What to do now, though? That is the question. As the day wears on and my mind rests in sleep, each time I awaken I see things more clearly. When the darkness descends outside of my window, I know it is time to shake myself and clear my head. I must think this situation out clearly. I have been used, tricked and fooled, but ultimately I have only myself to blame for my weaknesses.
I decide to rise and face the world head on. I cannot manage to eat in public, but I do need some sustenance, so decide to dress and go down to the reception and order some dinner to be served in my room. Although the water in the large water jug is now cold, I pour it into the large bowl and cleanse myself. Then I dress accordingly and make my way downstairs.
I am stood at the reception ordering my food, when I am approached by the maid who is waiting on Lady Harriet.
“I have been asked if you would kindly come to speak with Lady Harriet as she is requesting your presence?” she instructs me, then turns to direct me towards Lady Harriet.
I follow her, with a growing dread in my heart. Does she know? Surely Guy would not be foolish enough to tell her. We enter the hotel bar and I find myself standing in front of Lady Harriet and Lord Guy.
“Miss Blackwood,” Guy was the one to speak with me, as Lady Harriet was preoccupied whispering into his ear and giggling. “I was sad to hear that you are unwell. I trust you are recovered?”
“No, my Lord, I am not. I will be returning by the coach, on the morrow,” I answer, briefly.
“You are leaving me alone then?” Lady Harriet announces, in her usual selfish manner.
“I did send you notice, Lady Harriet, requesting that you find a new companion,” I reply, wishing I was a hundred miles from here.
“Yes, Guy has arranged for me to have another companion. Oh, here she comes, so you can meet her,” she said.
I turn to look at the approaching figure who was to take my role as Lady Harriet’s companion, and am dumbstruck to see it is Lord Guy’s new lover. She is a very pretty thing, and I can see what it is about her that attracts him. She gives me a curt nod, and I return the greeting. She shows no indication that she recognizes me from the night before, and simply smiles at me before going to stand besides Lady Harriet.
I look at Guy and see the smirk on his face. My knees shake in anger and I feel an urgent need to remove myself, before I lose control and tell them all exactly what I think.
“I am turning in early,” I manage to say, through clenched teeth. “It is a long journey.”
I did not wait for a reply and simply turned, making my way to the stairs that will lead me to the safety of my own room. There, I can lock them all out. As far as I am concerned, I really do not care if I never see any of them again.
Chapter 14
My return journey seems to be a cursed one. We pull in to the coaching inn, in the early hours of the morning, thanks to the horrendous weather and water logged roads. It was not helped by the fact that the coach was overloaded with people. I myself was packed inside, between two rather large ladies, and opposite us sat their respective husbands. Not only did we have passengers on the roof, but also balancing on the back, and the sides. I had been lucky on my journey here, we used the express coach, which made fewer stops and took on fewer passengers. Unfortunately, in my haste to leave Bath I had to take the first available coach and that was the mail coach. Not the most comfortable of rides, but nonetheless, it serves my purpose.
The inn keeper stayed awake for our arrival, and supper is served in the dining room of the inn, albeit reheated in a large pot on the blazing fire. That meal seemed to me, one of the tastiest lamb stews I have ever eaten, but then I am very cold and hungry. After dinner we make our way to our rooms where I shared with the two ladies I have been seated with. I take the smaller bed, and they share the larger one. That night, once again, I sob myself to sleep. My two room companions are completely unaware of my distress as they noisily snored themselves to sleep.
The weather, the next day, does not improve; if anything it seems to worsen. It rains constantly, slowing down our journey to almost a crawl in some of the heavily waterlogged areas. We are all cold and miserable, cramped together uncomfortably, on the inside. Goodness knows of the condition of passengers hanging on to the outside. I dread the coach having an accident, or even worse, I have heard of highway robberies, particularly targeting the mail coach. Hopefully, the rain and wind will put off any road bandits, who, if they had any good sense, will prefer to stay nice and warm in their homes.
Finally, we make it to Rochester, without any further drama. The Duke’s personal carriage awaits me, upon my arrival, ready to transport me to his home. I have considered going straight to my own home and seeking the comfort of my parents, but that would not be fair on the children or the Duke. I need to consider what I will do with my situation. I know that I can never face Lord Guy ever again, my shame is too deep. Never will I forgive myself for what I did, how I allowed myself to be seduced by someone who is obviously a cad. Hopefully, no one will ever hear of my shameful behaviour. I cannot see Lord Guy boasting that he bedded the governess; it would not stand him up very well in in the eyes of the Duke.
When I reach the house, the Duke and the children are there to greet me. It fills my heart with joy to see that at least the children missed me. We join together in one of the smaller parlors and I tell them all about Bath, and the terrible coach ride. They have not journeyed too much in their short lives, but I personally do not think they are missing out on anything.
As a treat, I organize a trip to the sea for tomorrow. It will be good to walk on the beaches and let the sea air clear my mind. It will also do the children some good.
The children are called to dinner and I retire to my room to unpack. I am pleasantly surprised to find a dinner tray in my room. It seems I am accepted by cook, at last.
I close my door on the family and sit and sit at my small table, to eat my meal. My appetite is still poor and as I sit there picking at my food, feeling a tear roll down my cheek. I cannot help myself; I am heartbroken, still unable to believe that I have been so deceived. This is not an experience I will overcome quickly. I should be thankful that we were not seen together, that would have been unbearable.
A small knock at my door, and I quickly dry my eyes to go and answer. As I open the door, I see little Laurence stood there, tears streaming down his cheeks. Normally, I would try not to get personally attached to my charges, but I think we both needed a hug. Picking him up, I took him to my chair, and we comforted one another in our cuddle.
I had left the door ajar, and suddenly I heard a small girl’s voice, “We’ve all missed you, Miss Blackwood. We did not think that you would want to leave Bath and return to us.”
“Come in, Phoebe, don’t speak to me from the corridor,” I say, signaling for her to enter. Whilst she was not crying, she did look very sad.
I now sat with a child on each of my knees. It is such a delight to feel their love, a genuine love at that. The children had really missed me, and they have not known me that long. I must have made an impression in their lives. Once again, I resolve never to marry and have children, there are enough lonely children in the world and I would care for them instead. That was to be my life’s achievement.
Shortly afterwards, I had all four children in my room and their youthful joy and infectious giggles cheered me no end. Maybe life wasn’t so bad after all.
Chapter 15
The next day we set off to walk the three miles, or so, to the local beach. We are accompanied by two housemaids, who help to carry the picnic between them. I know it will be a long walk for the smaller children’s little legs, but the exercise will do them good, and we have all day to get there and back. The journey to the beach is not too tiring, as the children are excited about the prospect of a day by the sea. Walking to the beach is not something they have done before, usually they would take a carriage, but today I felt we all needed the time outdoors.
When we arrive we the
tide is out, and there is plenty of space to set up our picnic on the sands. I used to love doing this as a girl, picnicking on the beach at Brighton, and I knew it was just what these children needed. As we sit eating, we attempt to get the kite up and flying, that Laurence has brought along. I may be proficient in the education of children, but when it comes to the technicalities of a kite, I am completely lost. Still, we give it a go and try to get it to fly in the winds of the English shoreline. For some reason, it just will not leave the ground, and each of us is flummoxed as to why. Even the poor maids had a go at fixing it.
“It’s all in the tension,” a voice shouted over our giggles, from behind us.
I turn quickly, not having seen anyone arrive, and am surprised to see a young man grinning at us. He is tall and lean. His features are quite strong with a prominent nose, square firm jaw and deep dark eyes. His head is topped off with a dark mop of unruly hair, which is being buffered by the wind. What is perhaps most striking about him, is that he only has one arm. The sleeve of his shirt is sewn closed at the elbow.
“Can you help us, Sir?” Margaret cries out, running up to him with the tangled cords of the kite.
“I can indeed,” he laughs back at her, reaching out to take the kite from her hands.
As if she had only just noticed his affliction, she pauses with a frown on her face.
“Oh, sorry, I did not realise, how will you untangle it all with only one arm?” she says, awkwardly.
“Fear not, I’ve been playing with kites since I was as high as that little nipper there,” he says, nodding at Laurence before reaching out for the kite.
I stand watching him as he interacts with the children. He seems a natural with them and I wonder if he is from a large family. He carries himself with confidence and with a certain stance, one I am familiar with. It is the same stance that Peter had, and I suspect he is an ex-soldier.
Walking up to him, I finally find my tongue, “Please sir, I insist that we help, even between all of us we struggle to untangle this thing, you cannot do it alone,” I smile at him.
“Okay, you lot untangle the cord and I’ll sort out the tension,” he suggests. “We’ll have this thing flying in no time,” he promises.
Now I am closer to him I can see that he has a certain rugged handsomeness about him. He is lean, but I can tell from the tightness of his shirt that his frame is wiry and strong. He is also wearing tight breeches and I am guessing he has been running on the beach for exercise, as soldiers often do. Peter was the same before he left to go to his posting.
“If you get that kite to fly, it will be a miracle,” I say to him, as the children help to unravel the cord under his instruction.
“No miracle, it’s simply technique,” he tells me. “What would be a miracle is if a pretty young lady like you would walk along the beach with a man like me? With the children as chaperones, of course.”
Mary giggles at his words and I do my best to ignore his complement, even though I can feel the heat rise in my face.
“We would happily walk with you, Sir, if you fly our kite,” I smile back, trying hard to show I am unruffled by his words.
From that moment on, our afternoon was wonderful. The man is called, Harry Ashbourne and was a corporal in the Napoleonic wars, but lost his arm in the battlefields of Belgium. The children love his tales of the war and the life of a soldier. As we stroll along the beach flying the kite, they bombard him with questions, which he seems more than willing to answer.
We sit and leave the children to fly the kite, which is now successfully soaring high above us. While we sit alone he reveals a little about himself. He lives in a nearby village and his father is a skilled jeweler in Rochester. It seems he is to learn the trade as it is all that is left for him now. I sense a tinge of disappointment and press him on the matter.
“I believe that to be an honest trade, Harry, but yet you sound disappointed?” I ask him, “Surely a good trade is essential in these hard times?”
“It is, and you’re right. I am grateful for having the opportunity, now the war is over. I have seen many of my former colleagues become homeless and destitute,” he pauses momentarily, seeming to recall his friends. “It’s just that, like many young men, I wanted to travel. The army seemed to be a perfect way to do so. As a young man, the adventure appeals. Unfortunately, I was only out there a few months before I was injured and then medically discharged from the army.”
“You should not be disappointed, Harry, you were brave to go in the first place. Facing battle is not something all young men are willing to do.”
“I find facing you, to ask to see you again, much more terrifying,” he says as he takes a gentle hold of my elbow to turn me towards him.
I look down at the ground, almost in shame, remembering what I have only recently done. Yet, how can I compare Harry to Guy? Harry is kind and caring; Guy is an upper class cad.
“I tell you what, why don’t you come and visit me in my father’s shop in Rochester. He’s recently had the sign above the shop repainted to say, Ashbourne and son, Jewelers, so you can’t miss it. I know a wonderful coffee house nearby.”
A part of me wants to accept his offer. My heart still aches from my recent disappointment with Guy, but I am intrigued by this young man. With a little trepidation, I agree to meet him after church on Sunday, as it is the only time I am free. I can request time off, but I am loathed to leave the children when they have just shown me how much they need a set routine in their lives.
We pass through the local village, where he happens to live with his father, leaving him at his house. Our little troop then continues on, to the mansion of the Duke of Norwood. All of us are very tired, but happy. The children rush off to change for dinner and I return to my rooms feeling slightly happier than I have for days.
Chapter 16
It seems an age before Sunday comes around. All I can think of over the week is meeting with Harry, after church. Our chance encounter on the beach that day has put me in a much better frame of mind, and Guy has hardly been in my thoughts at all.
We all go to church together, the Duke and staff arriving as one party. The children spot our new friend first, at the church, and wave over to Harry enthusiastically. He looks even more handsome in his Sunday best suit, and beside him sits his father. I can see where he gains his good looks, for although an older version, they are very much alike. To think, his father may have been at the same church every week I have attended, and I never noticed. For all I know, Harry could have been there too, but surely I would have noticed him. The service passed by quickly and afterwards we met at the gate of the church grounds, where everyone passes through to leave. As it is my half day off from my teaching duties, I am free to spend the rest of the day as I wish, and I wished to spend it with him.
He has brought with him a two seater buggy and a picnic basket. It seems he has thought the day out well. I am amazed at how well he handles the buggy, with just one arm, but he does so very capably. After a short ride we arrive in a small woodland, by a river. It was a beautiful setting. I see a curved, stone bridge and under the bridge is a small pebble beach. I hope that no one else has the same idea. It is so idyllic, and I want it all to myself.
“I come here when I need to think,” he smiles, helping me get down from the buggy. “It is such a peaceful and serene place, and very few people know of it.”
I approach the horse that has drawn us here, and rub her behind the ears. The mare is a beauty with black and white patches that are most stunning.
“You have a good taste in horses, what is her name?” I ask, still stroking her nose.
“Here, give her this,” he laughs, handing me a small apple. “We have a tree full of those and she’ll eat the lot, I guarantee it, every year. We call her Patchy, for obvious reasons.”
“She is lovely,” I say as I feed her the apple. “Do you ride her?”
“I do,” he says proudly. “Do you ride, Miss Blackwood?”
“I lo
ve to ride,” I reply. “Please, call me Rosalind; we don’t have to be so formal, do we?”
“I think your name is very appropriate. You remind me of a pretty rose, Rosalind,” he compliments me.
I can’t help but blush at his words and I can see he feels embarrassed, and he quickly changes the subject.
“I’ll spread the blanket by the running water. We’re lucky it’s a fine day for a picnic, and if it rains, we can run underneath the bridge,” he suggests.
The food is very welcome as I am rather famished; breakfast on a Sunday is a light affair. We chatter and I decide to tell him about Peter. They have the war in common so it seems good to share our private experiences of that terrible event. I see his face sadden as I tell him my tale.
Enchanted by The Lord (Historical Victorian Romance) Page 5