe in such a danger?”

  His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to respond but the words appeared to freeze on his lips as his gaze rested on the doorway.

  “I daresay, I had not realized the attic was quite so large,” Captain Balfour laughed, looking about with amused interest. “It runs almost the entire length of the manor!”

  “Good morrow, Captain,” Rose said quickly, noting Harry’s abrupt change of behavior. “May I assist you with something?”

  “No, Mrs. Parsons,” he replied, stalking into the small room and looking about, crinkling his nose slightly. “I daresay, this is reminiscent of straps and dunce caps. Of course, the schoolmarms of my day were not authored quite as you are, Mrs. Parsons.”

  Rose ignored the blatant puffing and sidestepped the flattery with a quiet grace.

  “You were not much for the ways of the classroom, Captain?” she asked politely. Rose had nothing of consequence to discuss with the man and she could not understand why he had bothered to trek into the frigid attic at midday, but she assumed his intentions would become clear sooner than later.

  “I was one for the ways of comely lasses,” he replied, and Rose found herself flushing at the bold response.

  “I see,” she murmured, shooting Harry an embarrassed look. “May I help you? Have you lost your way?”

  His grey eyes narrowed and he studied her face, drawing closer toward her as if he was a cat circling a cornered mouse.

  “No,” he said again. “I only wished to see where young Lord Arlington took his studies. I have been hoping to see him after lessons, but it seems I miss him almost daily somehow.”

  “Is that a fact?” Rose said slowly, turning to look at her pupil who lowered his eyes in shame. Suddenly, she understood why he had been leaving their lessons earlier than usual; he knew Balfour was looking for the young lord but why? What could a grown man possibly want with a boy of ten?

  “Indeed, but I knew our paths would cross sooner or later,” Captain Balfour said smugly. Rose decidedly did not like the mounting tension in the small room.

  “How much longer will you be with your lessons?” the man asked, his eyes locking on Harry who stared at her in distress.

  “Oh, I am afraid you chose a terrible day to call on Lord Arlington,” Rose si
ghed. “He and I must join Lady Arlington in the towns.”

  “That is not something you can postpone? It is rather important I speak with the young lord and it seems every time I make an attempt, I feel that I am…what is the word – discounted?”

  Harry remained silent, his blue eyes pleading and Rose felt her spine stiffen.

  “I am certain you are mistaken, Captain Balfour. After all, you have become like part of the family here. How could you feel ignored?”