The Earl's Runaway Governess, page 11
Lord Kingswood nodded. ‘That fits with what Mr Harkin told us, and with the stories of the other farmers, too. Cronin, please let me know how much this is to cost me!’
Marianne listened with admiration as the men discussed the finer details. It was clear that Lord Kingswood was investing his own money so that the farmers could sow their grain. There was no guarantee of a profit in the autumn, as that would rely on finding labourers both to sow and, later, to harvest the crops. Still, it seemed as though the new Earl was going to support the farmers—for this year, at least.
Greatly daring, Marianne chimed in occasionally with comments or suggestions of her own. These were well received by both men, who treated her with an easy respect. It had been a long time since Marianne had felt so valued by others, and she hugged the feeling to herself. Perhaps this life she had created for herself would work out after all.
Increasingly, Lady Kingswood’s plans for a journey to London dominated her conversation, until at last she fixed a date for the trip. As Cecily’s governess, Marianne was to accompany them, as she might ‘come in useful’ on Lady Kingswood’s planned shopping expeditions.
Mr Cronin wrote to Grillon’s Hotel to reserve a suite of rooms, and then the packing began.
If Marianne had thought about it she would have said that two ladies—one only twelve years of age—and a governess, travelling to London for a stay of less than a week, all three attired in simple mourning gowns, would require very little organisation and preparation.
Not so.
Lady Kingswood had the entire staff in uproar as she decided what she would take, and then changed her mind every half-hour. She had rarely visited London when her husband was alive because, as she said, John had disliked the capital.
In the end the carriage was laden with four full trunks containing every single item that Lady Kingswood might conceivably need during her trip to the capital. The lady was flapping like a distressed hen over all sorts of imagined disasters—such as forgetting the curling irons.
Marianne, who had her own reasons for disliking and fearing London, could not understand Lady Kingswood’s particular anxieties, most of which seemed to her to be entirely imaginary.
‘My poor nerves!’ her mistress declared, climbing into the carriage. ‘This is why I so rarely travel to London! And, of course, my dear husband always used to arrange everything for us, so that I did not have to carry these worries myself. Come and sit beside me, Cecily,’ she added. ‘But now,’ she continued, as Marianne took the facing seat, ‘I am a poor widow, and all alone in the world.’ Her sad tone and harassed air were in great contrast to the excited gleam in her eye as she contemplated the joys of shopping that awaited her. ‘At least now I am in control of my own money, though...’
Lord Kingswood had travelled ahead the day before—neatly avoiding the pleasure of Lady Kingswood’s conversation in a closed carriage the whole way to London. He was planning to meet with his secretary who, he said, had been experiencing some difficulty in hiring additional staff.
‘I shall be busy with my own engagements while in London,’ he had informed them, ‘although of course you may call on me if needed.’
‘Thank you,’ Lady Kingswood had responded, ‘but I do not anticipate the need.’
No, thought Marianne wryly, you are each glad to be away from the other.
Surprisingly, she herself had quite missed Lord Kingswood’s company since he had left yesterday. Quite without realising it she had come to enjoy his presence these past weeks.
With a start, she realised that she had now been at Ledbury House for exactly two months.
The journey was long, but uneventful. Marianne spent most of it trying to respond appropriately to Lady Kingswood’s chatter, while inside worrying about being found by Henry once they were in London.
Grillon’s Hotel was all that Lady Kingswood had wished, and the ladies settled into their luxurious suite with little ceremony.
Then the shopping began.
Marianne had never been one for shopping. Oh, she loved beautiful dresses as much as any young lady, but found it difficult to become excited over dove-grey silk versus dark grey crape. Lady Kingswood, however, insisted that it mattered hugely. As did the type of sleeve, lace trim and button that would be used on the many dresses she planned to order for herself and her daughter.
Marianne spent her days carrying parcels, looking at fashion plates and sitting waiting, while Cecily and her mother went for fitting after fitting in five different dressmakers’.
It occurred to Marianne that she must be a sad disappointment to the female species, for she had been more interested in farm management than she was in fashion. It was true that she was now becoming a little more accustomed to the bustle, dirt and noise of London, and the fear that she would inevitably run into Henry somewhere was lessening as she realised just how huge the city was. Still, it was with a great deal of relief that, on their fourth day in London, she heard that Lord Kingswood had asked to meet them.
‘What can he possibly want?’ asked Lady Kingswood crossly. ‘Can’t he stay away even for a week?’
They were soon to find out. In a polite exchange of notes, Lord Kingswood was invited for tea in their suite at Grillon’s. Marianne found that thinking about seeing him again led to a strong sense of pleasure and anticipation. Probably because she was suffering from a lack of challenge to her thinking mind, she decided.
And then he was there!
Marianne’s eyes ran over him with an intensity that was almost like hunger. He wore a blue coat that moulded itself to his frame over a stylish waistcoat, a snowy white shirt and neckcloth. His breeches clung tightly to his strong thighs and his boots shone with a polished gloss. He was greeting her, his blue eyes smiling slightly as they exchanged the conventional platitudes.
Marianne was conscious of her pounding heart, slightly sweaty palms, and a terrible fluttering in her stomach at his presence. It must be nerves, of course. He was still her employer. It would not do to think of him in any other light.
Once tea had been served, and the usual topics had been discussed—yes, the weather was disappointingly cold, although it was March—Lord Kingswood came to the point. The register offices had been unable to find suitable staff for Ledbury House—most likely because previous employees had not been paid.
Lord Kingswood’s estimable secretary had managed to track down most of the former servants, and paid their lost wages, but unfortunately all the reputable register offices had politely but firmly indicated that they had no suitable candidates at this time.
Therefore his secretary had turned to a different agency, run by a Mrs Gray, who offered potential servants who came with no references.
At this point he sent a piercing glance in Marianne’s direction. She blushed, wondering if he would question her, but thankfully he moved on.
‘So,’ he said to Lady Kingswood, ‘given that we have no idea of their skills, character or aptitude, and that they are female servants, I should like you to accompany me to the register office tomorrow morning to meet the different candidates.’
Lady Kingswood was not impressed. ‘That will be quite impossible! Cecily and I have appointments at three respectable dressmakers’ for fittings. And besides,’ she added candidly, ‘I care not who you employ. It makes no difference to me.’
Lord Kingswood’s jaw tightened. ‘Do you take no responsibility at all for the household?’
She shrugged. ‘I like it when things run smoothly—and I should like to have a personal maid who can dress my hair well. Cecily is almost thirteen now, and I should like to experiment with more grown-up hairstyles for her.’ She bit into a delicate cake. ‘Mrs Gray... That was, I recall, the agency that found Miss Bolton. Miss Bolton!’ Her attention turned to Marianne. ‘You should go! I am sure you can be of assistance!’
Pleased with herself, she sat back as if it were all settled.
Lord Kingswood frowned. ‘But it is not Miss Bolton’s responsibility,’ he pointed out gently.
‘Oh, fiddlesticks! She will not mind. Will you, Miss Bolton?’
What was Marianne supposed to say to that? Of course it was not her responsibility, but she wanted to do it.
Lord Kingswood turned to Marianne. ‘If it would not inconvenience you too much...?’
Marianne flushed and stammered her agreement. Such a prosaic task, interviewing maids and a housekeeper. Yet after three days of fabrics, ribbon and fashion plates it would be a welcome relief.
The fact that it would mean spending a few hours in Lord Kingswood’s company had nothing whatsoever to do with it.
Chapter Eleven
‘Lord Kingswood, you are most welcome. And Miss Bolton. Do, please, be seated.’
Mrs Gray was just as Marianne remembered her. The same dark skin, iron-grey hair and serene demeanour. What was different, though—so very different—was Marianne’s feeling on entering the register office.
Although it had been only a little over two months since she had sat in this very room, answering the other woman’s questions, so much had changed! She had adapted so well to life at Ledbury House that it was hard to remember how anxious she had been about it all.
Yes, Lady Kingswood could be irritating, and it was hard at times to escape Aggie’s prattling, but all in all Marianne had settled into her new world perfectly well. She was growing in confidence by the day, and Cecily, Mr Cronin and Lord Kingswood were becoming some of her favourite people.
She had found a rhythm in her days that quite suited her. She taught Lady Cecily in the morning and then in the afternoon, while the ladies napped, she met with Lord Kingswood and Mr Cronin to share in their discussions on matters of business. They accepted her as an equal, and Marianne had come to enjoy those afternoon meetings.
Evenings were taken up with the formalities of dinner, and then after-dinner conversation with Lord Kingswood and the Kingswood ladies. Cecily was gradually finding her voice in these conversations, and Marianne deliberately drew her out, knowing it would be good preparation for her come-out in a few short years.
All in all, Marianne realised, she was eager to return to Ledbury House. It was beginning to feel like home—and she had never thought that she would feel she belonged anywhere again.
And she knew why.
It was because of the Earl.
Being back in his company after a few days apart made that entirely clear to her. Finally she had met a man she favoured—but there was no possibility of a marriage between them. Earls did not marry penniless governesses. She must be sensible and not allow her thoughts to wander in that particular direction.
‘I have six possible housemaids for you to meet,’ Mrs Gray was saying, ‘but only two candidates for housekeeper. As you will know, experienced housekeepers are hard to find.’
Marianne forced her attention back to the present as they discussed the various servants they hoped to appoint.
‘The first possible housekeeper is already waiting outside,’ explained Mrs Gray. ‘I shall invite her in as soon as you are ready. If you do not mind, I shall ask her the usual questions.’
‘Of course,’ agreed Lord Kingswood. ‘Your experience gives you proficiency and authority here. I confess I am a total amateur, but...’ he smiled ‘...a willing scholar.’ He glanced briefly at Marianne. ‘Besides, you selected Miss Bolton, who has turned out to be a perfect fit for us.’
Marianne flushed a little at this unexpected praise. Being in his company was causing all sorts of flutterings within her, and seeing his respectful manner towards Mrs Gray was warming her heart. A woman in business could face many obstacles—a woman whose family had clearly come to England from somewhere in Africa would be shunned by many.
Marianne, of course, was profoundly grateful that Mrs Gray had sent her to Ledbury House. Despite a challenging start she had learned to feel safe there. Here in London...not so much.
She shivered, a sudden sense of foreboding assailing her as she realised she had been lulled into forgetting that she was in London. Henry’s London.
‘Shall we begin, then, if you are ready?’
Lord Kingswood agreed, and Mrs Gray brought the first woman in.
The next twenty minutes were strange for Marianne. Knowing how nervous the poor housekeeper would be, she tried her best to offer reassuring smiles as Mrs Gray asked a series of questions. Unfortunately, after only a few minutes, it became clear that while the woman had assisted a previous housekeeper, she had never held the responsibility herself.
She would make a good upper housemaid, Marianne thought, and a good housekeeper in years to come, but she was patently not ready to manage a team of servants and help with household budgeting. They thanked her politely, but as soon as she had left all agreed that she was not the right person.
‘The other candidate for housekeeper should be here by now,’ said Mrs Gray, rising. ‘I shall fetch her.’
‘I do hope this one is suitable,’ murmured Lord Kingswood with a worried look.
‘Me too,’ agreed Marianne fervently.
‘Thank you for assisting me with this, Miss Bolton,’ he said softly, looking at her intently. ‘I really appreciate it.’
Something about his tone, and the look in his eye, was making Marianne’s heart sing. He meant it—she just knew he did. And in that moment she felt an affinity towards him which was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.
They looked at each other for an inappropriately long moment, then the door reopened, breaking the connection between them.
‘Here is your next possible housekeeper,’ Mrs Gray announced, leading a woman into the room. ‘This is Mrs Bailey.’
Mrs Bailey! Marianne looked up—into the shocked eyes of her own former housekeeper!
Ash was—surprisingly—quite enjoying the process of engaging staff. He never would have thought he would find himself in this situation—and no one, least of all himself, would have expected him to be entertained by it. Yet it was surprisingly stimulating to discuss with Miss Bolton and the register office owner the intricacies of the mix of servants they hoped to employ, and think how they might fit in with the existing Ledbury House staff.
He was, of course, relieved and delighted to be back in London, and had taken up with his friends as if he had never been away. For the past few days he had enjoyed boxing, fencing and fine dining, as well as an evening of wine and cards at his club—which had continued until five bells and left him with a headache and a pile of winnings.
Yet when his secretary had anxiously told him of the difficulty in hiring staff for Ledbury House Ash had responded with equanimity—with enthusiasm, almost. Perhaps a part of him had become accustomed to using his brain on a daily basis, and perhaps he thought the experience might be amusing.
He had, of course, anticipated that Lady Kingswood would not be interested in assisting him. Although two months ago she had made the effort to write to a register office to employ a new governess for her beloved Cecily, Fanny had not, as far as he could work out, had any involvement in the actual selection of Miss Bolton. And since, Ash mused, Miss Bolton had turned out to be a person of good mind and an excellent governess—if a little managing—perhaps this agency was the right one to use in his next step in the search for decent servants.
When Fanny had suggested that Miss Bolton should help he had felt a sense of satisfaction—as if he had planned it so. Miss Bolton had proved herself a valuable and sensible helpmate, and he knew Mr Cronin valued her opinion. As did he.
It had been a joy to see Miss Bolton again. After five days away from home—from Ledbury House—he had welcomed the sight of her pretty face and merry smile when he had arrived for tea at Grillon’s. And now she was next to him, and he was feeling a delicious warmth in her company.
It was unlike anything he had experienced before. There was lust in it—that was clear—but it was mixed with a sense of friendship. This was unexpected. Ash had never been friends with a woman before. The heat he felt for her was intense—perhaps on a par with his youthful passion for Fanny all those years ago. But had he ever truly known Fanny? Or, more accurately, had he blinded himself to her true nature?
Miss Bolton he believed he knew. He could read her moods—could tell when he had irritated her, knew when she was feeling sad...most likely as a result of her bereavement. Occasionally he had been tempted to ask about her deceased father, but had known that it would not be appropriate. As her employer, he must not cross that line.
Even having lustful thoughts about her felt wrong. He had always despised those men who took advantage of their servants—particularly the women—and yet he knew it was seen as acceptable behaviour among some of London’s young bucks, and some older degenerates.
Putting his preoccupation with Miss Bolton to one side for now, he focused on the woman accompanying Mrs Gray into the room—hopefully the woman who would be Ledbury House’s new housekeeper. He liked what he saw. She was a short, slightly rounded, middle-aged woman, with an air of neatness and quiet competence about her. Just now she was looking a little pale and distressed. She was looking fixedly at Miss Bolton, but recovered with a start when Mrs Gray introduced them both.
Mrs Gray bade her sit, then began asking the same questions she had asked the previous aspirant.
Thankfully, after a shaky start, Mrs Bailey seemed to gather herself, and gave solid answers to Mrs Gray’s questions. She was clearly an experienced housekeeper who knew her work.
Something about her was nagging at Ash, though he could not for the life of him work out what it was. He focused his mind, and observed her more closely, and soon worked out what was bothering him. She seemed too anxious—much more anxious than he would have expected, given her experience and competence.
