by Diane Gaston
Charlotte grinned, showing the pretty dimple in her cheek. ‘Very tolerable. I made myself join the conversation and soon I was not even thinking about it.’
Anna crossed the room and gave her a hug. ‘That is marvellous. Did you also enjoy yourself?’
Charlotte nodded, her blonde curls bobbing. ‘I did! Very much.’ She pulled Anna over to the chairs by the window. ‘But you must tell me about your interview!’
Anna sobered. ‘I am hired. I start within a week.’
Charlotte jumped out of her chair, looking stricken. ‘No!’
‘It is true.’ Anna watched Charlotte sit again. ‘But it is a good thing, Charlotte.’
Lines of worry creased Charlotte’s brow. ‘Maybe you should not take the first position offered you. I’ve heard things. People talk as if there is something wrong about Lord Brentmore. Something about his past.’
‘It does not matter.’ Anna took her hands. ‘I cannot afford to refuse. I have nothing to recommend me. I am very fortunate the marquess agreed to hire me.’
‘Why did he hire you, then?’ Her tone turned petulant. ‘If you have nothing to recommend you?’
‘I believe he was in urgent need of a governess.’ She squeezed her friend’s hands.
Charlotte lips pursed. ‘You sound as if you met the man.’
‘It was he who interviewed me.’
Charlotte’s eyes grew wide. ‘What was he like? Was he as grand as a marquess should be?’
The image of the panther, restless and dangerous, returned. ‘He was formidable, but I doubt I shall have to encounter him much. I will be at Brentmore Hall with his children.’
‘So far away?’ Charlotte cried.
Far away from all she knew.
Charlotte’s lip trembled. ‘I am telling Mama I will refuse all invitations. I’m going to spend every second of this week with you. It is all we have left!’
The prospect of being separated from Charlotte tore Anna apart inside. This bond between the two of them, borne of sharing a childhood together, was about to be shattered. They could never again be together like they had been before.
Not even for this last week.
Chapter Two
Only three days later Anna was again riding in Lord Brentmore’s carriage, this time travelling alone to Essex, a long day’s ride from London.
The countryside and villages passed before her eyes, becoming indistinguishable as the day wore on. From one blink of an eye to the next, her life had changed and each mile brought her closer to something new and unknown. With each bump in the road, she fought a rabble of butterflies in her stomach.
‘This is an adventure,’ she said out loud. ‘An adventure.’
Such an adventure would test her mettle, certainly. She’d often acted braver than she felt, because that was what was expected of her as Charlotte’s companion. She must do so again here. At Charlotte’s side she’d tackled each new lesson, mastered each new skill. This should be no different. Except this time she had no instructor guiding her, no friend looking up to her. This time she was alone.
* * *
The sun dipped low in the sky when the carriage approached an arched gate of red brick. Atop the gate was a huge clock upon which were written the words Audaces Fortuna Juvat.
‘Fortune favours the bold,’ she murmured.
She laughed. Fortune certainly put her in a position to be bold.
She girded herself as the carriage passed through the gate and a huge Tudor manor house came into view. Also made of red brick, it rose three storeys and had a multitude of chimneys and windows reflecting the setting sun. Two large wings flanked a centre court with a circular drive that led to a huge wooden door where the carriage stopped.
The coachman opened the window beneath his seat. ‘Brentmore Hall, miss.’
Her nerves fluttered anew. ‘Thank you, sir.’
She gathered up her reticule and the basket she’d carried with her. A footman appeared at the carriage door to help her out. As she stepped on to the gravel, the huge wooden door opened and a man and woman emerged.
The man, dressed as a gentleman and of about forty years of age, strode towards her. ‘Miss Hill?’ He extended his hand. ‘Welcome to Brentmore Hall. I am Mr Parker, Lord Brentmore’s man of business.’
She shook his hand and summoned the training in comportment she’d received at Charlotte’s side. ‘A pleasure to meet you, sir.’
A gust of wind blew her skirts. She held her hat on her head.
Mr Parker turned to the woman, who was more simply dressed. ‘Allow me to present Mrs Tippen, the housekeeper here.’
The woman perfectly looked the part of housekeeper with grey hair peeking out from a pristinely white cap and quick assessing eyes.
Anna extended her hand. ‘A pleasure, Mrs Tippen. How kind of you to greet me.’
The woman’s face was devoid of expression. She hesitated before shaking Anna’s hand. ‘You are young.’
She stiffened at the housekeeper’s clear disapproval, but summoned a smile. ‘I assure you, Mrs Tippen. I am old enough.’
The housekeeper frowned.
Mr Parker stepped forwards. ‘The previous governess was of a more advanced age.’ He gestured towards the door. ‘Shall we go inside? The footmen will see to your trunk and boxes.’
The trunk and boxes contained all her worldly belongings, sent from Lawton to London so that she could carry them with her.
Anna entered a large hall with grey marble floors and wainscoted walls. A line of flags hung high above her head. A larger-than-life portrait of a man with long, curly, blond locks, dressed in gold brocade, filled one wall and one of a woman in a voluminous silk dress faced it on the other wall. The hall smelled of beeswax from the burning branches of candles and the polish of the wood.
Intended to be majestic, Anna supposed, the hall seemed oppressive. Too dark. Too ancient.
So unlike Lawton House, full of light and colour.
Another man crossed the floor and Mr Parker spoke. ‘Ah, here is Mr Tippen, Lord Brentmore’s butler.’
This butler was as stern-faced as the housekeeper. His wife?
‘Mr Tippen,’ Mr Parker went on, ‘this is Miss Hill, the new governess.’
The butler nodded. ‘We have been expecting you.’
Mrs Tippen spoke, her face still devoid of expression. ‘You’ll be weary. Come with me to your room and then dinner.’
‘What about meeting the children?’ Her whole reason to be here.
‘Asleep. Or nearly so,’ Mrs Tippen said.
‘Did they not expect to see me?’ She would hate to fail them on her first day.
‘We did not tell them,’ Mr Parker said.
‘You did not tell them I was coming today?’ Should the children not have a warning that their new governess was arriving?
‘We thought it best not to tell them anything at all.’ Mr Parker inclined his head in an ingratiating manner. ‘Go ahead and refresh yourself. I will see you for dinner.’
Anna had no choice but to follow Mrs Tippen up the winding mahogany staircase.
Was she to be another surprise to the children, then? Had they not received too many surprises already, with the death of their mother a year ago and now the death of their governess?
She followed the housekeeper up two flights of stairs. ‘Your room is this way.’ She turned down one of the wings, stopping at a door and stepping aside for Anna to enter.
The room was panelled in the same dark wood as the entrance hall and stairway. It was furnished with a four-poster bed, a chest of drawers, chairs and a small table by the window, and a dressing table. Compared to Charlotte’s bedchamber, it was modest, but would be comfortable if it were not so dark. Even the fire in the fireplace and an oil lamp burning did not banish an aura of gloom.
Had this been the previous governess’s room? Anna wondered. Had the woman died here?
She decided she’d rather not know. ‘This is a nice room.’
Mrs T
ippen seemed unmoved by her compliment. ‘There is fresh water in the pitcher and towels for you. Your trunk will be brought up forthwith.’
‘Where are the children’s rooms?’ Anna asked.
‘Down the hallway,’ a young woman answered as she entered the room. ‘This whole wing is the children’s wing.’
The housekeeper walked out without bothering to introduce Anna to this new person. The newcomer was a servant, obviously, from the white apron she wore and the cap covering her red hair. She appeared to be only a few years older than Anna and had the sturdy good looks of so many of the country women of Lawton.
Anna felt a wave of homesickness.
The servant strode towards her with a smile on her face. ‘I’m Eppy, the children’s nurse. Well, I’m really a maid, but since I take care of the children, I call myself a nurse.’
‘I am pleased to meet you.’ Anna extended her hand. ‘I am Anna Hill.’
‘I’m sure I’m more pleased than you are.’ The nurse laughed. ‘I am also to act as your maid, so what can I do to assist you?’ She turned towards a sound in the hallway. ‘Oh, that will be your trunk now. You must be eager to change out of your travel clothes.’
Two footmen carried in her belongings, nodded to her and left.
Anna removed the key of her trunk from her reticule. ‘I must change. I am expected for dinner.’
The maid took the key and unlocked the trunk. While Anna removed her travelling dress and washed the dirt of the road off her skin, the maid chattered on about how lovely the clothing was that she unpacked for Anna, the gowns which once were Charlotte’s. Eventually Eppy found one gown without too many wrinkles that would be suitable for dinner.
Anna always felt a sense of irony about having a servant attend her, the daughter of servants, but she’d been accustomed to the assistance of a Charlotte’s maid. As Charlotte’s companion, she’d received nearly the same services as Charlotte herself, to show the timid girl that there was nothing to fear. That had been her main task—showing Charlotte there was nothing to fear.
Eppy helped Anna into her dress.
‘Are the children really sleeping?’ Anna asked. It was nearing eight in the evening according to the clock in the room.
‘Last I checked,’ Eppy replied good-naturedly. At least the maid was cheerful, unlike Mr and Mrs Tippen.
‘Have the children truly not been told I was coming?’ Anna straightened the front of her dress.
The maid tied her laces. ‘That was Mr Parker’s idea. Goodness knows what he was thinkin’.’
Indeed. The children should have been told. Charlotte always adjusted better when warned of something new.
Anna herself would have preferred to be warned in advance that the future she’d expected for herself would be snatched away from her.
After Charlotte married, she’d thought she’d return to Lawton House and eventually also would encounter someone who wanted to marry her. A scholarly man, perhaps, a man who would value an educated wife. They’d have children, she’d hoped, to whom she could pass on all that she’d learned.
Now she did not dare to look into her future. She did not dare dream. She knew now that nothing could ever be certain.
She sat down at the dressing table and pulled pins from her hair. ‘Can you tell me about the children?’ she asked the maid. ‘I know nothing. Not even their names, actually.’ Lord Brentmore had never mentioned their names.
‘Well—’ Eppy continued to unpack her trunk ‘—the boy is Cal—Earl of Calmount, if you want to get fancy. Given name is John, in case you need it. He is the older at seven years and a quiet little thing. Next is little Dory—Lady Dorothea, that is. Not quiet at all.’
‘And she is five years old?’ Anna remembered.
‘That she is, miss.’ Eppy placed some folded articles of clothing in a bureau drawer.
Anna repinned her hair. ‘It must have been difficult for them to lose their governess.’
The maid shrugged. ‘Mrs Sykes was sickly for a while. You’ll be a nice change for the little ones.’
She hoped so.
She stood and smoothed out the skirt of her dress. ‘I am supposed to dine with Mr Parker. Will there be someone downstairs to show me the way?’
Eppy closed the drawer. ‘One of the footmen will be attending the hall. I expect you’ll eat in the dining room. That is where Mr Parker is served.’
The maid accompanied her out in the hall. She pointed down the long hallway of the wing. ‘I have been sleeping in the room at the very end of the hall. The children are two doors down from you here. Come knock on my door if you need help before you retire.’
Anna walked down the stairs to the entrance hall. As Eppy had said, a footman was there to escort her to the dining room.
Mr Parker stood when she walked in the room. ‘Ah, there you are. I hope everything was to your liking.’
As if she were free to complain. ‘It was.’
Two places were set at the end of a long table, across from each other, leaving the head of the table, with its larger chair, empty. Lord Brentmore’s seat, obviously.
Mr Parker helped her into her seat and signalled to another waiting footman. ‘We shall be served in a moment. May I pour you some wine?’
‘Certainly.’ She glanced about the room, as wainscoted as the rest of the house she’d seen. Were there any rooms with plastered walls and colourful wall coverings? The only attempt at brightness in this room was a huge tapestry that covered the wall behind the table’s head. Its faded colours told the story of a hunt that must have taken place at least two centuries ago. The sideboard held gleaming silver serving dishes, which, she suspected, would not be used to serve a man of business and a governess.
Mr Parker raised his glass. ‘Here is to Brentmore, your new home.’
It was hard to imagine this place, both grand and dismal, ever feeling like home. Home was Lawton House. And the small cottage she sometimes shared with her parents.
‘To Brentmore,’ she murmured.
A footman brought in a tureen of soup and served them.
Mr Parker tasted the soup and nodded his approval. Anna ought to be starving after her day of travel with only quick meals at posting inns, but sipping the soup was more formality than famish.
‘Tomorrow before I leave I will make certain Mrs Tippen knows you need a tour of the house and grounds.’ He took another spoonful.
She looked up at him. ‘Before you leave? You are leaving tomorrow?’
He nodded. ‘Lord Brentmore wishes me to return to town as soon as possible.’
Did Lord Brentmore not feel the children needed some transition? Even if Mr Parker did not involve himself in their care, he must be a familiar figure to them.
She pursed her lips. ‘I suppose the marquess’s needs are greater than the children’s.’
His spoon stopped in mid-air. ‘The children? The children do not need me here. Oh, no, no, no. All I’ve done is see to the former governess’s burial. She had no family to speak of, so it was entirely up to me. The nurse takes care of the children.’ He cocked his head. ‘You met her, I hope. She was to have presented herself to you.’
‘She did.’ She frowned. ‘Have you had nothing to do with the children at all? Did you not speak with them and tell them that you were attending to the burial?’
His brows rose. ‘Their nurse took care of that. I thought it best not to disrupt their routine.’
Disrupt their routine? Their governess died, for goodness’ sake. That was a disruption. She’d better say no more about that, lest she really lose her temper.
The footman brought turbot for the next course.
‘What can you tell me about the children?’ Anna asked.
‘Not a great deal.’ Mr Parker dug his fork into the fish. ‘I understand they are easy to manage.’
She needed to learn something about them. ‘Their mother died, did she not?’
He glanced down at his plate. ‘Yes. A little over a year ago. I
t happened here. A riding accident.’
‘Here?’ She swallowed. ‘The children must have been very affected.’
He took a bite. ‘I suppose they were.’
Anna expelled an exasperated breath. This man knew nothing of the children. ‘Tell me about their mother. Did you know her?’
He froze, then put down his fork. ‘I cannot say I knew her. She was...’ He paused. ‘Very beautiful.’
That told her nothing.
His voice stiffened. ‘You should ask Lord Brentmore about his wife. It is not my place to discuss such matters.’
She thought she was discussing Lady Brentmore and her children. Not the lady’s husband.
‘Was Lord Brentmore here when his wife died?’ She hoped so for the children’s sake.
‘He was abroad.’ Mr Parker took another bite. ‘Finishing up his diplomatic mission.’ He followed with a sip of wine. ‘He did travel back as soon as he could.’
That was something, at least. ‘I did not realise he was involved in diplomacy.’
‘During the war and Napoleon’s first exile.’ Mr Parker relaxed. ‘Very hush-hush, you know.’
She had a sudden vision of the marquess moving through dark alleys, meeting dangerous men. ‘He was away a great deal?’
‘For very long periods. I managed his affairs for him and the estate business while he was absent.’ He said this with a great deal of pride.
She supposed that the marquess’s absence from his children might be forgiven while he performed the King’s service. Perhaps she could not expect that every father show the same sort of devotion Lord Lawton lavished on Charlotte. Anna’s father certainly never showed her much affection. He’d always resented her living with Charlotte in the House, she’d supposed.
But surely the marquess must see how painful it would be for his children to lose their mother and their governess. Why had the man not come to comfort them? Why had he sent his man of business instead?
She only hoped her woeful lack of experience would not cause the poor little ones more trouble and sadness.
For the rest of the meal, Anna fell back on the conversational skills she and Charlotte had practised to prepare for Charlotte’s come out. Making pleasant conversation when one’s nerves were all in disorder was an achievement, indeed.