The Heart That Hides (Regency Spies Book 2)

by April Munday

  “You sound half in love with her yourself.”

  Lady Anna looked at Finch searchingly and shook her head. How perceptive she was.

  “No, but I like her a great deal.”

  “But you will ask her to write to him.”

  “Mr Finch has already said that he will. Don’t badger him.”

  Finch smiled at Lady Anna’s interruption. Then something occurred to him, “And don’t follow me.”

  Meldon didn’t bother to protest that he hadn’t even considered it.

  Chapter Four

  July 1812

  Desperate for the position, Mary Wilding arrived at the address she had been given far too early. A cheerful, smartly-dressed footman showed her into a room where she could wait, affording her the opportunity to find out more about her prospective employer. Her enquiries had not told her much beyond that he was the wealthy son of a manufacturer, who had one son, had been widowed and spent a lot of time at his clubs. Although she had learned that he gambled, it seemed he never gambled too heavily and had neither ruined anyone nor been ruined. The most important thing she had found out was that he was of good character. It was also said that he was stupid. Mary thought she could bear a stupid employer if he had a good reputation. If it came to it, she might even forego the reputation.

  The room was small, but the large windows gave entry to plenty of light. It was simply furnished with a beautiful, but functional desk and two comfortable looking armchairs. A large cabinet with many shallow drawers stood beside the desk and confirmed that this must be the room in which Mr Finch conducted his business. There were no documents or books on the desk other than her own letter and she concluded that he must be a tidy or careful man, probably both.

  On the wall that faced anyone sitting at the desk was the full-length portrait of a pretty young woman. From her clothing Mary estimated that it had been done ten or eleven years ago. This must be Mr Finch’s late wife. She looked as if she were trying not to laugh and Mary smiled in response. Hoping that it might tell her something about the widower, she studied the portrait. They must have married young and, if the portrait was any indication, they had been happy.

  The woman’s dress was fashionable and expensive. The house and the liveried servants had already told Mary that Finch was wealthy and she wondered whether being fashionable was as important to him as it seemed to have been to his wife.

  Mary turned her attention to the other interesting object in the room.

  There was a small bookcase in the far corner and she was examining its varied contents when Mr Finch entered the room.

  “Miss Wilding,” he said, as the door opened.

  She turned to him and curtsied quickly, for he had already started to bow. Straightening, she saw that he was slightly shorter than she had thought at first. He stood between her and the window and the sunlight played in his golden hair. Mary blinked as she tried to focus on his face, but could not with the sun in her eyes.

  “Please sit, Miss Wilding.”

  She did as he asked and found the chair to be as comfortable as it looked. She had expected him to take the seat behind the desk, but he sat in the other armchair, sank back into it and crossed one leg over the other. Her initial estimate of his age was nowhere near the mark, she decided, for he must be closer to thirty than forty, perhaps only eleven or twelve years older than her own twenty years.

  Now she was able to look at him properly. His face was perfectly proportioned and unblemished, with wide-set pale blue eyes and a long narrow nose. He smiled at her and she took in the wide mouth and full lips. Despite her nervousness she was able to return the smile, albeit briefly.

  He reached for her letter and she saw his only imperfection; two of the fingers on his left hand were misshapen and immobile.

  “They were damaged beyond repair,” said Finch.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

  “People do. I’m used to it. I’m also used to people staring at my face.”

  It was not, thought Mary, pride that made him mention his looks, but a desire to make her feel more comfortable.

  “I know many people believe good looks are important,” he continued.

  Mary thought that he was commenting on her own lack of beauty. It had not proved to be the protection she had hoped, but she had never wished to be beautiful.

  “I set more store on character, since our features are given to us. Our character is our own creation,” Finch said, his smile fading.

  Mary was surprised that he had come to it so soon. It had been foolish of her to apply to a man of such exemplary character as Mr Finch. Still she clung on to hope. He had replied to her letter and invited her here and, unless he meant to make a fool of her, he must have had good reason to do so.

  “Your letter tells me about your experience and your capability. It does not tell me why you left Mrs Holden without a character.”

  Mary hesitated. Was he asking her for an explanation? Had he already spoken to Mrs Holden? When Finch said no more, Mary knew she must speak. It didn’t occur to her to lie, but she did want to show herself in a positive light, if possible without touching on the parts played by anyone else in her story, although this last was probably impossible.

  “Mrs Holden told me to leave and refused to give me a character.”

  Finch made no comment and Mary swallowed. How could she tell her story so that he would understand?

  “Miss Wilding, you are here because you are the best qualified person who answered my advertisement. I am, naturally, curious as to why Mrs Holden asked you to leave without a character.”

  His voice was neither unfriendly nor critical. Could it really be that he hadn’t heard the rumours about her? She felt her fingers clasp nervously in her lap and forced her hands open.

  During all of this Finch said nothing and she was grateful for his patience and his calm. Fighting the urge to close her eyes, she said, “I was tidying up the classroom one evening and Mr Holden came in. He... he assaulted me. I struggled and I fought, but when Mrs Holden came in he had pushed me against the wall with a hand...”

  “Enough!” Finch sat up straight in his chair and continued more gently, “I had not meant to embarrass you. I can imagine the rest. Mr Holden maintained that you were the seducer and Mrs Holden cast you out.”

  He really seemed to regret that he had made her speak of such things, but he would not employ a woman who caused such trouble.

  Mary nodded. It had been much worse than this bold statement made it sound, but the essentials were correct.

  “Mrs Holden is a remarkably stupid woman,” said Finch, with a rueful smile. “Her husband is as ugly as the back end of a horse and yet she never wonders at the number of maids and governesses she has to ask to leave after they have thrown themselves at him.”

  Despite herself, Mary laughed.

  “Good. That is a much better start. Now, forgive me, but I must test the essentials before I introduce my son to you.”

  He switched to French and they discussed poetry. His French was good, if heavily accented. He did much better in German, in which they discussed music. Their tastes were similar, but his were much broader than her own. Mary began to enjoy herself and almost forgot what was at stake.

  “Come and meet Freddie,” he said, standing. “Then I hope you will dine with us.”

  He led her up to the nursery.

  “You must call him Edmund,” said Finch as he opened the door to the nursery. “He will decide whether or not you should call him Freddie.”

  From the affection in his voice, Mary assumed this was not wilfulness on the child’s part, but something else. Her recent experience had shown her how little influence she could have over her charges and how difficult it would be to have what she considered to be a desirable relationship with them. The Holden children had been loud and uncontrollable and had complained about her to their parents. If that was how children behaved who had had a normal upbringing, how would it be with a boy
who had lost his mother at birth? She forced herself to remember that she did not yet have the position and she must make sure she did get it, however wayward and wilful the child.

  The boy was as golden-haired and perfect as his father. He glanced nervously at Finch when he saw her, but bowed gracefully.

  Mary curtsied. “I am very happy to meet you, Edmund,” she said, after Finch had introduced them.

  “Father says you might be my governess, as I’m not to have a tutor.”

  “Do you want a tutor?”

  She was intrigued.

  “My cousins Edward and Charles have a tutor.”

  “Has your father told you why he wishes you to have a governess?”

  “Because a tutor would be irritating.”

  “Limiting, Freddie, I said limiting.”

  Although Finch tried to sound exasperated, he sounded more amused and the boy responded by smiling up at him.

  “Limiting,” repeated the boy experimentally.

  “Do you know what that means?” she asked.

  The boy shook his head.

  “It means that you could do fewer things with a tutor.”

  Now the child frowned.

  “How could I do more with you?”

  “When I teach you to dance, we won’t have to pretend that I’m a woman.”

  Freddie giggled and Mary felt herself lose her heart to him. In that precise moment she knew that she would do whatever it took to keep him safe and ensure his happiness.

  “When you learn how to behave in society you won’t forget how to behave in the company of women, for there will always be a woman in the room.”

  Finch broke in, “Unless you have any objection, Miss Wilding, I shall leave you together until it’s time to eat. Perhaps you would be so kind as to give me your answer then.”

  “My answer?”

  “Whether or not you would be prepared to come and live with us and undertake Freddie’s education.”

  With that he shut the door behind him. Mary almost laughed aloud; couldn’t he see she would give all she had to live here with them both?

  Despite his ease in front of Miss Wilding, Finch was seething when he returned to his study. How dare men like Holden ruin young women as if it were some kind of sport? Maids and governesses had no defence against such men. He wondered if there might be some way to ruin the man financially so that he might know the indignities and risks of poverty for himself. It would take some thought, not just the mechanics of it, but the right and wrong; there were children involved.

  Finch was not a vindictive man and had long recognised his tendency to protect those who couldn’t defend themselves for what it was. Certainly Mary Wilding had few defences and none at all against men like Holden. Her looks would never stir a man to take her part, for she was plain and she did little to enhance what she had. Her hair was simply dressed. Even without the assistance of a maid she could surely force it into a more becoming style, he thought. He must send Joan or Agnes to help her when she came to live here, for he already hoped she would come to live with them. He knew that the maids practised dressing one another’s hair and would be happy to have Miss Wilding’s thick chestnut locks beneath their combs and fingers.

  The least said about the governess’ gown the better. It was so old he wasn’t sure what was holding it together, but the colour must have been chosen to render her almost invisible. Although he approved of her choice of muted colours, he thought they did not show her to her best. Her hair would be better set off by more vibrant colours and they would also emphasise that she held herself well and moved with grace. Her voice was pitched low and was quiet, except when she was animated as she had been when they discussed music. She would do well here, he thought, but the dress would have to go. Freddie would not like it.

  Miss Wilding might be timid and shy, but Finch could see that Freddie was already taken with her. She was intelligent and knowledgeable. Her French had sounded perfect and her German almost as good as his. For her age and situation she was widely-read and she had a good grasp of politics. He could make up any deficiencies in mathematics himself.

  She was painfully thin and Finch calculated that she had not had paid employment for some weeks. Few mothers would entrust their children to a woman without character. If he could convince her to begin tomorrow, he could ensure that she got enough to eat so that her appearance would be more normal. She would also need some clothes; the dress she was wearing must be the best that she possessed. He resolved to ask Lady Caroline about the clothes; she would know the best way to offer to pay for a young woman’s gowns and, he thought with a blush, other necessary items, without insulting her. Much time had passed in considering his good fortune in finding her before he sat down to write some letters. He had only written two before he was called to dinner.

  He found Freddie and Miss Wilding in the dining-room talking together animatedly and his heart lifted. Freddie looked a little anxious as he greeted him.

  “Well, Freddie, have you managed to persuade Miss Wilding to stay with us?” Finch asked as he took his seat.

  “I needed no persuasion,” said Mary. “If you will employ me, I will be Freddie’s governess.”

  The use of his son’s familiar name was not lost on Finch and the boy’s sudden smile showed that he had only worried about Mary being taken away from him. The extent of Finch’s relief had surprised him. He had not realised quite how much store he had set on this young woman joining his household.

  Finch had not been convinced when Meldon had suggested a governess, but the more he had thought about it, the more the idea had pleased him. As boys he and Meldon had exchanged stories about their tutors and, far from being friends with them into adulthood, as they had hoped, Meldon had challenged his tutor to a duel as soon as he had learned how to fence, even though the man had left his father’s employment by then and Finch’s own tutor had been sent packing as soon as Finch had told his father what the man had done or, rather, tried to do, for Finch had resisted very hard, despite his lack of experience and his belief that violence was never the correct response. Even now he was grateful to his father for believing him without hesitation, which made it all the more painful when he had to lie about many of the things he did.

  Finch was pleased to see that Mary had a hearty appetite; it was only want of food that made her so thin and he could correct that easily enough. She kept up an easy flow of conversation during the meal, making sure that both father and son were included. Twice she laughed and he knew that she would fit into his household. Since he was away so much, Finch tried to make sure that he left Freddie in the care of even-tempered and cheerful servants. He could not, however, consider Miss Wilding a servant. He had decided that he would only employ a gentlewoman and a gentlewoman could never be a servant in his house.

  By the end of the meal he concluded that he was a very satisfied man.

  Unlike Mary’s previous charges, Freddie was a cheerful boy and a willing student. He was shy, but he had grown up without a mother or siblings to bring him out. Mary knew she could not make him less shy, but she could give him more confidence.

  Her present situation was exactly what she had hoped for when she became a governess. Her accommodation was more comfortable than anything she had ever known. The bedroom was large and comfortable, as if she were a friend of the family rather than a servant. She had her own sitting-room and access to the library, from which she could take whichever books she wanted, whenever she wanted, for her own pleasure as well as for lessons. It contained a mixture of scientific books, poetry and novels. When she had arrived with her few possessions to take up residence, some books had been placed in her sitting-room and Finch said that she had only to ask for anything that she thought would make either of her rooms more comfortable. She knew that he had chosen them, for they were exactly to her taste.

  In her previous houses she had been treated as a servant and had either to eat with the children or with the servants. Finch treated her like
a gentlewoman and she dined with him. If he was out in the evening, she dined alone in the dining-room. When she had protested he had said that it was not in him to treat a gentlewoman as a servant. Although she was glad that her first impression of him had been correct, it meant that she would never be able to tell him everything, for he would not keep her and she already knew that she wanted to stay with him and Freddie for as long as possible. It was only when he had guests for dinner that she ate with the servants.

  From the first she had known that she was safe here. Finch would never come across her unexpectedly in the schoolroom and there was no need to lock the door of her bedroom at night, although she appreciated that she could. He had made this a safe place. She saw the way in which he managed his household. He never overlooked a transgression, but he dealt with it fairly and immediately. The servants were comfortably dressed and well-fed and he trusted them. She learned from them that he was honest in his dealings with the tradesmen and was never in debt. He drank, but not to excess. Only the servants who had been here when he lost his wife had seen him drunk and they would say little about it. She guessed that it had been a terrible time.

  She soon realised that Finch was nowhere near as stupid as his reputation would have him be. He was intelligent and witty. When they discussed poetry and music his insight often took her aback and made her think carefully about her responses. She began to wonder how he had got his reputation for stupidity.

  One evening, when Finch was out and Agnes and Joan were teaching her how to dress her hair to better effect, they had told her how sought after a position in this house was, especially for young women.

  “No funny business here,” said Agnes.

  “Mr Finch keeps his hands to himself and makes sure the other men in the house do the same, guest or servant,” continued Joan.

  “And no strange women for breakfast, if you know what I mean.”

  Mary had blushed, for she did know what Joan meant.

  “Were you here when Mrs Finch was alive?” she asked.