“Beatrice? Beatrice?” Mrs. Fenhurst paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Beatrice is clever?”
“I believe so,” Sir Nicholas said, continuing to enjoy his repast. Beatrice herself had stopped eating, her face as red as a tomato.
“But, what use is it to have a girl who is clever? For she will never need to work, or speak in Parliament, or deal with matters of business!”
Quite before she knew what she was doing, Mary found herself responding. “Oh, but it is wonderful for a female to be clever! We are denounced as the weaker sex, and yet many women are scholars, and study the sciences, and literature. Some have even written entire books! I believe it to be a myth when people say that women’s brains are less capable than men’s.”
There was a stunned silence. Belatedly, Mary realized that, in the present company, she might as well have tied her garter in public. Mrs. Fenhurst looked horrified, Miss Cushing delightedly shocked. Amabel and Beatrice were gaping at her for her audacity, and Sir Nicholas— Nervously, she glanced toward him.
Sir Nicholas’s expression was one of unholy glee.
Author Note
This is my second governess tale, and I’ve gone back to Mrs. Gray’s agency—the same place that featured in Marianne’s story. This is a stand-alone book and features Miss Mary Smith, who finds herself in urgent need of work when her father is arrested and the owner of the private school where Mary is a student asks her to leave.
What must it be like to be suddenly homeless, wondering how you will manage for food, shelter and safety? Mary will be tested and challenged in lots of ways. I do hope you enjoy her story.
Next, I’m finally turning my attention to Lady Cecily, who has appeared in both The Earl’s Runaway Governess and A Midnight Mistletoe Kiss. It’s about time she got her happy-ever-after!
CATHERINE TINLEY
A Waltz with the Outspoken Governess
Catherine Tinley has loved reading and writing since childhood, and has a particular fondness for love, romance and happy endings. She lives in Ireland with her husband, children, dog and kitten, and can be reached at catherinetinley.com, as well as through Facebook and on Twitter, @catherinetinley.
Books by Catherine Tinley
Harlequin Historical
The Earl’s Runaway Governess
Rags-to-Riches Wife
Christmas Cinderellas
“A Midnight Mistletoe Kiss”
A Waltz with the Outspoken Governess
The Chadcombe Marriages
Waltzing with the Earl
The Captain’s Disgraced Lady
The Makings of a Lady
Visit the Author Profile page
at Harlequin.com.
For Lara, Janice, Harper, Laurie, Jenni, Elisabeth, Virginia and Nicole. Thank you for all the love, support and reassurance.
Thanks also to all the dedicated readers in our Facebook club. The Unlaced Historical Romance Group is one of my favorite (virtual) places.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Excerpt from A Family for the Titanic Survivor by Lauri Robinson
Chapter One
London—January 1810
‘Miss Smith! Be seated this instant!’
Mary eyed her irate teacher with frustration. For a moment, she was tempted to be defiant, remain on her feet, give voice to what she truly believed. Instead, with great reluctance, she sank down into her seat, conscious that the shocked eyes of all of the other young ladies were on her.
‘Plumpton Academy for Young Ladies is a place of learning, a place where young ladies acquire the skills they will need for marriage.’ Miss Plumpton’s steely grey eyes bored into Mary’s blue ones. ‘As I was saying, all women should be useful to their husbands. Useful and gentle, and agreeable. It is not seemly for a young lady such as yourself to offer your opinions in such a forceful, mannish way.’
The fire within Mary blazed into life again. ‘I only said—’
‘You will be silent!’ Miss Plumpton’s tone brooked no argument. Standing stiffly in a black bombazine gown, her ample bosom heaving with fury, she addressed Mary with barely concealed disdain. ‘I heard what you said. You wished to express that a woman should be free to offer her opinions in mixed company? That is truly shocking! I do not wonder your poor father despaired of you and sent you to us that we might try to make a lady of you.’
‘Do not speak of my father in such a way! He would never despair of me!’ Mary bunched her hands into fists.
How dare she presume to speak for Papa, or imagine she knows why he sent me here?
Miss Plumpton’s lip curled. ‘It is unusual for a young lady of your advanced age to be placed in this academy. Most of the others—’ her delicate hand indicated the eleven other young ladies, all of whom were listening with wide eyes and an air of horror ‘—are sixteen and seventeen years of age. At twenty, Miss Smith, you should have learned long ago how to behave in polite society. Instead, you are an unruly, opinionated hoyden. And—’ she finished with an air of triumph ‘—no man will ever wish to marry you!’
Ignoring the gasps at this pronouncement, Mary simply smiled.
This seemed to anger her teacher even more. ‘Are you laughing at what I have to say?’ There were two spots of colour in her cheeks.
Mary raised an eyebrow. ‘Not at all. I was simply reflecting that, as a woman with no plan to ever marry, your announcement comes as something of a relief. I have no desire to ever submit to a man—and nor should any female. Apart from a rare few like my own papa, men seem to wish only to quell us.’
‘Miss Smith! I should declare myself to be shocked, except that, truly, I now expect you to say whatever makes you seem contrary.’
‘Mistress Mary, quite contrary,’ muttered one of the young ladies. A wave of unkind laughter rippled around the room. Mary flushed, unexpectedly pierced by hurt. She raised her chin. Never had she found another young lady she might call friend. She probably never would.
I have always known that Papa is my only friend.
Forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand, she refused to concede defeat. ‘My aim is not to be contrary, only truthful. There is no harm in that.’
‘Oh, but there is.’ Miss Plumpton’s temper was still high. ‘For an unacceptable truth must always be hidden.’
Mary shook her head. ‘I do not hide from honesty. I have been raised to honour truth and to speak plainly. I must continue to do so.’
‘Not when your “truth” is hurtful to others. Or when it harms your reputation.’
‘Reputation—pah! A notion constructed by society to control us.’ Ignoring the gasps from young ladies on either side of her, Mary pressed on. ‘Let me apply logic to your statement, Miss Plumpton. You have said that speaking plainly must be abhorred if one’s utterances may hurt another. Is that correct?’
Miss Plumpton shrugged. ‘Simple politeness dictates it.’
Mary tilted her head to one side, her mind working furiously. ‘I do agree with you that we must temper the need for honesty with an understanding that harsh words may land like blows. Yet, there is something here that I do not understand. Why then did you not comment when one of my classmates said “Mistress Mary, quite contrary” just now?’
There was a pause. Miss Plumpton seemed momentarily lost for words. Mary waited, curiosity uppermost in her mind. These were exactly the kinds of debates she had used to enjoy with her papa. Logic. Morality. Human responsibilities and choices.
Everyone was awaiting Miss Plumpton’s response. Her eyes flicked left and right, then, finally, inspiration came to her. ‘I suggest, Miss Smith, that rather than trying to bring trouble on one of your classmates—not an endearing characteristic, you must agree—instead you should reflect on why you are held to be contrary by these other ladies.’ Her expression grew victorious. ‘You cannot change your behaviour until you understand it!’
‘Well, I agree with you there.’ Mary’s tone was serene. ‘Our actions are driven by our beliefs and our humours, and it is only by understanding oneself that one can hope to do better. And I should make clear that I did not wish to bring trouble to anyone. I merely wished to point out the lack of logic in your argument.’
Miss Plumpton’s middle-aged face was now an interesting shade of purple. ‘You would do well to remember, Miss Smith, that you are a student here and that I am your teacher.’
Mary’s brow creased. ‘Well, of course I remember that!’
The teacher tutted. ‘I mean that you should not argue with your betters!’
‘My betters? But no one is constitutionally or naturally “better” than anyone else. As human beings, we are all created by God.’
Miss Plumpton gave a most unladylike snort. ‘Of course some are better than others. We are better than the poor creatures who live in the slums and the people who work in service to us, as well as those from other countries. In turn, we submit to our menfolk—husbands, fathers, priests and, ultimately, the King himself.’
Mary shook her head. ‘That is evidently not the case. As women, we are more than ornaments or chattels, owned by men. I believe that we are human beings with the ability to think and to feel and to take our part in this society.’
Miss Plumpton’s eyes widened. ‘Utter nonsense! Who has been feeding your head with such shocking ideas?’
‘Strangely, my head seems to fill itself, of its own accord. It is most interesting how it happens.’
‘Well, from now on I forbid you to utter such absurdities in this school!’
‘Forbid me? But—’
‘I shall spend no further time on this foolishness!’ Picking up her embroidery, Miss Plumpton held it aloft to show the students. ‘Miss Ives, regard how neatly I have set this line of stitches. Now, let me see you do the same.’
Allowing the sewing lesson to waft over her, Mary was struck anew by the feeling of not belonging, of being the only poppy in a field of daisies—or, more accurately, an unwanted weed among the rose bushes. She glanced around the room. Oh, she looked similar to the other young ladies, with her dark curls and her blue eyes and her fashionable muslin gown. But she was not the same. Not inside. The sooner she could get through this year of schooling and return to Papa, the better.
Chapter Two
Stiffkey Hall, Norfolk
‘And you are telling me that my sister intends to bring all five of her offspring to my house?’
Sir Nicholas Denny glared at his unfortunate secretary.
‘That’s it, sir. She has written to you to say so.’ The man waved a paper in front of Nicholas. It contained the distinctive sprawling hand of Susan Denny, now Mrs Fenhurst. The lines were densely written and crossed, in a misguided effort to reduce the cost of postage, and Nicholas knew it would frustrate him to try to read it.
‘I do not wish to see the details. That is why I pay you, Bramber,’ he replied bluntly. ‘Tell me the worst. For how long does she mean to remain?’
Bramber swallowed. ‘Er...from early February until—until the beginning of the Season. A little longer than her usual spring visit, sir.’
‘You wound me, Bramber! Am I to bear their company for more than two full months?’ He shuddered.
His secretary had no response to this.
‘Very well, it appears I have no choice. I know my duty to the family. My sister’s visit must go ahead and I must endure it, however much it inconveniences me.’ Nicholas frowned. ‘Let me consider for a moment.’ He tapped his long fingers on the mahogany desk. ‘Ah! I have it! Bramber, do you remember the old folk tale of the hidden treasure and how the rightful owner forced the thief to reveal its location?’
Bramber looked startled at this seemingly unrelated conversation. ‘Er...no, sir.’
‘Well,’ said Nicholas, ‘the man marched the thief to the field where his treasure lay buried and forced the villain to point to the spot where it lay concealed. He then tied his handkerchief to a stick and placed it in the correct place, and made the thief promise not to remove it, on pain of arrest.’
‘Yes, sir?’ Bramber looked more than a little puzzled.
‘The thief outwitted him. When the man came back with a shovel, the field was full of handkerchiefs on sticks! The particular handkerchief was lost in the throng, you see.’
‘Ah. So, you intend to create a throng, sir?’
Nicholas smiled. ‘Indeed I do! Draw me up a list of friends and neighbours who might provide suitable diversion. Spring may be slow in arriving and people will be glad to come together. With my sister in residence we may invite females, too. Invite the usual families to evening entertainments—you know who I mean, Bramber. The Squire. Sir Harold. The Reeve family. Oh, and that new vicar over in Houghton St Giles. I met him recently and he seems a reasonable fellow.’
‘Yes, sir. And—’ Bramber’s brow was creased ‘—I shall hire extra staff, as we usually do for your sister’s visit. With all of the entertaining, we shall need footmen, maids, grooms... This year, perhaps I should add some nursemaids or a governess, since the children will also be visiting?’
‘Capital idea, Bramber! No doubt my sister will bring that poor creature she uses as a governess. Best to have extra assistance with Susan’s brood.’ He grinned. ‘Lord help the poor governess who will be forced to take on my nephews and nieces—as unpromising a clatter of children as I ever saw. Makes me glad that I have maintained my single state.’ A sudden thought occurred to him and he eyed his secretary with curiosity. ‘You are a young man, Bramber, only a few years younger than I am. Do you also intend to avoid the parson’s mousetrap?’
Bramber gave a tight smile. ‘I am not averse to the notion of marriage, but I have not yet—that is to say, I—such things can be difficult...’ His voice tailed off.
‘Perhaps there will be a lady for you among the visitors, Bramber. Yet more reasons to create a throng this spring!’ Nicholas grinned at him. ‘Now, my studies are calling me.’ He indicated the Greek text at his elbow. ‘Go, then! Fill this house with people, so that I may hide from my own relatives!’
Bramber went.
* * *
‘Miss Plumpton wants to see you, miss. In her parlour.’
Mary’s heart gave a skip of alarm at the housemaid’s words.
What have I done to earn her displeasure now?
Since the confrontation in the classroom last week, Mary had done her best to appear biddable. She had bitten her lip on numerous occasions a
nd taken part without complaint in nonsense such as dancing lessons, deportment classes and Reading Aloud.
At least the latter had involved books. Actual books. For a school, Mary had discovered, the Plumpton Academy for Young Ladies contained surprisingly few books.
But then, she reflected, as she tripped downstairs towards Miss Plumpton’s parlour, they do not value book-learning here.
Quite the contrary. Miss Plumpton actively dissuaded the young ladies from appearing in any way learned.
For Mary, having grown up surrounded by her father’s books and his wonderful lively mind, this was a world quite unlike any other. But Papa had wanted her to come. So she had decided to stop dissenting with Miss Plumpton and accept this year as part of her journey of learning. It was only a year, after all. She had been here since September, so was now almost one-third done. And Papa was spending a lot of money to send her here. She paused, remembering their arguments over it. She had resisted to the end, but he had been resolute.
‘I have been too selfish, keeping you with me,’ he had declared. ‘Your mama would have wanted you to enjoy your womanhood. Spending all your time with your old papa, discussing books, is not right for a young lady. You need to benefit from some time in London, dancing and laughing, and being young.’
‘I miss you, Papa,’ Mary whispered now. She had been home for Yuletide just a few weeks ago, but would not now see Papa again until after Lent. They wrote to each other every fortnight and Mary loved receiving his letters. He had now taken up residence in his new parish, in the district of Walsingham in Norfolk, and seemed to have settled well. This Hilary term already seemed endless and Mary was counting the days until Easter.
Reaching the parlour, she knocked, then entered on Miss Plumpton’s call.
‘Miss Smith.’ Miss Plumpton looked even more stern than usual. ‘Be seated.’
Mary slid wordlessly into a satin-trimmed chair, then, remembering who she was with, sat up straighter.
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