‘I have every confidence that you will manage very well,’ he replied drily. ‘Spending money on dresses, if I remember correctly, is one of your particular talents, my dear.’
* * *
Next morning, Mrs Fenhurst, her two older daughters, and their governess all departed for Norwich in Sir Nicholas’s largest carriage. Mary watched them go with a definite sense of relief. They had left a full two hours later than planned, after a great deal of fussing over cloaks and boots and reticules, and they would not return until after nightfall.
‘Miss Smith!’ It was Sir Nicholas, striding down the hallway as though he were Zeus himself. ‘Have they finally gone?’
‘They have.’ Not wishing to say anything indiscreet, she closed her mouth firmly, making him grin.
‘Come with me.’ He would say no more, despite her questions, simply marching off towards the kitchens. She, bewildered yet strangely invigorated, accompanied him, almost skipping to keep up. Servants dived to the left and right as he strode through their domain. Mary greeted most of them by name, shrugging at the parlourmaid’s raised eyebrows to indicate that she had no idea why the master was taking her through the servants’ corridors.
‘Mrs Kett!’ he bellowed and the housekeeper appeared at the doorway of her room.
‘Ah, there you are!’ She seemed unperturbed. ‘Come inside, Miss Smith.’
Mary did so and was astonished when Mrs Kett began unbuttoning her sleeves. Mary caught sight of Sir Nicholas’s gleeful grin as he closed the door to the housekeeper’s room, leaving the women alone.
What on earth is happening?
‘I have the riding habit all ready for you, my dear. It was Miss Susan’s when she was young and slim, and should fit you perfectly.’
‘Riding habit? But—’ Mary was all confusion.
‘Turn around.’ Automatically, Mary did so, and allowed Mrs Kett to help her out of her day dress and into a beautiful blue velvet habit. It was plainer than current fashions demanded, but it had clearly been made by a master of their craft.
‘This shade of blue is a perfect match for your eyes, my dear.’ Mrs Kett frowned. ‘It is a little tight about the bust... I shall leave the upper buttons undone and you should manage.’
Mary glanced down. There, as if on a platter, were her breasts, only half-covered by the blue velvet fabric. The top two buttons were undone and the third was under considerable strain.
Mary clapped a hand to her chest, the vicar’s daughter in her horrified by the amount of exposure. ‘I need a fichu or something. A piece of lace...’
‘Nonsense!’ retorted Mrs Kett briskly. ‘Why, you will see much worse at a ball! Now make haste, for Sir Nicholas awaits.’
‘Awaits where?’ Mary’s mind was struggling to keep pace.
‘In the stable yard, of course!’ Mrs Kett smiled warmly. ‘You would do well to hurry, for it is quite a kindness for him to take you riding.’
‘Riding? Me? But I do not ride!’
‘Which is precisely why he instructed the stableboys to saddle the quietest mare in the stable for you. Now, go, girl, quickly!’
Mrs Kett’s tone brooked no opposition. Mary fled, holding her longish skirts off the ground as she walked. The fabric was heavy—much heavier than the sheer muslin she was accustomed to—and it swished against her with sensuous grace.
One of the stableboys met her at the kitchen door and offered her a selection of boots from which to try. Finding a pair that fit, she allowed one of the maids to help her don them, then she was ready.
Sir Nicholas was waiting just outside the door, and he seemed to catch his breath when he saw her. His eyes swept over her from head to toe and, while his gaze did not particularly linger on her bosom, she felt a tingle go through her as if he had touched her.
‘My dear Miss Smith!’ He bowed, taking her hand.
‘I—’ Her voice croaked and she cleared her throat. ‘I told you I am frightened of riding.’
‘You should understand,’ he said confidentially, tucking her left hand into the crook of his arm, ‘that I took your statement as something of a challenge.’ He smiled down at her. ‘To ride is such a wonderful part of my life that it seemed entirely unfitting that you should be deprived of it.’
She was barely listening. ‘Lord, why must you be so tall?’ she declared crossly, spreading her right hand over her cleavage, for of course, as they walked along together, he was almost forced to look directly down the front of her dress.
He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Your dress is perfect, Miss Smith, but as a man, I would of course say so. Now, tell me honestly, should I lend you my handkerchief to protect your modesty?’
‘I should appreciate that, sir.’
He took a spotless white kerchief from his pocket and watched carefully as she tucked it into the bodice of her shocking habit. Once she was satisfied he sighed dramatically, as if mourning the loss of her bosom, then offered her his arm again.
They walked on towards the stables, where a groom was holding the reins of two horses—Sir Nicholas’s black stallion and a pretty bay mare.
‘Oh, she’s beautiful!’ Mary could not help exclaiming. ‘But—do you really think it is safe for me to sit on her back?’
‘Nellie is her name,’ said Sir Nicholas indulgently, ‘and, yes, she is perfectly safe for you. Now, allow me to help you up.’
This was accomplished with a great deal of nerves on Mary’s part and calm instructions on his. Mary hooked her knee across the side saddle and fitted her foot into the strap. Inwardly, she was storing up the memories of every touch between them. Her hand on his shoulder. His steadying hand on her waist, just for a moment. The scent of him, so close by. It was enough to distract her from the fact that she was, for the first time in her life, sitting on a horse. It was only when the groom offered her the reins that she felt a moment’s panic. ‘Must I?’
‘Yes, you must,’ insisted Sir Nicholas. ‘Now, I shall hold her by the bridle, and we shall walk around the yard.’ He clicked his tongue and the horse began a slow walk. Once they had gone around the yard a few times, he stood back, instructing Mary on her use of the reins, how to command the horse to walk and to stop.
‘There! You are a natural!’ he declared and Mary’s heart swelled with pride. ‘Now for the real adventure!’
His groom gave him a leg-up and he sat astride his magnificent horse. Now they were almost at eye level again and Mary could not help but give him a sunny smile. He grinned in return and together they rode slowly out of the stable yard and away from the house.
* * *
For a good half-hour they slowly rode through the gardens, Mary becoming increasingly confident as he drilled her in stopping, starting and directing the mare to go left, or right. Throughout, he gave Mary warm praise and she basked in the glow of it.
Daringly, they ventured a little further, to the beginnings of the woods. Mary’s heart was pounding with excitement and a sense of wonder. Was it because she was riding a horse for the first time, or was it because of the warm looks he was giving her? She could not be sure.
The pale sunlight filtered through the trees, giving everything a verdant glow. The mare picked her way carefully through the undergrowth and Mary shifted her position slightly on the side saddle. The gap between the trees was narrower here and so Sir Nicholas fell in behind her. A little way ahead, she could see a clearing and she turned her horse in that direction.
Then it happened. Something rustled in the undergrowth, spooking the little mare, and she took off at a very fast trot, with Mary bouncing all over the place and desperately trying to keep her seat. A low tree branch loomed in front of her and she ducked to avoid it, pulling on the reins and squeezing the mare’s side in a frantic attempt to get her to slow down. Terror threatened to overcome Mary. If she fell, the horse would likely drag her along, as her foot was firmly entangled w
ith the stirrup. Grimly, she held on to the saddle, gripping it as best she could. The reins were now abandoned, as her priority was simply not to fall.
Then Sir Nicholas was there, reaching across to gasp the mare’s bridle and stop her. The whole thing had taken only moments, but Mary’s heart was pounding in fear and her body trembling from head to toe.
Bringing his horse close to hers, Sir Nicholas enveloped her in a tight one-armed hug. She, trembling, cowered against his hard chest and tried to slow her breathing. Never had she been so frightened.
He half-released her, keeping his hand on her elbow as if to steady her. ‘All is well.’ His brown eyes were pinning hers. ‘You are safe and you managed to slow her down really well. Had it not been for the dense trees in this part of the woods, I’d have reached you sooner.’
She nodded mutely, unable in that moment to speak.
Abruptly, he reached out to stroke her face. His hand was warm, his touch gentle. ‘You are safe,’ he repeated.
Mary could only look at him. His touch, the fright she had just had, the nearness of him...never had she felt anything like it.
Subtly, the air between them changed. His unwavering gaze now became charged with desire—the same desire that Mary was also feeling.
Mary had not known until now that a woman could feel so alive, so on fire, simply because of how a man looked at her. Fire, flames, sparks...
He exhaled raggedly. ‘Shall we go back?’ His voice was husky. She knew—was absolutely certain—that he, like her, did not wish to go back at all.
She nodded and he reached for her hand. Taking it to his lips, he kissed it, then turned it over to kiss her palm. She gasped again, unable to help herself.
Taking a deep breath, he let go of her hand. After a moment’s pause, he passed Mary her own reins, then clicked at his horse to walk on. The mare followed without Mary having to do anything and they accomplished the journey back in a thrilling shared silence.
In the yard he jumped down, relinquishing his stallion to the stableboy who had come running out, then held out his two arms to lift Mary down. She went to him gladly, thrilling in the sensation of both his hands on her waist.
‘Thank you,’ she said, a little breathlessly, once she felt the security of cobbles beneath her feet.
‘I do hope that you have not been too frightened by Nellie’s momentary panic?’ His tone was normal, yet the air around them both tingled with awareness.
‘No, not at all.’ It was true. While it had been undoubtedly frightening, overall the experience had been enjoyable. ‘It was worth it.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ he replied seriously and again a shiver went through her. ‘We shall do it again. Soon.’ It sounded like a promise.
‘And now I must begin today’s lessons!’ she offered, trying to bring back a sense of the commonplace again.
‘Indeed.’ He smiled wickedly. ‘I wish you good luck!’
Chapter Twelve
Miss Cushing had, predictably, given Mary precise instructions about the lessons she was to lead with Caroline and the boys today, while the ladies were gone. Mary had no notion of obeying them.
Instead, she sent the children running and shrieking around the gardens with their slates, completing the various arithmetical challenges she had set, then asked the nursemaids to take them for a long walk in the woods after nuncheon. It gave her time to enjoy—and be mortified at—memories of her riding adventure with Sir Nicholas. She had known him such a short time, yet already he had become central to her thoughts. Thinking of Sir Nicholas left her entirely confused—desire, admiration, friendship and wariness all warring for superiority.
It would not do. He was her employer and she was here because of Papa’s need of her, nothing more. Once she had changed out of the outrageous riding habit, she had carefully folded Sir Nicholas’s handkerchief, intending to give it back as soon as she could. With determination, she vowed to put the entire episode behind her and focus entirely on being a good governess.
During the walk, the children were each to collect five objects of ‘treasure’ she had listed—including such items as an acorn, a willow twig and a pebble. A sweetmeat was to be awarded to anyone who brought back all of the items on their list.
She had already noticed that the younger three were all much kinder to each other—and more well-behaved generally—when they had had the chance to run, and explore, and simply be children. The nursemaids had also reported that bedtime was much easier on those days when the children were tired out by healthy activity. It seemed the riddle of the boys’ reputation for challenging behaviour had been answered; they were simply normal children with a need for wildness and freedom to play.
Despite her initial tolerance for Mary’s unusual approach, Mrs Fenhurst was becoming increasingly insistent on traditional lessons, egged on by the anxious Miss Cushing, who was clearly fearful of being outshone by her young rival. Mary, realising precisely how things stood, was determined to help the boys learn while playing, for as long as she could possibly manage it. Being a governess was turning out to be much more engaging than she had anticipated.
* * *
After her lessons were done, Mary realised with some surprise that there were still a couple of hours of daylight left. Taking the basket of provisions given to her by Mrs Kett, Mary set off for the Home Farm, where Mrs Skipper was glad to report some improvement in her little one’s condition. Mary stayed a half-hour and drank a cup of tea, before setting off again—this time for the village and Papa’s vicarage.
Miss Lutton was delighted to see her and had some helpful information. Yes, the Bishop had been informed of Papa’s having been taken up by the officers. He had been, Miss Lutton understood, shocked by the arrest and was leaving the parish without a vicar for now, with the incumbents in the nearby parishes covering Houghton St Giles. He had indicated he would review the situation after Easter, when it would be known if Mary’s papa would be released or convicted. Until then Miss Lutton was to maintain the empty vicarage in a tidy condition.
‘Might he speak up on my papa’s behalf?’ A surge of hope ran through Mary. Surely, with a recommendation from a bishop, her papa would get a more receptive hearing.
Miss Lutton shook her head. ‘I have been told that he will not interfere. The possibility that Mr Smith will be charged with treason means it is too serious, apparently.’ She bit her lip. ‘My impression is that the primary consideration for the church is the need for discretion. I have been charged to say nothing more than that Mr Smith was called away urgently.’
‘An accurate statement, in essence.’
‘I believe—and I would not wish to speak ill of a man of God—but my impression is that the Bishop may be more concerned about the possible scandal than about your father himself.’
Mary sighed. ‘Many will feel the same, I am sorry to say. Treason is no little charge. I still have no way of discovering why they have taken my papa, though. Was it simply the fact that some important papers were found in this house?’
Miss Lutton shrugged. ‘If I am honest, I am not sure which papers were the treasonous ones. Your father has many, many books and papers and pamphlets—indeed, there are so many that dusting them is quite a chore—and he writes and receives dozens of letters, as you will know, miss.’
‘But his interests are scholarly. He is a classicist and also enjoys sharing well-thought-through sermons. He has never engaged in anything seditious! What was in these so-called treasonous papers, do you know?’
The housekeeper shrugged. ‘Something to do with the War Office, the constables said. But I do not really understand these things.’
‘The War Office? Yes, you had said so in your letter. But Papa has no interest in military matters. He barely mentions the Peninsular campaign, save to hope that too many men are not lost, or to comfort bereaved families.’ She frowned. ‘I simply do not understand i
t.’
Miss Lutton grimaced. ‘And now he is lying in a gaol and all we can do is pray for him.’
Mary snorted. ‘I do pray for him, but I intend to do much more than just pray!’ She described her visit to Papa, and Miss Lutton—who had never been inside a prison in her life—was impressed enough to declare that she, too, would find the courage to visit him.
‘I did not mention that I knew him,’ Mary confessed, ‘for fear they would not let me see him.’
‘Well, I shall give my true name and discover what they will say to me.’
Mary thanked her, feeling relieved that Papa would see another kindly face in the coming days, ‘For I do not know when I shall get the opportunity to visit him again myself. I had hoped to go today, but the ladies were late to leave and so there was not enough time.’ Even if she had not gone riding in the woods, there still would not have been enough time.
Miss Lutton patted her hand. ‘If your father is truly innocent, then I cannot see how they can convict him.’
Mary wished she felt so certain about the outcome.
* * *
The excursion to Norwich was pronounced a success, with Mrs Fenhurst and Amabel both chattering excitedly about the dresses, bonnets, spencers and slippers they had commissioned. Mary descended to the hallway to greet them on their return and was happy to hear their tales. Beatrice confessed shyly to Mary that she, too, had become caught up in the excitement of trying things on and helping to choose fabrics, styles and trimmings. ‘I do hope, Miss Smith, that you do not think me trivial or insipid for finding myself interested in such trifling matters.’
Mary, having recently discovered unexpected understandings within herself, could only say, ‘Oh, no! Of course one can be scholarly and clever, and still enjoy pretty dresses.’ As she said it, she was struck by how much she was changing by being here in Stiffkey Hall. Never would she have expected to see merit in any focus on a lady’s appearance, beyond the requirements of practicality and basic propriety. Yet here she was, not only supporting Beatrice’s youthful excitement, but genuinely understanding it. Her classmates in Miss Plumpton’s Academy would be shocked if they knew.
A Waltz with the Outspoken Governess Page 9