“People?” she asked, then remembered one of her questions. “Oh, yes. I know that the children need something more than a nursery maid to see to them. Ought they to have a nurse, a governess, or a tutor?”
Adam Gillensford went back to his chair, appearing completely at ease. “How old is the boy?”
“Billy—” She stopped herself and sighed. “William is eleven.”
His mouth did that strange half-smile again, a sign of his amusement she supposed. “You may still call him Billy if you wish.”
She shook her head. “He has not gone by that name in over a year, and now that our position is changed…” She lifted her shoulders. “I should heed his request to leave off calling him by a childhood name.”
“Very well. William it is. If he is eleven, most boys of his age go away to school. There are a few schools nearby, run by perfectly respectable vicars, curates, doctors, and so on. Given your funds and your new status, I see no reason why you should not try for Winchester, Eton, Harrow, or Westminster. Any place that offers prestige would do.”
All of those places were so far away. She had hated her time at boarding school, so far from home, surrounded by girls who thought themselves too fine to befriend her. Something in her expression must have betrayed her thoughts on the subject.
“Miss Chapple,” he said gently, “you need not send him off tomorrow. I would suggest a tutor be brought in, to ensure William is ready academically.”
“Of course. That would be best, I suppose.” She did not sound at all convinced, and she truly was not. When she had accepted her inheritance, it had been with the children in mind. She needed to do all in her power to allow them to succeed. They could be anything they wished, do anything they wished, outside of obtaining the peerage.
“Miss Chapple, I have a most impertinent question to ask. I was not properly introduced to the children yesterday. Is William your brother?” His eyebrows were lifted nearly to the artfully mussed fringe of his hair.
“Oh, it is a common question. No, he is not. William Thackery was taken in by my father, many years ago. He was to learn my father’s trade.” She offered the explanation as she usually did, as though it was perfectly normal for an unmarried woman to have two children in tow. “And Nancy McComb has been with me for the last four years. She is six.”
He stared at her, then blinked once before his eyes narrowed. “I am afraid I do not understand. What is their relationship to you?”
Elaine’s hands busied themselves by turning the small book over, and over again, in her grasp. “I suppose you could call them my wards. They have no one else, and I look after them. They are my only family, though we share no blood relations.” She raised her eyes to his, watching him carefully.
He studied her, most seriously, and then began to nod as though something had been confirmed to him. “I see. They are fortunate children, then. As to the education of your Nancy, a governess ought to do. The best way to go about finding a governess is to write letters to acquaintances. Someone always has a great-niece or a poor cousin who must earn a living. The same goes for a tutor, really.”
“Might I advertise in the newspapers?” she asked, somewhat meekly. “I have no one to write to, you see.”
“No, of course you would not. We could try advertising, I suppose.” He seemed somewhat distracted, but before she could put another question to him the maid came through the door, tray in hand.
Elaine rose, thanking the girl, and started to make Adam’s tea. A teaspoon of sugar and a dribble of cream. Sugar. She could not think of the last time she had purchased sugar for her tea. It was a rare treat, usually reserved for special occasions like Christmas and Easter. And the tea was positively heavenly.
She served Adam first and then took her own cup back to her seat.
* * *
Quietly enjoying his tea, which she had remembered how to prepare to his liking, Adam began sorting out the facts of the woman before him.
Adam had come to the house determined to find out all he could about Miss Chapple’s life, in order to better determine his own path. If Richard overturned the will, there was no telling what the woman would be left with. But for Richard to be successful, he would either have to prove Miss Chapple unfit or his great-uncle’s state of mind faulty. Given that Uncle Peter had signed his will in the presence of a magistrate and members of the nobility, the latter was unlikely.
A single woman, not yet thirty and having never married, with two unrelated children under her care, made her a suspicious figure. Those same circumstances also explained another aspect of her character that his great-uncle must have admired.
The old gentleman had forever been rescuing people. His servants were all paid entirely too well, his kennels were made up of runts nurtured until they were fully grown, and he had put horses to pasture rather than sell those who were too old to work or ride. Peter Gillensford might have been shrewd when it came to business, but he was soft-hearted when he saw any creature in distress.
Adam shifted somewhat uncomfortably in his chair, glancing up at the red-headed woman across from him. Had his uncle admired another compassionate individual or considered that he saved someone from harm? Perhaps both were true of Miss Chapple.
Why was she unmarried? The question had struck him the day before, while he admired the graceful way she walked into the house before him. Sitting before her again, he could not help but wonder. She had dressed in something prettier, brighter, than the brown traveling suit. And her hair looked a touch more elegant, the tendrils framing her face in a most becoming way. Her ivory skin, occasionally tinted pink by her blush, was practically flawless.
Did she freckle in the sun?
“I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you are here, Mr. Gillensford,” she said, putting her cup down. “Although I do wonder why it is you have agreed to help me.” She tucked one of the strands of hair back behind her ear, her pink lips turning upward into a sincere smile.
It took him a moment to understand her. She did not know about his part in the will?
Adam forced a smile. “Mr. Tuttle-Kirk did not tell you my reasons?” His mind spun around that idea, building upon it. If she did not know that his portion of the inheritance depended upon helping her, that might give him another advantage in his game.
Shaking her pretty head, she said, “He only told me someone would be along to assist. A gentleman, he said. I admit, I find it difficult to understand why anyone would wish to help a nobody like me to learn her way about a house like this.”
She truly did not know. Given how open and honest she had been with him, she was trusting enough to believe whatever he told her. Adam lowered his cup.
“Miss Chapple, it is my pleasure to assist you in any way I can. My great-uncle enjoyed helping people, and I suppose it is his example which has brought me here.” Adam nodded to her book, beside her on the couch. “What other questions might I help you with, before we meet your steward?”
Lifting her book, she opened it to her list and started perusing it. “William and Nancy would like riding lessons. Should I speak to the stable master about that?”
He had not exactly told a falsehood. Not yet. It was his uncle’s fault that Adam was present. This woman, with her wide gray eyes and self-conscious smiles, knew absolutely nothing about society or wealth.
Was she worthy to inherit Tertium Park? The sooner Adam determined that, the better.
Chapter 6
Adam arrived at Tertium Park on the third day of Miss Chapple’s occupancy. No sooner had he given his hat and gloves to Graham than Mrs. Mayworth appeared, her intent obviously to waylay him.
“Mr. Gillensford,” she said, gesturing for him to enter the small sitting room. “Might I have a moment of your time?”
Although he had been a child when Mrs. Mayworth came to the house, she had always treated him with respect. Even when she caught him sliding down the banister. When he came to the house to assist Miss Chapple, Adam had experienced a mom
entary regret that it had been several years since he had spoken to the housekeeper.
“You may have as much of my time as you need, Mrs. Mayworth.” Adam followed her in directly, the situation growing more intriguing when she snapped the door shut behind him. As soon as she turned around to face him, he realized her usual pleasant expression had vanished. “Is something troubling you?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. It is Miss Chapple.” The housekeeper, who had never appeared unruffled in all the time he had known her, was wringing her hands before her.
His ire immediately rose on her behalf. Though he had assumed the slip of a woman to be kind, appearances could always be deceiving. His sister-in-law simpered prettily enough but he knew her to be a most conniving woman. “Tell me at once what she has done, Mrs. Mayworth, and I will set it right.”
“Oh, it is not what she has done, sir.” The woman’s hand-wringing continued. “It is all that she does not know how to do. I asked her about morning visits, and she said she did not intend to make any, or set aside an at-home day. And her maid tells me she has only two dresses that are fit to be worn by one of her station. The children are not much better outfitted. But who is to take her shopping to remedy that situation? I cannot. I am a servant. She needs guidance, Mr. Gillensford, or she shall be a dreadful failure.”
Was that all? “I addressed some of those needs with her myself, yesterday.” Mrs. Mayworth’s expression did not immediately ease. “Mrs. Mayworth, I will do my best to help her see the importance of paying and receiving calls. But you must remember, Miss Chapple knows no one in the area.”
“That will change, I am certain. Especially since she is so invested in the future of the children. It is essential she form acquaintances.” Mrs. Mayworth fixed him with a stern look. “She positively must be a success, Mr. Gillensford. She has nothing to recommend her, save her character and her new wealth, so we must help her in every way we can.”
That statement rattled him. The servants wanted her as their mistress that terribly? And after only three days? It hardly made sense. “You are that invested in her?” he asked, trying not to sound cross. “Why is that? She is barely more than a stranger to you, and a tradeswoman when my uncle found her.” In his experience, servants of nobility and gentry could be stricter in regard to class differences than their employers.
The housekeeper’s stance softened, and her hands stilled before her. “You are right that I do not know her well, but from what I have seen she is a woman with a gentle heart. She is humble and is making an effort to fit into the household rather than suggesting we adjust our ways. Trade or not, she comports herself as a gentlewoman.”
That much Adam had seen. At some point, someone must have trained her in a few of the feminine arts.
“My great-uncle’s will must have given you some measure of surprise.” Adam needed a perspective outside of his family’s. “Why do you think he left this house and all its income to a complete nobody?”
Mrs. Mayworth’s chin came up and the old fire he remembered from his days of mischief returned to her eyes. “Your great-uncle was the very best of men, and I never knew him to make a single decision without sound reasoning behind it. If he chose to entrust the home he and his wife shared with Miss Chapple, then I will honor that choice. I will not say more on my opinion of that matter, as I have no wish to show disrespect to any member of the late Mr. Gillensford’s family. Now, if you will excuse me, I have things to attend to.”
She opened the door and stepped out, as huffily as if he had been the one to detain her from her business. “You will find Miss Chapple upstairs in the music room.”
Adam stared after the housekeeper in some shock. Due to his uncle’s nature, the staff had always been loyal to him. It appeared the old man’s demise had lessened none of that feeling, and if the household transferred their devotion to Miss Chapple, she would have a fierce company ready to do battle for her.
Obviously, given Mrs. Mayworth’s comment, that level of feeling had not extended to Peter Gillensford’s family. Of course, due to Mother and Richard’s propensity to treat everyone beneath them in society as inferior, he could understand. But what of Adam? Had he been lumped in with them?
The idea disturbed Adam and distracted him as he ascended the stairway. His mother’s sharp tongue had ceased to damage him but had grown to amuse him. The questionable connections his brother Richard made concerned Adam, but he had little control over such things. Georgiana had married beneath herself, socially, and never failed to let the world know of her disgust with the matter. As she had made her marital decision based upon her husband’s substantial income, Adam did not feel the least bit compassionate toward her. Was he as flawed a creature as they?
A song drifted down the hall, muffled slightly behind the closed door of the music room. This gave Adam pause, and he approached the door with some curiosity. The tradeswoman could play.
When he listened, however, it became apparent she only played the melody.
Adam opened the door soundlessly, revealing the music room bathed in sunlight. All the curtains were open, the room almost as bright as the day outside. Sitting at the large pianoforte, left hand in her lap, Miss Chapple’s right hand danced upon the keys. Her eyes were closed, the piece played from memory.
Today she wore a dress of ivory, trimmed in blue ribbons, and her hair was more sophisticated than before. It twisted atop her head in a riot of curls, a few escaping at the back of her neck. She held herself gracefully, her posture perfect, and her expression almost serene.
Would she look more and more fitted to her new position each time he saw her? Lowering his eyes, Adam knocked upon the open door loudly enough to penetrate the music.
The playing halted immediately, and he heard the scrape of the stool. “Mr. Gillensford, good morning.”
He bowed before raising his head again, noting her almost relieved expression. Interesting. He approached slowly, leaving the door open behind him. “That was lovely, Miss Chapple. Are you a musician?”
“Oh, no.” She emitted a self-depreciating laugh, as light and pleasing as the music she had played. “I received lessons when I was at school, but I have not practiced in many years. You must have heard all my mistakes, and I only played with the one hand.” She held that hand out, palm up. “It is merely an old song I remembered. I wanted to see if the instrument needed tuning. Nancy will have lessons. And William, if he wants them.”
“Perhaps you ought to take them, too,” he said without thinking. When her eyebrows raised, he hastened to add, “You obviously enjoy playing, and have a talent for it if that is how you sound after lack of practice. It is not unheard of for women of your standing to practice with masters.”
Her cheeks pinked and she tucked her right hand behind her back. “I could not possibly justify lessons for myself. I have had my turn. But perhaps I will practice more now that I have access to an instrument.”
Curious phrasing. “You do not have access to a pianoforte.” Adam studied her, the open display of her emotions fascinating to him. “You own a pianoforte. Miss Chapple, you own the whole of the house and all of its income. There is no need for you to justify anything, whether it is lessons for yourself or the kitchen maid.”
She immediately started shaking her head. “I have a responsibility to be wise with everything I have been given.”
“Miss Chapple, I was with you when you met with the steward yesterday.” He folded his arms over his chest, regarding her most seriously. “I know exactly how much in discretionary funds are at your immediate disposal, as well as what has been set aside for things deemed necessary, such as clothing and the children’s education. You are a woman of means.”
She opened her mouth to protest again, but Adam would not allow it. He had seen his mother throw away a fortune on new furnishings nearly every year and knew she had bought gowns and jewels she never even wore. This former seamstress thought music lessons for herself were not worth a few pounds? Absolutely astoundin
g and not to be bourn.
“Economizing in your past may have been wise, and I am by no means encouraging you to become a spendthrift, but you must recognize how your life has changed. If it soothes your conscience, tell yourself that whenever you spend so much as a farthing you are bettering the life of the person in receipt of the coin.”
He lit upon that idea quite by accident, but when she tilted her head in interest, he quickly elaborated upon it. “Procuring the services of a musician to help you regain your skill is putting money in a man’s pocket to see to his needs and wants. Hiring a governess is giving a woman a stable home and ability to support herself. Visiting the local shops to make purchases for yourself, and the children, is ensuring that local businessmen have what they need to care for their families.”
The lecture given, Adam waited for her response. Perhaps he had gone slightly mad, encouraging this slip of a woman to spend money he thought might have been his, but the idea of a wealthy woman hording money irked him. Especially when what she wanted was so simple.
Miss Chapple rewarded him for his trouble with a tight-lipped smile. “You make it sound as though it is my duty to spend money.”
“In a way, it is. Large houses like this one, and my brother’s, provide for the people in many ways.” He lifted his shoulder in a careless shrug. “My uncle, your benefactor, once protested that my family ordered too many goods from London. He said it would be better to employ a local craftsman for our needs whenever possible.” Adam had never forgotten the reasoning behind that lesson, though he had not recalled who gave it to him until that moment.
“I suppose I saw examples of that, in my own way.” She started walking to the door and Adam followed. “There were times when my services were deemed unfit for certain ladies who spent the Season in London. They would come to me for sundries, simple items, and say within my hearing, ‘We will find more fashionable gowns in London.’ My best customers went away for the Season and my income decreased substantially.”
His Unexpected Heiress: Entangled Inheritances Page 6