‘Mother, please do not interfere in my domestic arrangements. Miss Bertram is good with Clara. I do not want to lose her.’
‘But it makes no sense, quite apart from the recklessness of a young woman travelling alone, from one end of the country to the other, to attend an interview with no guarantee of employment at the end of it. She is hiding something. I am convinced of it.’
‘You are allowing your imagination to conjure up unwarranted suspicions.’ It was hard to allay his mother’s doubts and suspicions when Nathaniel was still plagued by his own. ‘I understand her teacher knows someone in the county who read my advertisement.’
‘I have a mind to write to this Madame Dubois and—’
‘There is no need. I have already done so and have received a satisfactory report of Miss Bertram’s time at the school. There is nothing for you to worry about.’
‘I am your mother. I am allowed to worry about you.’
‘About me?’ Nathaniel felt his brows bunch in a frown. ‘I thought this conversation was about Clara’s governess?’
His mother ignored him. ‘I cannot be easy in my mind about Miss Bertram. Fish heard gossip in the village that a young woman had been snooping around, asking questions about Hannah and David and what had happened and whether Clara was at the Manor. What if it was Miss Bertram?’
‘Fish should mind his own business.’ The butler at Ravenwell Manor had always been a busybody. Nathaniel pushed his chair back and went to crouch by his mother’s side. ‘There is nothing to worry about. Miss Bertram is good for Clara and she has settled in here well. Why, even Mrs Sharp is warming to her and that in itself is a miracle.’
‘Mrs Sharp worries about you too.’
Nathaniel surged to his feet. ‘It is neither her place nor yours to worry about me. I am a grown man and I am perfectly capable of managing my own household.’
He stalked back around his desk and threw himself on to his chair, furious he had allowed his mother to rattle him.
His mother’s lips thinned and her nostrils flared as though in response to a bad smell.
‘She is very young. It would surely be better for Clara if her governess was a more mature woman. Someone more experienced.’
‘Better for whom? I believe Clara will benefit from having someone young and lively. And Miss Bertram is schooled in all the accomplishments required for a young lady. She will be an excellent teacher for Clara as she grows up.’
‘She is also exceedingly pretty.’
Ah. So now we get to the crux of the matter.
Nathaniel met his mother’s scrutiny with a raised brow. Lady Ravenwell sighed.
‘Very well, I shall say no more for the time, but I shall keep a wary eye on Miss Bertram whilst I am here.’
Heaven forbid his mother should discover the truth. Or that she might suspect his growing attraction for Grace, or that they had kissed—albeit just a brush of the lips—last night. Nathaniel had lain awake half the night fretting over whether he was right to allow Grace to stay but, in the end, he accepted he could do nothing else. He could not part mother and daughter. And he did not want to lose Grace for his own sake as well as Clara’s. He enjoyed her company. She had brought light and hope into his life, just with her presence.
That kiss had been a moment of madness, when both of their passions were roused.
It must not happen again.
‘There is no need but, if it will help set your mind at ease, then by all means do so,’ he said. ‘I am confident you will see that Miss Bertram is very fond of Clara and has her best interests at heart.’
‘If you say so, Nathaniel. Now, I must also speak to you about Christmas.’
‘Christmas?’
First Grace, now his mother. How he wished the festive season would pass Shiverstone by without any fuss. He’d had no appetite for celebrating since the fire but, last year, Mother, Hannah, David and, of course, Clara, had come to Shiverstone for the full twelve days, refusing to allow Nathaniel to spend another Christmas alone. Now, the happy memories of last year were yet another painful reminder of his beloved sister.
‘I wish you and Clara to come to the Manor for the Christmas season as I find I am unable to come here.’
‘May I ask why you are unable to come to the Hall?’ Would Mother, like him, find the memories of last Christmas too painful?
His mother grimaced. ‘Uncle Peter has invited himself and his family to stay at the Manor. He stopped for a few nights on his way up to Scotland and, before I knew what had happened, it appears it was all agreed.’
Her obvious vexation made Nathaniel smile. His father’s younger brother was a slippery fellow and, as the years passed and Nathaniel showed no sign of marrying, his uncle’s sense of entitlement to the Ravenwell title and estates had grown.
‘Oh, no. Poor Mother. What a sorry Christmas you will have, with that flock of vultures eyeing up the furniture. I’ve a mind to marry simply in order to put his nose out of joint.’
‘Oh, how I wish you would, Nathaniel.’ Mother leant forward in her eagerness. Then she visibly subsided. ‘But I fear you will never give yourself a chance of happiness. I could throttle both Lady Sarah and Miss Havers for the way they behaved.’
‘They did me a kindness. Would you really want such shallow sorts as either of them to become my Marchioness?’
‘I would like someone to have the opportunity. I fear you will never meet anyone out here in this wilderness. Please say you will come to Ravenwell for Christmas, Nathaniel. We could have a Twelfth Night party as we used to.’
He hated to deny her, but he simply could not face it. He did not have to say so; his expression must make his refusal plain.
‘Please, Nathaniel? I cannot bear to think of you here, all alone—’
‘I am not alone,’ he said, more sharply than he intended. ‘I have Clara.’
And Grace.
‘And do you not think Clara would benefit from seeing her relations?’
‘No, I do not. Hannah told me about the first time my uncle saw Clara. He called her a...well, you may guess what term he used. He made no attempt to disguise his disapproval. No, I shall not subject Clara to my uncle’s insults. I am sorry, Mother, but we will spend Christmastide at Shiverstone Hall.’
His mother stood. ‘Do not think this is the last word on the subject, Ravenwell, for it is not.’
Blast, he’d annoyed her now. She only ever called him Ravenwell when she was angry with him.
* * *
His mother stayed a week. By her last day, Nathaniel’s patience was stretched to breaking point. Every day had seen a repeat of their conversations about Grace and about Christmas. Finally, his mother had accepted he meant what he said. He would not send Grace away and replace her with an older governess and he and Clara would not be going to Ravenwell Manor for Christmas. The only good part of his mother’s visit was that her presence masked the inevitable awkwardness between Grace and him and made it easier to avoid being alone with her.
His final conversation with his mother took place in the drawing room—which, if he was honest, had improved beyond all recognition since Grace had changed it. Even his mother had commented on its pleasant appearance in comparison with her last visit. Lady Ravenwell had already visited the nursery to kiss Clara farewell and Nathaniel and his mother were alone, awaiting her carriage.
‘Nathaniel.’
His heart sank. He knew that look. ‘Yes, Mother?’
‘Do not look so hunted. Even I must accept defeat at some point. I shall not mention Christmas, nor try one last time to persuade you to appoint a different governess.’ She crossed the room to peer from the window, then returned to stand in front of him, her expression resolute. ‘I hope you will take what I am about to say in the spirit in which it is intended, son. I only ever have your bes
t interests at heart. You do know that, don’t you?’
He took her hands. ‘Of course I do.’ There was no escaping it. Let her say what she must. She would be gone soon. ‘What is it you feel honour-bound to say?’
‘Nathaniel! There is no need to take that tone of voice.’
‘My apologies, Mother.’ He deserved that rebuke. ‘Please, do go on.’
‘I urge you to take care with Miss Bertram. You already know my concerns about her and I shall not repeat them. But you are a wealthy man. A nobleman. You are a good catch for a scheming miss and what better way to inveigle her way into your affections than through your niece?’
Nathaniel’s muscles turned to stone as his mother placed a gentle hand against his scarred cheek. Every instinct screamed at him to pull away, but he knew that would hurt her and might even lead her to believe there was some truth in what she said. He released her other hand and folded his arms across his chest.
‘I am a grown man, Mother, not a green youth. I can take care of myself.’
‘I have seen the way you look at her, Nathaniel, when you think yourself unobserved.’
He struggled to control his dismay as her words sank in. Was he so transparent that even his mother could see through him? What if the servants could see the truth? What if Grace could tell? He must take more care.
‘Living out here, all alone...take care, darling. Please.’ Her voice became urgent as the sound of wheels on the gravel outside heralded the arrival of her carriage. ‘She is exceedingly pretty, but no good can ever come of getting embroiled with an employee. I make no doubt she is well aware of the luxuries and comforts that await the woman who ensnares you. From governess to marchioness would be quite an achievement for one such as Miss Bertram.’
No suggestion that Grace might like him for himself and not merely for what he could provide. Even his own mother thought him unlovable. He thrust down his pain.
‘You have nothing to fear, Mother.’
Quite apart from the fact a beauty like Grace would never look twice at someone like me, she still visits the village regularly to see Rendell. If she is interested in anything other than being with Clara, it is not me.
‘Miss Bertram is here solely to care for Clara.’
* * *
Grace put her lips to Clara’s ear as she hugged her tight to her chest.
‘Shh...’ she breathed, willing Clara not to speak.
After Lady Ravenwell came to the nursery to say goodbye to Clara, Grace had made the mistake of saying that Grandmama would be travelling in her carriage. Clara’s eyes had widened.
‘Wanna see horsies.’
She’d been adamant and Grace had finally succumbed. Although Lady Ravenwell had clearly not taken to Grace, surely she would be pleased her granddaughter had come to wave goodbye.
Now, Grace stood frozen outside the drawing room, absorbing what she had heard, her heart racing. The thud of booted feet approaching the door from within sent her scurrying to the front door. She would think about what she had heard later. For now, it was imperative Nathaniel had no inkling she had overheard his mother’s words. The past week had been awkward enough, since that incident with Clara and since he had discovered she was Clara’s mother.
And that kiss—she could almost cringe when she recalled how she had invited it.
It had been he who had resisted deepening that kiss. Not she.
Oh, but was her ladyship right? Did Nathaniel watch her? Did he think of her as a woman and not merely a governess?
But then why had he avoided being alone with her since that night unless he, too, suspected her of planning to ensnare him into marriage.
‘Miss Bertram.’
She turned, willing her expression not to give her away. Nathaniel, his mother on his arm, approached across the hall.
‘I did not expect to see you down here.’
Grace stretched her lips in a smile. ‘I made the mistake of telling Clara that Lady Ravenwell was going away in a carriage. Clara is most eager to see the horses.’
‘Ah.’ He tweaked Clara’s cheek, then smiled at his mother. ‘Your granddaughter has developed a healthy obsession for horses. Here...’ he reached out ‘... I will take her. You may go about your duties, Miss Bertram, and I shall send Clara to you later.’
Send. Not bring. It is not my imagination. He does avoid being alone with me.
There was nothing Grace could do but relinquish her daughter, drop a curtsy and return upstairs. She tidied the nursery, the conversation she had overheard repeating in her head until she could scream her frustration.
That Lady Ravenwell suspected her of having designs on Nathaniel was no surprise. His mother clearly thought the worst of Grace and her motives in coming to Shiverstone. Grace searched her conscience, but she could honestly say that, despite her own burgeoning feelings, she had never...never...dreamed of catching Nathaniel or of inveigling her way into his affections as his mother had so vulgarly put it. She had only ever followed her natural urges, inviting his kiss because she wanted him to kiss her, not because she planned to lure him into marriage. And now, with his mother’s suspicions planted in his head, would Nathaniel also suspect her of being a scheming miss, out to seduce him for mercenary reasons?
But...his mother’s words echoed again: I have seen the way you look at her when you think yourself unobserved.
Did he look at her in such a way? Or was it lust his mother saw? Would any red-blooded man not, on occasion, find his baser instincts come to the fore, such as happened that day out on the fell? Surely that was merely a man tempted to succumb to the moment? There had been other instances of tenderness—such as when he had wiped the smudge from her cheek—but his action had been that of a brother, not an admirer.
Images from the past darted through her memory and her stomach clenched. She must not repeat the mistake she had made with Philip. Now, more than ever, she wished her friends were here to talk to or that she could write to them and ask their advice. They would help her make sense of this tangle of emotions: Joanna with her calm good sense and her ability to accept whatever life threw in her path, fun-loving, independent Rachel with her healthy scepticism about love, Isabel, with her love of the dramatic, always ready to distract and entertain whichever of her friends was feeling blue.
Deep down, though, she knew what her friends would say. They would tell her to banish any dreams of Nathaniel as a man. He was her employer.
Nothing more. Two words that prompted an echo from that fateful night.
If you stay, you stay on as Clara’s governess. Nothing more.
He could not have been more clear.
She must forget that overheard conversation. Clara would be her focus, no one and nothing else. She would fight her feelings by keeping busy. There was plenty to do with Christmas less than four weeks away. She had used her spare time during Lady Ravenwell’s visit productively: knitting mufflers for Sharp and the outdoor men and mittens for Alice and Clara, as well as embroidering handkerchiefs with initials and edging them with lace for Mrs Sharp and Annie.
She had racked her brains for a present for Nathaniel and could think of nothing more interesting than also embroidering his initials on a handkerchief, but her brain was full to bursting with ideas for making Clara’s Christmastide a time to remember. There were doll’s clothes to sew, a bonnet to knit to match her new mittens and, best of all, a painting of Sweep to hang on Clara’s bedchamber wall. Tam—who had a talent for carpentry—had agreed to frame it and Sharp had promised to paint the frame with gilt paint.
A soft knock at her sitting-room door drew her attention and she tucked the handkerchief she was currently embroidering down by her side, out of sight.
It was Alice, holding Clara by the hand. Brack had followed them upstairs and, with a flash of inspiration, Grace knew what she could give N
athaniel for Christmas. He had already requested a portrait of Clara but she could include Brack in the portrait, too, as a surprise.
He might not return her love, but that did not stop her from wanting to make him happy and to brighten his life. His smile would be her reward.
Chapter Sixteen
It did not take Grace very many days to realise that coaxing a smile or, indeed, any indication of pleasure, from Nathaniel was a task beyond her meagre efforts. Clara was the only person who could tease a pleasantry from her increasingly taciturn uncle on the very few occasions he visited his niece whilst she was in Grace’s care. Most days, though, upon his return from a day spent outside, Nathaniel sent Alice to bring Clara to him in his book room, leading Grace to the conclusion that, knowing the truth of their relationship, he simply did not want to see her and Clara together.
Their former easy friendship was no more and Grace mourned its passing. After overhearing his mother’s warning, Grace had feared she would analyse Nathaniel’s every word, look and gesture for his true feelings but, in actuality, there was no mistaking his opinion of her. His rejection of her—even as a friend—resurrected all her old insecurities. Her uncle, aunt and cousins had not wanted her. Philip had not wanted her. Now Ravenwell could barely stand being in the same room as her. Clara’s very existence confirmed Grace’s lack of moral character and she supposed she should be grateful Nathaniel hadn’t cast her out on her ear immediately.
Her life at Shiverstone Hall would be lonely indeed if not for Clara. Clara was a constant joy: the shining star around which Grace’s life revolved. She gave Grace the strength to endure the shards of pain that pierced her heart every time Ravenwell looked right through her.
A week after his mother’s departure, Grace and Clara returned from a visit to Elizabeth and, after handing Bill to Ned to unharness, Clara spied Tam.
‘Doggies?’ She ran up to him, her eyes beseeching. ‘See doggies?’
He tweaked her cheek. ‘Might I take Miss Clara to the kennels, Miss Bertram?’
‘Yes, of course, Tam. I believe I might wait here for her, if you do not mind.’
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