‘Yes!’
‘I shall complete my quest, fair lady!’ David gave Mary a courtly bow, and she responded with a curtsy.
‘Caroline, you may accompany Master Edmond—but do not help him with the answer. He must figure it out by himself. Now, when I drop my handkerchief, you may begin. Are you ready? Then—go!’
They ran at full pace, Caroline struggling to keep up with Edmond as they disappeared towards the Rose Garden. Good! Mary had discovered that the boys had had very few opportunities to run and play outside since their arrival.
Mary had asked for Mrs Fenhurst’s permission to take her lesson outside, before suggesting it to the boys earlier. ‘Highly irregular!’ their mama had declared. ‘But after this morning’s fisticuffs, I declare I want them nowhere near me!’
Mary clapped her gloved hands together and paced up and down to avoid becoming cold. Despite the bright winter sunshine, the air was frigid and the morning frost had only just melted away. At this moment, she regretted donning only a spencer over her muslin gown. She thought wistfully of her cloak, currently in her bedchamber, and bit her lip.
Hopefully the boys would stay centred on their quests. She had deliberately sent them in different directions in order to prevent them distracting one another. She also knew that creating an air of contest between them would likely help.
A fleeting movement at one of the windows caught her eye. She glanced up—to see Sir Nicholas himself standing there. He was looking in her direction, so she raised a hand in acknowledgement. He returned the gesture, sending a warm feeling through her, then stepped away from the window.
* * *
What on earth ails me?
Sir Nicholas returned to his desk, despite wishing nothing more than to remain at the casement, gazing at the shapely figure of Miss Smith. Quite how he had failed to notice on first meeting her how perfectly proportioned she was now puzzled him enormously.
Modern ladies’ fashions were for thin, fine, muslin dresses. They were surely an inconvenience to ladies for being so light, particularly in cold weather. At this moment, however, Sir Nicholas was immensely grateful to whoever had decreed it. Each time the wind blew, Miss Smith’s dress pressed firmly to her figure, outlining clearly the shape of her divine form. Sir Nicholas had enjoyed both the front and rear views, as Miss Smith, clearly attempting to keep warm, paced up and down. On this sunny winter’s day, Miss Smith’s long, shapely legs had also been clearly outlined. He groaned, closing his eyes briefly.
As a warm-blooded male, Nicholas had had his share of affaires, but he had not expected to find himself so interested in a governess! And it was not just her shapely figure that preoccupied him. Her face, too, he found fascinating. Her eyes—by far her best feature—danced with intelligence, a quality he had always admired. He liked her straightforward, no-nonsense way of speaking, too. He regretted being so cold to her at dinner. She made him laugh and made him think. He was glad Bramber had brought her.
He must, however, be careful. She was governess to his sister’s children, nothing more. He should not be indulging his own foolishness. She was naturally, entirely unsuitable as a potential wife for someone like him. A gently-bred, likely impoverished female like Miss Smith would end up marrying someone like Bramber. Some younger son with a profession or a trade. A gentleman and a gentleman’s daughter, it was true, yet both were limited by their financial status. Such were the ways of society.
And, he reminded himself, it was none of his concern whom she married. When he himself wed, it would be to some well-bred, wealthy maiden who had never needed to work to earn her keep. His position as master of Stiffkey Hall demanded it. He was in no hurry to marry, but would eventually find a suitable wife to carry on the Denny name and lineage.
In truth, she was little more than a servant and therefore entirely beneath him. Yes, despite this inconvenient fixation, he must think of Miss Smith only as a governess.
With determination, he forced himself to consider the challenge she had been set—that of somehow managing two lively boys. He had seen David and Edmond run off in different directions—Miss Caroline accompanying the youngest—and wondered what game the governess was playing with them. Whatever it was, the boys seemed to be finding it diverting.
Resisting the temptation to call for his boots and cloak, he picked up his book.
* * *
An hour later, having returned inside, Mary pronounced herself pleased with her first attempt at being a governess. The tasks she had set the boys contained only fairly simple addition and subtraction riddles and they had completed them easily. The fact they had done so without complaint was significant, she felt. Tomorrow’s quests—involving both addition and multiplication—were more challenging, but they allowed her to see at what level the boys’ learning was.
She herself knew that the greatest joy she had had in learning came from lessons which challenged her mind—but not too much. If the concepts were beyond her, she quickly became discouraged. She also knew that praise was a more powerful force than criticism and had already used this to full effect. Both boys had been delighted with their ‘lesson’, declaring that Miss Smith was a great gig and top-of-the-trees, even if she was a governess.
She had allowed them some time to play together once they had completed their tasks and all three children had run and whooped and shrieked delightedly for a good twenty minutes, before being called inside by their nursemaids for nuncheon, which they would take in the kitchens. Mary had asked them to come to the small parlour afterwards to continue their lessons and they had undertaken to do so with only a token protest.
She herself went to nuncheon upstairs with a feeling more of relief than satisfaction and, upon Mrs Fenhurst’s questioning her, was able to say cautiously that she had made a beginning.
‘I still say,’ declared Miss Cushing with a sniff, ‘that the children should not be outside in winter. What if they should catch a chill?’ She eyed Mary with clear rancour.
Oh, dear! Miss Cushing, already feeling threatened by Mary’s very presence, was now indicating her displeasure at Mary’s first attempt at working with the children. Before Mary could formulate a response that couched what she really thought in more temperate language, she received assistance from an unexpected source.
‘Oh, fie, Cushing! They are not made of glass, you know.’ Mrs Fenhurst brushed a speck from her skirt. ‘We had peace this morning for the first time and I was thankful for it!’
‘The entire household is grateful.’ Sir Nicholas, who had just entered, grinned at his sister. ‘I cannot count the times the boys have caused havoc in this house—and they have been here less than two days.’
Mrs Fenhurst bristled a little. ‘My boys are simply spirited. You are intolerant, Brother, and unused to children.’
Sir Nicholas nodded. ‘It is true I am unused to children. I should say, however, that I am particularly unused to the mayhem that surrounds your children.’
She spread her hands wide. ‘There is nothing my darling boys can do that would earn my displeasure.’
His eyes gleamed. ‘Indeed? So when you despair at their behaviour and call on their nursemaids to remove them, that is not, then, displeasure?’
His sister’s eyes narrowed, as she felt the hit. ‘You are their uncle. You should welcome them here.’
He conceded this, but added, ‘I shall welcome them more when they have learned how to behave like sensible creatures. The boys are in danger of being completely out of control at times. Surely you must see it?’
‘I do not and shall not see any such thing! The boys are naturally a little boisterous, that is all. I declare they quite tire me out!’
Mary fixed her eyes on Sir Nicholas.
Oh, Lord, he is angry now.
‘If they tire you out,’ he declared, his eyes narrowed, ‘I wonder that you have brought them here at all!’
Mrs Fenhurst stiffened. ‘You must understand, Brother, that I would miss them terribly if I had come without them. Especially for so long a visit.’
‘Quite.’
The air between them was charged with acrimony. Bramber had explained that both Sir Nicholas and his sister were motivated by a strong sense of pride in their family name, which was why this tradition of a prolonged visit was strictly observed, even if not always enjoyed.
Say something helpful!
Mary cleared her throat. ‘Miss Caroline and the boys enjoyed some time to play after the lesson.’
‘Well, I still cannot see how it was a lesson at all!’ Miss Cushing looked decidedly cross. ‘I do hope you intend to do some proper work with the boys!’
Oh, Lord! The tension in the air had not evaporated. Rather, it had moved to surround her.
‘I shall be working with them after nuncheon, in the small parlour,’ Mary responded, in a colourless tone.
‘I am happy to hear it!’ declared Miss Cushing. ‘In fact, I shall observe your lesson, Miss Smith. After all, I must ensure that you are a capable teacher! And I remain, as my dear Mrs Fenhurst has confirmed, their true governess!’
‘Of course,’ Mary responded, hiding her hands under the table, since they had just bunched into fists.
I must mask my anger.
She could not pretend to welcome Miss Cushing’s intended scrutiny, so merely added, ‘I do hope you will be satisfied.’
‘What were you doing with the boys outside earlier?’ asked Sir Nicholas politely.
Mary explained, describing the tasks she had set and the arithmetic required for the boys to solve their riddles. Mrs Fenhurst, clearly indifferent to the discussion, applied herself to her ham and herring.
‘But that is astounding!’ Sir Nicholas declared, causing Mary to glow with unanticipated pleasure. ‘I wish my tutors had taken such an approach when I was a lad.’
Mary dimpled at him. ‘I do not doubt, sir, that you yourself could have been a handful at times.’
He understands why I did it! Why this gave her such happiness was unclear, but it did.
He let out a bark of laughter. ‘You have me there, I’ll admit!’
Miss Cushing, looking from one to the other with alarm, was moved to say, ‘But, sir! True teaching must involve the discipline of the classroom!’
‘Of course, of course,’ he replied, seemingly belatedly realising his error. ‘But to have such a game now and again cannot be harmful, surely?’
‘As long as it is only an occasional lapse,’ the older woman conceded, ‘but I myself shall continue to teach indoors, in a sensible way.’ She glared at Mary. ‘These outlandish notions will never take root, mark my words!’
* * *
Nicholas chuckled to himself as he walked to the library. Miss Smith had, once again, entertained him with her quick wit. He had been genuinely intrigued by her approach to teaching and would have loved to see it underway, but resisted the temptation.
She had also impressed him with her insight. Of course it should be clear to anyone with discernment that he had been a strong-willed boy, but then he found himself sadly lacking in companions with the least amount of discernment. Until now, he had been entirely reliant on Bramber for wit, humour and intelligent conversation. Now, it seemed, he had Miss Smith, too.
The thought sent a confusing wave of warmth through him—warmth which instantly became desire, as he recalled again the tempting outline of her form, seen from the library window. Miss Smith was becoming all too distracting, and he was not sure he liked it.
Chapter Nine
Having survived Miss Cushing’s critical scrutiny during her afternoon lessons with David and Edmond, Mary left the small parlour with a definite sense of relief. There was an hour yet until dinner and she wished nothing more than some solitude in her chamber. It was not to be, for a housemaid intercepted her to say that Mrs Fenhurst wished to see her in the Yellow Parlour, as soon as she had finished with the children.
Biting back a sigh, Mary thanked the maid and made her way to the Yellow Parlour.
‘Ah, Miss Smith! Take a seat. How did the boys go on this afternoon?’
Mary gave a brief summary, omitting to mention the constant criticisms and interruption from Miss Cushing as she had tried to work with David and Edmond on their reading and penmanship. ‘I believe,’ she concluded, ‘that they were better able to attend to the lesson simply because they had had the opportunity to play outside this morning.’
‘Hmmm.’ Mrs Fenhurst was clearly unconvinced. ‘I would adjure you to take heed of Cushing. She has a lifetime of experience in dealing with children.’
‘Yes, Mrs Fenhurst.’ Not for anything would she mention the fact that Miss Cushing seemed entirely inept in managing David and Edmond. Particularly since Mrs Fenhurst seemed similarly incapable.
‘Ring the bell for the housekeeper, please.’
Mary did so and only a few moments later they were joined by Mrs Kett, a plump, smiling woman who had already made efforts to make sure Mary had felt welcome in the house.
Mrs Fenhurst spoke to the housekeeper with great condescension. ‘I wish to begin planning the various entertainments that my brother expects, Mrs Kett. I shall begin quietly, with a soirée musicale, then some card parties, perhaps some dancing evenings, and then we shall build towards a Grand Ball at Easter. If the weather improves towards spring, we can organise some al fresco gatherings for the daytime. Naturally, once Lent begins we must behave with appropriate restraint.’
‘I am glad to hear it, ma’am,’ offered Mrs Kett, ‘for as a God-fearing woman I do not hold with celebrating too much during Lent.’
Mrs Fenhurst went on to detail the first few events, before asking Mrs Kett to send a housemaid to fetch Bramber. Mary made lists of all that was to be done—invitations, dates, musicians—while Mrs Kett noted the food preferences that Mrs Fenhurst outlined. Mary found the whole process most interesting.
When Bramber arrived, he and Mrs Fenhurst made a list of people to be invited to the first event—a soirée, to be held in a fortnight. It seemed Sir Nicholas had already specified certain of his friends who were to be invited. Mrs Fenhurst and Bramber then agreed on a few additional local families. The event was to include a dinner for selected guests, so Mrs Fenhurst asked Bramber to calculate the numbers of males and females. Having done so, the number leaned slightly towards ladies.
‘Hmmm...we need a few more unaccompanied males, then, as I do not wish to reduce the numbers,’ declared Mrs Fenhurst. ‘Is Mr Easton still in residence in the Great Snoring vicarage?’
‘He is,’ replied Bramber neutrally. Mary’s ears pricked up at his tone. Bramber sounded decidedly unenthusiastic at the prospect of including Mr Easton.
‘Oh, I know my brother finds him tiresome,’ added Mrs Fenhurst, with a dismissive wave of her hand, ‘but we need some men to balance up all the ladies. Are any of the other local vicars suitable for company?’
‘Indeed,’ replied Bramber. ‘Mr Fuller in Walsingham is a good sort. Actually,’ he added, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, ‘there is also a new man in Houghton St Giles. Sir Nicholas has met him on a couple of occasions and seems to like him.’
It took all of Mary’s presence of mind not to gasp out loud. He was speaking of her papa—word had not then spread about his arrest. She said a silent prayer of thanks for Miss Lutton’s discretion.
‘Perfect!’ declared Mrs Fenhurst. ‘It is settled, then. You shall invite them all and we shall enjoy a veritable feast of vicars!’
A few moments later, as she finally climbed the stairs to her chamber to dress for dinner, Mary’s mind was filled with one thought. Why it seemed so significant, she was unsure. But it made her heart sing with unnamed hope.
Sir Nicholas liked Papa.
* * *
Tonight, the seating arrangements at dinne
r had been altered. Mary’s and Amabel’s places were reversed, meaning that Mary was now seated between Sir Nicholas and Mr Bramber, while the Fenhurst sisters were side by side between their uncle and their mother. Beatrice, Mary noted, was next to Sir Nicholas.
While sorry to miss out on the opportunity to continue strengthening her own burgeoning connection with young Miss Beatrice, Mary was content to have been placed beside Mr Bramber. He was easy, uncomplicated company, conversing with affability on a range of topics while never straying into controversy.
How I wish sometimes that I could be so insipid! Mary thought, before chastising herself for being judgemental.
Mr Bramber was kind, gentle and moderate in all his opinions. Never would he dare to take arithmetic lessons outside, she was sure. No, nor call his employer intimidating!
Even if it were true.
She stole a glance at Sir Nicholas. He was looking at Bramber and seemed to be in a sombre mood tonight. Mary wondered what ailed him. Of course, it was none of her concern, but she could not help but wonder whom he confided his worries in. No one, she suspected. Although he was generally congenial, she sensed that none of the people around him, including his sister, were capable to engaging with him on an equal level. The thought made her sad.
She herself felt similarly alone. Since Papa’s arrest, Mary had missed his wise counsel. It was frustrating not to even be able to write to him. For a moment, a vision of his cold hard cell came to her. She gripped her spoon hard and tried to regain control. Glancing around to check that no one had noticed her lapse, she was discomfited to find Sir Nicholas eyeing her, concern furrowing his brow. For an instant, she allowed the power of his brown eyes to penetrate her soul, before remembering where she was and how she must behave. Pasting a bright smile on her face, she asked if he had gone riding again today.
A Waltz with the Outspoken Governess Page 7